#traces to him back to being part of the illuminate

[dollgxtz]

When Pleasure Calls

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: In the middle of sex, Sylus gets a business call...only he decides he doesn't want to stop ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, teasing, humiliation, use of evol, use of petnames like kitten, oneshot

AN: Okay so this is loosely based on a tweet I saw and it literally wouldn't leave my brain until I wrote it....so here we are. I figured the best way to end my break and start being more active again was to start writing all the fics that won't leave my head. Enjoy!

Sylus was balls deep inside you, each thrust a raw, primal connection that left you both breathless. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his low groans, creating a rhythm that was all your own. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements, keeping you both locked in the moment, lost to everything but each other.

It had been an entire week since you’d spent any real time together—a week that felt more like a year. Sylus didn’t waste a second making up for the lost time. What started as an innocent cuddle on his bed, his arm lazily slung over your waist, quickly shifted into something else entirely. One minute, he was tracing slow circles on your back, murmuring something about how much he’d missed you, and the next, the air between you thickened, charged with unspoken need.

Somehow, without either of you meaning to, that easy closeness morphed into a full-blown, heated mess of tangled limbs and stolen breaths. His lips found yours, first soft and teasing, then hungry and demanding, as if he needed to make up for every second you’d been apart. Before long, the room was filled with the sound of muffled laughter, whispered names, and the quiet creak of the mattress as you lost yourselves in each other.

His hands roamed over you with a possessive tenderness, fingers tracing the curves of your body, memorizing the lines anew with every pass. The weight of him above you was a comforting pressure, a grounding force as you surrendered to the tide of sensation, every thrust a wave that built the pleasure higher and higher, threatening to crash over you.

"Nghn, right there! Don't stop, please..." you pleaded, your voice hoarse with desire, your fingers digging into his muscular frame as if your life depended on it. Sylus, attuned to your every need, knew he had found that sweet spot within you, that spongy, pleasure-laden tissue that sent sparks of delight through your body.

Just as he increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster and harder, driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy, the sharp ring of his phone cut through the air like a knife, slicing through the intimate atmosphere. You froze, your eyes widening as you glanced at the illuminated screen, the unfamiliar contact name confirming your suspicion—one of Sylus's business associates.

Sylus sighed, his brow furrowing as he eyed the screen with a mix of annoyance and detachment. "I can call them back later. I’m busy right now."

That’s when it hit you—the mission. The Hunters Association’s urgent directive to recover the stolen protocore, traded away through shady backchannels. You had completely forgotten about it until now. The urgency surged through you like a jolt of electricity. Without thinking, you grabbed his arm. "Didn’t you say you were expecting a call about the protocore? This could be it. I need that lead for the Association. Answer it," you urged, your voice firm despite the sharp look Sylus threw your way.

He blinked, then smirked, the kind that was equal parts amused and incredulous. "I don’t think I’ll ever get used to my kitten barking orders at me," he said, his tone dripping with lazy charm. But to your relief, he reached for the phone anyway. "Alright, boss. Consider it a favor."

He pressed the screen and lifted it to his ear. His voice dropped into that cool, no-nonsense register you’d heard a dozen times before.

"Speak."

The man on the other end began to speak and you realized Sylus was still halfway inside you. Thinking the fun was over for now, you started to move out from under him, ready to let the moment pass. But Sylus wasn't done. His hand pressed you back down against the bed, and before you knew it, he was thrusting into you again, impossibly deeper this time, his cock filling you completely.

You struggled, caught between surprise and arousal, your body pinned beneath his, his cock completely filling you with each powerful thrust. You tried to silently plead for him to stop, embarrassed by the situation, but your words were lost in the quiet moans that escaped your lips as he pounded into you, his pace relentless. You quickly covered your mouth with your hands, trying to will yourself to quiet down.

"I'll only meet tomorrow. That's firm" he said into the phone, his voice steady despite fiercely pounding and stretching your pussy. As if this took zero amount of effort from him. You tried to keep quiet, biting your lip and keeping your hands pressed to your mouth to stop the sounds from escaping, but it was hard. Each thrust sent ripples of pleasure through you, making it nearly impossible to maintain your composure.

You attempted to scoot back against the bed, seeking respite from the pleasure Sylus was delivering, but your efforts were in vain. With a swift and possessive motion, he wrapped his powerful Evol around your waist, pulling you back onto his cock, sealing your body to his, ensuring you couldn't escape the sensations he was about to unleash.

"Ah...ah..." you panted, your breath coming in short gasps as he thrust deeper, his cock seeking out that sensitive spot within you once more, very determined to bring you right to the edge.

Sylus kept talking, his voice smooth and calm, even as he moved inside you with a fierce rhythm. The phone call was just background noise to you, but you caught snippets of his conversation, the professional tone at odds with what was happening.

"Yes, I understand," he murmured between thrusts, his voice a soothing contrast to the pounding of his cock against your sensitive walls. "No tricks, or foul play. You should know how this goes by now."

You were struggling, trying to focus on anything but the way he was driving you closer to the edge. Each thrust felt like it was pushing you further into a world where nothing else mattered but the heat and friction between you.

Minutes ticked by as this humiliation continued. How much longer could you hold on? How much longer would he torture you like this? The question echoed in your mind, a desperate plea for relief as your body teetered on the brink of finishing.

Sylus's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and desire as he looked down at you, fully aware of the power he held over your pleasure. He knew exactly how close you were, how your body trembled on the precipice of release, and he relished the control he had, maintaining a casual conversation while pushing you to the brink.

A knowing smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the game he was playing—testing your limits, seeing how far he could take you while keeping up the pretense of a casual chat. His eyes held a challenge, daring you to surrender, to let go of your control, even as he kept his voice calm and composed, a stark contrast to the raw passion he was eliciting from your body.

He continued his steady thrusts, his movements purposeful, each one designed to drive you further into a world of pleasure, where resistance was futile, and surrender was the only option. Sylus took pleasure in watching you struggle, your body betraying your attempts to hold on, even as he maintained his casual conversation, a master of this sensual game.

"Yes, that will do," Sylus confirmed, his voice steady, his pace merciless as he continued to thrust into you. "I'll have my men prepare the meeting."

Your response was a muffled moan, your body arching against his, unable to form words as the pleasure overwhelmed you. "Mghn... Ah!" you cried out into your hand, your voice a mixture of surrender and ecstasy, your body trembling on the edge of release, the sensations too powerful to hold back.

Sylus, his body slightly glistening with sweat, paused for a moment, his thrusts slowing as he looked down at you with an intense gaze. His eyes, red and smoldering, held a silent command, a silent invitation for you to surrender completely. A slight smirk played on his lips as he watched you, his expression conveying a clear message:

"Go ahead, cum for me."

The tension inside you coiled tighter, every nerve screaming for release as he begun to pick up the pace once more. You bit down on your hand, trying to keep the sounds from escaping, but it was a losing battle. Sylus's thrusts were unrelenting, each one bringing you closer, until finally, with one last, deep push, he let go, pumping his hot and sticky seed deep into your belly just as he wrapped up his call.

The sensation was too much, too intense to resist. Your body tensed around him, shaking with the force of your orgasm, your muffled moans filling the room as you rode the waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"Alright. See you then," Sylus said, finally hanging up the call. He pulled out slowly, leaving you both breathless and spent, the hum of the conversation now just a memory drowned out by the echo of your shared climax.

You lay there, catching your breath, the remnants of your climax still thrumming through your veins. But as the haze of pleasure began to clear, irritation started to bubble up inside you. You propped yourself up on your elbows, shooting Sylus a look that could melt steel.

"Seriously?!"

He caught your gaze and simply chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that only fueled your annoyance. "Oh, don't act like you didn't like it," he said with a grin, clearly amused by your reaction. "How could I ignore a needy kitten in heat for a phone call instead?"

Your glare could have sliced through stone, but he just shrugged, unfazed by your anger. "Besides," he continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he chuckled, "I'm great at multitasking. I just secured you that protocore and made you cum while doing so. Shouldn't you be overjoyed right now?"

Despite your best efforts to hold onto your anger, the corners of your mouth betrayed you, tugging upwards into a reluctant smile. The heat rising to your cheeks was undeniable, a flush that had nothing to do with anger. His laughter was infectious, and before you knew it, you were chuckling too, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.

"Alright, alright," you conceded with a playful roll of your eyes. "I'll forgive you this one time, but don't think this is going to be a regular thing."

Sylus grinned, clearly pleased with your surrender. "Deal," he said, his tone warm and teasing. He moved with that easy confidence of his, leaning down to scoop you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he murmured, carrying you towards the bathroom with a tenderness that were a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. His touch was gentle now, a soothing balm to the fire that had raged between you, and you found yourself relaxing into his hold, the last remnants of your irritation melting away as you settled into the comfort of his embrace.

[bunni-v1]

Going to bed rn but… thinking about how artists depict pv’s soul jam as an erogenous zone…

MDNI

The souljam is the most important part of a cookie, it’s what separates them from a lifeless desert and a living creature. It’s their soul, their very being, and most cookies aren’t out in the open because it’s not safe for them. Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk has his out on full display, like a thing of pride. He’s more than capable of defending it, so why not?

That doesn’t mean it isn’t sensitive, though. The souljam, when touched directly, has a very serious physical affect on its cookie. Be that with intent to harm or not, if a cookie was able to get close enough to either of them to touch the souljam it would be quite the sight.

To get so close to him, in a romantic sense, shows a lot of trust. His souljam is very very sensitive to both touch and intent, so if he’s allowing you to touch it, it’s a huge honor.

For Pure Vanilla, it’s not something he allows you to do early on, but after a while of gaining trust and learning how to love one another. It takes him some time, but once he finally feels comfortable he’ll allow you to touch his souljam.

It’s a very intimate ordeal, and he sets it up to be such. He’s quite literally allowing you to touch his soul, he is aware of the weight of the situation, and as such he wants it to feel important.

The two of you face each other on his bed, the dim light of the candles illuminating your rapidly warming figures. The gentle yellow glow glints off his souljam, temping you to reach out and touch it, but you hold yourself back. He is nervous, you can tell in the way his hands shake as he holds yours. You try to calm him by squeezing his fingers, and he gives you an uneasy smile.

You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to do this, that you understand, but the stubborn furrow of his brows tells you not to say anything. He had already made up his mind, there was no wavering his resolve. So you give him all the time he needs, and when he is ready, he brings your fingers to his lips. He gives each tip a soft kiss, as if blessing them with his approval, then he guides your hands down right before his souljam.

You can feel a pull to it, as if he was begging you to touch it, but you still hesitate. Your hands curl in on themselves for a moment before reaching out and resting on the golden crest which houses it. You see him swallow, only able to imagine how he might feel in this moment. Your trace your fingers along the gold rimmed edge, trembling for a moment before finally you press a careful finger against the smooth surface.

It strikes you as odd that it’s warm, you expect it to feel cold, but it was heated beneath your touch. You press another finger to it, carefully rubbing over it with intrigue. Pure Vanilla shudders, the effect immediate. You don’t stop, now cupping it in your palm. You can nearly feel appreciation through it, and you see it clearly on his face. Brows scrunching up and cheeks turning a deep red, his breath is already ragged too.

You rub your thumb over him and he grabs at your hips, grounding himself. You nearly stop, feeling bad for how much this seemed to get to him, but he opens his eyes and gives you the most lustful stare beneath heavy lashes. You’ve never seen such a look on his face, but you can’t help but find it beautiful.

You give him what he wants, pressing him into a deep kiss as your other hand cups the other side of him. You continue your slow strokes as you make out with him, tongues clashing desperately against each other. You can tell his mind is foggy from how slow he reacts to your challenges, and the little moans that he sighs into your mouth. You pick up the pace of the stroking, using your whole hand to service him.

It gets him huffing, unable to keep up with the pleasure and your mouth. You allow him the grace of leaning against your shoulder, instead of forcing his mind to split two ways. His hands are digging into your sides, pressing you as close as he can get you. It’s like he can’t get enough of it, and he pulls you onto his lap pressing his face into your shoulder.

It’s harder to play with the souljam like this, but when he begins to rock his hips up into you, you find you don’t care. You match the pace of your fingers with the pace of his thrusts, which he figures out quickly and abuses for his own use. Speeding up enough to have your head lulling back as you continue stroking him like your life depended on it.

He falls back into the mattress after a moment, giving you access to ride him through his pleasure. Your fingers massage the warm thing as your hips move in time, eyes appreciating the sight of him falling apart beneath you. It was rare you got to take care of him like this, so you wanted to savor the sight of his screwed up face. Each thrust is followed by a broken moan, hands grabbing at you as if that might make things easier on him.

As you watch him, feel what makes him who he is, a thought crosses your mind. Depraved, and maybe crossing a line, but you had to try. You lean down over him, feeling his eyes squint on you in confusion when you remove your hands from his souljam. It doesn’t last long, your lips pressing against the jam. He gasps, fingers curling into your hair - not pulling, just encouraging you to continue.

Naturally, you do, kissing him slowly. You can feel it heat up with each kiss, which only encourages you to continue. Another thought pops up, just as bad as the last, but Pure Vanilla has been nothing if not receptive. You’re sure he won’t mind if you get a little taste. So, you open your mouth, locking eyes with him, and lick a slow stripe across the rounded surface.

He groans in a way you’d never heard, pressing his hips into yours with a newfound desperation. You squeal when he flips you over, giving you a disapproving frown. Seems that was a little too much, but he couldn’t be too mad, not when he quickly pushes your clothes aside and sinks himself inside you. Leaning over you, burying his face into your neck again, he begins without any fanfare.

The pace is faster than usual, hips meeting yours eagerly. Each thrust is deep, dragging against your walls deliciously. Your fingers find his souljam, continuing their previous ministrations, and he groans again. It’s so unlike him, all of it, but you like it. It’s a new side of him that he’s trusting you with, you can only hope to see more in the future.

When he comes undone, it is the loudest cry you’d ever heard from him. Broken and desperate, cracking through the quiet of his quarters like lightning. His body trembling in your grasp like the aftershock, but his hands remain firm and strong against your dough. He fills you up with warm sticky goodness, reminiscent of the heat of his souljam. It feels nice, to be so surrounded by him, and you know he feels the same too.

You press gentle kisses to the side of his face, calming him from his high. He returns to earthbread slowly, chest heaving against yours with effort. When he is coherent again, he gives you a smile — warm and typical from him. Your sweet Vanilla coming back to you with all the love in his eyes.

“I might have gotten carried away,” He admits shyly.

You smile, “I don’t mind. It was nice.”

He hums, nodding in agreement. His souljam is hot between your bodies, warming you further where it rests atop your clothes. When he pulls away he kisses your cheek, taking a moment to admire you before leaning back with a satisfied smile.

“We should do that more often,” You mumble from your spot in the sheets.

You can’t see his face from your position, but you don’t need to when he pats your thigh, “I agree. Much more often.”

[deikshen]

Hear me out: a sort of spiritual communication array that works like a group chat of some Binghe's wives where they gossip and live together more carefree behind their husband's back... where the transmigrated and current rogue cultivator Shen Yuan is accidentally added.

Shen Yuan probably ignores all the messages at first as, well, fuck. A group of gossipy women. He's been in worse group chats, and the company is entertaining when he's been through more two weeks without a trace of another human being hunting a beast. However, you could send some useful answers, some knowledge about plants or medicines that they appreciate!! And they call him "Meimei", so Shen Yuan assumes that they have surely made a mistake with his communication array password... Which is weird, he suppose, because who uses "blessed heavenly pillar" as their password? Anyway. Shen Yuan appreciates the gossipy friends he's making.

Apparently they all live in the same place, are they like, a community? Given certain comments and insinuations between them, perhaps a community of lesbians living under someone's protection? Cool! He was sure that the heavenly pillar definitely wasn't something that could treat lesbianism like a sick and "cure" it (even if he knows that the bastard Airplane would have considered it, nor would he have been capable of that disrespect), so good for them! He liked them too much to end up like part of that harem!! Although being Binghe's wife is a privilege, of course, but one in three hundred...

Shen Yuan doesn't talk much in the group, but he has his favorite "Jiejies"! They're all sweet and nice to him, and even the most unfriendly ones become fond of it after a good recipe for scented soaps or moisturizing creams. Sometimes they even ask him privately with any questions. Shen Yuan feels bad when he has to decline invitations to eat or go listen to music, because he's not even there!! In fact, at this point he's already embarrassed to admit that he was added by mistake and he remained silent about it!!

And, in the midst of one of his travels, Shen Yuan encounters the core of the world. Binghe! Emperor Luo Binghe! They share a small adventure hunting the beast — Luo Binghe looks quite haughty and arrogant, yet vulnerable when he's cooking, illuminated by the fire and with that tiny disheveled braid in his hair. Shen Yuan enjoys his meal and read in the chat, commenting that he remembered some flowers that can be used to dye fabrics, sending the specifications and receiving tens of happy comments about it.

Ah, actually, he doesn't have a bad life. He thinks so. He keeps randomly running into Luo Binghe on his travels, and his friends in the group chat are as gossipy and fun as ever.

And then, one day, Shen Yuan wakes up with an exaggerated amount of messages:

» "I think we'll have to add another one soon"

» "Another one? Damn. How many of us are there?"

» "Three hundred and twelve?"

» "Not everyone is here, in this group there are less than a hundred. The main wives have their own group, too."

» "I thought lady Mingyan was at the beginning?"

» "She was, but she got bored. Mingyan never wants to be in our groups since we criticized thata bad novel about the ice king and his spy"

» "Hualing neither, but she caused the first group to collapse with her rudeness"

» "But why add another one? You're getting off topic, ladies. Husband's been away again?"

» "Phew, honey. If only you knew. He goes off and comes back like a puppy. I've never seen that look on his face"

» "He looks young and adorable. Hualing was complaining about that the other day"

» "I mean, husband always looks handsome, but he has this glow. The glow when he's falling in love, again. I haven't seen him like that in a long time"

» "Me neither! I thought I'd never see him shine like that again after the third week of our wedding"

» "Same sis. Since the second one. It's nice to see him shine happily even if he's not looking at me"

» "Do we know who she is? From which realm? A demon? A cultivator? Details, details!!"

» "We need more demons, badass girls"

» "Husband says he's going hunting. He comes back with beasts and flowers. But also with that smile. So I'm guessing a cultivator"

» "Hell, more? They'll beat us by a landslide"

» "Girl, don't complain. More to bite on"

» "When you stop being being super close and eating together, we can talk about how we can't let husband ruin it with this?"

» "Why would a husband ruin it?"

» "He is our husband"

» "You're absolutely right. Fuck he's going to ruin it"

» "What should we do?"

» "First, find out about her! Warn her! Tell her that our husband is a fool but has a good heart deep down!! Who has permission to leave the palace? Has anyone spoken to Yingying lately?!"

» "We have to warn her about the size of his dick"

» "That too. I would have appreciated being prepared"

» "I married him after reading the yellow books about him, AND I WASN'T PREPARED"

» "No one is. My poor flower"

» "Too much information"

» "I'm not sorry"

» "Girls GIRLS GIRLS. For heaven's sake. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I JUST FOUND OUT."

