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sixeyesonathiel · 2 months ago

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WHEREVER YOU WANT IT, BABY, I’M TAKING YOU THERE!

↳ being married to gojo satoru means never knowing peace. or underwear.

4.4k words of domestic filth inspired from that one tiktok audio

cw: light degradation, praise kink, mild dacryphilia, food play (whipped cream, batter), dry humping, mild exhibitionism, marking (hickeys, biting), mild overstimulation, explicit language, 18+ only, minors DNI.

a/n : made a version with suguru for my bbg lyra here!

ON THE COUCH.ᐟ

you’re sunk into the couch, legs tucked under the plush throw you’ve had since forever, the one satoru swears smells like your shampoo. the TV’s glow bathes the living room in soft blues, your favorite show’s theme song chiming through the speakers.

you’re halfway through a bowl of popcorn, kernels scattered on your lap, determined to actually watch this episode without your husband derailing you. it’s your comfort rewatch, the one you’ve seen enough times to recite the lines, but it still hits every time. you’re mid-bite when you feel him—satoru, your personal chaos agent, already sprawled across your lap like a cat who’s never heard of personal space.

his head’s nestled against your stomach, white hair a mess from where he’s been nuzzling into you, and you can feel the warmth of his breath through your—his—t-shirt, the one you stole years ago and never gave back. it’s loose, slipping off one shoulder, and his fingers are already sneaking under the hem, tracing lazy circles on your skin.

“baby,” he whines, voice low and syrupy, lips brushing just under your ribs, “you’ve seen this episode a million times. i haven’t been in your mouth once today.”

you don’t look at him, eyes glued to the screen, though you’re barely processing the dialogue. “you said you wanted to cuddle,” you mutter, popping another kernel in your mouth, trying to sound unbothered. your heart’s already picking up, traitorously aware of how his touch sparks heat under your skin.

“i am cuddling,” he insists, shifting so his body presses closer, one muscled thigh sliding between your legs, nudging them apart. you can feel the denim of his jeans through your thin shorts, rough against your inner thighs, and the warmth pooling low in your belly betrays you.

“just, y’know, with benefits.” he adds, his lips curling into a grin you don’t need to see, and he nips at the soft skin above your waistband, making you jolt.

“satoru,” you warn, but it’s weak, half-hearted, and he knows it. his hand slips higher under your shirt, fingers grazing the underside of your breast, thumb brushing just shy of where you want it. you shift, trying to focus on the TV, but he’s relentless, mouthing at your stomach now, slow, wet kisses that leave your skin tingling. “i’m watching.”

“watch, then,” he murmurs, voice a low rumble against your hip. he tugs your shorts down an inch, just enough to expose the lacy edge of your panties, and his lips find the sensitive spot right above. “don’t miss the good part, sweetheart.” his tone’s teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a hunger that makes your breath hitch.

he pulls you forward, guiding you to straddle his thigh, the sudden pressure of his leg against your core making you gasp. your hands grip the couch cushions, popcorn bowl tipping precariously, but he steadies it with a chuckle. “careful, baby. don’t waste snacks.”

his hand’s between your legs now, fingers brushing over your panties, slow and deliberate, feeling how you’re already soaking through. “fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself, eyes glinting up at you, blue and predatory in the TV’S light. “you’re this wet and still pretending you care about your show?”

he presses harder, circling your clit through the fabric, and you bite your lip, trying to stifle a moan. the characters on screen are arguing, but it’s just noise now, drowned out by the thump of your pulse.

“shh,” he whispers, when a soft whimper escapes you, his free hand tugging the throw blanket over your lap. “can’t hear the dialogue.” he’s mocking you, smirking as he slips his fingers under your panties, grazing your slick folds.

you’re grinding against his thigh without meaning to, the friction of denim and his deliberate touches pushing you closer to the edge. every time you get too loud—a gasped “satoru”or a shaky moan—he leans up, kissing you sloppy to muffle the sound, tongue sweeping into your mouth like he’s claiming it.

“quiet, baby,” he teases, pulling back to nip your bottom lip. “you’re drownin’ out the plot.”

you’re a mess already, shorts bunched around your thighs, panties pushed to the side, and he’s barely touched you. the blanket’s slipping, and he grabs it, draping it over your shoulders with a grin.

“perfect,” he says, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “you love this thing, don’t you? let’s put it to good use.” he shoves it against your mouth, pressing it there as he slides two fingers inside you, curling them deep. your muffled cry vibrates into the fabric, and he laughs, low and filthy. “fits, doesn’t it? you and your cozy shit.”

you’re trembling, thighs shaking as he works you, his thigh still pressed against you, encouraging the desperate roll of your hips. the TV’S forgotten, just a blur of colors and sounds, but he’s not done playing.

“eyes on the screen,” he orders, free hand gripping your chin to turn your head. “this is your favorite part, right? where they confess or whatever?” you can’t answer, too lost in the stretch of his fingers, the way he’s dragging you toward release. your moans are louder now, barely stifled by the blanket, and he pulls it away, tossing it aside. “fuck it,” he growls, “i wanna hear you.”

he’s bored of teasing, you can tell, because he’s moving fast now, yanking your shorts and panties down completely, leaving them tangled around one ankle.

“over the table,” he says, voice rough, and before you can process, he’s got you bent over the coffee table, popcorn bowl knocked to the floor, kernels crunching under his feet. your hands brace against the wood, cool against your flushed skin, and he’s behind you, jeans unzipped, pressing into you in one slow, deep thrust that makes you sob.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, hands gripping your hips so hard you’ll bruise. “you feel so good.” the table creaks with every snap of his hips, the tv still blaring behind you, your favorite character’s voice a mocking backdrop to the way he’s ruining you. he leans forward, chest against your back, and grabs your chin again, forcing you to look at the screen. “don’t tap out now,” he pants, thrusting harder, “this is your comfort episode, right?”

you’re crying now, tears of pleasure and overwhelm streaking your cheeks, your body shaking as he drives you toward the edge. every thrust is deliberate, hitting that spot that makes you see stars, and his voice is a constant stream of filth “love how you take me,” “you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” “gonna make you come so hard you forget this stupid show.”

you’re incoherent, babbling his name, nails scratching at the table as your orgasm hits, a white-hot wave that leaves you trembling, clenching around him.

he’s not far behind, groaning your name as he spills inside you, his thrusts slowing but not stopping, drawing out every last shudder from you. when he finally pulls out, you’re a wreck, collapsing against the table, panties still dangling off one ankle, tears smudging your mascara. he’s laughing, breathless, pulling you back onto the couch and into his lap, the throw blanket draped over you both like nothing happened.

“c’mere,” he murmurs, softer now, kissing your temple as he grabs the remote. he rewinds the episode, smirking as he feeds you a piece of popcorn and you’re too blissed out to do anything else but chew.

“guess we both got our favorites tonight,” he says, voice smug but warm, his arm tight around you. your legs are still shaking, and you nuzzle into his chest, the theme song starting again as you mumble something about hating him. he just laughs, kissing your hair, and you know you’re in for it all over again tomorrow.

IN THE BED.ᐟ

you’re drifting in that hazy space between sleep and waking, the kind where the world feels soft and warm, like you’re cocooned in a dream you don’t want to leave. the sheets are tangled around your legs, your tank top rucked up from tossing in the night, and you’re vaguely aware of the faint morning light slipping through the curtains.

but then you feel it—satoru’s weight shifting behind you, the mattress dipping as he presses closer, his bare chest warm against your back. his breath ghosts over your neck, slow and deliberate, and you know he’s been awake for a while, just waiting for you to stir.

his arm’s already slung over your waist, fingers splaying across your stomach, possessive but gentle, like he’s anchoring you to him. you feel him, hard and insistent, grinding lazily between your thighs, the thin fabric of your panties doing nothing to dull the heat. “mm,” he hums, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice thick with sleep and something hungrier.

“good morning, wife.” his words are soft, but there’s that edge to them, the one that makes your heart stutter even half-asleep.

you groan, burrowing your face into the pillow, the cool cotton a brief escape from his intensity. “satoru, it’s too early,” you mumble, voice muffled, though you’re already shifting back against him, instinctive, your body betraying your weak protest.

he only chuckles low, vibrating against your spine, and he presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, slow and wet, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

“never too early for you, angel,” he murmurs, his hand sliding under your tank top, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, then higher, cupping your breast with a reverence that feels almost too sweet for him. his thumb grazes your nipple, teasing it to a peak, and you suck in a breath, eyes fluttering open despite yourself.

“been dreamin’ about you,” he says, kissing down your shoulder now, each press of his lips a deliberate worship. “couldn’t help myself.”

“you’re so creepy,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in it, just a sleepy laugh as you turn your head to peek at him.

he’s already staring, blue eyes soft and molten in the dim light, his white hair a tousled halo against the pillow. he’s grinning, that lovesick, idiot grin that makes your chest ache, and you can’t help but reach back, fingers tangling in his hair. “watching me sleep again?”

“guilty,” he admits, not even pretending to be ashamed. he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he can lean over you, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose. “you’re so fuckin’ beautiful. thank you for marryin’ me.” his voice cracks a little, like he means it too much, and you’re torn between rolling your eyes and melting completely.