» "If it doesn't have to do with our husband's new conquest, it's irrelevant gossip."

» "It has to do with"

» "SPIT IT OUT"

» "His new conquest is not a woman"

» "what"

» "WHAT?"

» "?????"

» "Listen, but it makes sense, right? Husband could be a cut sleeve that didn't notice until now. So that's why there are so many of us. None of us can be enough because we're missing something, you know, important."

» "A dick"

» "I was going to say a pillar, but you get the point."

» "Where did you hear that from?"

» "Our husband was telling General Mobei. That he should prepare a trunk of fine men's robes, that he would soon bring his new traveling companion to see the palace. That he plans to move him into his private chambers."

» "NO FUCKING WAYYY"

» "Hualing will explode"

» "I haven't seen a good attempt in years, do you want to bet?"

» "Do we know anything else?"

» "I don't know his name, sorry, that's all I have. He is a small rogue cultivator"

» "How small?"

» "By the measurements that husband requested for his robes, 5'6"

» "Damn it"

» "Short"

» "Oh damn, his poor chrysanthemum"

» "OH FUCK"

» "NO WAY"

» "HOW THE HELL DOES OUR HUSBAND'S COCK FIT IN SOMETHING SO SMALL? FUCK"

» "I will put incense in the name of his hole"

» "Oh girl, me too"

Shen Yuan stops reading with a mixture of horror, shame, and panic. What. The. Fuck. HOW THE FUCK DID HE END UP IN THAT GROUP? In the DAMNED BINGHE WIFE GROUP. Fuck. Oh fuck.

And yes, HE HAD agreed to visit Luo Binghe's palace, BUT only because he had mentioned that it had been a long time since he had slept in a bed and had a nice hot bath!! And Luo Binghe had been an exceptional gentleman and good friend offering to visit the palace and receive some care! Nothing perverted like those wives talked about!!

Oh, those wives. Damn. How come he'd been infiltrating that chat for MONTHS without realizing it!? Yes, it was true that when there were MANY messages he would ignore them and just skip them... But he would have stopped immediately if someone had mentioned Binghe directly!! But FUCK. They only mentioned him as "husband" and Shen Yuan's radar on anything where Binghe was mentioned didn't go off. Fuck.

Well, that's fine. He's not... a conquest. Nothing like that. Shen Yuan is sure of that! The protagonist is 100% heterosexual, no matter what those wives say!!! They're his wives damn, they should know how straight he is!!

He'll go to that palace, prove that he's just a good friend of Binghe, and that's it!

(In the future, when he is already married with Luo Binghe and one of Binghe's many wives asks for his communication array password to add him to a group chat to, he know, chat and share, Shen Yuan runs away with a red face. That same night, everyone is saddened because the kind and sweet Meimei who knew a lot about beast, flowers and remedies left the group.)

[hearts4hughes]

That ex!rafe fic about reader calling him was so sad🥹🥹☹️ can we get a blurb where the reader calls him to hook up again because she misses him. Even though she leaves as always in the end, she’s soft during the hook up when he’s trying to be rough with her to not get too attached, like he’s so rough and pounding into her and then she’s giving him soft little kisses and caressing him.

warnings: emotionally complicated sex, rough sex w soft moments, unprotected sex, possessive!rafe, crying during sex, 18+

he doesn’t pick up the first time or the second. but the third time, when your name lights up his screen again at 12:47am., he answers like he’s been standing by the phone all night.

“where are you?” he murmurs into the phone. his voice is lazy. he runs a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. you don’t say it, but he already knows. he trudges towards the window, pulling the curtains back to see the porch light illuminating your silhouette. he sighs and stomps down the stairs like he’s on a borrowed time.

you don’t kiss when you come in. you don’t say anything when he shoves the door closed behind you and cages you against it, breathing hard through his nose like he might be angry. he isn’t, not really. just something worse.

your back hits the wood. he fists a hand in your hair like it’s a leash, tilts your head back and stares at your mouth like it’s both a promise and a curse. “you gonna leave right after again?” he asks, voice hoarse. “or you sticking around long enough to pretend you still care?”

you say nothing and he doesn’t wait. he tears off your clothes like a man starved. he fucks you like he wants to forget. like if he splits you open just right, he’ll finally stop dreaming about you. you’re still in the dress you wore to whatever thing you left early to come here, and he pulls your panties down to your knees and bends you over the back of the couch like he doesn’t even want to see your face.

he doesn’t kiss you and doesn’t talk. just grits his teeth and pounds into you like you’re a stranger he’s trying to ruin. and you let him. until, you glance over your shoulder. water builds at your waterline. you begin blinking through tears, desperately reaching back to thread your fingers through his.

“hey,” you whisper, like you’re waking him up. like none of this has to be so mean. even if your motives are. “rafe…”

he freezes because your voice is soft and your touch is softer. when you twist toward him, legs trembling from the pace he set, you look so fucking pretty like this—lips parted, mascara smudged, trying to kiss him when he doesn’t deserve it.

he doesn’t get it. he doesn’t understand you. “why’re you being like that?” he mutters, grabbing your hips harder. “don’t-don’t do that.”

but you’re already kissing his jaw, reaching up to cradle the back of his neck, eyes fluttering shut like you’re just happy to be close. “i missed you,” you murmur. his rhythm falters. he swears. the noise is low and guttural. he nearly pulls out like he’s punishing himself now.

“fuck, don’t say that,” he snaps. “you don’t mean it.”

“i do.” you pull him closer. lips brushing his cheek, his temple, the edge of his mouth like it’s something tender and holy and not wrecked. “just…for right now.”

he kisses you then. it’s sloppy, angry, hungery. he knows it’s borrowed time and he’s furious at how much he still wants you. your legs wrap around his waist as he picks you up, fucks into you deeper, harder, chasing the high and hating it. but you’re still soft with him. still tracing your fingertips over his shoulders. still kissing the corner of his mouth between broken gasps.

finally, he breaks. he doesn’t finish inside you until you’re both crying. the room is filled with quiet and breathless gasps. you’re against each other like it means something again.

you leave an hour later, like always. but this time, his shirt’s still clutched in your hand. when the door shuts, he doesn’t move. he just stares at the dent your body left in the couch and tries not to call you back.

again.

again.

again.

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[cupcakeinat0r]

Still thinking of Dadbod!Miguel to this day…

“I wonder what she’s up to right now. I hope she’s having fun.”

Your voice rings against the tiles of a shared bathroom, the lights of the grand mirror bleeding into the dark bedroom adjacent to it. The only other light illuminating the space was the tv, which was for nothing because no one was watching; it was merely background noise.

“Probably running and yapping circles around them, keeping everyone up, as per usual.” You hear the rich timbre of your boyfriend from the bed. You lean back from the sink to search his expression, a knowing smile accompanied by a raised brow, framed by bifocals hanging low on his nose. Everything about your partner exuded strength, except in his vision. Poor thing could never quite make out the words of his books without them.

You and Miguel knew how energetic Gabby was. It explained her unbelievably crazy stamina showcased in her soccer games, scoring goals for her team. And as if it wasn’t uncontainable enough, Miguel insisted on always getting her ice cream afterwards, failing to turn down her precious little pleads for a sweet treat. Even though you’d give him the look, you could never deny her either. You were both push overs.

“Sounds like someone I know.” You mirror his expression, the tease in your tone registered by him.

“Hey, I’ll gladly admit to being the reason for keeping you up at night.” The gravel of his words and his dashing smile makes you retreat back to the mirror. You apply the last step of your nightly routine while smiling like an idiot. You could always play cheeky with Mig, but nine times out of ten, he’d match your energy or double it, so inevitably, you’d always lose that contest. But you didn’t mind it. You loved that Miguel was always turned on, even by the smallest of things. He was always hungry for you.

Taking your bashful giggle as a sign of his victory, he returns to his book, one that looks too small for his hands.

He speaks whilst eyes are glued to the page, “But I’m sure she’s having fun, mamita. She’s always adored her cousins. And her uncle, for that matter.”

“Gabriel is pretty good with her.” You say with a smile as you leave the bathroom.

“Yeah, maybe too good. Starting to think you and him are the favorite.” He sets the book and his glasses onto the nightstand to draw his attention all on you: the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, even bare faced and in pjs.

With curled lips and folded arms, you look down at him. Like a child waiting for his teddy bear, his arms spread out for you to fall into, like he does every night when he waits for you to finally come out the bathroom.

“Babyyy, not true,” you can’t help but look all over your man, the bed frame only just fitting him; The figure of a man who maybe lets his daughter choose dessert over sliced fruit too much, but that’s more than okay. More to cling onto at night.

You climb into bed, the sheets feeling nice and warm, but nothing compared to the beautiful blend of cushion and hardness your boyfriend has somehow mastered.

“Mamita… Gabby is crazy about you. She wouldn’t stop asking for you after the first time you went to her game with me.”

“I know Gabby loves me, but it doesn’t mean she loves you any less.”

“Oh, I know, I know…” you both shuffle in bed as you find a comfortable position for the night, tangled bodies exchanging equal parts of coolness and warmth. Miguel flinches and lets out a small ‘ay’ when your frozen-solid feet touch his legs, to which you softly apologize immediately, adding a kiss.

“But she really is in love with you. She’s actually, uh…”

He looks down at the minuscule space between you two, looking to finish his sentence,

“… been wanting to call you ‘mom’ for a bit now.”

You smile widely at the admission, “wait what?!” Your quiet disbelief makes Miguel smile, too.

“Yeah,” his voice softens. “She’s just been nervous to say so, but she’s told me.” His fingers trace shapes on your outer thigh, his gentle gaze spilling with adoration.

He lets out a short huff, “What can I say, it’s hard not to fall completely head over heels with you. I don’t blame her.” As if you couldn’t get any closer to him, he presses you against him even more. The air of his words hits your nose and lips slightly, the lowness and slight sleepiness in his voice stirring your core.

You don’t know what to say other than, “I just love you so much, Mig.” You shake your head faintly side to side. A million stars shine in your eyes, your smile ear to ear in this moment. “And to think I got you and Gabriella as a package deal. I literally won the lottery. Seeing how you are with Gabby? That’s what got me sold.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“…So it wasn’t the five star restaurants or the gifts or the trips-?” You fall into a fit of soft laughter with him.

“Baby, please, you know that wasn’t it!” You kick him under the sheets. For the entirety of your relationship, you always reminded him that the material things never mattered. You were huge on making sure he never felt taken advantage of, even though he took great pleasure in taking care of you.

“Nah, beba, I’m just messing with you. I know you’re not like that, c’mon now.” His hand messages your shoulder.

“But seriously… you’re such a good dad. I hope you know how good you’ve done with Gabby, even by yourself.”

“I try. Thank you, mama.” He humbly whispers before planting a hard kiss to your forehead, inhaling your scent.

“And thank you for treating her like your own. You treat her so good. Watching you two… I dunno, it’s like my fuel. So thank you for accepting her. And for accepting me.” Your foreheads touch now.

“I know talking to someone whose got kids isn’t always ideal-“

“What?” You scoff.

“Are you kidding? The second you told me you had Gabby, I wanted to give you another one.”

And the look Miguel gives you is all too familiar.

“Oh yeah?” His eyes look you up and down. He mumbles, “You never told me that.”

“Well, it’s true, I did… I thought it was so sweet the way you spoke about her that first dinner. And when I came over for the first time? Seeing you with her?” Your eyes widened,

“Jesus, I’m surprised I didn’t let you stay the night and-“

“And what?” Miguel cuts you off, his own breath growing short.

“Nooo, I shouldn’t say.” I feign a shameful look, your eyes darting away and failing to stifle a smile.

“Nonono,” Miguel gets on top of you, forcing you to look up at him, “Don’t stop talking now.” He starts to laugh when you do, the both of you breaking out once again that night.

“Alright, you wanna know the first thing I thought after that dinner? Our five-hour-long dinner?”

You furrow your brows, “Oh God, what?”

“I thought…” he lowers himself down, racking through and locking his fingers into your hair, cradling your head, “that she’s the one.”

Your bottom lip pouts at the declaration. “Aw baby, really?”

“Yeah…” he pauses for a moment, a guilty expression painted on his face,

“and that I also wanted to stay over and do unspeakable things to you.”

Your head falls back into the pillow and you let out a shocked laugh, cupping your mouth.

“Don’t laugh, it had been a while for me. I was deprived.” He tries his best to stay serious, but your contagious laughter is impossible to not gush over.

“Well,” you catch my breath, “not anymore.” You bite your lip, “We live under one roof now. One bed.” Your hands trail up and down his hairy chest.

He grunts, his face falling to the crook of your neck, “Gracias a dios.” He softly murmurs into your skin, “‘cuz I dunno how much longer I could’ve taken having to say bye to you at the end of every night.”

“Me either,” your sigh out.

“Baby…” you continue,

“Yes, mamita?” Your neck muffles his words.

“Guess what?”

“Hm?”

“Gabby isn’t home.” You remind him in a whisper.

Miguel lifts his head, your words clocking into his mind.

Oh, right…

“Then what the hell are we doing? C’mere.”

He sits up on the bed, placing your legs on other side of his waist. with the most wolfish smirk you’ve ever seen, marking the beginning of a very,

Very,

Very long night.

[scoupsakakitty]

Hi! Wonwoo’s going next week 🥹 Instead of being sad can I request reader is happy because she gets to spend more time with wonwoo like normal couples 🥹

Every Night With You | idol!Wonwoo x Reader | fluff

Wonwoo lay on his back, his arms tucked comfortably under his head as he watched Y/N from across the room. She was sitting at her vanity, brushing her hair with slow, deliberate strokes. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated her features, casting a warm light over her skin. He found himself smiling slightly, taking in the peaceful sight.

"You seem really happy tonight," he remarked, his voice laced with curiosity.

Y/N paused for a moment, looking at him through the mirror. A small, knowing smile played on her lips before she set the brush down and turned toward him. With light steps, she made her way to the bed, climbing onto his lap and resting her hands gently against his chest.

Wonwoo instinctively placed his hands on her waist, his touch warm and steady. "So?" he prompted, tilting his head slightly.

She let out a soft laugh, her fingers tracing absent patterns against his shirt. "Because," she began, her voice filled with warmth, "for the first time in so long, we get to have a routine. You won’t be constantly flying to different countries or spending nights at the studio. You’ll come home to me every evening. We can have dinner together, talk about our day, and the best part? I get to fall asleep in your arms every single night."

His heart swelled at her words, a deep sense of warmth settling within him. Y/N leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his nose, making him chuckle softly. Then, just as easily as she had climbed onto him, she moved to his side, snuggling into the blankets beside him.

Wonwoo reached over, turning off his nightlight before shifting closer to her. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her snugly against his chest. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent that had always brought him comfort. With a tender kiss to the back of her head, he whispered against her skin, "Every night with you sounds perfect."

And with that, they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s presence.

[v6quewrlds]

imagine joe coming home to your baby.

author's note⠀⁎⠀the vibes are so sinister on here so here's some fluff. part two to this blurb that y'all screamed at me for.

The click of the garage door echoed through the quiet house as Joe's car pulled in. She looked up from her book, the dim light of the bedside lamp casting shadows on her face. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table; surprised to see that it was already past midnight. The Bengals' first road game had gone late into the night, and Joe had texted her that the team plane was delayed.

Her heart fluttered as she heard his key in the lock and the gentle thud of the door closing. She set the book aside and sat up, her eyes searching the darkness for a glimpse of him. Joe appeared in the doorway, his broad frame outlined by the moonlight spilling through the window. He looked tired but there was a softness in his eyes that spoke volumes about his relief to be home. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, his backpack slung over his shoulder, the scent of his shower gel still lingering faintly in the air around him.

"Hey, babe," he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion.

"Welcome home," she answered back, her voice low and warm.

Joe dropped his bag and shuffled over to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He leaned in to kiss her, the tips of his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. "Did she go down easy?" he asked, nodding towards the baby monitor.

She nodded, her smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "Yeah, I could tell she missed you though. She was glued to the TV, bouncing around in her jumper, babbling every time she saw you with your helmet off."

Joe chuckled, the sound warm and comforting in the stillness. "Yeah, my mom sent me a video. How was she with my parents?" The mattress dipped slightly as he sat down, the weight of his weariness seemingly lifting off him. She shifted her position, her arms wrapping around his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder.

"You know she loves them," she said, her voice filled with affection. "They had a blast. She even tolerates being held by other people when you're not around." She kissed his jaw lightly before adding, "But she definitely prefers her daddy."

Joe leaned into her touch, his eyes drifting over to the baby monitor. He could see Amara's chest rise and fall rhythmically, the little angelic face a picture of peace. "I thought we'd be back in time," he said with a sigh. "Wanted to tuck her in, tell her goodnight."

"I know," she soothed, her hand moving to the back of his neck, her fingers gently massaging the tension there. "You can go check on her if you want? Make sure she's okay?"

Joe nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. He turned his head to kiss her once more before standing up and making his way to the nursery. The door creaked open softly, Amara's little face illuminated by the solar system nightlight on top of the dresser. He stepped in, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps. She looked so tiny in her crib, her tiny hands balled into fists, her eyes scrunched shut in a deep sleep. He leaned over the rail, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Her skin was warm and soft, and she smelled faintly of baby powder and vanilla.

He lingered for just a minute more, adjusting her purple onesie as gently as he could before turning to leave. She was waiting for him in bed, her eyes closed but her breathing not yet even. He slipped under the covers, pulling her closer into his arms, and whispered, "Goodnight." Her response was a sleepy mumble, her body immediately curling into him.

He wasn't sure when he drifted off, but the sudden shrill of the baby monitor jolted Joe awake. The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:17 AM, a stark red in the darkness. She stirred beside him, mumbling something incoherent. He nudged her gently. "I got it," he whispered, slipping out of bed and into the hallway.

The nursery door was slightly ajar, and the light from the monitor cast a soft glow across the room. Amara's cries grew louder as Joe approached, his heart swelling with a mix of concern and love. He picked her up, her tiny body wriggling in his arms, and sat down in the rocking chair. He cradled her close, her warmth seeping into him, and began to rock back and forth, whispering soothing words into her ear.

"What's going on, pumpkin? Did you have a bad dream?" Joe's voice was low and gentle. He rubbed her back in slow, circular motions, his thumb tracing the line of her spine as he waited for her sobs to subside. Amara's cries grew quieter, turning into hiccups before she sniffled and nuzzled into his chest. He could feel her tiny heart beating against his own, a rhythm that never failed to soothe his own racing thoughts.

"That's better," Joe murmured, kissing the top of her head. He held her close, the rocking chair squeaking softly in the quiet room. Amara's eyes searched his face in the dim light, and he offered her a small smile. "I missed you, princess," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the post-game fatigue. "I'm proud of you for being so good for Mommy. She told me you didn't give her any trouble while I was gone."

She woke to the sound of Joe's hushed speech, her sleep-heavy eyes focusing on the empty space beside her. She glanced at the baby monitor and saw Joe rocking Amara in the nursery. A warmth spread through her chest, watching him in that moment, soothing their baby girl with such tenderness. She slid out of bed and tiptoed down the hallway, the soft glow from the nursery guiding her.

As she approached the nursery, she caught the sound of her daughter babbling softly, and Joe's soothing whispers. She could see his profile in the moonlit room, the love, and dedication etched into the lines of his face as he rubbed Amara's back, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks and forehead between his words. The scene was so intimate, so beautiful, that she almost felt like an intruder, despite it being her own family. She leaned against the door frame, taking in the sight of her husband and daughter, their bond strong in the face of the brief separation.

Amara's eyes grew heavy, and her breathing evened out as she drifted back to sleep in Joe's arms. She stepped forward, watching as Joe carefully set her down and made sure she was snug in her crib. He took a moment, his hand hovering over her tiny chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breaths.

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ɢʀʏꜰꜰɪɴᴅᴏʀ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

₊˚. 🂼 Losing Game. | pt 2

Short Summary: Tom tells you to meet him in the Potions classroom—something quite unusual on a Friday evening, especially the day you get to know you lost the second bet as well…

Warnings: 18+ only! impact play, fingering, slight choking, unprotected p in v, praise, cum play, creampie

A/N: I should have studied instead of writing this. I didn’t. I need Tom to make bets with me next.

wordcount: 2,0k

read part 1 before! <3

You should know it is not just another ordinary tutoring lesson. Not at 8pm on a Friday. Not in the potions classroom he claims to have the right to use as a head boy. Especially not on the day you got your exam results back—the one you should have outscored him on—but, again, didn’t.

The truth is, you didn’t intend to. Didn’t even try.

Not because you didn’t want to—by any means, even now that your relationship has improved, you would still gladly take any chance to humble him.

But what he had told you—what he’d want from you in case you lost again—stuck with you. The tone of his voice, the smug expression on his face—the one that, since childhood, has made you want to wrap your hands around his throat—sends your mind spiraling. Keeping you up at night, having you press your thighs together as his words replay in your head.

If I outscore you tomorrow, I get to fuck you—properly.

Thoughts you never expected you’d have played in your mind—not about him. Not about Tom Riddle, the person you are supposed to despise.

So, naturally, when he tells you to meet him that evening, not in the library like usual but in the Potions classroom—you can’t help but think.

Assume.

Expect.

You get ready. Scrambling through your drawer until something catches your attention—a matching set of lace underwear. You contemplate. If this is just another tutoring session, you’ll feel pathetic, but if it’s not…

You decide to put it on.

It’s already dark when you leave your dorm. One hour before curfew means most people are in their respective dormitories, allowing you to reach the classroom without being seen. A flicker of hesitation forms in your chest when your hand touches the cool metal of the door handle, but after a second, you push it down and step inside.

Your eyes scan the place as you walk further into the only faintly illuminated place, but there is no sign of him. Cauldrons and open textbooks on one of the desks are the only things that catch your attention, and you assume it might just be another ordinary tutoring session after all—

“Delusional, you said?”

You shriek as his words cut through the silence, turning around to face him, but you don’t get the chance to respond. His lips are on yours just a split second later, stealing your breath away while his hands make quick work of your robes, carelessly dropping the freshly washed fabric to the floor. You make a low sound of disapproval at that, but he doesn’t stop, fingers now hastily working at the buttons of your blouse—never breaking the kiss.

He wants you bare in front of him, no, needs to finally see what you have been hiding from him until now, feel your gorgeous curves without the barrier of clothes. To mark you as his.

Tonight he would finally get to touch you properly, not like the first time he had you on your knees in here, not like the countless times he had you pressed up against bookshelves in the library during your tutoring lessons since then, kissing down your neck like a man starved.

A cool breeze sends a shiver down your spine as the last piece of fabric falls to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your underwear—and by then he must have realised, because he just stares at you for a short moment, eyes wandering over your exposed skin with the same spark in them as he had at the party.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Tom muses, his thumb tracing along the waistband of the lace adorning your hips. “You lost on purpose,” he adds, fingers tilting your chin upwards so you are forced to meet his gaze. “so I’d fuck you.”

You feel your cheeks heating up��because deep down you know he is right, and that you shouldn’t have underestimated how quickly he’d find out about it. Still, you refused to admit it, shaking your head.

“No, I—“

Slap.

Before you can even finish your sentence, his palm comes down on the side of your face, not hard enough to hurt, merely leaving a slight sting that feels, if anything, more pleasant than painful. Only when his hand caresses over the spot he has just struck do you look back up at him, darkened eyes staring down into yours.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Before you know it, his hand is wrapped around your upper arm, dragging you towards the middle of the classroom, bending you over one of the desks so your upper body is flush against the cool wood.

Your breath catches as he nudges your legs apart with his knee, fingertips brushing over your inner thighs, slowly travelling up until he reaches the damp fabric of your panties. Tom’s second hand presses down between your shoulder blades, making sure you stay exactly where he wants you as his fingers slip beneath the lace, pushing the material to the side. He huffs at the sight of your cunt, already glistening with arousal, not yet touching you—but thinking of how he will ruin you tonight.

“Tom—“ you whimper weakly, instinctively trying to close your legs at how exposed you feel, bent over in front of him as his palm brushes over your cunt, feeling your need for him. But he doesn’t allow it—his leg stays firmly between yours, keeping you spread open for him.

“Too late to be shy now, sweetheart.” He mocks, fingers slipping between your folds, gathering your arousal as he trails lower, teasingly circling your entrance before he pushes inside, drawing soft moans and gasps from you. He knows just how to curl them to have your back arch, working you open, preparing you for him.

“So wet for me already. Been thinking about this the entire day, haven’t you?” He drawls, withdrawing his fingers before he brings them to your mouth, fingertips pressing against your lips as he asks you to part them for him. “Taste yourself. Taste your shame.”

Reluctantly you obey his command, allowing him inside until you feel him press against your tongue, tasting yourself on his skin. He waits for you to pull back, to tell him he’s ridiculous like you have done so many times—but it never comes, instead, you swirl your tongue around his fingers, cleaning yourself off him just like he told you to.

And that’s when he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

The next thing you hear is his belt dropping to the floor with a thud, and you turn your head to watch him undo the zipper of his trousers, meeting his eyes—eyes that shine with a dark hint of satisfaction. His fingers then travel down your spine with the faintest touch, tugging at the waistband of your panties until they too fall to the ground, left to pool at your ankles.

And then, you feel him. Pressing against you before his tip slips between your folds, coating himself in your slick, faintly brushing over your swollen clit—teasing you, testing your restraint even as you try to buck your hips against him, chasing any friction you can find.

He wants you, needs you just like he knows you need him—but he craves to hear you beg for him, he longs for you to finally shatter and submit to him.

“You think you deserve it yet? Beg for it, beg for me to give you what you want.”

“Fuck you, Riddle.”

A harsh slap on the curve of your ass sends your body jolting forward as far as the wood beneath you allows you to. “And here I thought we were over that name.”

“Tom— fuck, please. Please, I want to feel you,” you whine, too lost in the ecstasy of his touch to complain. His fingers tangle in your hair, yanking your head back as he leans in, his hot breath ghosting over your skin.

“Again.”

You are aware he is toying with you, shamelessly using the position he has you in to prove his point—prove that he is in power. And yet—

“Merlin, Tom— please.”

“Good fucking girl,” he breathes, allowing you to rest your head on the desk as he aligns himself with your slick entrance, hands finding a firm grip on your hips, which you know will leave bruises for you to remind you of him—his touch. You feel him pushing past your resistance then, splitting you apart around him with the most blissful sting.

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size, burying himself to the hilt with one sharp, calculated thrust that has you cry out, knuckles turning white from how hard you are holding onto the edge of the desk.

And when his hips are flush with yours, feeling how tight and warm you feel, wrapped around his length so perfectly, a low groan spills over his lips, grip on your hips tightening as if he wanted to stay there forever.

Only when you manage a soft, desperate “please” does he finally move, torturously slowly pulling out of you, letting you feel every ridge and vein of his cock before snapping his hips forwards, burying himself deep once more.

“So greedy.” Tom growls, giving you one more teasing roll of his hips, enough to make you whimper before he sets a steady rhythm, pulling you back against him with every thrust. “Who would have known.”

Your walls clench tightly around his length as he repeatedly brushes against your most sensitive spot, one of his hands wandering underneath you, finding your puffy clit, rubbing tight circles on the sensitive bud.

Your whimpers and moans only spur him on, seeing how your legs tremble. His hips snap against yours mercilessly—almost as if he had a point to prove.

“Feel you clenching around me,” he rasps, hand leaving your clit to wrap around your throat softly, tilting your head backwards. “Come for me. Make a mess, sweetheart.”

It’s the nickname that has you finally tumble over the edge, his name falling over your lips like a prayer as you do, the coil in your lower stomach finally snapping. Your walls eagerly pulse around his cock, drawing a muffled groan from the brunette behind you, his fingertips digging into your flesh at the added sensation.

He fucks you through your orgasm and its aftershocks, never letting up his pace until your body goes limp on the desk, soon spilling himself deep inside of your cunt, painting your walls white with his warm release.

Tom’s chest rises and falls with every deep breath he takes, leaning over you.

“Okay?” He whispers, wiping a strand of hair from your face, pressing a kiss just below your ear.

“Okay.” You reply weakly, thighs trembling, his cock still buried within you. A satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, placing another kiss on your shoulder before he gently pulls out of you.

A soft whimper falls over your lips as he leaves you empty, hearing him get dressed as you lay boneless on the rough wooden surface. He returns to your side afterwards, his hand tenderly running up your inner thigh.

“Look at you,” he purrs, “so pretty with my cum dripping down your thighs.”

Normally you’d complain, run your mouth, but now—you just hum in agreement, too exhausted to find a snarky comeback.

He laughs softly at your state, two of his fingers gathering his release, pushing it back inside of your sensitive walls. “Can’t let anything go to waste, can we?”

Tom helps you up then, steadying you when your knees are about to give in. Handing you your clothes, he lets you put them on, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“From now on, no more bets. You are mine.”

And when you wake up in his bed the next day, his arm protectively wrapped around your waist—you know he wasn’t lying.

Thank you for reading!! Feedback is as always appreciated <33

[vunblr]

Foundations (#5)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Possible Smut in the future. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms (Bucky).

Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.

Word Count: 7.3.k.

note1: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok.

note2: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "Mutual Pining". Card number 4B-016.

Previous Chapter

Bucky hadn’t meant to come out.

But the tension in his back was unbearable, a deep, twisting ache left behind by the force of the seizure. He had managed to sleep for a few hours, but the pain had dragged him back to consciousness, leaving him restless. At times like this, it was easier to sleep without the prosthesis since its weight made things worse. So, as he often did on rough nights, he had detached it before lying down, giving his body some relief.

He hadn’t bothered to put it back on.

Because as far as he knew, he was alone.

He padded sleepily toward the kitchen, wearing only a pair of loose grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He pressed his hand idly against the stiff muscles of his back as he rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the discomfort. He was still half-asleep when he reached for the light switch, flipping it on.

That was when he saw her.

Sitting on his couch, curled up in his blanket, a mug of tea in her hands.

She had woken up to the sound of the storm outside. Not wanting to leave in the middle of the night, she had quietly made herself a cup of tea, maneuvering through the darkened apartment with only the glow of the streetlamps to guide her. She hadn’t turned on the lights, there was no need.

She’d been sipping her tea absentmindedly, lost in thought, when the sudden brightness filled the room, momentarily blinding her.

And then there he was.

Standing in the doorway, tired and rumpled, hair slightly tousled from sleep, his bare torso illuminated under the dim light, the ridges of old scars and muscle casting shadows across his skin.

And, most notably, without his arm.

Her eyes flicked to the space at his left shoulder.

Bucky realized too late. Saw the exact moment she noticed, the way her gaze briefly lingered before snapping up to meet his.

His entire body tensed.

“…You’re still here,” he muttered, voice still rough with sleep.

She swallowed, slowly lowering the mug from her lips. “Yeah. Didn’t feel right to leave Thomas alone after what happened, so I put him to bed and stayed a little longer. But… I ended up crashing on the couch.”

The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, without quite meeting his gaze, she lifted the mug slightly. “Tea? Water’s still hot.”

Bucky hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

She could feel his discomfort, the tension rolling off him at being seen like this; so vulnerable, standing half-dressed in his own kitchen, missing a limb. She sighed softly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”

He exhaled, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I understand why you stayed. And I’m… grateful for that.”

Something about the way he said it made her chest feel a little tighter.

She approached carefully, offering him the cup, forcing her eyes to stay on his face and not drop to his bare torso, the lean muscle, the sharp angles of his collarbone, the scars tracing his skin. She could not think about that right now.

And yet, somehow, her half-asleep brain completely bypassed the normal route of conversation and went straight for-

“Do you always take off the prosthesis to sleep?”

Bucky’s entire frame went rigid. His jaw tensed, and for a second, his expression was unreadable. Too controlled, too neutral, like he was deciding whether to let her question slide or shut her out entirely.

“No,” he said at last. Then, as if preparing for some awkward moment regarding the topic, he added, “If it bothers you, I can-”

“No!” she cut in quickly, horrified. “My God, that’s not why I asked.”

His brows knit together slightly, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe her.

She swallowed, shifting the cup between her hands. “It was just… curiosity. I’ve heard a lot of amputees take theirs off because the artificial limb feels heavy or uncomfortable when they sleep.” Her voice softened slightly as she gestured toward the missing arm. “And since… you know.”

Bucky exhaled, raking a hand through his already messy hair, and she absolutely did not think about how unfairly attractive that was.

“This isn’t a regular prosthesis,” he admitted after a pause. “You’ve seen how it works. It’s… different. Feels natural most of the time. But the strength it has… it strains my back sometimes. Puts too much tension on the muscles that support it.” He rolled his shoulder slightly, exhaling through his nose. “Nights like tonight, it’s just easier to take it off.”

She nodded slowly, watching the subtle tightness in his stance, the weight he seemed to be holding in his posture.

“So you’re in pain right now,” she said, less a question and more of a realization.

There was no point in denying it.

Bucky just let out a quiet grunt, taking the cup from her hands.

She tilted her head slightly, watching the way he rolled his shoulder again, trying to ease the stiffness. “Do you want to take a hot shower before I leave? It might help.”

“Leave?” Bucky’s brows furrowed as he looked at her like she had lost her mind. “At this hour? With this storm?”

She blinked at his tone, then shrugged. “Well, I don’t want to impose. You seem fine now, and maybe you wanted your privacy back.”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re not imposing.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. Then, as if the mere idea of her stepping outside in this weather offended him, he added, “And what kind of man would I be if I let you go unaccompanied in the middle of the night, with the skies falling down?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, slightly thrown by the sharp conviction in his voice.

“Right,” she murmured, taking a sip of her tea to hide the sudden warmth in her face. “Guess I’m staying, then.”

Before he could reply, the apartment was swallowed by sudden darkness as everything went out at once -the light, the subtle sound of the fridge- leaving only the sound of rain slamming against the windows.

Bucky muttered a sharp curse under his breath, setting his tea down on the counter with a soft clink. “Great. Happens every time the rain’s this heavy,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “The wiring in this place is older than I am.”

She blinked at the unexpected shift, adjusting her eyes to the dim glow leaking in from the storm outside.

"Do you have candles?" she asked, glancing instinctively toward the kitchen. The small emergency light on the wall stayed stubbornly dark after a few attempts to make it work.

Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Probably. Somewhere. I think.”

She arched a brow, amused despite herself. “You think?”

He pushed off the counter, moving stiffly toward the cabinets. “I’ll check.”

“Don’t bother,” she said casually behind him. “I’ve been through every cabinet in there while cooking and organizing, and there are no candles.

He sighed and moved toward the fridge. Reaching up, Bucky grabbed something off the top -a small flashlight- and flicked it on, casting a cone of light that cut through the dark.

“Ah, that’s unfair,” she teased, tilting her head. “I don’t even reach up there.”

Bucky smirked faintly, glancing over his shoulder at her. “That’s ‘cause I had to hide it. Thomas keeps draining the batteries playing astronaut or secret agent.”

She let out a soft laugh, watching him as he limped slightly back toward the living room, shining the light ahead of him.

“Alright,” he said, pausing by the TV. “Check the last drawer in the rack.”

“The junk drawer?” she asked, moving carefully across the room.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, aiming the flashlight so it illuminated the drawer.

She crouched in front of it and pulled it open, and the soft beam caught on a chaotic mix of odds and ends: some tools, a broken pair of sunglasses, loose screws, a tangle of string, batteries, and other forgotten bits of life.

“Wow,” she chuckled. “You weren’t kidding. Miscellaneous indeed.”

From behind her, Bucky gave a soft huff. "Told you."

He shifted his weight against the wall, metal-free shoulder leaning slightly as he adjusted the beam of light.

"Pull some stuff out," he added after a beat. "It’s probably packed too full, you won’t see anything unless you move things around."

She hummed her agreement and started to carefully take out the tangled mess. Batteries, some pliers, a random cable that looked way too short to belong to anything useful, she placed all of it on the floor beside her, trying to keep some kind of order.

Reaching deeper, her fingers brushed against a small rectangular box near the back. It felt like a matchbox, finally, something useful.

“Aha!” she said with a small grin, tugging it free. “At least we have-”

Her words died on her lips the second she looked at it.

It was not a matchbox.

It was a sealed box of condoms.

Correction. A sealed box of XL condoms.

Her face went up in flames instantly, lips parting in silent shock.

Behind her, Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly at her sudden pause. He leaned forward to get a better look. The moment the saw the box in her hands, his eyes widened just a fraction, and before either of them could say a word, he reached out in one smooth motion, snatching the box and tucking it hastily into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Uh…” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze like it burned. “Forgot those were in there.”

She pressed her lips together to hold back any kind of reaction, her cheeks absolutely burning. “Right…” she murmured, ducking her head and diving back into the drawer as if she could erase the awkwardness by force of will.

As she resumed rummaging -now definitely avoiding eye contact- Bucky shifted his weight, glancing toward her for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. He clamped the flashlight between his teeth to free his hand. With the beam of light now bobbing faintly as he held it in his mouth, he discreetly slid the box of condoms back out of his pocket and turned it over in his fingers.

Expired. Two years ago.

He huffed a dry, almost soundless laugh through his nose. Not that he was surprised.

Quickly, he slipped it back in his pocket and took the flashlight from his mouth just as she straightened, holding up an opened package of candles with a triumphant little smile, though her eyes didn’t quite meet his.

"Here."

“Thanks,” he murmured, accepting them, brushing his fingers against hers just briefly, enough to make something sharp and tense spark in the space between them.

She quickly busied herself, gathering all the other junk and stuffing it back into the drawer, sliding it shut like she could shove down the thick tension in the air.