“sappy idiot,” you whisper, but you’re smiling, pulling him closer until his lips find yours, soft and unhurried, all morning haze and warmth. t

he kiss deepens, his tongue slipping against yours, and you feel his hand slide lower, tugging your panties down just enough to press his fingers between your thighs. you gasp into his mouth, and he swallows it, murmuring, “shh, let me say good morning properly.”

it’s slow at first, all lazy touches and quiet gasps, his fingers circling your clit with a patience that’s rare for him. you’re still half-draped in sleep, your moans muffled against the pillow as he works you open, his lips trailing down your spine, leaving a constellation of hickeys where your neck meets your shoulder.

“mine,” he whispers, over and over, like a prayer, each word punctuated by a kiss, a nip, a mark that says you’re his. you’re soaking now, hips rocking against his hand, and he groans, low and needy, grinding harder against your thigh.

“satoru,” you breathe, voice shaky, and he hums, pleased, flipping you onto your back with a gentleness that makes your heart flip. you blink up at him, and he’s a vision—hair messy, eyes glowing with something too tender, too raw.

“wanna see your face, angel,” he says, grinning as he leans down, kissing your forehead, then your eyelids, then your lips again, like he can’t get enough. his fingers are still moving, slow and deliberate, and you’re trembling, legs spreading wider to give him more.

he pulls back just enough to tug your panties off completely, tossing them somewhere in the sheets, and you’re bare beneath him, tank top pushed up to expose your stomach. he kisses lower, lips grazing your navel, then the soft skin just above your core, his tongue tracing the outline of your ring finger where your wedding band glints in the light.

“fuck, i love this,” he murmurs, sucking gently on the digit, his eyes locked on yours. “love you.”

you’re a mess already, whining when he settles between your thighs, his breath hot against your slick folds. he doesn’t tease for once, just dives in, tongue lapping at you like he’s starving, and you cry out, hands fisting in his hair.

he’s relentless, sucking and licking until you’re bucking against his face, and he’s moaning like he’s the one getting off, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you still.

“taste so good,” he pants, pulling back just to spit on you, watching it drip before diving back in, and you’re sobbing, the pleasure too much, too perfect.

when you’re close, he crawls back up, kissing you sloppy so you taste yourself on his tongue, and you feel him nudge against you, hard and leaking. “ready, baby?” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours, and you nod, breathless, wrapping your legs around his waist.

he slides in slow, inch by inch, and you both groan, the stretch so good it makes your toes curl. he’s deep, filling you completely, and he stills, just for a moment, letting you adjust, his lips brushing yours.

“love you,” he says again, thrusting slow and deep, his hand finding yours, fingers interlacing. your ring glints between your joined hands, and he kisses it, then you, his eyes never leaving yours. it’s intense, the kind of eye contact that strips you bare, and you’re both pathetic, gasping messes, your nails digging into his back as he moves. “you’re so perfect,” he murmurs, voice breaking, “my wife, my everything.”

you’re coming before you realize it, a slow, rolling wave that has you clinging to him, sobbing his name, and he’s right behind you, groaning into your neck as he spills inside, his thrusts stuttering. e

he doesn’t pull out, just stays there, buried deep, his weight grounding you as you both catch your breath.

he nuzzles into your hair, rubbing slow circles on your back, and murmurs, “five more minutes. need to be home a little longer.”

you hum, content, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady under your cheek. the sheets are a mess, your tank top’s somewhere around your collarbone, and you can feel him softening inside you, but neither of you moves. he’s drawing lazy patterns on your hip, whispering how much he loves being married to you, and you’re grinning, too in love to care about the morning chill or the fact that you’ll need to wash these sheets later.

“you’re such an idiot,” you mumble, kissing his chest, and he laughs, soft and warm, pulling you closer like he’ll never let go.

ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER.ᐟ

you’re in the zone, apron tied loosely around your waist, the kitchen alive with the hum of your favorite pop playlist—satoru’s insistence that it’s “our jam” still makes you laugh. flour dusts your hands, the air sweet with vanilla and sugar as you whisk pancake batter, the morning light streaming through the window.

you’re flipping a pancake, singing off-key to some cheesy chorus, when you feel him—satoru, your walking disaster, sneaking up behind you. his arms snake around your waist, firm chest pressing against your back, and his chin rests on your shoulder, breath hot against your neck.

“baby,” he purrs, voice low and playful, lips grazing your ear, “you’re too sexy in this apron. makes me wanna eat you instead.” his hands slide under the fabric, fingers teasing the hem of your shorts, and you feel him, already hard, grinding subtly against your ass.

you snort, not turning around, focusing on the skillet. “you ate an hour ago,” you say, voice steady despite the heat creeping up your spine. you flip the pancake, the sizzle masking the hitch in your breath as his fingers dip just under your waistband, tracing the skin there.

“not talkin’ about food,” he murmurs, licking a smear of batter off your cheek, slow and deliberate, his tongue warm and teasing.

you swat at him with the spatula, half-laughing, but it’s shaky, your body already betraying you. “satoru, i’m cooking!” you protest, but he’s undeterred, hands slipping lower, tugging your shorts down an inch to expose the lacy edge of your panties.

“and i’m starvin’,” he whines, dramatic as ever, but there’s a growl beneath it, hungry and raw. before you can argue, he’s lifting you onto the counter, effortless, like you weigh nothing. the mixing bowl wobbles, batter sloshing, and you grip his shoulders, flour-covered hands leaving white prints on his black t-shirt.

“satoru, the pancakes—” you start, but he’s already between your legs, spreading them with a nudge of his hips, his grin wicked.

“fuck the pancakes,” he says, grabbing the whipped cream can from the fridge, shaking it with a flourish. “gonna taste-test my favorite dessert.” he sprays a messy heart on your inner thigh, the cold cream making you gasp, and you laugh, shoving at his chest, but it turns into a moan as he leans down, licking it clean, his tongue slow and filthy, eyes locked on yours.

“satoru, you’re wasting it!” you scold, but your voice cracks, your hands tangling in his hair as he nips at the sensitive skin.

“waste?” he scoffs, pulling back to lick a stripe of batter off your finger, sucking it into his mouth with a low groan. “this is art.” he tugs your shorts and panties to the side, not even bothering to pull them off, and dives in, mouth hot and relentless against your core.

you cry out, head tipping back, the counter hard under you as you grip the edge, knocking over a measuring cup. flour scatters across the surface, and he’s moaning into you, like he’s the one getting off, his tongue circling your clit with a precision that makes your thighs shake.

“fuck, you taste better than anything,” he pants, pulling back just to spit on you, watching it drip before diving back in, his fingers joining now, two sliding inside you, curling deep. you’re a mess, gasping his name, your apron bunched around your waist, flour smudged on your thighs where his hands grip you.

he grabs the whipped cream again, spraying a dollop right above your clit, and licks it off with a filthy moan, the cold cream and his warm tongue a dizzying contrast that has you bucking against his face.

you’re close already, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming, but he’s not done playing. he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and grabs a spoonful of batter from the bowl, smearing it across your collarbone. “messy girl,” he teases, leaning in to lick it off, his teeth grazing your skin.

you’re whining, desperate, pulling at his shirt, and he finally gives in, unzipping his jeans and pushing inside you in one swift thrust, the stretch making you sob. the spatula clatters to the floor, and you’re clutching his shoulders, nails digging in as he moves, fast and deep, the counter creaking under you.

“mm, let’s make every mornin’ cream-filled,” he groans, licking more batter off your neck, his thrusts relentless, knocking measuring spoons and a bag of sugar to the floor. you’re incoherent, babbling his name, your legs wrapped around his waist as he drives you higher.

“so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he murmurs, grabbing your hand, sucking the flour off your fingers as he fucks you, his other hand circling your clit until you’re screaming, the orgasm hitting hard, your body shaking, clenching around him.

he’s right behind you, groaning your name as he spills inside, his thrusts slowing but not stopping, drawing out every last shudder. the oven beeps, shrill and insistent, but neither of you cares, too caught up in the messy, blissful aftermath.

you’re panting, slumped against him, the counter sticky with flour, cream, and batter, your apron a crumpled mess. he’s laughing, breathless, kissing you sloppy, his hands still roaming like he can’t stop touching you.

“fair trade,” he says, eyeing the skillet where the pancakes are charred to a crisp. you smack his chest, breathless, muttering, “you’re cleaning this.” he just grins, licking a stray bit of whipped cream off your neck, and says, “worth it.” you’re both giggling, feeding each other burnt pancake scraps, flour still smudged on his cheek, and you know the kitchen’s a disaster, but your marriage is thriving, sticky and sweet as the mess you’ve made.

ON THE STAIRS.ᐟ

you’re halfway up the stairs, each step creaking under your furious pace, the crumpled receipt in your hand like a smoking gun. “satoru, three hundred dollars on towels?” you snap, whirling around to glare at him, your voice echoing in the narrow stairwell. “towels? we have lights! electricity! a mortgage to pay!”

he’s trailing behind, hands stuffed in his sweatpants pockets, looking infuriatingly unbothered. his white hair catches the dim glow of the hallway light, and that stupid, lopsided grin is already curling his lips.

“they’re plush, baby,” he says, shrugging like he didn’t just blow a small fortune. “like you. thought it’d be romantic.” his blue eyes glint, teasing, and you can tell he’s not taking this seriously, which only makes your blood boil more.

“romantic?” you hiss, gripping the banister so hard your knuckles whiten. “we could’ve bought a new couch! or, i don’t know, groceries for a month?” you wave the receipt in his face, and he has the audacity to lean forward, squinting at it like it’s a museum exhibit. “you’re impossible!”

he steps closer, one stair below you, towering over you despite the height difference. “c’mon, sweetheart,” he drawls, voice dropping low, “you married a brat. you knew what you were gettin’ into.” his hand darts out, grabbing your ankle, and before you can react, he tugs you down a step, making you stumble into him.

“satoru!” you squeal, clutching his shoulders to keep from falling, the receipt fluttering to the floor.

“what?” he says, all mock innocence, but his hands are already sliding up your calves, rough and warm, stopping just under the hem of your shirt. “you’re cute when you’re mad.” he’s grinning now, full-on, and you want to smack him, but his chest is pressed against yours, and you can feel his heartbeat, steady and maddeningly calm.

“come here and spank me about it, then,” he murmurs, leaning in, lips brushing your jaw.

“you’re not gettin’ outta this,” you mutter, but your resolve’s crumbling, his breath hot against your skin as he kisses down your neck, slow and deliberate. your hands betray you, tangling in his hair, and he hums, pleased, nipping at your collarbone. “i’m serious, satoru—”

“so am i,” he growls, and suddenly he’s kissing you, hard and sloppy, backing you up against the railing until it digs into your spine. the stairwell’s narrow, the steps uneven under your feet, but he’s got you pinned, one hand hiking up your shirt, the other tugging your panties down just enough to bare you. “let’s see how mad you really are,” he says, pulling back to smirk, his fingers brushing between your thighs, finding you already wet. “oh, baby, really mad, huh?”

you groan, half in frustration, half in need, and he takes that as permission, lifting your leg to hook it over the next step up, the angle opening you to him. “satoru, we’re on the stairs,” you hiss, but it’s weak, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fumbles with his sweatpants, freeing himself. he’s hard, leaking, and when he presses against you, you both moan, the sound echoing in the tight space.

“fuck, you’re so perfect,” he groans, pushing in deep, one rough thrust that makes you cry out, your head tipping back against the wall.

the railing’s creaking, the stairs shifting under his weight, but he’s relentless, fast and feral, each snap of his hips driving you higher. “say you forgive me,” he growls, biting your neck, his teeth sharp enough to leave a mark. you’re sobbing, swearing at him—“you’re such an idiot”—but your body’s begging for more, hips rocking to meet his.

“never,” you gasp, but it’s a lie, and he knows it, laughing breathlessly as he sucks on your fingers, moaning around them like they’re candy.

“fuck, you’re so wet,” he pants, his pace brutal, the sound of skin on skin loud enough to drown out your protests. you claw at his back, still muttering about the towels, but it’s incoherent now, lost in the haze of him filling you, stretching you, owning you.

when you come, it’s with a scream, your body shaking, clenching around him so tight he curses, his thrusts stuttering as he follows, spilling inside you with a groaned “fuck, baby.”

you’re trembling, barely holding onto the railing, and he’s not done, his fingers slipping between your legs again, circling your oversensitive clit. “still mad?” he murmurs, smirking, and you hiss, “yes,” but your voice breaks, your legs wobbling as he keeps teasing, pushing you toward another edge.

“liar,” he laughs, kissing you soft now, a contrast to the chaos of before. you’re a wreck, panties tangled around one ankle, shirt rucked up, and he’s still grinning, like he’s won the lottery.

you try to step up, legs shaky, but you stumble, and he catches you, scooping you up bridal-style. “told you the towela were worth it,” he says, carrying you toward the bedroom.

you smack his chest, muttering about the mess on the stairs, but he just kisses your forehead, tossing you onto the bed with a, “round two for the towel tax?”

you’re too spent to argue, pulling him down for more, the receipt forgotten on the stairwell floor, your marriage as chaotic and perfect as ever.

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starktonyx · 26 days ago

Text

Would you still love me if I was a worm? - Bucky Barnes x reader

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━

Word count: 1k

Description: A stupid little question turns into a makeout session. Your teammates hate to see it, except for one.

Note: Bucky is an absolute menace in this one. Tower fics are so back, enjoy 🫶🏼

Masterlist / John’s version

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Your question startles Bucky from his half sleep state.

Bucky’s body is stretched out across the Watchtower's living room’s couch. You're half splayed on top of him, your cheek against his chest, and your fingers playing with the chain of his dog tags.

You can feel his beard grazing your temple, and his vibranium arm is slung over your body, pulling you tighter to him like he can't stand even half an inch of your bodies being apart.

"What?" He asks, in amused disbelief. His voice is rough, he’d been at the brink of falling asleep.

"Yeah" You lazily mumble, tracing the edge of one tag. "What if you woke up and I was suddenly... a worm?"

His soft laugh vibrates against your ear. You feel his hand twitch against your back, like he's resisting the urge to check your temperature or look for a possible concussion.

He ultimately decides it's probably just you being silly.

"Just like that? In our bed?" He asks, eyes wide with mock concern. "I would probably roll over and crush you. Then cry about it for the rest of my life"

He pinches your side playfully.

"Bucky!" You gasp, laughing into his chest.

God. You don't even know what that laugh does to him.

"Come on, be serious" You whine. "Just answer the question”

"It's not necessarily a serious question, doll"

"Still needs an answer" You lift your head to glare at him. "Or else."

"Or else?" He playfully mocks, eyebrows rising in feigned shock. He throws his head back, shaking it, and his mouth curls into a teasing smirk. "Hell of a threat coming from a worm"

You narrow your eyes at him.

He chuckles, and the way he smirks is different now. You know it meant he was onto something.

"Fine, doll" He says, no longer mocking. "You really wanna know what I would do?”

In one fluid motion, he flips you beneath him, pinning your back to the cushions. His metal arm beside your head holds his weight as he leans down, lips brushing your jaw.

"I'd be real fucking sad, doll" He mumbles against your skin "Because if you were a worm, I couldn't do this…“

His mouth travels to your neck.

You gasp under him as his beard tickles your skin, his lips trailing hot kisses down your throat. He sucks a spot just below your ear and you whimper, an involuntary, needy sound that he easily pulls from you.

“See, doll?” He mumbles against your skin. “I wouldn’t hear those sweet sounds of yours”

Your hands get lost in his hair, tugging, trying to keep yourself grounded. But it’s no use. He’s all over you.

“Bucky…” you say in a haze, already forgetting what you were even talking about.

He knows you’re melting under his touch, but it’s the only way he can get his point across.

“So yes, I’d still love you” he mumbles, his voice is low and smug “but I couldn’t love you right, doll”

His vibranium arm slips under you, lifting your hips closer to his.

“You feel that, doll face? you wouldn’t be able to take me like this, couldn’t wrap your body around me, couldn’t—”

“BUCKY”

The chorus of disgusted voices and grunts calling him out crashes into you like cold water.

You freeze on the spot. Bucky immediately pauses and closes his eyes for a second.

With heat all over your faces, you peek over the back of the couch.

There in the open kitchen, John is leaning over the counter, with Ava sitting across from him. Yelena lounges beside her with a bowl of popcorn they’d been sharing.

“The stupid worm talk was kinda entertaining” Yelena says, flicking a handful of popcorn at you “But now you’re just being disgusting”

Bucky blocks the kernels with one arm.

“Do you have to get freaky every time you’re in this room?” John complains.

“We’re literally right here” Ava makes a gagging noise.

“We weren’t even doing anything” Bucky says innocently, then grins like the little devil he is. “Yet”

You smack his arm and shove his chest to get up from the awkward position. Bucky groans theatrically but stands, running a hand through his tangled hair like he’s proud of the mess you made.

He offers you a hand up, but when you take it he pulls you back against him the moment you’re standing, pressing a kiss to your neck, eyes locked with them like it’s a challenge.

That horny little bastard.

“Okay, that’s our cue to leave” Ava stands abruptly, the stool screeching across the floor. Her nose wrinkles in disgust.

John follows with the popcorn bowl in hand, muttering “It’s literally every damn week”

“Always the same with these two… at least have some shame” Yelena sighs, shaking her head like a disapproving church aunt before trudging after them.

They vanish down the hallway.

“Alone at last” Bucky whispers over your ear. He gently tucks your hair behind it, then lays another warm kiss against your neck.

You’re just starting to melt again, when the sound of the flick of a page makes you freeze again.

You both whip around to find Bob, still curled up in his reading chair in the corner, legs crossed, his left foot bouncing. He’s been there this entire time, and his expression was calm.

Too calm.

“Bob” Bucky squints at him. “You okay over there, buddy?”

Bob blinks, just noticing you. “Huh? … Oh! Yeah yeah. I’ve had roommates who were way worse. If you don’t mind me, I don’t mind you.”

He shrugs, then slips on his noise canceling headphones and continues reading, completely unfazed.

You stare at him horrified. Worse roommates? What on earth has he seen?

You look at Bucky, whose face mirrors your horror.

“Okay… this got weird” he mutters, shaking his head. But almost instantly, he catches your eye, lips curling. “Unless…”

He looks at you, with that devilish smirk he only does when he knows he's out of line.

This time you smack him harder.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you did not just suggest that we …”

You couldn’t even finish as you break off in a chuckle when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, completely unbothered.

“Yeah … whatever, doll. You know those headphones wouldn’t have helped Bob once I had you screaming into the cushions”

You groan, one hand covering your face as the other grabs him by the belt to drag him towards the elevator.

He just lets you, very happily.