After lighting two candles -one set on the kitchen counter, the other on the dining table- they each grabbed their now-lukewarm tea and sat for a moment, a truce in the dim space.

She wrapped her hands around her mug and turned slightly to look at him, studying his tired profile in the glow. That’s when it hit her.

"You haven't eaten," she said softly. "You went straight to bed after the seizure."

Bucky was mid-sip, and when she said it, he paused, lowering the cup slightly. He was already shaking his head, about to downplay it like always.

“I’m fine-”

"I can reheat the gnocchi in a pot with a pinch of water," she offered gently, like it wasn’t a big deal. "They’ll be perfectly edible in a couple of minutes."

His jaw worked as though he wanted to argue, but in the end, he sighed, nodding once. He couldn’t say no to that.

"I’ll help," he muttered, already rising from his chair.

She arched a brow but didn’t stop him. "Alright. You can set the table."

As she pulled the tupperware out of the fridge and started rummaging for a pot, Bucky moved carefully toward the cabinets, grabbing plates and cutlery with one hand. It took a little longer than usual, he had to take multiple trips to set everything down, maneuvering around her, sometimes a little too close.

They brushed against each other a few times as they both navigated the small kitchen, her reaching over him for a spoon, him moving around her to get place mats for the plates. Neither said a word, though both felt it.

Every brief contact felt warmer than it should have, charged in a way that made her chest tight and Bucky’s gaze drop away.

“Do you want water or more tea?” she asked as she stirred the gnocchi in the pot, now steaming slightly.

“Water’s good,” he said quietly, moving to grab a glass.

His fingers brushed hers when she handed him a second one to help, and for a moment, they paused, not quite looking at each other but not pulling away either.

"Table’s ready," he mumbled eventually, breaking the moment, and went to set the glasses down.

“Alright,” she said softly, a small smile curving her lips. "Dinner’s served."

Bucky looked over at her as she turned around, and for a moment, as she walked toward the table with the pot in hand, all he could think about was how normal this felt, how easy, how… dangerous.

Because this? This was something he could get used to. And that scared the hell out of him.

As she get to the table to set the pot down, her eyes caught something that made her pause. There were two plates on the table.

Her brows lifted slightly in surprise. “You set one for me too?”

Bucky shifted in his chair, running his hand through his hair. He shrugged, glancing toward the candle flame rather than at her.

“I just thought… maybe you’d wanna join me. Like a late snack or something,” he murmured, almost shyly. “Felt weird to eat alone.”

Her heart did an odd little flip at that.

“Alright,” she said gently, giving him a small smile as she sat down. “A snack it is.” She served herself a small portion, careful to take less since it was clear he needed it more.

They settled into their chairs, and as she picked at her plate, she watched him out through her lashes, curious to see what he’d think.

He took a bite, chewing slowly at first, and then something in his expression shifted, and his eyes widened slightly as the flavor hit him.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, like he hadn’t expected it to be that good.

A smile tugged at her lips as she watched him, and sure enough, after that first bite, he didn’t hesitate, digging in faster now, like once the first swallow settled, his body realized just how hungry it was.

Still, halfway through, he slowed for a second, glancing up at her. “They’re really good,” he said quietly, making eye contact like it mattered to him that she knew he meant it.

Her smile grew. “Good,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I’m glad.”

For a few moments, they just ate quietly, with the candlelight flickering between them, and somehow, it felt less like nanny and employer, and more like something else entirely.

Bucky grabbed a forkful, savoring another bite before glancing at her, trying to sound casual. "Are these… much trouble to make?"

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Ah, there it was, a subtle way of asking if she might make them again sometime.

"Not really," she replied, secretly amused. "I actually make them once a month. They’re pretty cheap to do, too."

Bucky quirked a brow, leaning back a little in his chair, clearly surprised.

"Really? Huh. I bought a package once, about this size," he gestured to the plate with his fork, making a face, "and… let’s just say it definitely didn’t taste like this, and the price wasn’t cheap."

She chuckled, setting her fork down for a moment. "That’s because those barely count as real gnocchi; they use a paste with more flour and additives than anything else and then freeze them to death. This?" She gestured toward the food between them. "Potatoes, egg, flour… oh, and cornstarch."

His brows lifted slightly as if filing that information away like a secret recipe.

"And the time you use to make them," she added. "Which, if you have practice, isn’t that much."

He hummed thoughtfully, glancing down at his plate, idly nudging a piece of gnocchi with his fork.

 "If you want…" she started, casually, "I could teach you how to make them,  someday."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, surprised, blinking like he hadn’t expected that offer.

She smiled a little, giving a small shrug like it was nothing, even though, to him, it felt like something. "It might be a nice activity to do with Thomas. He’d probably love that."

Bucky stared at her a second longer, as if processing it, and then something warm, -maybe even a little hopeful- lit up behind his tired eyes.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat as if to play it off, though the faintest smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah, that would be great. I’m not great in the kitchen, but if it makes the kid happy…"

She chuckled, sipping her water. "Still, if you don’t feel like getting flour all over your kitchen, I can always make them for you two again. Just let me know in advance."

Bucky nodded slowly, but there was something softer, more thoughtful in the way he looked at her now. Because the truth was, as much as he liked the idea of cooking with Thomas, the thought of her in his kitchen, making dinner like she belonged there, like this was something they always did… yeah, he liked that a little too much.

Even if he knew she’d eventually leave. Even if he knew when she walked out the door, he’d sit at this same table with Thomas, and the apartment would feel too quiet again. That was always when the little bubble of domesticity burst, and he remembered he was only playing house in his own head.

"Want a second serving?" Her voice broke through the fog of his thoughts, pulling him back.

He glanced down at his empty plate, surprised to see it already cleared, then back up at her.

A slow, almost sheepish smile curved his lips. "Yeah… I’d like that." She stood up to grab the pot, and he watched her move.

Maybe pretending for a little longer wasn’t the worst thing.

They talked while he ate, and the conversation flowed easily between bites, like slipping into a comfortable pair of shoes neither of them realized they owned. He asked about some of the kids she used to teach, and she told him a story about a girl who had insisted on wearing fairy wings for a whole month, claiming it was part of her "emotional growth."

Bucky listened, and his eyes occasionally crinkled in that rare way when he was amused, and though he didn’t speak as much, he looked... content.

When he finally finished, pushing his plate back with a satisfied sigh, she stood to collect everything without asking, moving toward the sink to wash up. He didn’t stop her, maybe because he knew it would take him longer with one hand, or maybe because, at that moment, it was nice to have her there doing something so normal in his kitchen.

He leaned back slightly, watching her roll up her sleeves, methodically washing each thing like… like this was just another evening for them.

But then she yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her wrist, and something in him shifted. It wasn’t unusual for him to be awake at that hour -he was used to restless nights, to wandering through the dark- but her? She wasn’t supposed to be part of that quiet, lonely world.

Before he could stop himself, his mouth was already moving:

"Want to sleep in my bed?"

She froze mid-scrub, and her fingers went still in the water. Slowly, she turned her head toward him, raising her brows slightly as if questioning if she had heard correctly.

He straightened a bit, realizing exactly how that sounded, and cleared his throat. “Not with me,” he clarified quickly, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… You look exhausted, and I’m probably not getting any more sleep tonight anyway.”

"I-" she started, hesitating and twisting the kitchen towel in her fingers. "Are you sure?" The offer was tempting -God, she was tired- but part of her questioned the propriety of the situation. Sleeping in her boss’s bed? Even with the best intentions, it felt intimate.

Bucky leaned slightly in his chair, watching her carefully, and gave a soft shrug. "'S fine for me," he said quietly. "I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t."

She bit her lip, still unsure, and he must have picked up on it because he added, almost awkwardly, "You can... hum, lock the door if you want."

That made her chuckle softly. "I don’t think that’ll be necessary," she said with a playful lift of her brow. "I’m not exactly afraid that the Winter Soldier’s gonna take advantage of me."

His lips twitched at that, but something in his gaze sharpened.

"It’s just... the bed is intimate, and-" she tried to explain, but he cut her off gently.

"I don’t mind you there."

They stared at each other for a heartbeat.

"You’re here almost every day," he went on, trying to make her understand. "Taking care of my son. You cook for us, do our laundry, inventory the pantry, sometimes clean…" He let out a small, tired breath, holding her gaze. "Hell, you practically manage the whole household. How can I not offer you my bed to sleep in?"

Something in her chest clenched at the way he said it. Not just the words, but the way he looked at her, like she had become something more than just an employee, without either of them fully realizing it.

That was what convinced her.

Her fingers finally relaxed around the towel, and she gave him a small smile. "Alright," she murmured. "Thanks, Bucky."

He nodded, glancing away like it wasn’t a big deal, but his jaw worked a little, as though the moment had stirred more in him than he was ready to admit.

----

She slipped quietly into his room, closing the door behind her with a soft click, with her heart still beating a little faster than it should. The room was dim, lit only by the faint, silvery glow of the streetlights sneaking through the curtains. It was simple but warm, like the rest of the apartment.

She hesitated briefly before pulling off her pants, folding them neatly on a chair by the corner, leaving herself in her T-shirt and underwear. Then, she slid under the covers.

As she settled, shifting slightly to find a comfortable spot, she realized -of course- that the whole bed smelled like him. A mix of soap, leather, and that unique scent she’d come to recognize as Bucky.

Her stupid body tingled in response, betraying her before her brain could even react. She turned her face into the pillow, nuzzling it without thinking, breathing him in before she could stop herself.

God, what a creep.

What would he say if he knew? What would this poor man possibly think if he ever found out his nanny was lying in his bed, clinging to his pillow like some lovesick teenager?

And worse, what if he knew she couldn't stop thinking about that stupid box of condoms? Correction. Stupid box of XL condoms.

She groaned softly, burying her face deeper in the pillow, feeling her cheeks burn.

For fuck’s sake, she scolded herself.

But it was hard to get a grip when working there didn’t even feel like a job anymore. Because it wasn’t just about Thomas, as much as she loved the kid. It was the little things: quiet conversations over some beverage, the three of them going to the grocery store together, the way Bucky watched her sometimes like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

And now she was here. In his bed.

She swallowed thickly, shifting again under the blanket, trying to will her thoughts into silence.

----

Bucky had already been up for a while by the time she woke up, and when she shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes, she found breakfast already laid out.

Simple, just toast with cream cheese and jam, a black coffee for him and -he remembered- a milk coffee for her. Thomas was happily munching on cereal, swinging his legs under the table, with drinkable yogurt in one hand.

She blinked, still waking up, and instinctively offered, “Need any help?”

Bucky shook his head, sliding another piece of toast onto her plate. “Nah, just sit and eat.”

So she did, and the moment she sat down, The child beamed at her, absolutely thrilled to find her still there in the morning, and on a Saturday, no less.

“What are we doing today?” he asked excitedly, gripping his spoon with his little hands.

She smiled, stretching a little. “Well, I stayed because of the storm,” she explained. “But I’ll be leaving after breakfast.”

Thomas’s face fell, and his bottom lip jutted out slightly. “Can’t you stay?”

Bucky glanced up at that, but before he could interject, she was already speaking.

“No, buddy,” she said gently. “I have things to do at home, my real home.”

The kid frowned, clearly unhappy with that answer. He chewed on his lip, thinking for a moment before pressing, “And when you finish? Can you come eat dinner with us?”

Bucky was about to step in to remind Thomas that she had her own life outside of them, but before he could open his mouth, she beat him to it, again.

“Sorry, Thomas,” she said, offering a small, apologetic smile. “Today’s Saturday, and I have plans for tonight.”

That, however, caught Bucky’s interest.

Not that he had any right to ask, but-

“With who?” Thomas piped up.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering, “Uh- some friends.”

Bucky took a slow sip of his coffee, feigning complete disinterest, though his grip on the mug tightened slightly.

“Boys or girls?” Thomas pressed, utterly unbothered by social boundaries.

“Girls,” she said firmly, shooting the kid an amused look.

That settled fine with Bucky. Not that he cared. Not that he should care.

Thomas, however, was not done. “And where are you going? Is it a birthday? A party?”

“Not a party, kiddo,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “We’re just going to a pub.”

Thomas frowned in thought. “What do you do there?”

Damn, Bucky thought, hiding a smirk behind his coffee. The kid was relentless this morning.

She blinked, clearly not expecting this much morning interrogation, and struggled to keep up with his rapid-fire curiosity.

“Uh… we drink, chat, dance a little… that kind of stuff.”

Bucky set down his mug a little, fixing his gaze on her over the rim.

Dancing.

Thomas furrowed his brows, clearly trying to grasp the concept. “Oh, so there’s music then. And all the people there dance?”

“Some do, some don’t,” she answered, reaching for her coffee.

The kid chewed on his spoon thoughtfully. “So you dance with your friends, but there’s other people, all dancing there next to you?”

She hesitated, sensing where this was going. “Um… there’s a space to dance, and everybody who wants to dance, well… they just go there and do it. Sometimes I dance with my friends, and sometimes people ask you to.”

Thomas blinked. “Do you know them?”

“Um… no,” she admitted, suddenly regretting the direction of this conversation. “You just… you meet them while dancing or- or later.”

Bucky took a slow sip of his coffee, watching this unfold with a blank expression, but she felt his attention sharpen at that answer.

Fuck.

Thomas frowned, clearly confused now. “But Daddy says you’re not supposed to talk to strangers or take things from them. But it’s okay to dance with them?”

She nearly choked on her coffee.

“Well-” she cleared her throat, scrambling for an explanation, “it’s okay if you’re an adult and you’re in that particular scenario.”

Thomas tilted his head, still piecing things together. “So… if a man you don’t kno-”

“Honey,” she cut in smoothly, offering him a small, patient smile, “finish your cereal, please, before it gets all mushy.”

“Okay…” the kid mumbled, clearly unsatisfied by the abrupt end to his interrogation.

Bucky didn’t say anything at first, swirling the coffee in his mug, staring at the dark liquid like it might have the answers he was looking for.

But then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

“So, a girls’ night?”

She nodded, lifting her mug to her lips. “Yeah, it’s been a while since we dressed up nice and, um… socialized.”

His grip on the cup tightened slightly, though his expression remained unreadable.

“The three of us work with kids,” she continued, swirling her coffee absently. “And, well… sometimes it’s nice to change the jumpers for a dress and just… have some fun.”

Have some fun.

Right. Of course.

She had a life outside of this apartment.

Outside of him.

She wasn’t his. She wasn’t theirs.

And yet, sitting there at the breakfast table, where she had been just the night before, where Thomas had lit up when he saw her, like she was part of their little world, Bucky was reminded, again, that this wasn’t real.

That, at the end of the day, she walked out that door, and she went back to a life he wasn’t part of.

Maybe she’d meet someone tonight. Maybe she’d dance with a stranger. Maybe-

He swallowed, setting his mug down with a quiet thud.

“I see.”

She cleared her throat, shifting slightly in her seat as the silence stretched between them. Something about the way he said "I see" unsettled her, like a door had quietly closed, and she wasn’t sure why.

So she tried to bridge the gap.

“Is your back still bothering you?” she asked, keeping her tone light, like it was just casual concern. “Or your head? You mentioned a headache last night.”

His fingers flexed slightly around the ceramic, a small shift, barely noticeable. “Back’s fine. Just a headache.”

She nodded, setting her mug down. “I have some lavender oil in my bag,” she offered. “If you want, I could rub some pressure points on your temples and neck. Might help.”

Bucky froze.

For a second, he thought about refusing. About keeping that blurred line drawn, that careful space between them almost intact.

But then there was that other part of him. The part that had gotten used to her voice threading through his apartment, the sound of her shuffling around the kitchen, the scent of whatever she wore floating faintly in the space even after she left, the simple, human comfort she brought into a life that had been built on surviving instead of living. The part of him that leaned, that craved, even when it had no right to.

The part of him that wanted to pretend a little longer.

He wetted his lips, flexing his fingers against his knee like he could still convince himself to turn it down.

God, he was so fucking tired of wanting things he couldn’t have.

“…Yeah,” he murmured, rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind.”

She smiled softly. “I wouldn’t have offered if I did.”

And damn if that didn’t make his chest ache in a way he couldn’t name.

As she stood up and walked toward her bag to rummage for the little bottle of lavender oil, she took a breath.

Why was she doing this?

Why did she feel this need to take care of him, to soften whatever storm she felt churning behind his tired eyes, especially after catching that strange shift in him when she mentioned going out?

To prove what, exactly?

To reassure whom?

Her fingers fumbled slightly over the zipper, and she felt the tension in her chest growing tighter the more she thought about it.

Bucky was her boss.

God, she was projecting her own feelings on him, wasn’t she? Projecting something onto the soft edges of this makeshift little life they’d built together without ever daring to admit what it really was. Maybe he didn’t give a fuck if she went out or not and she perceived a shift in his demeanor because she wanted to.

She swallowed hard, biting the inside of her cheek as she finally wrapped her fingers around the small bottle.

Maybe that’s why she had said yes when her friends suggested going out tonight.

Because this, this everyday routine, was killing her. Feeding her crush, her whatever-this-was, letting it grow wild and dangerous in a space where nothing could ever really happen.

She was setting herself up to get hurt.

And now here she was, oil in hand, about to soothe his headache like they were anything more than two people stuck in an arrangement that worked well enough until someone crossed a line.

She blew out a soft breath, composing herself before turning around, pasting on a gentle smile she didn’t quite feel. “Alright,” she said quietly, holding up the little bottle between her fingers. “Let’s see if this helps.”

And as she moved back toward him, her heart ached because part of her already knew it wouldn’t fix the thing she wanted to soothe.

“Oh, do you have a hair tie? This could get messy,” she said, pausing as she realized only then that his long hair might get in the way.

“I’ll get it!” Thomas chimed in enthusiastically before either of them could react.

Bucky huffed a quiet breath through his nose, and before he could say anything, Thomas was already running off toward the bathroom.

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head, but her heart was thumping a little faster than she liked to admit.

A moment later, the kid returned, holding out a black hair tie like it was treasure.

“Here!”

“Oh.” She took it gently. Right. Now she had to… Okay. “Thank you, sweetheart.” She ruffled his hair gently before stepping behind Bucky.

From her position at his back, she caught the way he straightened a little, squaring his shoulders like he was bracing for something.

"Alright, hold still," she murmured.

Then, carefully, she lifted her hands to his hair, gently combing through the thick strands with her fingers to smooth them out before gathering them to tie back.

The moment her hands slid into his hair, she felt him tense and freeze for a second. But before she could ask, she caught the smallest sound, a sharp inhale, like he was stopping himself from groaning. Her fingers hesitated, hovering just for a heartbeat, but when he didn’t pull away, she went on.

God, she thought, when was the last time someone touched him like this?

Her fingers were soft -so soft- and his scalp prickled under her touch. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him like that, careful, patient, almost tenderly.

He knew she felt him tense. She paused, just for a second, like she wasn’t sure if she should keep going.

But he forced himself to breathe, to let her. He let out a long, controlled breath as she worked, and his body slowly started to relax under her gentle hands.