━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━━

comments and reblogs save author’s lives, thank you so much for reading <3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #thunderbolts*#marvel imagine #thunderbolts #mcu #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #marvel #the winter soldier #marvel edit #sebastian stan #would you still love me if i was a worm #marvel x reader #new avengers #bob

2K notes · View notes

wayneontheroad · 1 year ago

Photo

Soups, Stews and Chili Recipe Red chile peppers are added to this corn chowder recipe for a vegan variation to add a little heat.

#recipe #version #corn chowder #crockpot #kernel corn #corn chowder recipe

0 notes

joshhommehavingafag · 2 years ago

Photo

Healthier Grandmother's Buttermilk Cornbread Recipe By using low-fat dairy products, cutting back on the sugar, and adding whole corn, grandmother's beloved sweet and moist cornbread is made healthier.

#corn #grandmother #corn kernels #buttermilk cornbread #version #dairy products #butter

0 notes

thecoffeejunkie · 2 years ago

Photo

Tangy Vegan Crockpot Corn Chowder This recipe for a vegan version of corn chowder is given a little heat with the inclusion of red chile peppers.

#kernel corn #vegetable broth #stews and chili #version #corn chowder

0 notes

heartisadrum · 2 years ago

Photo

Tangy Vegan Crockpot Corn Chowder Red chile peppers are added to this corn chowder recipe for a vegan variation to add a little heat. 2 cans whole kernel corn, 1.75 cups soy milk, 1 tablespoon parsley flakes, 1 tablespoon chili powder, 3 potatoes diced, 1/4 cup margarine, 1 lime juiced, 3 cups vegetable broth, 1 large onion diced, 2 red chile peppers minced, 1 clove garlic minced, black pepper to taste, 2 teaspoons salt

#corn chowder #kernel corn #corn chowder recipe #vegetable broth #version

0 notes

muchanmocha · 15 days ago

Text

Anyone who's watched any amount of anime would know that this is the token "character faces accusations from evil version of themselves" scene

There will always be a kernel of truth in their accusations, drawn from the character's hidden insecurities. But what they say will also always be twisted and purposefully misconstrued in bad faith and usually the character development lays in the character recognizing that truth and no longer letting it define them

#lets hope mizi makes it #alnst #alien stage #alnst mizi #alnst spoilers #the true face

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magic-shop-stories · 3 months ago

Note

Hiii!!! Could I request Namjoon x f!reader boyfriend head-canons like how you did the Yoongi ones?? Also, preferably with a reader who’s American? But you can totally do whatever!!! Ty!!!

💌 Reply:

I really wanted to write this for all the members, so thank you for requesting it... I hope it's what you wanted, tho I struggled a lot this time, I didnt want it to be too much like Yoongis but I think they wouldn't be THAT different in some points so idk... hope you'll enjoy reading xo - c -

BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS

↳ NAMJOON (RM) × FEM!READER

~ CONTENT WARNING FOR SECOND PART OF THE POST ~ MATURE THEMES | (extra warning in the post)

Possessive behavior

Suggestive themes

Mild NSFW references (kissing, intimacy)

Jealousy Proceed mindfully!

DAILY RHYTHM

Mornings

Early Riser

Slow Starter

awake by 6:30 AM

not by choice

his brain won’t shut off

you find him sprawled on the couch

hair mussed

he's scribbling poetry in a moleskine

glasses slide down his nose

he mutters

“Do you think Thoreau would’ve liked Spotify playlists?”

Coffee Catastrophe

brews matcha lattes

spills half the whisked foam trying to carry it to you

“It’s… abstract art,”

wiping green splatters off the counter

leaves a sticky note:

“Compensation latte en route. Don’t judge me.”

Breakfast Buffet

creates a fusion spread:

avocado toast with gochujang drizzle strawberry Pop-Tarts, sliced persimmons

“It’s a metaphor,” “Sweet, spicy, existential.”

Post-Wakeup Rituals

Study Sessions

his “studio” is a sunlit corner cluttered with art books, bonsai clippings, and a half-built LEGO Guggenheim

you perch on the arm of his chair

he pulls you into his lap without looking up from his sketchpad

“Your elbow’s on my Hegel annotations,”

grumbles, but lets you stay

Tug-of-War

if you try to leave, he hooks a finger in your belt loop

“Wait; listen to this haiku about cicadas.”

recites it solemnly

“…It’s about us. Maybe.”

Clumsy Affection

reaches for a high-five

misses, and accidentally knocks over his succulent

“This is why we can’t have nice things,”

you sigh

he repots it with dirt-smudged hands

“Imperfection is art. Like us.”

Midday Moments

Park Philosopher

drags you to Han River

rambling about “the duality of ducks”

tossing breadcrumbs grain kernels

you nap under a tree

he sketches you with a pocket watercolor set

“You’re my Starry Night...”

later showing you a blotchy but earnest portrait

Language Exchange

you teach him your slang

“Yeet is a verb, noun, and lifestyle”

he corrects your Korean tones

"Saranghae isn’t a whisper, it’s a promise...”

voice low enough to make you drop your iced coffee

Nighttime Nuances

Pre-Bed Brain Dump

reads Walden aloud until 1 AM

pausing to rant about capitalism

“Thoreau was a hypocrite but right... wait, did you just snore?”

Sleeping Style

starfishes across 75% of the bed

one arm slung over your waist

“You’re my… multiverse…”

snores lightly

you kick his shin = he rolls over

taking the sheets hostage

KEY DIALOGUE

when you nag him to hydrate:

“You’re worse than my ARMY Bomb manual.”

sighs

handing you a reusable water bottle

catch him nodding off mid-lecture about climate change:

“I’m not… tired. I’m processing.”

mumbles, glasses askew

then faceplanting into his copy of Braiding Sweetgrass

his version of “I miss you”:

“Your absence disrupts my entropy.”

translates to: “Come cuddle before I combust.”

COMMUNICATION

TEXTING STYLE

7 AM: screenshot of the sunrise

“Thoreau was right. Also, buy almond milk.”

3 PM: voice note of him beatboxing over a Langston Hughes poem

caption: “New mixtape: Existential Crisis & Chill.”

Midnight:

“The moon’s waxing gibbous. Come stargaze. P.S. I made hot chocolate...”

Notes

scribbles Whitman quotes on museum tickets

leaves one in your coat:

“We were together. I forget the rest... Or I won’t.”

finds your grocery list

adds “Admiration (1 lifetime supply)” at the bottom

PET NAMES

Public:

“Professor”

when you out-debate him

“Okay, Professor, explain TikTok to me again.”

“Sunflower” at the farmer’s market

“Because you’re tall, bright, and… rooted.”

blushes at his own metaphor

Private:

“내 작은 폭풍” (My little storm)

when you’re angry

“Your rage is… awe-inspiring. Also, please stop throwing socks.” “Moonchild”

whispered during late-night drives

“You glow even when the world’s dark.”

CURSING

Worried Curses

you come home late?

he’s pacing

wearing mismatched socks

“씨발… I Googled ‘American urban crime rates’ and now you’re here?!”

crushes you in a hug

“Never do that again. Unless… it’s for tacos.”

sees you struggling with IKEA instructions

“젠장, capitalism wins again.”

builds the shelf upside-down but insists it’s “postmodern.”

Flustered Curses

wear that dress

he knocks over his bonsai

“…God.”

avoids eye contact

“It’s not fair. You’re a distraction.”

MUTTERINGS (UNFILTERED & UNBOTTLED)

Annoyed Affection

“Why are you so… effortlessly disruptive?”

when you reorganize his bookshelves by color

“This is chaos. Beautiful chaos.”

steal his fries

he gasps

“This is why empires fall.”

slides the plate closer to you

Sleep-Soft Confessions

half-asleep, nuzzling your neck

“Your thoughts taste like honey.”

next morning:

“Did I say that out loud? Pretend I didn’t.”

after nightmares:

“Stay. Please. You’re my… sine qua non.”

doesn’t explain it

doesn’t need to

HIDDEN POETRY (FOR YOUR EARS ONLY)

Lyric Leaks

overhear him humming a melody while washing dishes

later, find a note:

“Your voice in the morning... key of G, tempo adagio.”

Satoori Slips

stress unlocks rural roots

after a long day, he sighs:

“나 죽겠다… (I’m dying…) But your smile is CPR.”

Artistic Vulnerability

leaves a watercolor of your hands in his studio

caption: “These built my universe.”

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER

Overprotective Tendencies

mention a creepy DM?

next day, he gifts you a leather-bound journal titled “Digital Detox: A Poet’s Guide to Privacy.”

inside, he’s handwritten firewall tips in calligraphy

“Knowledge is armor. Also, I enabled two-factor authentication.”

Passive-Aggressive Love

complain about slow Wi-Fi?

builds a DIY bookshelf router

cites its design in a TED Talk

“It’s a metaphor… for connection.”

Services

you’re sick?

attempts chicken noodle soup but confuses cumin with cinnamon

“It’s… experimental fusion cuisine.”

orders pho instead and blames the app

“The algorithm chose this. Don’t hate me.”

Jetlag Rescue

after your flight from the U.S., he stocks the fridge with Dr Pepper and kale smoothies

“Balanced electrolytes… or something.”

VULNERABLE MOMENTS (PHILOSOPHER’S EDITION)

When You’re Hurt

sees you crying over homesickness

recites Mary Oliver until you’re laughing through tears

“You don’t have to be good… but you do have to let me hug you.”

Post-Fight Peace Offering

leaves a dog-eared copy of “The Alchemist” on your pillow

highlighted line:

“Wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.” sticky note: “You’re my treasure. Even when you’re mad.”

Drunk Truths

tipsy on soju

traces the outline of your face

“Your smile… it’s like a haiku. Simple. Perfect. Destroys me.”

ask him to explain

"Just… let me live here.”

UNEXPECTED SOFTNESS

Period Protocol

tracks your cycle via moon phases

“Lunar energy affects us all.”

leaves dark chocolate and a hot water bottle shaped like Totoro

“Science and Studio Ghibli. Optimal healing.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over burnt cookies

bakes a “deconstructed s’more” (graham crackers, Hershey’s, lighter)

“It’s abstract. Like Rothko.”

Cultural Comforts

wears your college hoodie for a week (way too small)

“It smells like you. And… ranch dressing?”

secretly buys a duplicate to avoid giving it back

FIERCE LOVE

Defending Your Honor

Karen mocks your Korean accent?

steps in, voice calm but firm

“Language is a living art. Hers is a masterpiece.”

later, he rage-paints a canvas

titled “Ignorance in Primary Colors.”

Sacrifices

attends a crowded frat party to meet your friends

smiles through “Beer Pong 101”

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… but this is hell.”

UNEXPECTED VULNERABILITY

Period Protocol

leaves a care package:

organic tea, a heated blanket, and a handwritten “Period Playlist” (featuring Mitski and BTS’s “Zero O’Clock”)

“Pain is temporary. My love? Thermodynamically infinite.”

Bad Day Rituals

finds you crying over a failed work project?

recites “Still I Rise” while kneading your shoulders

“You’re Maya Angelou in Prada. Now let’s rise… to order takeout.”

COLD FRONT

Silent Treatment

hurt?

he buries himself in Nietzsche

texts: “When you stare into the abyss… it’s just me waiting for you to apologize.”

Playful Insults Gone Wrong

jokes about his “dad sneakers.”

buys neon Yeezys and wears them to a museum

“Aesthetic rebellion. Now suffer with me.”

NEGLECTED NIGHTS

Overwork Blinders

disappears for days writing his mixtape

returns with a bonsai tree

“It’s a metaphor. Needs patience… like us.”

Breaking Point:

unplug his laptop mid-session

he fumes: “Art isn’t a hobby...it’s my lungs!”

returns at dawn with a handwritten poem:

“Apologies in iambic pentameter. Forgive me?”

GIFTS

Philosophical Pampering

gifts you a first-edition copy of "Leaves of Grass" with annotations in the margins

“Page 32; Whitman’s wrong. You’re the answer to the universe.”

Eco-Warrior Love

buys noise-canceling headphones made from recycled ocean plastic

“Now you can ignore the world and save it.”

PRETENDS TO HATE SHOPPING (BUT LOVES BOOKSTORES)

Reluctant Mule

drag him to a flea market

complains about “consumerist dystopias”

but buys a vintage globe to “track our future travels”

carries your tote bag like a badge of honor

“This is not a metaphor. My arms hurt.”

Secret Splurges

catches you eyeing a $500 art print of Georgia O’Keeffe’s “Black Iris”

returns with a bootleg version he painted himself

“Mine’s better. It has… soul.”

Fashion Critic (Liar)

try on a prairie dress

“You look like a Laura Ingalls Wilder reboot.”

later orders it

HATES WHEN YOU GET DRUNK

(BUT LOVES YOUR HONESTY)

Philosophical Guardian

finds you tipsy at a party

debating “the existential merit of TikTok” with Jungkook

sweeps you over his shoulder

quoting Thoreau: “Simplify, simplify… starting with your liquor intake.”

Morning-After Mercies

wakes you with avocado toast and a "matcha IV drip"

“Electrolytes and antioxidants. Also, I Googled hangover cures in MLA format.”

Secret Worry

texts your college bestie and Jungkook:

“Keep her at 2 margaritas. Third one turns her into a teen.”

MARRIAGE (POETIC AMBUSH)

Fight

he skips a wedding expo

call him a “commitment-phobe”

snaps: “Marriage is a capitalist construct!”

you retaliate: “Then why’d you bookmark eco-friendly ring blogs?!”

Ring

minimalist band

engraved with coordinates to the Han River bench where he first said “I love you”

hides it in his Walden copy

find it mid-rant about “transcendentalist proposals”

Proposal

after a fight about his workaholism

projects a poem onto your apartment wall:

“Forever is a fractal. Let’s get lost in the pattern.”

“Marry me. Or let’s debate it over kombucha.”

FATHERHOOD

(THE GREAT PHILOSOPHICAL CRISIS)

Panic

mention kids?

he freezes, spilling matcha on his “I Heart NY” shirt

“…We killed a cactus. A cactus.”

buys a fern named “Baby Freud”

it thrives

he's trying extra hard (bc he secretly really really really wants to)

Test Run

volunteers at an orphanage to read “The Little Prince”

returns with a kid’s crayon drawing

titled “Namjoon Hyung is Weird”

frames it

“Art is truth.”

Revelation

catches you watching a video of him teaching ARMYs to recycle

a toddler comments: “He’s pretty… for a teacher.”

he mutes it, cheeks pink

“…She’s not wrong.”

ARGUMENTS & FEARS

Fight

you suggest naming your son “Thoreau”

chokes on his kimchi

“We’re not naming a human after a guy who hated people!”

compromises with “Jun”

“It means truth. And I picked it.”

Fear

finds him researching “How to Raise a Feminist Son” at 3 AM

slams the laptop

“…But what if I’m worse? What if I lecture him about Hegel?”

THE ARRIVAL

Pregnancy

reads “The Giving Tree” to your belly every night

records the kicks as a lo-fi beat titled “Kicks of Hope”.

Birth Day

holds your hand while reciting Rumi

passes out when the doctor says “push”

wakes up sobbing

“You’re my supernova.”

First Night Home

swaddles your daughter in a BTS-themed blanket

texts the group chat:

“She has her eyes. And my inability to shut up.”

sends a voice memo of her coos over a Miles Davis sample

~ CONTENT WARNING ~

MINORS DNI | NSFW | SPICY INTIMACY/PHYSICALITY AHEAD

contains: possessive themes, sensual language, suggestive scenarios, jealousy, explicit intimacy/kissing,suggestive content, kink mentions (marking, power dynamics), body worship

PHYSICALITY & ARTISTIC AFFECTION

Protective Poise

Public Gestures

his hands are gentle but intentional

but they linger

thumb brushing the nape of your neck

palm resting on the small of your back at gallery openings

fingers brushing yours as he passes you a book

palm sliding possessively down your spine

whisper: “That Picasso? Overrated. You’re the masterpiece.”

he’s less restrained at home

pulls you into impromptu slow dances in the kitchen

humming off-key to “Trivia: Love” while swaying

pins you against his bookshelf, philosophy tomes digging into your back

“Tell me I’m wrong."

lips grazing your earlobe: "Tell me Rothko’s red isn’t the same shade as your mouth.”

Clumsy Cuddles

tries to lift you for a spin

trips over the rug, and lands you both on the couch/bed

“Gravity’s a social construct anyway.”

cheeks pink

instead of apologizing, he hovers above you

glasses askew

“Fate intervened. Now...”

Intellectual Rivalry (Jealousy, Joon-Style)

overhears a philosophy major flirting with you at a café

interrupts with a “casual” debate on Kant’s ethics

later, buys you first-edition Thoreau

“Just thought you’d appreciate… deeper conversations.”

Subtle Flex

shows up to your work event in a tailored suit

glasses perched low

“Oh, this old thing? Just felt like… elevating the dress code.”

CONTEMPLATIVE GAZES

Staring (But Make It Deep)

watches you sketch in the park

eyes tracking the way your brow furrows

“Your creativity… it’s like watching a storm form.” “That’s your third metaphor today.” he grins “I’m just getting started.”

Staring (But Make It Dangerous)

watches you slip into his oversized Harvard hoodie

eyes darkening as the fabric drapes off one shoulder

rasps: “You’re… violating the dress code.” then closes his laptop: “And I’m failing to care.”

Late-Night Honesty

post-museum date, he traces the curve of your collarbone with a pen cap

“Your body’s a gallery. Every scar, every freckle... curated perfection.”

kisses your shoulder

loosens his tie

voice a velvet rumble

“That dress should be illegal. You should be illegal.” traces the strap of your lingerie: "Sylvia Plath wrote about this, didn’t she? I am, I am, I am… yours.”

SECRETLY LOVES YOUR CONFIDENCE (BUT WILL WRITE A SONNET ABOUT IT)

Artful Admiration

Backhanded Praise

wear a bold, avant-garde outfit?

“You’re… a walking Dadaist exhibit.”

later sketches you in charcoal

captioning it “Chaos Theory: Personified.”

wear a leather trench coat to his speech?

“You’re deconstructing the male gaze. Literally.”

sketches you, nude

Possessive Glances

spots a stranger eyeing you at a poetry slam

slides his arm around your waist

loudly debating “the hegemony of Western canon” until they flee

Possessive Academia

grad student flirts with you at a library?

he accidentally knocks over a stack of Derrida books

pulls you into a secluded aisle

“Let me… re-shelve your priorities.”

BEDROOM PHILOSOPHY

Foreplay (But Make It Existential)

reads Foucault aloud

voice dipping lower with every page

“Power is knowledge… and I know what you’re thinking.”

slides his glasses off, eyes locked on yours

“Prove me wrong.”

prefers lights dim

Miles Davis on vinyl

whisper-reads Rilke as you straddle his lap

“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.”

hands grip your hips

“Still… focus, okay?”