She focused on the task, careful not to pull too hard, smoothing down stray strands with her fingertips. She couldn't see his face, which somehow made it easier. When she finally gathered the strands and tied them back in a loose ponytail, her fingers touched him for a second longer than they should have.

“There,” she whispered, almost more to herself. "Not too tight."

His head dipped in acknowledgment, but he didn’t speak.

“Okay now,” she murmured gently, stepping in closer behind him, grazing his neck with her fingertips, starting to work into the knots at the base of his skull, and Bucky let out a slow breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

God, it felt good. He told himself it was just for the headache.

But as her hands moved up to his temples, rubbing slow, careful circles, he knew part of him wanted this for reasons that had nothing to do with pain relief.

His body had been wrecked after the seizure, just like always. It was like every muscle had been pulled to its limit, every fiber burning and sore, leaving him feeling like he’d gone through a war. His back, his neck, and even his jaw felt locked up and raw. But as her hands worked carefully along the tight muscles at the base of his skull, and her thumbs pressed firm but slow into the knots, the pain eased. Not gone, but slipping into something bearable, and God, that alone felt like a miracle.

What would he give to have this every time his goddamn brain decided to remind him how broken he was?

Her thumbs circled up to his temples, rubbing with gentle pressure, and a low hiss slipped through his teeth before he could stop it.

He felt her pause, just briefly, and he almost kicked himself, until she kept going, as if she understood that it wasn’t pain that made him react, but relief. A soft hum escaped his throat next, and he hated how good it felt, how vulnerable it made him feel to want it so much.

And of course, because his brain besides being a mess, was a goddamn traitor, another thought slithered in his mind.

How would it feel to have her hands on other parts of his body?

Not working at the knots in his neck. Not relieving his tension. But in a softer, slower, and more exploring way instead of fixing him. He swallowed hard, shifting slightly in his seat, hoping she wouldn’t notice the way his breath hitched. His hands curled into fists against his thighs, trying to keep himself composed, trying to stay focused on the innocence of the act.

"Feeling better?" she asked softly, still working her fingers gently behind his ears, tracing small, careful circles.

Bucky swallowed, with eyes half-lidded, trying to keep his voice even. "Yeah," he managed. "The ice-pickers behind my eyes seem to have disappeared. All is... numb now." He let out a soft, breathless chuckle, like he couldn't believe how much lighter his head felt.

"I'm glad," she murmured, as her hands slowly slid down the sides of his neck, expertly seeking out the tension that was still tight in his shoulders.

She let her thumbs dip lower, pressing just between his shoulder blades, and-

He moaned.

Low, guttural, and completely unfiltered, the sound slipped from his throat before he could stop it. The moment it left his lips, Bucky's eyes snapped open, and the shame heated his face as his back tensed again.

Fuck.

He felt pathetic, but there was a part of him, buried deep, that thrummed with how good it felt to let go, even just a little.

Behind him, she stilled for a fraction of a second.

She had definitely heard that.

He could feel his ears burning, and before he could gather himself enough to speak, her hands moved again, smooth and calm, as if nothing had happened.

She bit her lip so hard it almost hurt, thanking every higher power he couldn’t see her face right now. Because that sound? That sound had gone straight from her ears to her southern region, sending a jolt of heat through her body so fast it left her breathless.

She swallowed thickly, schooling her features before sliding her hands back up to tend a different spot. But then, guided by purely innocent intentions, she casually, carefully, returned to that same spot between his shoulder blades. Just to... make sure she worked out the tension. Of course.

Her fingers circled there again, pressing slow and deep-

And he didn’t disappoint.

Another low, breathy sound rumbled out of him, not as loud as before but just as raw.

She had to bite her lip harder, pressing her thighs together instinctively as she kept going, pretending not to notice. Maybe if-

"Can we go to the park when you feel alright, Daddy?" Thomas' small voice cut through the thick air between them like a pin to a balloon, breaking the invisible thread that had been pulling tighter and tighter.

Bucky stiffened slightly under her hands, and she froze, suddenly reminded that the child was there. Sitting on the couch, surrounded by toys, watching them like it was just another normal day.

Her face burned as a wave of mortification crashed over her. How had she let herself forget?

Bucky cleared his throat, answering with a soft voice, but there was something on it, like he was pulling himself back together. “Sure, kiddo. I’m all yours today. Wanna… wanna go visit Uncle Steve too?”

Thomas beamed. “Yay! Can we buy chocolate cake too?”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah. We can do that.”

Taking the cue, she let her hands slide gently away from his skin. “There you go,” she said quietly, more composed than she felt, heading straight to the kitchen sink to wash the oil from her palms. The water ran warm, but her skin felt flushed for other reasons entirely.

She needed to stop imagining things that weren’t meant to be there.

Bucky was her boss. Thomas’ dad.

And if she didn’t want to fall harder, to make this nice domestic fantasy crack open and hurt, she needed to start expanding her social circle, like she had promised herself. Even if she didn’t want to. Even if she’d rather stay right here, tangled up in something that wasn’t hers to want.

She dried her hands slowly, hearing Bucky’s voice behind her as he started chatting casually with Thomas again, like nothing had happened.

“Well, I should... I should get going,” she said, folding the towel neatly over the sink. “Still have groceries to buy and...” Her voice trailed off as she smoothed her palms down her thighs, like she wasn’t quite sure how to finish that sentence.

"Of course," Bucky replied quietly, already pushing himself up from the chair, rolling his shoulders.

She glanced toward the living room area where her jacket and bag rested over the arm of the couch and moved to gather them. Just as she was slipping on her jacket, Thomas looked up from where he was playing and chirped, "Have fun dancing!"

Right.

She blinked, forcing a smile as she bent slightly to ruffle his hair. "Thank you, dear. I will."

Bucky was already at the apartment door when she turned around, opening it wordlessly, filling the doorway with his frame. She walked over, adjusting her bag on her shoulder, and he stepped aside to let her pass first, ever the gentleman.

They walked side by side in silence to the elevator, neither of them quite knowing what to say.

As they reached the building entrance, she turned to him, giving a small, polite smile, holding onto the strap of her bag like a lifeline. “Have fun at the park with Thomas,” she said softly.

He hesitated, tapping his fingers against the doorframe before he forced himself to meet her eyes briefly.

"Yeah... and you-" he cleared his throat, darting his gaze away for a second before returning, almost reluctant. "Have fun tonight. Just... be careful."

"Always."

And with that, she turned and walked away, feeling his eyes on her back until the door clicked shut behind her.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @lazyneonrabbitt @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @sebastians-love @vicmc624 @lucylovexx @ethereal-witch24 @wannabakewithsomebody @unicornqueen05 @ddrewcameron @danzer8705 @mcira@technicallytinyheart@put-trash-here@chinggay85-blog@tulippix@dumblani @chuiisi @calwitch @civilbucky @neyr100 @tanyaherondale @theflowerswillbloom @stars4birdie @soberbabes @greatmistakes @littlesuniee @casey1-2007 @escapefromrealitylol

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[heeluvv]

UNDERNEATH.ᐟ

pairing ᝰ.ᐟ sister's bf! lee heeseung x reader

warnings ᝰ.ᐟ cheating, fingering, etc.

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ part 2 of she’s right, mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

you don’t know how it happened—how you ended up like this, pressed into the armrest of the couch, your body tense with awareness. it wasn’t supposed to be like this. but somehow, heeseung had found his way right next to you, his presence suffocating, his warmth radiating off of him like a silent taunt.

your sister lay draped over his chest, her focus entirely on the movie playing on the tv, oblivious to the way his attention wasn’t on her.

it was on you.

your breath catches the moment you feel it—his fingers, featherlight, grazing against the exposed skin of your thigh. the touch is barely there, but it sends a ripple of heat through you, goosebumps rising in its wake. you swallow hard, your heart pounding as his fingers continue their slow, deliberate path, tracing lazy patterns against your skin.

heeseung acts as if nothing is happening, his eyes locked onto the screen, his face unreadable. but his fingers say otherwise. they move with intention, creeping higher, brushing just under the hem of your shorts.

you suck in a sharp breath, fingers curling into the fabric of the blanket draped over your lap, your body screaming at you to move—to stop this before it goes too far.

but you don’t.

because as much as you hate to admit it, a part of you is frozen in place, anticipation thick in your veins, waiting to see just how far he’s willing to go.

“heeseung—” you whisper, your voice barely audible, breath hitching as you feel the gentle but insistent tug of his fingers on the waistband of your shorts. your body tenses, heat pooling low in your stomach, torn between the fear of being caught and the undeniable thrill of his touch.

his eyes flicker to yours, dark and unreadable, his lips curling into the faintest smirk before he leans in just enough for his breath to fan against your ear.

“shh, baby…” he murmurs, voice low and teasing, his fingers toying with the elastic of your shorts, pulling it back slightly before releasing it, letting it snap softly against your skin. the action is subtle, but it sends a jolt through you, your pulse pounding in your ears.

your gaze darts toward your sister, still curled up against his chest, completely unaware of the illicit touches happening just inches away from her. her eyes remain glued to the tv, her face illuminated by the flickering glow of the screen, lost in the movie while you’re trapped in this dangerous moment with her boyfriend.

heeseung shifts slightly, angling himself closer, his fingers dipping just beneath the fabric now, skimming along the soft skin of your hip. his touch is slow, lazy, as if he has all the time in the world.

“you’re so tense,” he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. “just relax, baby… let me take care of you.”

your fingers dig into the couch, knuckles white, trying to ground yourself as the weight of the situation crashes down on you. this is wrong. so, so wrong.

but the way heeseung’s fingers move—the way his voice seeps into your skin like honey—makes it so damn hard to stop.

before you can fully process what’s happening, you feel it—his hand slipping under your shorts, fingers deftly pushing past the waistband of your panties. your breath catches in your throat, your entire body stiffening as his fingertips brush against your already-soaked folds. the touch is light, teasing, but the sensation sends a shiver through you, your thighs instinctively parting just enough to grant him access.

his fingers move slowly at first, tracing along your slit, gathering your slickness before pressing just a little harder. the faintest grunt slips from his lips, barely audible, but you hear it—feel the way his body shifts slightly, adjusting himself as if even just touching you like this is too much for him to handle.

“fuck…” heeseung exhales, his voice rough, almost strained.

his fingers continue their lazy exploration, circling around your entrance but never fully pushing in, his touch deliberate, torturous. he drags his fingers through your wetness, spreading it, his breathing growing heavier as he feels just how ready you are for him.

your nails dig into the cushion beneath you, your heart hammering in your chest as you risk a glance at your sister. she’s still nestled against him, completely unaware, lost in the glow of the movie playing on the screen.

but you’re not.

you’re drowning in the heat of his touch, in the way his fingers glide against you with practiced ease, in the way his breath grows heavier, hotter, with every passing second.

heeseung tilts his head slightly, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “so fucking wet… all for me.”

your head tilts back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut as a wave of pleasure rolls through you. his fingers stroke your clit with an agonizing precision—slow, deliberate circles that send electric shocks pulsing through your core. the sensation is overwhelming, your thighs jerking slightly in response, but heeseung only tightens his grip, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

your breath comes in shallow pants, chest rising and falling with each teasing motion of his fingers. every stroke is a calculated push, a silent command for you to give in, to let go, to let him take you apart piece by piece.

you bite down on your lip, desperate to stay quiet, but then heeseung moves lower, his fingers gliding through your slick folds before dipping inside you. the stretch is slow, torturous, as he eases one, then two fingers into your heat, filling you inch by inch.

a muffled whimper threatens to escape, your body trembling as he curls his fingers just right, pressing into that sensitive spot that makes your stomach clench.

“so fucking good for me…” heeseung whispers, his breath hot against your ear, voice thick with lust. his fingers move in steady, deliberate strokes, pumping in and out of you, his thumb still working your clit in perfect rhythm.

the room feels unbearably hot, every nerve in your body hyperaware of his touch, the weight of your sister’s presence only making it all the more intoxicating.

“keep quiet, baby,” heeseung murmurs, smirking as he presses a kiss to the side of your neck. “or she’s gonna find out just how much of a mess you’re making for me.”

you clench helplessly around his fingers at his filthy words, a muffled whimper slipping past your lips before you can swallow it down. the heat in your stomach coils tighter, twisting into something unbearable as heeseung continues working you open, his fingers curling with calculated precision, pressing against that sweet spot inside you that makes your entire body tense.

just when you think you might be able to keep yourself under control, heeseung suddenly withdraws, leaving you empty for a brief, torturous second before pushing back in—this time with three fingers.

the stretch is intense, burning in the best way possible, your walls instinctively clenching around him as your back arches slightly. a sharp gasp rips from your throat, louder than you intended, the sound echoing in your own ears like a betrayal. panic surges through you, your sister still so close, and you barely have time to react before you’re slapping a trembling hand over your mouth, muffling your own pleasure.

heeseung doesn’t stop—if anything, he takes your reaction as an invitation. his pace quickens, fingers plunging deeper, fucking into you with a quiet desperation that makes your thighs shake. his free hand grips your inner thigh, keeping you open for him, making sure you take everything he gives you.

“that’s it, baby,” heeseung whispers against your ear, his voice dripping with amusement and arousal. “feel so fucking good squeezing me like that.”

your legs tremble violently as the pleasure builds, your entire body on fire, dangerously close to the edge. and the worst part?

you have to stay completely silent while he ruins you.

“naughty girl,” heeseung breathes against your ear, his voice laced with amusement and something darker, something possessive. his fingers never slow, plunging deep inside you, curling just right as he watches every desperate reaction spill across your face. “letting me finger fuck you while your sister is right here… you really have no shame, do you?”

his words make your stomach tighten, the coil inside you winding impossibly tight, threatening to snap at any moment. your breathing is uneven, ragged, your body trembling as his fingers continue their ruthless pace.

“should i even let you cum?” he taunts, his lips barely grazing your jaw as he whispers the cruel question.

your eyes fly open, desperate, pleading, as you meet his dark, hungry gaze. heeseung looks utterly amused, completely in control, reveling in the way you’re falling apart at his touch.

you nod furiously, your movements frantic, your entire body begging for release without a single word. your grip on the couch tightens, your free hand still clamped over your mouth, muffling the whimpers that threaten to spill out as the pleasure builds to a breaking point.

heeseung smirks, clearly enjoying your desperation. his fingers slow just enough to make you whine softly against your palm, your hips bucking in silent protest.

“hmm,” he muses, pretending to think as his thumb lazily circles your clit, sending another jolt of pleasure straight through you. “i don’t know, baby. do you really deserve it?”

“y—yes, heeseung—please…” you whimper softly, voice barely above a breath, laced with desperation. your head tilts back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut as your body completely surrenders to his touch. every nerve is on fire, every sensation heightened by the sheer risk of the moment, by the fact that your sister is still so close—completely unaware of how her boyfriend is ruining you right beside her.

your thighs tremble, threatening to snap shut around his hand, but heeseung doesn’t allow it. his fingers keep working you open, pressing deeper, curling with perfect precision as his thumb continues slow, teasing circles against your clit. the pleasure is overwhelming, stealing the air from your lungs, making it nearly impossible to stay quiet.

heeseung watches you with dark, hooded eyes, his lips curving into a wicked smirk at the sight of you coming undone for him. he leans in, his breath warm against your skin, his voice nothing more than a whisper against your ear.

“look at you,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with amusement. “so fucking desperate. you want to cum that badly, baby? even with her right here?”

you can’t even bring yourself to answer—only a shaky, breathless moan escapes as your fingers clutch at the fabric beneath you, holding on for dear life.

“please, seungie—i can’t…” you whimper, your voice trembling, barely coherent through the haze of pleasure consuming you. your entire body is wound tight, every muscle tensed as the pleasure builds higher, dangerously close to spilling over.

the hand that had been gripping the couch in a desperate attempt to ground yourself now flies up to your mouth, pressing firmly against your lips to stifle the moans threatening to slip out. your breaths come in short, ragged gasps against your palm, the heat of your own touch doing little to muffle the sounds completely.

your other hand, shaky and weak, reaches out blindly, searching for something—anything—to hold onto. it finds heeseung’s wrist, fingers curling around it in a silent plea. his skin is hot beneath your touch, his pulse steady, unbothered, in contrast to the absolute mess he’s turning you into.

heeseung smirks, clearly reveling in your desperation. his fingers don’t slow, still thrusting into you with that agonizing precision, curling just right, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you like he knows your body better than you do.

“can’t what, baby?” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “can’t take it? or can’t hold it in?”

his words only make it worse, make the coil in your stomach tighten even more, make your thighs shake as you struggle to stay quiet. heeseung chuckles, his free hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing lightly before whispering,

“then be a good girl and cum for me… but don’t you dare make a sound.”

his words are your undoing. the moment they leave his lips, the coil in your stomach snaps violently, pleasure crashing over you in thick, pulsing waves. your entire body tenses before completely unraveling, your back arching slightly against the couch as you fall apart on his fingers.

your hand clamps down tighter over your mouth, pressing so firmly against your lips that your knuckles turn white, desperate to keep yourself silent. a muffled whimper escapes anyway, swallowed by your palm as your walls flutter around his fingers, gripping them like a vice.

heeseung groans under his breath, feeling the way you gush around him, soaking his fingers, dripping down his hand. his movements don’t stop—he keeps thrusting, slower now, dragging out every last bit of your high, prolonging your pleasure until you’re trembling beneath his touch.

your thighs quiver uncontrollably, your muscles weak and useless as the aftershocks ripple through you. your free hand, the one clinging to his wrist, squeezes weakly, as if silently begging him to stop, to give you a moment to recover.

but heeseung doesn’t pull away immediately. instead, he lets his fingers linger inside you, feeling the way your walls still clench around him, your body twitching with sensitivity. his gaze flickers to your sister for a split second, ensuring she’s still lost in the movie before his eyes return to you—dark, satisfied.

finally—finally—he eases his fingers out of you, the slow drag making your breath hitch, your body still reeling from the high.

he doesn’t say anything at first. he just stares at you, watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way your lips part slightly behind your trembling hand, the way your thighs still quiver from the intensity of it all.

then, with slow, deliberate movements, heeseung lifts his fingers—glistening, coated in the evidence of your pleasure. the sight alone makes your stomach tighten, heat rushing to your cheeks as you watch, wide-eyed, unable to look away.

his expression remains unreadable, but there’s something dark, something dangerously smug in the way he parts his lips, slipping his fingers into his mouth with an agonizing slowness. his tongue flicks over them, savoring every trace of your slickness, his eyes still fixed on the tv as if this were nothing more than a casual indulgence.

but you see it—the way his chest rises just a little deeper, the subtle twitch in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders betraying the restraint he’s barely holding onto. he hums lowly, the sound barely audible over the hum of the screen, but you hear it, feel the vibration of his satisfaction curl in your stomach.

when his fingers finally slip free, shining with the wetness of his lips, heeseung exhales slowly, savoring the lingering taste like something he isn’t ready to let go of just yet. then, as if nothing happened, he lowers his hand, the movement unhurried, almost lazy, as he lets it fall onto his lap.

the room remains quiet except for the murmur of the tv, your sister still nestled against his chest, completely unaware of the sinful act that had just unfolded inches away from her.

your breath is uneven, your thighs still trembling slightly, your body betraying you as the ghost of his touch lingers, pulsing between your legs.

heeseung doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge what just happened—not outright. but his smirk deepens, his fingers tapping absently against his thigh, the motion slow, rhythmic, taunting.

and then, in a voice just above a whisper, meant only for you, he mutters, “that’s my good girl.”

natty’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ okay if you read my last one, act like it never existed, this is a lot better and i’m actually happy with how it turned out :))

[xshadowdelta]

FORMER MANAGER

PART 3: Crazy.