Aftercare

braids your hair while dissecting the symbolism in “The Great Gatsby.”

“Daisy’s voice is full of money… but yours? Full of… everything.”

TOUCH

Electric Prelude

hands speak in sonnets

calloused fingertips skimming your jawline

like a quill drafting verses

thumb brushing your bottom lip as if memorizing its shape for a poem

maps your skin like a cartographer charting undiscovered terrain

lingering at pulse points (wrist, throat, inner thigh) to sync his heartbeat with yours

“Your body’s a library,” “Let me… read you.”

Possessive Anchors

palm splayed against your lower back

pressing you closer until his chest meets yours

fingers tangled in your hair

tugging just enough to tilt your head for a kiss that starts as a whisper and ends as a manifesto

“You’re my magnum opus...”

breathes heavy, lips grazing your earlobe

“And I’m… revising.”

Aftercare Rituals

post-passion, he traces constellations on your hip with a philosopher’s precision

touch lingers on scars, birthmarks, the curve of your waist

pulls you into his chest

reciting Whitman into your hair

“We were together… I forget the rest.”

KISSES

Slow Ignition

starts with closed-mouth presses to your temple, knuckles, the corner of your lips

testing, teasing

when you gasp, he smirks

nipping your lower lip

“Impatient. Inelegant. Perfect.”

he's deep but controlled

Hidden Softness

after fights, his kisses are apologetic

chaste pecks to your eyelids, nose, scars on your knee/elbows

“Sorry… sorry…” - breathed like a prayer

leaves a haiku on your pillow:

“Pride is a shadow / Your warmth is the sun / Forgive me.”

PACE

Deliberate Crescendo

prefers slow, maddening build-up

undresses you like unwrapping a first-edition novel

mouth exploring every chapter

= collarbones, ribs, the dip of your hips

taking forever before letting you fall apart

“You’ll take what I give you.”

warns you at every whimper

eyes dark

“And I’ll give you… everything.”

Feral Surges

when jealousy strikes, he’s relentless

pins you against his studio wall

biting your shoulder as his hands roam

“Mine. Say it.”

you whimper? he gentens

forehead pressed to yours

“Say it… please.”

POSITIONS

Scholar’s Missionary

your legs hooked over his shoulders

hands gripping the headboard for leverage

“Don’t hide,” he orders

he's watching your face unravel

“Let me… study you.”

Cowgirl Command (aka you're his "pro rider")

lets you take control

hands squeezing your hips

“Show me what you need.”

the moment you falter, he flips you

"Thought so"

PREFERENCES

Lighting

pitch dark or very dim lights

pages of his journal scattered like rose petals

claims he “hates getting interrupted”

Soundtrack

your whimpers = his name gasped like a curse

demands “Louder,”

then covers your mouth or lightly choked you

“Too loud. Save it for the encore.”

Kinks

Marking

leaves metaphorical bruises

"ink stains" on your inner thigh

“So you remember… I’m your muse.”

Power Play

lets you “bind” him with his own tie

then breaks free

"You really think you can handle me?"

ROUNDS

Quality > Quantity tho if you beg him for more he won't ever stop until you beg fot the opposite

Dawn Encores wakes you with his mouth between your thighs

voice sleep-rough

"You moan in your sleep baby..."

FAVORITE SPOTS

Neck-to-Shoulder Junction bites here to hear you yelp

soothes it with his lips and gentle kisses

“You taste like… victory.”

Behind Your Ear whispers filth in Korean

grinning when you shiver and even wider when you don't understand

Inner Wrists kisses your veins like they’re holy

“Every heartbeat’s… because of me.”

TRIGGERS

Begging

“Please, Joon...”

he cuts you off with a snarl

“Not yet. Earn it.”

Competence

take charge!

ride him ruthlessly

he lets you

until he can't hold himelf back anymore

“Fuck… okay.”

flips you mid-stride

then tales you from behind

Vulnerability

tears during aftercare?

crushes you to his chest

voice breaking

“I’ve got you. Always. I'm sorry - tell me what you need honey.”

291 notes · View notes

lvlybin · 10 months ago

Text

𖦹 ̼ ᮫ JUNOᘞ̸⠀ ׁ ₊ SUNG HAN BIN

summary ༝༚༝༚ … you thank your lucky stars that Sung Hanbin was brought into your life. you’re even more grateful that you both have made it this far: marriage, home, jobs… the only thing that’s missing are tiny versions of you both and he’s more than happy to provide 18+ MDNI

wc 5187 ! ૮ ྀི◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ྀིა ۫ ੭̲ 𝓼hb & 𝓯!reader ⊹ non-idol!au ( short n sweet mini series ) ( library )

爱 ࿁ ⠀ ˚⠀ warnings … unprotected p in v sex, so. much. baby talk, heavy heavy breeding kink, phone sex, masturbation (f!receiving), semi-public sex, oral f!receiving, fingering, nipple play, clit play, bulge kink?, talks of periods and ovulating ︩︪

✉️ I feel insane for writing this >_< literally just something about this man I guess… enjoy my loves

“You’re so lucky to have a boyfriend like him,” was always the first thing people told you when they would meet Hanbin. The way their eyes would scan over him: his pretty face and kind smile as he greeted them, a hand resting on the small of your back to make it clear to the person that both you and him were taken. If he weren’t so polite, barely uttering a word or two to a friend of yours, you would’ve gotten jealous at how much attention he attracted. But of course, his mother had raised him to have a personality that would fit the perfect genes his father had given him.

It was easy to assume that he was out of your league, especially when you first met him, although he never made you feel that way. Hanbin made sure you knew how you were the only one for him–how you were the only woman who had the entirety of his being and praised you for simply existing. And the truth was, you really were lucky. Lucky to have found someone capable of so much love and someone that complimented you like he was made for you. It was as if the two of you were cut from the same cloth because even from the first interaction, he understood you better than anyone else and when he had laughed, those cute whisker dimples appearing on his skin, you were a goner.

“YN won the lottery,” your best friend had laughed when you had shown her the picture of the man who had asked you on a date after the smallest interaction in the coffee shop.

Laying on her bed, fuzzy socks clad on your feet and 13 Going on 30 playing in the background, you had popped another kernel of popcorn in your mouth as you rolled closer to her. “Right?” as you take your phone back from her, another text from Hanbin alerted on your screen. You grinned, “I don’t know what I did in my past life, but I am grateful for it now.”

Your friend laughs as she sinks into the pillows at the head of her bed, “Keep working that magic to make him fall in love with you.”

“I don’t know, he already seemed head-over-heels when he asked me out.”

She scoffed as Jennifer Garner kissed a young Mark Ruffalo on the TV.

“That’s gonna be you guys someday, getting married. God, YN, I swear if you don’t marry that man–”

“Shh, I just met him,” you giggled and your friend offered her free hand to you.

Halfheartedly, you high-fived her. “Exactly. The rest of it should be easy.”

And it was. The next night with Hanbin only solidified it, and being with him finally introduced you to what a loving, healthy relationship should be. You made each other happy, and it was like no other person existed to the two of you. Years passed, and you both graduated from university, got a place together, and moved in, settling down and solidifying your jobs.

None of your friends were surprised when Hanbin popped the question to you privately on the deck of the overwater bungalow you were staying in on your fourth-anniversary trip to Fiji. Or at the fact that you had said yes.

It was a dream come true getting married to him. Your wedding day was everything you had wanted since you were a little girl, especially the groom, and for two more years, the two of you were enough. Until Hanbin started talking about getting you pregnant.

Folded at the waist over the marble countertop of your shared kitchen, your husband groans loudly as he buries his length deep inside of you again. Your walls flutter weakly around him, his pace slow and harsh as you feel the veins of his length drag along the inside of your cunt. Hanbin’s grip against the back of your waist is bruising and all you can do is call out his name as one of his hands reaches around you to push against your lower stomach, feeling himself push into you again and again.

The pressure has you seeing stars and Hanbin coos softly, “Yeah, baby, let me take care of you… I’ll take such good care of you, just let go and feel it for me.”

“Binnie!” you cry out, feeling that coil inside you getting ready to snap and Hanbin pants heavily.

“‘M here, my love, I’m here,” he gasps out, thumb brushing over the hardened bud of your clit and you don’t have to see him to know he’s smirking as your orgasm hits you. As you ride out your high, his hand drifts over the soft part of skin just above your mound, his hips slamming into yours much faster.

“You’d look so pretty pregnant,” he mutters under his breath and you gasp softly. “Wanna put a baby in you, breed you so good and see your tummy get round–” Hanbin has to stop himself and he lets out a choked moan. The overstimulation’s beginning to hit you, but you can’t find yourself to care, your fuzzy mind filled with thoughts of him having you in a way no one has had you before. No one other than him would be able to have you.

“Give it to me,” you grit out, slowly losing what little you have left of your composure. “I’ll give you a baby–”

He’s releasing inside of you before you can utter anything else.

It only gets worse after that impromptu session that random Wednesday morning. You knew Hanbin had great stamina, but clearly, you underestimated how high his sex drive could actually get. More often than not you were waking up with his head between your thighs, his tongue lazily flicking your clit as he begged you to give him some relief before he had to leave for the day. He had you working your hips over him whenever you tried to sit next to him on the couch, had your mouth around him while he was driving you both home from work, was joining you in the shower any chance he got–he was insatiable.

Things increased tenfold when you both attended your niece’s fourth birthday party. It was strange to you that throughout the few hours you’d spent there, Hanbin hadn’t approached you once, opting to spend time with your brother-in-law and father, which was extremely unlike him. Normally, he would be attached to your hip, but it was your niece who was held in your arms for those few hours, demanding your whole attention. You missed the way Hanbin’s eyes darkened just in the slightest as you so effortlessly picked up your niece, speaking to her softly and making her laugh.

It was so natural for you, and Hanbin felt that small voice in the back of his head that had been steadily growing louder the past few weeks finally snap. If he got any closer to see you like this, he wouldn’t be able to contain himself, so he watched you from a distance. The image painted in his mind of your niece having his nose, your eyes, his face shape, your smile– it was almost too much to bear. He was tense for the rest of the birthday party. And for the entirety of the car ride home.

Later that night, after you had already gotten ready for bed, sitting between the sheets as you waited for Hanbin to finish up in the bathroom while scrolling on your phone was when he finally brought the topic up.

“What d’you think about having kids?” he’d asked through the open bathroom door. The words caused you to look up from your phone immediately, your heart racing.

“I want them,” you started softly. “They’re a big responsibility though, I don’t just want to rush right into it…”

His head popped out from around the edge of the door and he looked so adorable, hair a fluffy mess and skin shining a bit from the moisturizer he’d just applied. “...Could we maybe start thinking about having them?”

You turn your phone off as the corners of your lips twitch into a smile, “How long have you been thinking about this, Bin?” His cheeks turn a light shade of pink as he turns off the light in the bathroom, entering the bedroom. You laugh softly as he shrugs and practically throws himself onto the bed.

“A while…” he admits shyly, burying his face into your stomach, your shirt separating him from your bare skin. “I want it so bad, though. I’m in love with you, I’ll always be in love with you, and I want you to be the mother of my children.”

“You can’t just say that–”

He laughs, “But it’s true!”

You’re silent for a moment, running your fingers through his hair, the sensation helping you gather your thoughts. When he looks up at you, eyes wide and pleading, you feel your resolve crumble, “Please?”

How are you supposed to say no to that?

“Well…” You have to look straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with him as you voice your thoughts for the sole point of not getting distracted. “We both want kids… and we’re financially stable…” Hanbin lets out soft hums of agreement at each thing you list, moving up your body until his face is right next to yours.

“Please let me get you pregnant.”

“Hanbin–” You try, but his lips are pressing against your neck and suddenly it’s so much harder to think.

“You’d look so pretty. Your belly full of our child and you wouldn’t have to lift a finger.” He mouths at a sensitive spot of skin and you arch your back to press your body closer to his. “I’d take such good care of you…”

“I’d… I’d still have to get off the pill.”

Hanbin chuckles, “I’d love you so good that your birth control wouldn’t stand a chance.” You let out a noise somewhere between a giggle and a moan as he pulls away from your neck, a smile on his face as you make eye contact with him.

“Then consider it done,” you whisper to him just before his lips meet yours.

The next day, you turn off your alarm for when you’re supposed to take the pill, and Hanbin’s more than happy to throw the little foil packet into the trash. And to fuck you on the bathroom counter afterward.

The first week of being off of birth control you get your period. It’s surprisingly nowhere as near as heavy as you expected, but it’s still annoying to deal with, except for Hanbin being the angel he is and comforting you through the first two days of the subtle pain. Bringing you your favorite snacks, cuddling you whenever you asked for it, and giving you massages. Even though this level of care was nothing new, Hanbin hadn’t hesitated to bring up how this was his practice for when you were pregnant. You had rolled your eyes at his words.

But when you start ovulating, it’s torture. The worst it’s been in a while, actually, and sitting at work all day, mind running a thousand miles a minute with thoughts of Hanbin, Hanbin, Hanbin and you wish you’d never gotten off of the pill. You shift in your seat, unable to focus on anything as you feel your panties cling to you, the slightest movement making you want to scream out in frustration.

when’re you gonna be done with work tonight?

Your husband responds almost immediately:

binnie!

Around 5

Why?

You grumble a little, sending him another message and trying to be as blunt as possible.

I’m so horny Hanbin

can’t believe I actually listened to you and went off the pill this is horrible

The three little dots appear and bounce around for a few moments only for four little words to pop up on your screen.

binnie!

Go to the bathroom

You’re getting up from your desk immediately, making your way to the family restroom and locking the door behind you just as Hanbin’s contact appears on your phone. You don’t hesitate to answer his call.

“Is it that bad?” is the first thing he asks and you squeeze your eyes shut, rubbing your temples with your free hand.

“Maybe I’m being a little dramatic, but I cannot focus on anything for the life of me– Hey, don’t laugh.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he gets out between the sweet sounds of his laughter. Just hearing his voice is already making you feel better. He’s quiet for a moment after his chuckles die down, “Do you want help?”

A rush of arousal goes through you, “Please.”

“Okay, honey do whatever you need to do and I’ll stay on the phone with you–”

“Just– Keep talking,” you breathe out, your hand that’s not holding your phone undoing the button of your pants so you would have enough room to slip your hand into your panties. He laughs softly again and the sound practically has you gushing all over the fabric of your clothes.

Your fingers run through the wetness growing at your entrance, making sure you have enough lubrication before you begin circling your clit. “Oh, my sweet girl… You’re so good for me. Doing all of this so we can have a family.” You let out a small whimper and Hanbin coos gently, his voice low and intimate.

“I’ll make it so worth it, baby. You’re not gonna be leaving our bed at all tonight.” Your breaths are coming out in soft pants, struggling to control yourself as your movements quicken and your hips buck to meet your hand, practically humping your fingers. “‘M gonna come in you over and over and over again so there’s no chance that you won’t be pregnant by tomorrow.”

Your voice is breathy and you have to bite your tongue to stay quiet, “Please Binnie.”

“Tell me what you’re doing.” You swallow down a moan.

“Rubbing my clit. Trying to do it like you do but it’s hard,” you complain, trying to stay as quiet as possible as you run a finger over the hardened bud, only drawing yourself closer to your release.

“I’m here, baby, just keep doing what feels good,” Hanbin encourages and if your head wasn’t the slightest bit fuzzy, you would probably be able to hear the strain in his voice. You press a little harder and you feel your high beginning to creep up on you, leaning your head back against the bathroom wall.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whisper, holding on just for the sake of waiting for his permission.

Hanbin hums, “It’s okay, my sweet girl, let go.”

Your orgasm washes over you instantly and your teeth sink into the side of your cheek to prevent you from crying out, Hanbin’s soft praises helping you ride out the length of your high. When you finally calm down, Hanbin’s the first to speak.

“Feel better.” You smile weakly. “Much. Thank you.”

He chuckles, “It’s the least I can do. Are you sure you’re gonna be okay for the rest of the day?”

You pull your phone away from your face to look at the time, “Just a few more hours. If I need anything else I’ll just call you again.” The smile in his voice is evident.

“I hope you would,” he pauses for a moment. “I love you.”

It’s your turn to smile, it’s almost subconsciously, but you can’t help it. “I love you. I’ll see you when you come to pick me up.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he repeats back to you, before you end the call, giving yourself a moment alone to catch your breath and try to get your hormones under control.

Surprisingly, you’re able to get some things done for the rest of the day. Maybe it’s the motivation from being able to see your husband in just a few hours, but time doesn’t pass by nearly as slow as it did in the morning. Finally, you clock out, entering the parking garage after Hanbin messages you that he’d arrived. You’d never been so relieved to see his car in your life. And your heart rate increases tenfold when he gets out of the driver’s side, you traveling the short few steps before wrapping your arms around him tightly. The velvety sandalwood scent that clings to him infiltrates your senses and you let out a deep sigh, relaxing immediately.

He rubs your back, kissing your head softly, “I missed you.”

“Missed you more.” You pull away slightly to peck him on the lips, “Let’s go home?” At your suggestive tone, Hanbin smirks a little, never letting go of you as he makes his way around the front of the car, opening the passenger's side door for you.

“Let’s.”

You’ve never wanted to teleport so badly in your life, the car ride back to the house feeling like it stretched on longer than your entire work day. The best you could do to distract yourself from the longing growing inside of you again was watch as the city passed by, doing everything in your power to not look over at your husband because his hand resting on your thigh was more than enough. You figured that Hanbin must be as sexually frustrated as you, or at least the smallest bit with the way his fingers began to dig into your skin and the brief image of him gripping the steering wheel tightly. But to your disappointment, his impeccable control was still intact when you both entered your house.

Hanbin hadn’t pushed you up against the wall or bent you over the nearest surface, he’d simply taken off his shoes, then your own before walking towards the kitchen. You gaped a little, eventually following him while wondering what happened to that desperate man from a few weeks ago. All you could do was watch in disbelief as Hanbin dug around in the fridge, getting out some leftovers and warming them up before placing them in front of you.

“Eat.” You were getting tired of his one-word commands as you slid into one of the seats at the island counter, beginning to eat quickly. “Slow down a little, honey, I don’t want you to choke,” he laughed softly, reaching to hold your wrist and force you to relax your movements.

You tilt your head, “Hanbin.” He responds with a soft hum. “Do you really have to draw this out even more?”

“Do you remember what I said on the phone earlier?”

Carefully, you eat another mouthful of the food before answering, “That you were gonna take care of me.”

“I did say that,” he agrees, leaning on the counter with his hands. “What I meant, though, was how I’m not letting you leave our bed tonight.”