Kim Chaewon x Male Reader (3.7k length)

The rays of sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating the bedroom made you wake up. You felt sleepy and tired, when you sat up in bed you noticed how all your muscles were feeling pain from the big effort that your whole body had made the night before.

A thin sheet covered the lower half of your body. From the waist up, you were completely naked, you could see some scratches and slight wounds on your arms. You assumed that your back was in worse condition, but you had no way to confirm it.

You got out of bed wearing some simple boxers, and as soon as you stood up, your legs wobbled. God, if only the night had ended in the shower, but no, Eunbi was not satisfied with just that, you both had to take the party back to bed, making that shower in something totally useless.

The owner of your thoughts burst into the room while you picked up your clothes scattered on the bedroom floor. Smiling, happy and unlike you without traces of consequences of the turbulent night experienced. Moving from side to side, in and out of the bathroom getting ready and getting dressed, making you seriously doubt how bad your physical condition was at that moment.

She came up to you, while you were still putting on your shoes to finish dressing, and placed a soft kiss on your forehead that made you raise your head and face her.

“Did you sleep well?”

“As much as I could.” You replied, standing next to her.

“It's not that I want to kick you out or anything, but I have work, you know?”

“Yeah of course, I understand, do you want me to take you?” She shook her head.

“My manager will come pick me up right away, don’t worry.” She approached you with a mischievous smile.

"And relax, I don't do anything with him that I did with you." She whispered in your ear, making you blush.

“Listen to me, last night was…”

“It was fantastic, but it was wrong and should not be repeated?” That made you frown. “I assumed you would say it, you told that to Yuri too, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“Now you listen to me.” She interrupted you again. “There was nothing wrong with what we did. I wanted it, you wanted it and we both enjoyed it, no problem except that you're too cute to be around girls like us.”

You sighed tiredly, you knew that when she got into that mood there was no person or argument in the world that would make her change her mind, stubbornness typical of a leader.

"Besides if it really pricks your conscience and you think it was that bad..." She took a few steps in your direction. “Next time, I'm sure you'll resist…” She whispered, touching your lips in a sensual kiss.

And you were weak, extremely weak and helpful, very helpful, you were always there to satisfy whatever your girls needed, and it doesn't seem like you were going to make exceptions now.

“Can I at least trust that no one will know about this?”

“It is my career as an idol that is at stake, of course no one will know… no one from the outside at least…”

"What do you mean?"

“Well…” She whirled around playfully. “Girls may already know.”

“NOONA!”

This situation only became more and more complicated, you had to stop all of this immediately because it was no longer just your job that was at stake, now the girls' professional careers as well.

Your fear was no longer being discovered by someone from the company but by someone from the press. You hadn't been in the industry for many years, but you knew perfectly how it worked. Scandals like this one have destroyed other idols in the past.

On the other hand, idols relationships were practically an open secret, they were still human, and despite having to act with special caution regarding some specific topics, they should not deprive themselves about anything.

The sound of your phone chased away all those thoughts, the light was constantly flashing, a sign that you had a new message. Strange since due to the short time you had been in the country, very few people had your contact beyond the staff of your company, and that was your day off.

You unlocked it and were surprised to read, 'Kim Chaewon sent you a new message.' True, the night before you had exchanged contacts with the girls.

'Good morning oppa! I remembered that today you had the day off, I need your help with some things, can you help me please? I'll wait for you.’

Along with the message, she shared a location, which after opening with the map application on your phone, you discovered that it was the Hybe building. You felt a sudden pressure. It is really okay for you to go there?

However, you didn't take long to respond to her message, 'On my way.' You were too helpful when it came to these girls.

“And this is where all the magic happens.” You laughed when you heard that phrase when she opened the door to the LE SSERAFIM practice room, after giving you a short tour of the building.

“It's like three times bigger than it was years ago.” You talked to yourself by observing everything around you.

“What can I say? I'm a superstar." She said with superiority, shaking the dust off her shoulders.

“Whatever you say, Miss Superstar.” You scoffed. “Well, what was that I had to help you with?”

"Personal opinion." She said cheerfully clasping her hands together. You stared at her, somewhat confused.

“In a couple of days, we will release a new comeback, everything is ready: the album, photobook, b-sides, performances, and stages. But I would like to have an honest opinion from someone outside before I start promoting.” She explained sitting on the couch.

"I see…"

She pointed, lightly tapping with her hand, to the spot on the sofa that was free next to her. You sat in there, and she lent you her mobile phone, where she played the unreleased MV of her new song. You watched it, paying attention to all the possible details, although somewhat overwhelmed, because Chaewon practically above you, inches away, kept an eye on your reactions.

“And?” She asked somewhat anxiously once you were done with the visualization.

“It's...different, but it definitely has its addictive point.

"What about me?"

"You? Impeccable as always, Chaewon.”

“Oppa please, you must be more critical, otherwise I won't be able to improve.” She said this, throwing a small tantrum.

“Chaewon, I don't understand anything about music production, dance, or anything like that. I can only speak to you as a fan, and I really like what I've seen here.”

You watched her puff out her cheeks adorably, snatching the electronic device from your hands with a huff of annoyance as she was typing something.

"What are you doing?" You asked, but the only answer you got was how she stacked the phone screen over your face. You pulled back a bit, so your eyes could focus on what she was showing you now.

“Now, look at this.” She said it, still with an annoyed tone in her voice.

You picked up the phone again, it was a fancam, focused solely on Chaewon, from one of the songs she had previously promoted. You pressed the play button and started watching the video.

Right away, you recognized the song, it was good, and you liked it enough to have had it on loop at the moment it came out. But it had one small bad part, the choreography. Seeing in certain seconds how Chaewon shook her butt to the rhythm of the music while she looked intensely at you was definitely uncomfortable.

You looked away just as that part came, but you instantly felt a stab of pain in your arm. You looked over at Chaewon, who was pinching the skin on your arm.

“Don't stop looking.” She recriminated. You knew what her temper was like and that it was best to obey her, so your eyes returned to the screen.

“What do you think?” Her voice now left her mouth in a whisper, moving closer to you. You didn't answer, you were trying to find the right answer.

“My ass is also addictive, right?” She whispered next to your ear, her hand was starting to rub over your pants, right in your crotch area.

"Chaewon, what are you doing?" You asked, tense, without looking away from the video, totally hypnotized.

“I worked really hard for that performance…” Her hand slipped directly under your pants, freeing your slightly hard penis.

“C-C-Chaewon…”

"Shhh, just enjoy my fancam, oppa." She placed a kiss on your cheek before starting to massage your cock.

You let out a moan, noticing how your cock throbbed and grew bigger and bigger under her small hand until it reached its maximum size, making her exclaim a moan of surprise.

“Oppa, you are huge!” She commented, biting your earlobe as her hand ran up and down the length of your cock at a sensual but damn slow pace.

"Fuck Chaewon, it's your ass that's huge." The girl smiled as she saw how you couldn't take your eyes off the video.

She suddenly increased the pace of masturbation when the video ended, and she reached out her hand to press the play button again, but you were faster and went ahead of her, causing her to giggle.

"Impatient."

“Capricious.” Both of you were looking each other, lost into those eyes that seemed to speak to you, and without a single word you understood each other, joining your lips in a rough and wild kiss.

Her other hand moved to your balls, playing with them, which seemed to have regained their full capacity after the long night that Eunbi had subjected them to. Even you yourself were surprised by it.

You observed the expression on her face once you separated from her, she still had her eyes closed and a satisfied smile on her lips. Now, with both hands around your huge shaft, stroking it non-stop, trying to squeeze you out.

She got on her knees on her spot on the couch, crouching over your lap, bringing her face closer to your penis to give your tip a shy lick. Another moan left your mouth, which was joined by a set of them when her hand went up in an agonizing manner by the length of your cock, almost closing over your tip, that was already dripping with pre-seminal fluid, which was licked off by Chaewon's tongue.

You held the Smartphone with one hand to direct your free hand to her ass, which stood out as she was in that position. Massaging for a while and giving her a hard spank that echoed throughout the practice room.

As a result, Chaewon's movements became more frantic, with her hands completely wrapping the length of your cock, rubbing as much as she could while your moans accompanied the rhythm.

The video ended again and stayed with the image of the thumbnail with Chaewon's face as a screensaver. She moved your hand that was holding the device and brought it over your cock, giving you a few harder strokes, making you cum and letting out a stream of cum on her face projected on the screen.

“Fuck Chaewon…that was intense.” You said, breathing heavily with your eyes closed, catching your breath.

You felt her move on the sofa, snatching the phone, now sticky and slippery, from your hands. Given that, you opened your eyes to see her straddling over your lap. Her eyes were radiating lust and desire.

She showed you again how her face, in the image of that fancam, was completely covered by your cum, and she gave the screen of her Smartphone a sensual and slow lick, cleaning it and absorbing every drop of cum on it.

Witnessing that scene was super hot, like the atmosphere that had become around you in that room. Chaewon grabbed her small bag on the couch, took something out of it, and threw it away along with the cell phone. She showed you the condom she had taken out of the bag, and your heart pounded.

“Are we safe here?” You asked, realizing the place you were in. Damn, you were going to fuck Chaewon in the fucking Hybe building, you had lost your mind.

“I got the practice room for myself today, there are no security cameras here.” She whispered against your lips.

“What about that one?” You pointed your head to the area where there was a pile of technological elements, among which was a small recording camera with a tripod that they used to record themselves and later analyze their failures and things to improve.

“Do you want us to record what is about to happen?” And as much as you would have liked to, plus the curiosity that filming that would give you, you shook your head.

"Maybe next time."

Next time? Of course, because you were already sure there would be a next time. You didn't know if it would be with Chaewon, Eunbi, Yuri or who else would join this game. Because you had to be stupid not to realize that this was more than planned by all of them, it seemed like some kind of internal competition, and you were the prize.

Even trying to deny yourself with all your might, the part of your brain that was dedicated to controlling your impulses and emotions had completely lost control in a matter of less than one fucking day. Now your devilish part controls you, behaving like an animal in heat. Regardless of the consequences, the only thing that ran through your mind was giving Chaewon the best orgasm of her life.

The girl with short hair opened the condom wrapper and placed it around your erect cock, then she stood on the couch to pull down her leggings, exposing that butt that you had admired so much minutes ago.

Your hands quickly traveled to her buttocks, massaging and worshiping them. She was still standing on the couch, sighing at your touch, while she took off her shirt, and you took the opportunity to fill her belly with kisses.

She grabbed your face with both hands, forcing you to look up and meet her gaze. You brought your hands to her hips, and she began to descend slightly, taking your cock in her hand and aligning it with the entrance to her pussy.

You stared at each other without blinking during those seconds that seemed eternal. The tip of your cock collided with her pussy, beginning to penetrate it, drawing a moan from Chaewon.

You caressed her hips, her arms, and her back as she stayed in that position. You moved closer to kiss her lips, softly and lovingly.

"Ready?"

She nodded, dropping onto your lap, making her pussy take in the entirety of your cock in one fell swoop. She screamed, leaning against your chest, and you completely surrounded her with your arms, hugging her.

When she got used to having your huge penis inside her, she separated herself a few centimeters, starting to move, acquiring a slow rhythm at first but accelerating as time went by.

Chaewon was now jumping on your cock with strength and energy. You could feel your cock reaching her stomach on every decent, and you helped her go even deeper.

Her moans transformed into screams of passion. She was being filled by you with every thrust, and it seemed to not be enough for her, she was totally intoxicated by lust and was letting herself be carried away by pleasure.

The sounds of your bodies colliding together, along with your moans, destroyed any kind of silence there might be in that room. Soon, the festival of lascivious sounds would be joined by the palm of your hand hitting her buttocks and her desperate screams begging for more.

“Please, oppa, make my ass hurt, it deserves to receive a beating.” At this point, her butt was already red, but you just wanted to fulfill her wish, and you spanked her harder.

"You're still my bratty girl, I can't deny you anything." You said, intertwining the fingers of your hands with hers.

She gritted her teeth tightly, once again burying your cock directly into her womb, a trail of saliva beginning to leak from her mouth.

"Oppa, your bratty girl wants to cum!" She screamed, raising her hips in a desperate attempt to reach orgasm.

“Hold on just a little longer, Chaewon, do it for oppa.” You moaned, grabbing her hips and moving yours at a strong pace, pounding her pussy like an animal, causing her eyes to turn white.

“OH MY GOD, OPPA!” Her entire body trembled because of your thrusts.

The rudeness that this whole situation was taking was slipping out of your hands, the sweet and pretty Kim Chaewon that you once knew was now just a piece of meat that you were being used for your own enjoyment.

You hugged her again, pressing her against your body, hers continued to rise and fall constantly, touching your lips every moment. Tears and sobs began to come out of the girl's eyes and mouth. You kissed her sweetly and she reciprocated immediately.

“You did very well Chaewon, let's get you that orgasm…” You said, thrusting into her again with all your strength.

Her body reacted to your moves and fought against yours, it practically seemed like a fight in which neither of you wanted to give in and the first to cum would lose.

A naughty finger traveled to her ass, entering into her small hole making her open her mouth muffling a squeal, now that finger was going in and out of her ass at the same time that your cock was doing the same movement in her pussy.

Chaewon gripped the sofa, placing her hands on either side of your head, her body was already moving by inertia and instinct, her brain had long been overwhelmed by excess pleasure.

She lay on your chest crying, yelling a few insults at you and giving in to the pleasure, curving her back and letting out a large stream of fluids from her pussy.

Her body trembled against yours, which is why you hugged her, caressing her hair, trying to calm her down. Even without being fully recovered, she looked for your member with her hands, found it and took off the condom to masturbate you again.

You lifted her chin with your hand, kissing her again while her grip grew stronger as she regained energy, stroking your cock more and more roughly until you too succumbed and let out another large load of semen that spread across the sofa and part of the floor of the practice room that Chaewon did not hesitate to lick and clean immediately.

Once she left everything clean and swallowed your cum, she climbed back onto your lap, resting there for a while.

“I love being oppa's spoiled girl.” She closed her eyes, guiding one of your hands to her cheek so you could caress it.

“You all girls are.” You said, causing her to open her eyes and look at you angrily.

"I do more!" That made you laugh.

“Hmm, I think I had Wonyoung more spoiled than I had you.” She sat up angrily, making you laugh harder, you kissed her again, trying to calm her down.

“I'm the best for oppa.” She said between kisses surrounding your neck.

Suddenly, knocks were heard at the door of the room, making both of you jump in your seats in surprise and fear.

“Chaewon unnie!” was heard from the other side of the door. Chaewon jumped off the couch, recognizing that voice.

“Kazuha?”

Both of you dressed as quickly as you could, fixing your entire appearance, trying to hide what had happened there. You hid the used condom, and Chaewon sprayed some fragrance around the room to camouflage the smell of sex.

Still fixing her hair, Chaewon opened the door, seeing her member.

“What are you doing here, Zuha? Did something happen?” The leader asked with some concern.

“Our dance trainer said she wanted to discuss something last minute with you, before starting promotions for the new album, so she asked me to come to notify you.” Chaewon sighed in relief for a moment until she remembered that you were still there with her.

"Unnie, who is he?" The japanese girl asked, entering the room and looking at you.

"Oh! He's an old friend of mine, we were just having a little chat." She lied, trying to sound as real as possible.

“But I guess we should continue this talk in another time, it looks like you have a job to do now.” You commented without ignoring the fact that Kazuha still didn't look away from you.

“I guess so.” Chaewon sighed tiredly. “Okay oppa, we'll be in touch, okay? See you." She said goodbye with her hand, leaving the room.

You saw how she disappeared, and you thought it was time to leave too, you bowed to Kazuha and she responded in the same way, and you headed for the exit.

“Can I ask you something?” Kazuha's voice stopped you instantly.

"Sure, what do you need?" You asked, turning to look at her.

“Old friend means you are Chaewon unnie’s boyfriend?” You blushed at that question because of how no hesitation she had in asking that.

“No, no, we're just friends, for real.” A cute smile forms on her face.

"Then…"

Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets, and your face was totally flushed at her request. Had you heard wrong?

“Excuse me, but can you repeat that?”

The girl also blushed and looked embarrassed at the practice room floor before whispering again.

“Can you have sex with me the same way you did with Chaewon unnie?”

[daisynik7]

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.5k

cw: established relationship, smut – PIV sex (doggy style), rough sex, blow job, cunnilingus, bondage, blindfold, use of safe word, slight degradation (use of the word slut), explicit language, safe word, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, princess, honey), aftercare 

Summary: You send your husband an eggplant emoji as a joke, but he doesn't find it amusing one bit.

Author’s Notes: Barely proofread, hardly edited, all horny. Just my little contribution to the plethora of delicious fics that came out after this latest episode. Tagging @lovekento because this was inspired by your recent ask about the safeword audio we love so much. Also tagging @darkstarlight82 because of your recent ask to be tagged in JJK fics! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated. Thanks for reading! MDNI and support dividers credit to @/cafekitsune (as always).

Nanami does not take kindly to jokes. Years of being together and he’s uptight as always. That doesn’t mean you stop trying, especially when you love how mad he gets at you.

It’s innocent, silly, completely unserious. I’m really craving something tonight, followed by suggestive emojis, including the winky face and a particularly phallic vegetable. You grin at your screen when you notice the three dots blinking, indicating that he’s read it and is currently typing a reply. Probably growing hard in his pants just thinking about it, knowing him. Before he can say anything, you send him a selfie of you at the grocery store, holding up two large eggplants, smiling wide at the camera. Eggplant parmesan! The dots flash once more, then disappear immediately, and you crack up in the middle of the produce section when he ends up not responding at all. 

Back home, it’s eerily dark inside with all the lights off. You carefully set your groceries on the counter, clicking the switch to illuminate the kitchen. You’re startled when you notice Nanami’s burly silhouette in the living room, back turned towards you, sitting upright on the couch, motionless. He does nothing to acknowledge your presence, worrying you even further. “Honey?” you call out, slowly making your way towards him. His arms are crossed over his chest, bulging out of his sleeves, staring straight ahead with a menacing look on his face. He remains silent, ignoring you. 

“Kento,” you say, swallowing hard, nervous at this unusually sinister behavior.   

“Thought you were craving something.” His voice is low and husky in his throat. Almost threatening.  

You kneel in front of him, leaning on his thighs. “It was a joke, honey.”