Oh. You didn’t think it was possible to feel even more turned on.

“And you’re not going to, so eat.” Your face flushes as you hesitantly resume eating. His warm brown eyes never leave you as the contents of the plate slowly disappear, and when you swallow the final bite, Hanbin is taking the plate away. He sets it by the sink and then before you can process where he is, you’re in his arms and his lips are pressing harshly against yours.

It’s like he’s trying to consume you as his mouth melds so perfectly against your own, his tongue slipping past your lips when you gasp at the suddenness to swirl around your mouth. You grip onto his shoulders tightly, scrunching his shirt under your palms as his hands find the undersides of your thighs, squeezing the skin as he begins to walk. The moments where he pulls away from kissing you are short-lived, only meant for taking in small breaths and to make sure he wasn’t going to run into a wall. He shifts your weight against him as he pushes the door to your bedroom open.

Your feet find the floor and Hanbin’s holding your face with his hand as his taste continues to fill your mouth, making your brain cloudy and full of thoughts of just him, him, him. Gently, you push at his chest, breaking the kiss to catch your breath, a small string of spit connecting your mouths. Hanbin smiles and your heart almost beats out of your chest.

His hands slide under the bottom of your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your waist as he begins guiding you backward.

“Needed you so badly today. You sounded so pretty on the phone my dick was hard for hours,” he groans before his lips land on your neck. Hanbin bites softly, leaving marks all over the expanse of your skin and when his teeth brush against a particularly sensitive spot, you yelp. His breath is warm against your neck as he sucks at the spot harshly before pulling away.

“Want it, Bin, want it so bad– Need you inside me.”

“Be patient,” he mumbles, but with the way his hands are instantly pulling at the hem of your shirt, you can tell that he doesn’t want to wait either. “And be careful with what you say.” His tone is heavy with lust as you fall back against the covers of your bed, the sheets a mess since neither of you had bothered to make it that morning.

“Either way I’m gonna get what I want,” you say as he tugs the straps of your bra down, muttering a few words of annoyance as he reaches behind you to undo the clasp.

His hands feel so big as he pulls the clothing in, his cheeks turning pink as he drinks in the sight of your bare chest. “And what is it you want?”

“Want your baby.” Hanbin practically groans at the three words, mouth lowering to the top of your tits to trail soft kisses in a horizontal line across them both.

A small moan leaves your lips, “Sounds like you want it as much as I do.” His pink lips are wrapping around one of your nipples, running his tongue over the bud and sucking to erect the nerves.

“‘M gonna make you a dad.” His fingers pinch harshly at your other nipple, which he quickly soothes by running the pad of his thumb over it. It was almost like a warning, but all it made you do was rub your thighs together, wanting more friction. When Hanbin removes himself from your nipple, it already feels sore, the skin red as he kisses it quickly. Then the other.

“Can’t wait to see your tits get all swollen. You gonna let me massage them? Let me make you feel better while your body grows our baby?”

“Yes,” you groan out eagerly, arching your back slightly to press your body closer to his.

“I know, baby, I know,” he reassures, rubbing your nipples in small circles as he kisses his way down your stomach. “You’re gonna be so relaxed, you’re gonna feel so good that you won’t even care how full you’re gonna be with my cum.”

“Please, Binnie,” you whine as his hands leave your breasts to undo your pants, pulling them down your legs impatiently along with your panties. He hums a little as his hands gently guide your thighs apart.

His thumb dips into your entrance just the smallest bit, collecting your wetness before spreading it all around your pussy, avoiding your clit. “Relax,” he repeats, kissing your inner thigh before wrapping his lips around your clit. Hanbin’s tongue flicks quickly over your most sensitive spot, making you cry out and your hand shoots down to hold him against you.

“You taste so good,” he mumbles against you, and the vibration has you reeling, bucking your hips toward his face. The tip of his tongue teases you, gently moving the bud back and forth as you feel spit run down from your clit to your entrance, making your opening even more messy. Hanbin sucks on the hard little nub as his middle finger begins to work its way into you, the thrusts deep and slow as he eases you open. The sounds of his finger pumping into your pussy and his slurping against your clit make you cry out louder, and you prop yourself up onto one of your elbows to get a better view of him.

His eyes are already on you, pupils blown wide. “You’re so pretty, Binnie. Mouth feels s’good,” you slur, running your hand through his hair, and your praise has him pushing another finger into you. “God! Make me cum, Bin– Make me cum,” you whine as he stops sucking on you, flattening his tongue and lapping at you, fingers speeding up and curling so perfectly that your wetness is gushing around him.

Every time he eats you out, he acts like a starved man. Desperate for your attention and desperate for your pleasure as he ruts against the bed every so slightly, eyes falling shut as he takes your clit back into his mouth. The pressure has you practically sobbing and you feel yourself clench around his digits when a third finger brushes against your hole.

“Y’gonna cum already?” Hanbin teases and you let out a frustrated grumble.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day, don’t tease me.”

He thrusts his fingers into you roughly and you’re falling apart around him, his thumb resting on your clit to give you enough friction to enjoy your orgasm as his face comes back to hover over yours.

“Was thinking about your pussy all day too, baby, no need to get angry.”

“‘M not angry, I just need you to fuck me.” Hanbin chuckles and his lips meet yours in an opened mouth kiss, the taste of you heavy on his tongue. He pulls away just enough to slip his shirt over his head as your shaking, weak hands fumble with his belt. Soothingly, he kisses you again, taking your hands in his own and placing them on his shoulders before he takes care of the rest of his clothes himself.

You want to cry in relief when you feel his tip run along your entrance, collecting the wetness that had seeped out of you from your previous orgasm. “Ready?”

“Please,” you whine and Hanbin doesn’t hesitate to slowly push his length into you. Both of you are moaning as he fills you up, that itch you’d needed to scratch all day finally subsiding as the weight of him rests inside your pussy, letting you adjust around him. You both kiss lazily for a moment as you relax. “You can move,” you finally whisper into his mouth.

Hanbin’s hands wrap around your calves gently as he guides them towards your face, your thighs pressing against your chest and allowing him to get deeper inside of you as he begins to fuck into you. “My wife, only for me, right?”

He starts at a borderline painfully slow pace, getting lost in the feeling of your velvety walls wrapped around him so tightly and enjoying how you’re pinned underneath him. Your hands clutch at the sheets beneath you, mouth falling open at the steadiness and precision his hips have as his knees dig into the mattress.

“Only– f’you, Binnie!”

“Mhm.” And if it weren’t for the way his eyebrows are slightly furrowed, you would think your fluttering walls around him weren’t even affecting him. “All mine. All mine to love, and to fuck, and to get pregnant.”

“Ah!” You cry out as he begins forcing into you at a faster pace. “Yes! Need it~ Need you to fill me up–”

“Keep your eyes on me,” Hanbin demands, his drag along your walls ruthless and everything feels so intimate. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing it harshly and flicking it side to side, trying to build up your pleasure so you can’t focus on anything else. He pulls out to the tip, pushing into you again and he feels a rush of your arousal spill around his length, causing him to moan as well. “Want this forever, baby. You don’t understand–”

“Yes, please, forever,” you blabber, so dick-drunk and gone already. He chuckles, tongue slipping out to lick at the sweat building up on his upper lip. “Baby… Baby~”

“I know, sweet girl, I’m gonna give it to you,” Hanbin reassures, hand leaving your calf to press against your abdomen. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I’m gonna finish, ‘s where you’re gonna get all round and full with our baby and– Fuck,” he curses, feeling you clench tightly around him.

He looks at your dazed eyes, love evident in his expression and it almost feels like it’s too much. But you want it, you want it so bad, the images of him holding your baby consuming your mind and you pant out little, ‘Ah-Ah-Ah’s weakly. Hanbin’s thrusts slow a bit, but with the way he’s hitting that spot inside of you every time, you don’t really notice that much.

“Oh yeah, you like that so much, don’t you?”

“Please.” Is all you can manage, reaching up to hold his face with your hands, desperate for something to ground you as he begins to fuck into you at a faster speed again. Hanbin kisses you gently, a complete contrast from the way he’s moving inside of you and rubbing you and he’s never been like this before but you do–you like it so much.

His upper body comes to cover yours as he removes his hand from your clit, resting his elbows on either side of your head so he can see your face as you approach your high. “‘M close–”

“Cum for me,” he gets out, hips moving to provide you as much pleasure as possible, feeling himself near his orgasm as well. “Cum for me, I’m right behind you.”

You moan out his name loudly as you fall over the edge, nose pressed against his as his eyes stare into your own. Hanbin’s mouth drops open a bit as he feels you cum around him, burying himself inside of you as he releases as well. The warmth of his cum inside of you has you whimpering slightly, both of you breathing heavily as you catch your breath for a moment. Hanbin pulls out of you with a small ‘pop’– looking down to watch as his release leaks out of you.

A soft sob leaves your lips as his fingers gather the liquid, forcing it back into you. “Shh, shh, shh,” he shushes you, and you flinch at the overstimulation, hips jerking away from him a bit. Which he clearly doesn’t like, his hands pinning your hips down as he fits his length into you again.

“Don’t run away from it…” he trails off, leaning over to kiss you sweetly. “We want it to take, right? I don’t care if I have to handcuff you to the bed, ‘m gonna make sure you’re pregnant by tomorrow morning.” And when you feel Hanbin begin to weakly buck into you again, you know he’s not lying.

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