Finally, he looks at you, gaze intense from behind his glasses, nostrils flaring as he takes a deep inhale through his nose, exhale out his mouth. “So, you riled me up for no fucking reason then?”

You gulp loudly again, taken aback by his sudden vulgarity, simultaneously aroused. “I’m sorry, Kento.”

“Do you think I’m going to let you get away with this?” He grips your chin, focusing your attention on his lap. “Look how hard I am. Look at what your stupid joke did to me.” His massive erection is strained in his pants. Your pussy throbs, mouth salivating at the sight of it.

He unbuckles his belt and splits his zipper open. “You know what you have to do, don’t you sweetheart?” He shrugs his pants down enough to free his cock, veins protruding on the thick shaft. You nod silently, peering up at him with wide eyes, parting your lips, hungry for him. 

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters, stroking himself in his fist, precum oozing from the tip. “Stick out your tongue.” You do, letting it hang from your bottom lip, mouth open.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “So obedient for me.” He swipes his thumb over his cockhead, collecting the precum to smear it onto your tongue. “Swallow. Get a taste of it before you take me.”

You obey, relishing the salty, luscious flavor down your throat, your eyes never leaving his. He smirks, tracing your lips with his thumb, the first hint of softness since you this all started. “I’m going to ruin this mouth. Understand?” 

You nod again, panties wet with your arousal. Hoping he doesn’t notice, you reach between your legs, desperate to touch yourself. He catches you, using his foot to swat your arm away. “Ah, ah, ah. You’ll have your turn later.” He loosens the spotted tie on his neck to cover your eyes with it, knotting it tight. “There. Nothing except my cock to occupy this little head of yours.” He guides his cock into your mouth, sliding it along your tongue until he bottoms out. “Now, suck,” he demands, your face pressed to his groin, bottom lip grazing his heavy balls. You bob your head back and forth on him, drool leaking from the sides of your lips, teasing your gag reflex with every solid thrust, swallowing it down every time he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he whispers, cradling your face. “Such a good fucking slut for me.”

After several more strokes, he pulls out of you, cock wet with your saliva, squelching between his fist as he continues to jerk himself off. “On my lap. Come on.” He lends his hand, helping you up while the blindfold remains. You bend over his thighs, in position for a spanking, just as he expects. 

He chuckles. “Good girl. You already know that you need to be punished, huh? Always playing these ridiculous pranks on me. I hope you learn your lesson after this.” He slides the belt off his waist, binding your wrists behind your back, shoulders in an uncomfortable stretch as the leather digs into your skin. The need to be touched by him overwhelms you, body tingling with anticipation, pussy aching to be filled. 

He pulls your pants down, leaving you only in your panties from the waist down. The first spank sends shivers down your spine, the loud smack bouncing off the walls of the kitchen, flesh prickling from the contact. The second comes almost immediately, surprising you. You whimper, shutting your eyes, clenching your legs together. “Kento.”

A third is delivered, your ass throbbing and swelling against his calloused hand. “What?” he growls, palm ready for a fourth. 

“Fuck me,” you whine, jittering on his lap. You can’t take it anymore. You want him. You need him. 

“Oh, so you’re giving orders now?” He rolls you on your back, tugging your panties off, exposing your glistening cunt. “That’s not how this works, sweetheart. You know that. I can’t just give you what you want after what you did to me.” He spreads your legs apart, teasing your slit with his fingers, spreading your slick across your swollen clit. “Look how fucking juicy you are. All that because I fucked your throat. Nasty slut.”

You hear him spit, then feel the trickle of his saliva coat your aching bud. He repeats, soaking you in his spittle. He readjusts himself on the couch so that he’s between your legs, licking and slurping your cunt until his chin and nose are glossy. You squirm, knees shaky, already pushed to your limits. His lips surround your clit, sucking on it until it’s puffy in his mouth, tongue flicking it aggressively, pussy fluttering with arousal. You’re overstimulated, core incredibly tight, ready to fucking burst. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he muffles, still slobbering. “Come on my face. Squirt all over this couch. I’m going to fucking embarrass you like you did me, you stupid slut.” You whine his name, gushing for him, rutting your hips against his face, writhing on the cushions damp with your juices. 

He rolls you over again, dragging your body until you’re up on your knees, ass up. “I’m going to wreck this pussy. Pound it until you learn your lesson. Got it?”

You nod erratically, ready to be fucked hard and fast. He enters you smoothly, stretching you out until you’re completely full of him, everything so wet and messy between you. He pumps his cock in and out of you, pace increasing the more and more your body yields to him. He fucks you like an animal in heat, railing your cunt like it’s his own personal cock sleeve for him to use and tear apart. 

Blindfolded and still bound by the wrists, you begin to grow scared of his carnal behavior. His nails imprint your skin, grip so strong it hurts with every brutal thrust. The guttural growls he emits sound nothing like the Nanami you know. The way he bullies his cock into your tight pussy, so deep and so rough that a cramp develops in your abdomen makes you think that the person fucking you is a complete stranger now. You want your husband back. It takes you a few tries to get it out, but eventually, you do, whimpering, “Makgeolli.”

He doesn’t hear you, so you say it once more, louder this time. “Makgeolli.”

Immediately, it’s as if a switched is flipped. He pulls out, quickly removing the belt and blindfold off you, his tie saturated in tears and sweat. “Hey, hey, hey. Sweetie, I’m here. I’m right here. You’re okay.” He pulls you up on his lap, cradling you in his arms, kissing your sticky forehead, brushing away any of the remaining tears from your eyes. 

You relax into his hold, nestling your face into his shoulder, steadying your breathing. He massages your back, pressing soft kisses on your cheek. “I’m sorry, princess. I’m so sorry. I got carried away, I admit it.” His voice is soothing now, familiar and comforting in your ear. 

Sniffling, you ask, “Are you mad at me?”

He smiles, nuzzling his nose to yours. “I was never mad to begin with. I just wanted to tease you, but I took it too far. I’m sorry.” He kisses you on the lips, cupping your check in his palm. “Your joke was actually quite funny.”

You giggle softly, running your fingers through his hair, damp with his own perspiration. “At least I got you to finally admit it.”

He gives you another smooch on the forehead, lacing his fingers with yours. “I’ll run us a bath, okay? And then after, we can order pizza and watch a movie. Sound good?”

“Yes. And I’ll help you with this while we’re soaking in the tub. Does that sound good?” You palm his cock, still stiff and wet against his abs. 

“Whatever you want, princess.”

[solsticehymns]

limited edition: drabble

james potter x f!reader / fluff / happy birthday jamesie poo ily <3

summary: It’s James’ birthday, and you’ve made him something golden, glittery, and entirely him—a gift to immortalize the boy who already shines brighter than the sun.

a/n: this was entirely self-indulgent, i saw other ppl posting bday blurbs for james and thought: i wanna do one!!! so this is my take on being a sappy crafty girlfriend bc i think that's what he deserves. hehehe enjoy bbys, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 777 (angel numbers hello??? i swear i didn't do that on purpose)

You stride into the Great Hall with a grin that threatens to split your face. James notices you immediately—he always does—and he brightens instantly, like someone switched on a light in him. He starts to rise from the bench, already leaning toward you, his curls messier than usual, tie askew, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. Even the morning seems to be treating him gently today.

Sunlight streams through the tall windows, casting warm, golden lines across the table and illuminating his hair like it was designed to reflect light. The whole space glows—but you can’t quite tell whether it's the sun or James himself lighting the room. Maybe they're indistinguishable. Maybe he's always been composed of light, and you’re simply fortunate enough to exist in his orbit.

You stop in front of him, hands tucked deliberately behind your back.

"There’s my birthday boy," you say, your voice soft and lyrical, like the melody of something cherished.

James looks at you as though you’ve handed him the cosmos. He leans forward to kiss you—tender, instinctual, like he's greeting a dream he's not ready to wake from. He smells of cinnamon toast and the warmth of sleep, and when his thumb brushes your jaw, it feels very purposeful, a reverent act, as if he's memorizing you.

You return the kiss slowly, with the familiarity of something well-loved. When you part, his eyes remain closed, reluctant to release the moment.

"I brought you something," you whisper.

James peers at you through his lashes, amusement and curiosity dancing in his expression. "What’s this? Another love letter? A restraining order?"

"Open it."

You produce the card from behind your back and hand it to him. He accepts it like it’s spectral, like it might vanish if he’s not careful. He opens it—and freezes.

Then: "No bloody way—"

It’s a hand-crafted Chocolate Frog card. The border gleams gold and glittery (Lily had shown you a trick to bewitch the glitter to stop it from spreading everywhere), and in the center is a moving photo of him mid-Quidditch dive, hair windswept, cheeks flushed, smiling like he’s flying on joy alone. He gazes at it, visibly overwhelmed.

Beneath the photo, in your deliberate, curling handwriting:

James Potter (b. 1960) Renowned Gryffindor Chaser. Known for his record-breaking speed, his signature wink, and his heart of gold—which, allegedly, belongs entirely to the girl who made this card. Fiercely loyal, devastatingly charming, and prone to acts of ridiculous bravery (like falling in love).

He says nothing for a moment, just stares. Turns the card over once or twice in his fingers, appreciating the front and back equally.

"I don't have words," James says at last, cradling the card like it might crumble under the weight of how much it means. His voice cracks halfway through. "You made me a Chocolate Frog card. With stats."

"I did," you say, glowing with pride. "You’re a limited edition. Happy birthday."

He blinks rapidly, fighting off emotion. His fingers lightly trace the gilded border. "This is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever given me. Ever."

You smirk. "Even better than Sirius’ ‘Kiss the Birthday Boy’ badge?"

"Infinitely better," he replies, pulling you close again, arms wrapping around you as if he’s anchoring himself to this moment. "You’ve officially immortalized me."

"As you should be," you murmur, brushing your nose gently against his, your smile aching with sincerity.

He glances again at the card, like it validates something sacred—that he is loved deeply, without condition.

"You make me feel like I’m everything," he says. "Even when I’m just me."

You kiss the edge of his mouth, smile pressed soft to skin. "You're my everything, birthday boy."

He tucks the card inside his robe with care, then takes your hand, threading his fingers through yours like it’s second nature.

You sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder, legs nudging beneath the table. Around you, the Great Hall stirs with the sound of breakfast and sleepy chatter, but it all fades into background static. James watches only you—like you’re his wish, already granted.

He lifts your joined hands to his lips. "Best birthday ever," he murmurs.

"You always say that."

"That’s because you keep making it true."

You laugh gently and rest your head against his shoulder. For a moment, the world is hushed and golden. Just the two of you, cradled in something secret and safe—held in quiet reverence.

And James Potter—a little older, a little softer, and incomprehensibly adored—holds onto it all like it’s the rarest kind of magic. Because it is. Because it’s you.

The morning sun, jealous as ever, spills light across the table, trying to keep up with him.

☀️🌻 masterlist

[barcapix]

since ur taking requests for pedri right now can u write one where reader looks after him and comforts him for having to miss the match since he’s been sick the past couple days 🤍

✮ (Heart)ache - Pedri González

pedri gonzález x fem!reader

sy: sometimes it’s hard for your boyfriend to admit he needs help, but your always there to provide him it when he needs.

a/n: my heart breaks for him i swr and he still deserves his 2022 hype + the reason i have time to write fics now is that im lEGIT bedbound.. not ideal?

warnings: noo.

seven to one. that was the score.

as pedri lay nestled in the darkness of his bedroom, the soft glow of the television illuminated his face, which bore traces of fatigue and weariness.

the jubilant cheers from barça’s victory reverberated gently in the background, but his absence from the pitch left a void in his heart.

you entered his room quietly, carrying fresh chamomile tea and his favourite steamed vegetable soup. placing it carefully on the nightstand, you climbed into bed next to him, draping the blanket around both of you.

instinctively, you brought the back of your hand to his forehead, as his temperature was gaining intensity by the minute. you sympathetically frowned, guiding his head to rest on your chest.

“hey baby, i made you something to eat,” you said, whilst combing through his untamed hair. “you actually like it this time.”

he offered a weak smile, “thanks.”

you brushed your thumb along his cheek, noticing how pale he looked. his lips were dehydrated and pasty, his eyes carrying indigo circles beneath them.

normally in times like this, he wouldn’t think twice about chewing your ear off, yapping about how his day had been and informing you on every detail he could remember. yet tonight, his silence spoke more than he ever could, which made your stomach churn with dismayment.

pedri hesitated for a moment, the words slowly forming on his tongue. “you don’t have to stay here with me you know,” he murmured, his tone laced with guilt, “you probably have things to do and i don’t wanna make you sick.”

you shook your head, exhaling softly. “pedri, im not leaving you here alone.”

he shifted uncomfortably, his voice now slightly shaky as he cleared down the lump in his throat. you could sense the overwhelming guilt he had gnawing away at him; he hated the thought of you prioritising him over yourself, but how could you not?

you couldn’t bring yourself to leave when he needed you the most, no matter what he said.

“seriously,” he began, his fingers tentatively reaching for your own, “im gross right now, and i’ve kept you here all day. all i’ve done is lay here and you shouldn’t—”

“shh cariño,” you interjected with a small laugh, tilting his chin up so he could look at you. “you speak some nonsense sometimes p, you know that?”

he blinked at you, his eyes tender but unsure.

“do you think i care about that?” you asked, a sincere grin curling at your lips. “about you being sick or not entertaining me? im doing this because i love you. and i care about you. you deserve to be looked after guapo, because your always the one looking after everyone else.”

if you weren’t completely exhausted, you could of sworn that his eyes were brimming with a certain gloss—tears.

pedri parted his lips to speak, as if to protest but you cut him off by pressing your hand against his feverish skin. “i know you hate this,” you continued. “being stuck bed-bound whilst the team is out there; i know for sure it’s eating you up.”

“…i know you’ll never admit it, but you need someone right now. so let me take care of you sí? im here for you.” you whispered at last, tinged with a softening soothingness.

for a moment, the only sound in the room was the beating of the air-con machine, and raphinha’s post match interview radiating from the tv. then, he closed his eyes like the fatigue had finally won its battle—the tension in his muscles giving way as he melted into you.

“i just don’t want to be a burden.” pedri admitted, his head dropping into the crevice of your neck.

“you could never be a burden amor,” you whispered, “not to me.”

even if he was contagious right now, that didn’t stop you from littering kisses all over his temple.

as if your words had a significant impact, he stayed silent after that final reassurance. he would never admit it, but sometimes that’s all he wanted: reassurance. his breathing rate became slower, more even, as you began to rub his back.

“i’d be so lost without you y/n,” he confessed, his words muffled by your shirt. “i don’t know what i’d do.”

a yawn escaped his lips, his grip on your waist tightening with every shooting pain in his stomach that hit him. you cradled him against you like he was the most precious thing in the world—because to you, he was.

“you’ll never have to find out,” you replied, seizing your arms around his body a little tighter. “te quiero mucho, pedri.”

“te quiero más,” he mustered up something of a sentence, clasping his hand around yours. he found solace in the tiniest things with you, which is why you couldn’t love him any less.

the ache of missing the match was dulled by the comforting warmth of your embrace.

[st7rnioioss]

https://www.tumblr.com/st7rnioioss/776664914080186368/could-you-maybe-write-a-little-fic-about?source=share

need a second part where she reads it

❛❛DEAR DIARY❜❜, PART TWO

⋆ ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... sweetheart!reader x brothers bsf!matt

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... sweetheart!reader comes home to her diary, this time filled with an additional note to her fantasies about matt..

warnings... masturbation (f), mentions of fingering, mentions of unprotected sex, mentions of kissing.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ you happily strutted up the front steps of your house, the morning sun still early and shining onto you, the air brisk and light. you fiddled with your keys before you finally got the right one, unlocking the door and letting yourself inside.

to your surprise, matt was standing almost right in the doorway, and if you hadn’t been so careful with your movements, he would’ve probably been bruising on his forehead by now.

“oh! hi matt,” you chirped, your face turning pink from how close he was, before you closed the door behind you, shyly waving at your brother who stood behind matt. matt's head was clouding up with thoughts. you were utterly oblivious to what he’d done just the night prior, nearly bouncing off the walls, being your usual sweet self.

matt smiled at you, in the middle of tying his shoes. “hey there,” his mind was already spinning with thoughts of you going back to your room, the one he’d been in just last night, and reading the stuff he’d written just last night. the thought made him shiver, watching as you bounced off after giving your brother a hug—for now he could only wait for a text to chime in from your contact name. you made your way to your room after saying a quick hi to your parents, letting go of all your stuff.

several hours passed, and your diary was still untouched. you lay flat on your back in your bed, your room now completely dark, besides the lamp on your bedside table illuminating the quiet room. you shifted, thoughts of matt naturally starting to stir in your mind again, so you sat up and reached for your diary like you would've done any other night like this one.

a tiny smile tugged on your lips, the pen twirling between your fingers as you excitedly brushed through the pages with a red tinge to your cheeks. but then, your heart nearly stopped when you saw the unfamiliar ink on paper, sinking to your stomach as all the blood drained from your face. you froze, the smile on your lips faltering immediately as shock rushed through your veins. what the hell? you immediately knew who had been sneaking into your room, let alone who had snooped in your diary. it was matt, you knew it.

you nearly couldn’t even make out the words, let alone comprehend what was going on, until you saw where you’d left off and he had continued. then the memories flood in, how you'd been sitting right where you were right now, thinking about matt until you just couldn't take it anymore, forgetting to finish the sentence. your breathing hitched as your fingers traced over the ink matt had left, as if you could still feel the desire he’d written with.

“i would kiss you down your chest, admire your body while i touch you after your sweet noises to get it right, my fingers sticky.”

oh god, you thought. your heart was racing, nearly thumping out of your chest as the words settled in your head, eager to read further while your thighs instinctively pressed together. there was no way. your thoughts started to wander, wondering what he would've done if you were actually home and not off to some sleepover. would he just have kissed you? or more? that was a thought for another time, right now you were way too enveloped in matt's handwriting in your diary.

“then i would let go of you and take off my own clothes, leaning over you to push my dick into you, listen to you gasp and moan.”

your fingers traced down your middle, eventually dipping under the elastic band of your sleep shorts, your panties next. you were already dripping, your body having an immediate reaction to the image of matt’s hands on you, how he’d loom over you while being oh so gentle with you. a needy whine slipped from your lips, your fingers working slow and steady circles on your sensitive clit as your eyes fell shut, imagining matt’s hand between your legs instead of your own.

you eventually opened your eyes to read more, your lips parted as needy sounds of pleasure were pulled from your mouth, careful not to be too loud, though everyone was asleep.

“i would take my time with you, wait until you allowed me to start fucking you, doing it gentle and slowly.”

another moan fell past your gritted teeth, easing your middle finger through your soppy walls, easily pressing it inside. the diary dropped from your hands, landing on the spot next to you just in reach for you to read, your other hand dipping under your shorts and panties too, circling your clit as you read and read.

you wished so bad that he was here right now, your now occupied hands being held firmly above your head, or even running through his dark locks. you wanted to feel your legs tremble around his body, not your own wrists, you wanted to feel his lips trail down your neck and chest, eventually sucking marks into your skin.

“i’d hold your hands, kiss you down your beautiful face and body, eventually going faster and harder.”

you had to bite down on your lip, nearly drawing blood from how hard you were trying not to moan when you eased another finger inside, your eyes drifting shut while your thoughts went wild and filthy, legs starting to tremble. your fingers were working overtime on your needy pussy, the soft squelch filling the empty and silent room, electricity shuddering through your body with every move and curls of your own fingers.

you imagined him pinning you down, your hands above your head with his fingers securely wrapped around your wrists, holding you in place while his other hand rested on your hip. you could almost feel how he would pound into you, gently but firmly thrusting his cock in and out of your slick hole, driving you both nuts.

it didn’t take long before you were a whimpering mess, your release coating your fingers until they were glistening, your bud swollen and sensitive. heavy breaths were panted past your lips, your hands coming back up from under your shorts while throwing your head back against a pillow, taking deep breaths. holy shit. you carefully picked up the book, reading over the last few words.

"you have no idea how bad i wanna sneak into your room every time i’m hanging out here. i’m not even here for your brother anymore.”

hastily, you grabbed your phone and found matt's contact, immediately shooting him short but inviting texts

you || 1:38 am

matt my window is open please

more sweetheart!reader x brothers bsf!matt here!

˚𝜗𝜚 notes... #need that

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❛❛ © 𝐒𝐓𝟕𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ❜❜

[lay-z]

Kinda kinky, but made it domestic and fluffy. (I guess, idk...) Also, very long for some reason, sorry. MINORS, DNI! 18+ !!! Pairing: F!Reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley Warnings/Info: Established relationship; domesticity; fluff; consensual smut; masturbation kink; praise kink; some dirty talk; explicit language; cussing

It's Friday evening, barely past 8 pm, inside your apartment in the private 141 apartment complex on base.

After a late dinner – homemade lasagna with fresh ingredients, because you always thrive to get something proper other than MRE's into Simon's and your own system – you and your boyfriend are sprawled out on your large deep brown leather couch.

Cuddling, resting, and relaxing after a tough week of training and "important" briefings on duty.

The atmosphere is filled with contentment and coziness, while the delicious smell of lasagna and the fresh shower steam wafting into the open living space from the nearby bathroom, still linger in your shared apartment. The lights are off, except for the vanilla-scented candle you’ve lit on the white sideboard and the flickering lights of the TV screen illuminating the spacious room.

With the both of you now suffering from a food coma, Simon is laying on his broad back, taking up nearly all of the couches’ space. One muscular arm tucked behind his head on the armrest casually, the other hand playing with a few strands of your hair on the back of your head, his eyes half-lidded and glued to the large flat TV mounted on the opposite wall, currently playing the first episode of Band of Brothers, after you two had finally settled on something to watch – something you'd both enjoy.

Meanwhile, you're laying between his spread thighs, draped over him with your cheek resting on his lower stomach, your right hand rubbing slow, soothing circles over his lax abs with your flat palm and tracing the many faded scars while his tight black shirt is rucked up to his chest; his belly now slightly round and full, sporting a food baby, and thus not as hard and ripped as it usually is.

You can hear his stomach work as your ear presses against his pale skin, his gut already processing the food and sounding like a bunch of whale calls while his strong heartbeat fades into the background noise like a steady drum. It's an odd concoction of sounds, and you swiftly find yourself paying more attention to your boyfriend's bodily functions than your favorite war show playing on TV.

"What's so funny, eh? We're laughin’ at WWII now?" Simon asks eventually after your second quiet snicker to yourself, his deep voice sounding gruff and heavy with beginning fatigue, though it still carries that familiar dry, deadpan humor of his.

"Nope. Nothing," you reply with another breathy chuckle, patting and caressing his lower abdomen reassuringly. Perhaps a little bit too close to his crotch this time.

The sudden movement makes his muscles flex below your palm, and a low groan escapes Simon's slightly parted lips and both actions immediately trigger something within you, like a house cat being taunted by its owner moving their hand below a blanket.

"Don't... don't do that, luv," he chides you gently, cupping his free hand over yours to keep it still on his stomach, "Gimme another good thirty minutes, and I'll rock yer world." Simon tells you, stifling a yawn.

While he keeps your ministrations at bay with his mammoth hand, you prop yourself up on your other elbow with a small pout before you wordlessly begin peppering wet and hot kisses along his belly, down to his naval and lower abdomen, inhaling his masculine scent greedily while your nose nearly digs into his milky, scarred skin.

"Bloody hell, lass – don't, I –" Simon protests half-heartedly, sucking in a sharp breath, before another low groan slips past his lips as he shifts his body beneath you.

"Watch the damn TV and let me do my thing.” You mutter against his skin, though there is no bite behind your words, only teasing and affection – and burning determination. You two didn’t have any time nor strength for sex all week and you suddenly feel like making up for it now.

A low grumble vibrates in his chest in return and you know he wants to object again, but then he doesn't, because Simon is low-key just as horny as you are – he was just trying to be mindful, thinking you’re too tired to engage in anything sexual with him tonight.

"Always so goddamn bossy when we're alone," he mutters instead, clicking his tongue in mock exasperation, though a small smirk tugs at the corner of his scarred mouth.

“C’mere then, lovey,” he murmurs in his deep, gravelly voice, swiftly pulling his black T-shirt over his head and letting it fall down on the fluffy carpet next to the couch haphazardly, before he audibly pats his now bared chest in silent command with the hand that was previously tucked behind his head.

He needs to feel your lips on his first; ease in to this slowly before he might come too quickly; it’s been a week after all and Simon is only now realizing how tight his balls are.

However, you shake your head with a cheeky smirk, nuzzling the tip of your nose into the coarse dark hair of his thin happy trail, feeling his muscles flex at the sweet touch, before lifting your head to gaze up at him through your lashes.

“I wanna suck you off, baby. Can I?” You ask in a sultry purr, almost innocently, batting your eyelashes at him as you tug on the waistband of his grey sweats, pulling at it playfully before letting it snap back against his skin.

A rough groan escapes Simon as he watches you play with the thick hem of his pants and he already knows, despite his stamina, it will be a quick first round tonight; he’s way too sensitive and you know exactly what to do to drive him wild with lust. That familiar heat of arousal is already pooling into his gut and making his blood rush south.

“If I say no, what’re ye gonna do, hm?” He counters gruffly, biting back a sly smirk; his dark eyes fixated on yours, burning and molten and filled with desire and curiosity – because he rarely denies you anything, if ever.

“Maybe I’ll just do it myself,” he adds after a beat of silence, “Make myself feel good.”

Simon can practically watch how you process, assess, analyze his words in the span of mere seconds, but then your pupils dilate comically large, like a cartoon characters, and a foreign look appears on your face, one he’s never seen before. His heartbeat accelerates and he grunts lowly as you push yourself off his stomach to sit back on your haunches between his spread legs while the soft leather of the couch creaks and shifts as you move.

“Okay,” you retort in a breathy, deadpan voice, your eyes never leaving his, “I’ll watch.”

Simon instinctively shifts on the couch as well, propping his large upper body up in a reclined sitting position when he hears that you mean business. His dark eyebrows raise slightly at your unexpected reaction – the fact that his joke-proposition seems to excite you so immensely. His cock twitches and throbs inside his boxer briefs in return.

His eyes roam over your curves briefly, noticing how your braless breasts rise and fall with heavier yet slow breaths, nipples already peaking behind the fabric of your tight black crop top. You’re clearly aroused and Simon is sure he can smell you already, sweet, slick and warm and, most importantly, all his.

A pleased growl rumbles through his buff chest, until he remembers what exactly made you react this extremely.

"Yer into that?" He asks incredulously, brows drawing together in disbelief and curiosity, though if he's honest with himself, Simon is not surprised in the slightest.

You always encourage him to be more vocal in bed, make sounds, let loose. The dirtier, the better. Plus points if he sounds like a goddamn caveman claiming you; grunting and groaning in your ear while his fat cock is buried inside your tight cunt up to the hilt. You always love that.

"Yes," you answer curtly, squirming in your seat already. "I used to watch blokes jerk off and fuck their pocket pussies all the time on the Hub. Looked up the biggest, buffest lad and imagined you being the one doing it." You confess bluntly, a wicked smirk creeping on your lips as his big doe eyes grow even wider.

"Pff, seriously?"

Simon tries not to show it too obviously, but that is, hands down, the hottest and most flattering admission you've ever shared with him. Gods, he bloody loves your bluntness.

"Yes, sir." You nod enthusiastically while he snorts and rolls his eyes in mock annoyance.

You only ever call him Sir off duty when there's a deeper meaning behind it – a plan.

"So... you – you wanna see that, innit? Wanna watch me have a wank in front of you and look all pathetic while I could also just...fuck you properly instead?" Simon enquires with a hint of sarcasm, scratching the stubble at his chin as he studies your beautiful face appraisingly, still obviously hesitant about the whole idea.

"Uh-huh," You nod again, smiling at him with a certain twinkle in your eyes, like a child finally receiving a toy it always wanted but never dared to ask for. “Please.” You add for good measure, tilting your head to the side in a playful manner.

Simon quirks an eyebrow at you, his eyes flickering over your pretty features to make sure you're really not messing with him. He's never done that before; it has never occurred to him that anyone would want to see him do that.

Masturbating has always felt pathetic and awkward to him; it's a means to an end to him and especially those Combat Jack’s are the worst. Feel sad and horny, jerk off, feel sad and empty afterwards. Done deal.

But how can he ever deny you that particular pleasure when you've always been so good for him? So incredibly patient, caring, and loving despite all his flaws and issues; way before you've become a couple, even.

"Fine. I'll do it," he finally huffs gruffly, his own heart skipping a hard beat, his brows creasing together in a slight frown while he can't hide the obvious tent already sporting in the front of his sweatpants at the sight of your beaming smile and sparkling eyes after getting exactly what you want – again.

"But ye're not allowed to touch me...or yerself. Understood?"

Oh.

Your nostrils flare as you exhale sharply, drumming your fingertips along his clothed thighs as you narrow your eyes at him, pondering briefly.

"Yeah... okay... sounds like torture, but... the fun kind." You agree reluctantly, giving a small shrug, though you quickly notice that his strict order only fuels your growing arousal and excitement. It’ll be like watching your own personal porn after all.

Simon moves his knees then, a silent warning to get your hands off like you agreed to, and you retrieve your hands from his thighs with a tiny snarl that makes him chuckle darkly while you rest your palms on your own thighs instead.

“Be my good girl then and take yer top off, lovey. Show me yer pretty tits, yeah?”

Yet again, a violent shiver runs down your spine as soon as Simon gives you another order in that deep, gravelly voice of his and you don’t hesitate to obey his request – peeling off your tight crop top to reveal your breasts to him at once and dropping the piece of clothing next to the couch, your skin flushed with arousal and carnal desire for him.

“Like this?”

Simon hums deeply in approval, his pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip, like a wolf licking its chaps, while his whiskey-colored eyes darken and gleam an inky black as they drink in your gorgeous, bare upper body, now only illuminated by the soft candlelight and the flickering lights of the TV screen, still playing Band of Brothers. You look like an absolute goddess and his fingers itch to reach out and touch, flick his thumbs over your perky nipples just the way you like it, squeeze and grope your tits until you mewl with neediness.

But, alas, he doesn’t.

“Aye, just like that,” he grunts out, shifting and adjusting his position until he’s comfortable on the couch and has a good view on you. “Bloody perfect, you minx.” He adds thickly in a low murmur.

And then, without a further word, Simon finally hooks his right thumb into the waistband of his sweats and boxer briefs and tugs both fabrics down until the stretchy waistbands are snug taut below his balls, right at his taint, adding some pressure to the sensitive spot. He grunts when his large cock springs free from its confinement and rests on his lower stomach, a droplet of pearly pre-cum leaking onto his dark happy trail from his blushing tip, making your mouth water on sight and a breath hitch in your throat.

The musky scent of his arousal hits your nose, and it takes all of your trained willpower not to pounce on him. No, this is special. You can't ruin it with your impatience.

There's a slight grimace on his ruggedly handsome face when he simply grabs his shaft, then his right mammoth hand wraps around his girth completely. It almost looks painful to you, but Simon bites his cheek and fights the immediate shudder of pleasure running down his spine at his own rough touch, giving himself a few slow, tight strokes.

"You're a dry guy?" You ask curiously, scrunching your nose up in surprise. You always use some kind of lube when you give him a nice hand job.

"Huh? Yeah?" Simon's eyes flicker from his throbbing cock to your eyes, then swiftly back again, shrugging his broad shoulders before stilling briefly, then he clicks his tongue in annoyance.

Great, now he feels like he's doing it wrong; something he's been doing to himself for years. It’s not his fault that his calloused hands cannot compare to your soft ones anymore and that you’ve completely spoiled him with your gentle yet firm touch; you’ve utterly ruined him for himself at this point.

“Mhm,” you hum appraisingly, practically buzzing with pent-up arousal as you squirm in your seat between his spread legs again and feel the fabric of your thong rub between your slick folds and against your pulsating clit in delicious torture.

“Spit in your fist, baby,” you advise him then, your own mouth filling with saliva at the sheer thought, completely self-conditioned, “Enjoy it for me. Relax.”

Simon nearly groans at your words, but suppresses the wanton sound again, all to your disapproval.

“Fuck –“ He grunts through clenched teeth, nostrils flaring as he's already crumbling beneath your smoldering gaze and bratty pout.

The urge to just pinch your pretty nipples in retaliation and grab you by the nape of your neck like a disobedient kitten, only to make your plump lips spread and open up over his needy cock, is becoming more unbearable by the second.

Eventually, Simon lifts his right hand, because he does want to put on a show for you, and spits into his rough palm generously.

The sudden choked whimper that spills from your lips at the lewd gesture of his makes it all worth it, tough, and Simon lets out a guttural moan this time, when he cups his leaking tip with his slicked up fist and twists his wrist for more friction.

“This good enough for you, luv?” He manages to ask in between guttural grunts and deep, deliberate breaths.

Meanwhile, you don’t even know where or what to look at as your feral eyes try to drink in and process this whole scene in front of you – his flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, how his abs and the muscles in his chest and arms ripple and flex with each heavy breath and movements, the way he works on his long, girthy cock for you. It’s still such a rare sight for you – seeing him this open and vulnerable.

If Simon would let you, you’d record and safe all of it for later.

“Yes,” you breathe out in return, voice hoarse and thick with lust and need, utterly captivated and amazed by his performance. “God, yes, baby. You look so fucking sexy right now.”

Your praise sends a jolt of hot, searing pleasure straight to his cock while Simon keeps fucking into his rough fist and his breath stutters briefly as he tries to maintain his fervent rhythm, muttering curses under his breath.

When his head lolls back against the armrest while a husky groan tears itself from his throat and his hips buck up into his own hand instinctively, right in front of you, you have to take several deep breaths to keep yourself seated on your haunches and, simultaneously, from reaching out to him – even though it’d be so easy to just…join him, perhaps fondle his balls and increase the pleasure.

Letting out another whimpery moan at the thought, your own fingers are now digging into the fabric of your gym leggings on your thighs, fidgeting and twitching restlessly while you move and roll your hips desperately, trying to find some release as your soaked thong keeps rubbing your swollen clit between your folds.

Simon can already feel how pathetically close he is and he knows it’s only because you’re watching him wank off right now, enjoying it – and praising him for it in that tooth-achingly sweet voice of yours, too.

It usually takes him so much longer to cum on his own, no matter how blue his balls are, but this is different – a good kind of different, and the tension in his lower stomach continues to rise at a rapid pace while he can barely hold eye-contact with your mesmerizing eyes when you’re looking at him like that, all aroused and needy with lust.

“’m close,” Simon huffs out, sounding like an angry bull as he bends one leg and puts the other foot down on the ground for leverage, readying himself for the inevitable.

“Play with yer tits for me, beautiful,” he requests through his clenched jaw as he watches you squirm through heavy-lidded eyes, “Help daddy come.”

“Oh…Fuck…” you practically gasp out as soon as you hear him calling himself that, and your head tilts back slowly with a breathy moan when your hands roam over your bare stomach sensually, up until they rest over your heavy breasts. You begin toying with yourself for him, groping and squeezing the supple flesh, tugging on your stiff nipples and rolling the sensitive buds between the pads of your fingers, until you’re panting for him like a bitch in heat.

While you’re playing with your tits like he asked you to, like the good, obedient girlfriend you are, Simon’s free hand finds its way slithering up his taut stomach, up his heaving chest, until it wraps around his own throat firmly, blunt nails digging into his scarred skin, tightening just enough to feel his own strong pulse flutter and thrum beneath his fingers, while he keeps stroking and fucking his cock into his tight fist with shameless vigor.

You and Simon moan simultaneously then – you at the sight of him choking himself suddenly, without warning, and he, because of all combined sensations bullying him to his peak all at once.

Eventually, his loud breathing keeps hitching, the vein in his temple protruding visibly as he keeps his grip around his throat, and your lips part with a wanton moan as you watch him climax, squeezing your tits harshly, as Simon’s balls tighten, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut and he finally comes with a guttural groan, spilling his thick, white release into his fist until it leaks and drips out from between his rough knuckles, making a mess on his lower belly.

“Fuckin’ hell, luv –“ Simon curses with a low chuckle, and swallows hard, still catching his breath as he releases his throat and lifts his head up from the armrest to look at you, feeling somewhat sheepish all of a sudden.

“That what you wanted?” He asks sarcastically, his voice all wrecked and gruff as he gestures at the mess on his stomach with his clean hand while his body keeps shuddering with aftershocks.

You need a moment to find your voice again, your heart still hammering against your ribcage just from watching him get off while your core is still fluttering and pulsing with want and a desperate need for attention.

“Y-yeah,” you admit with a few tiny nods, still blushing with arousal after heaving a deep sigh, “That was…perfect. You were bloody perfect, honey.” You utter another praise and watch his cheeks tint with a blush.

“Tsk,” Simon scoffs, shaking his head slightly, completely blissed out of his mind, “You better shut it, lass, and help me clean up this mess.” He grunts dismissively, though he’s grinning proudly.

“Gimme ten minutes, lovey.” He remarks with a wolfish smirk, the innuendo clear as he doesn't bother to tuck his half-hard cock back into his sweats, after you’ve retrieved some soft tissues from the box on the coffee table.

Making him cum now merely opened the floodgates, like shaking a champagne bottle and pulling the cork recklessly; his hunger for you has only been ignited and, boy, he is starving again, though not for your delicious lasagna this time.

When you hold out the tissues to him with an amused look, Simon grabs your wrist suddenly and hauls you on top of him again, up to his chest this time, wrapping one strong leg around your body securely to keep you caged in before he cups your cheek with his cum-slicked hand and finally captures your lips in a deep, sloppy kiss.

He knows you don't mind the mess.