sweetheart - hollanov - @hollanovmicrofic - word count: 352 - click here to see my microfic archive!
Over the years, Ilya’s developed a sort of…routine…with women.
He’s never mean or cruel, no. Having been raised by his mama, he could never dream of treating a girl like anything less than what she’s worth.
But he still refuses to get close, so there’s certain boundaries he maintains. No sleepovers, no gifts, no meeting the family. And as far as pet names? Sure, he’s been known to call a girl ‘baby’ in bed, or something more degrading if she specifically asks. But he never, never uses something more intimate. Not even with Sveta.
It’s never been a problem. His lips have never threatened to form the shape of more loving, terrifying phrases. He’s never had to even think about what he’s saying–the rules have been an innate part of him.
Until now.
Until he returns, in the dim light of dawn, from the bathroom of a cottage that’s somehow become theirs in the past few days. Until he looks down and sees Shane Hollander spread out, limbs akimbo, on his stomach, snoring softly and completely relaxed, in the sheets they’d wrecked only hours ago. Until he gazes fondly at the only piece of his heart that’s not in his body. That stubbornly resides in fucking Montreal and insists on playing a contact sport, just to make him worry more.
Shane groans, shifting a little and pats at the empty spot in the bed where Ilya usually sleeps. “....’Lya?” he murmurs sleepily, raising his head a few centimeters off the bed, not even opening his eyes.
And, fuck. Suddenly, Ilya can’t control anything about himself. The way his heart swells and thuds in his chest, the way his whole body warms and his knees weaken. The way his mouth forms around the words before he can think better of them. He just moves forward and pulls Shane into an embrace, whispering, “Here, sweetheart. I am here.”
And as Shane relaxes against him, muttering, “Don’ leave….”
Ilya passionately whispers, “Never,” into his hair, knowing that he is well and truly fucked, speaking the truth in that moment more than he ever has before.
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summary | your husband has always been obsessed with you. but he seems extra with all the looks he's been throwing at you feeding your daughter. whatever is on his mind?
word count | 4.2k
warnings | smut, 18+, total kinkfest, MDNI, sub!bucky, lactation kink, mommy kink, unprotected pnv (shoutout to lactational amenorrhea!), usage of nicknames (baby, sweetie, babyboy, sweet boy for him. mommy for you), no use of y/n.
notes | i heard there’s enough smut without plot, so i decided to rectify that problem by writing more smut without plot rubs hands like an evil fly. so, this is basically no plot, just vibes. please do not read if this is not your cup of tea (or milk, see what i did there, ehehe) seriously, this is just so much filth, i kinda went overboard. probably be the filthiest thing that ever came out me. tread carefully. based on this ask. hope you like this, anon!
d/t | @sheriff-bodecker obviously <3
you’re half-dressed and cradling your daughter against your chest. one of your hand cups her perfect little head while the other strokes her back in a steady rhythm.
her soft, wet suckling fills the quiet, punctuated now and then by that tiny sigh she makes when she pauses for air.
you’re tired now. but in that floaty, dazed way that’s oddly peaceful, like your body knows you’ve just made a whole human and is demanding your stillness.
the robe you’re wearing parts a little, when you shift on the bed, exposing the warm skin to the night air. one breast is out, full heavy and leaking, the other still tucked away. your belly is softer than before. your thighs, too. and yet you’ve never felt more powerful than in this moment: feeding someone that grew inside you.
something moves in your peripheral vision, and you don’t have to take another look to know that it’s your husband.
the wedding band glints at his finger, as he stares at you. again. and he’s not being very subtle about it.
he’s leaning in the doorway like he’s forgotten how to move. like someone pressed pause on his brain and he’s just stuck there.
you don’t look at him for a while. you just let him watch. it’s become a quiet game between you lately. he studies you, drinks you in like he thinks you’ll vanish. and you pretend not to notice until the weight of his hunger becomes impossible to ignore.
you clear your throat softly, but your eyes remain on your daughter. “you’re staring again.”
“i know.” there’s no apology in it. it’s just the truth, like it’s just a fact. his gaze slides down your body and drags its way back up, lingering far too long on the breast not currently occupied, albeit it being covered. “i can’t help it.”
you finally glance at him.
he looks like a man with his hands tied. like he’s trying to be respectful, like he’s trying to wait until you give him permission.
but there’s just something wild just beneath his stillness.
you tilt your head, just a little. “what is it, baby?”
you let your eyes drag down his body now. there’s the evidence of barely-there outline of his cock already thickening beneath the fabric of his pants. your eyes find his face again, he’s red in the cheeks, breathing real slow he’s trying to will himself not to get hard watching you feed your child.
you feel the wicked little grin tug at your lips before you can stop it.
“do you want a taste?”
you ask it so damn lightly. like you’re offering him a sip of your latte.
his mouth actually opens a little. but nothing comes out other than air. his arms uncross and his hands hover at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them anymore.
“what?” his voice is croaky, like he’s forgotten how to speak entirely, and english sounds more like an inconvenience rather than a language he’s fluent in.
“you’ve been staring for twenty minutes like you want to get on your knees and suck it.”
bucky makes a noise in his throat that’s somewhere between a gasp and a groan. his eyes drop again, then snap back up, like he’s afraid he’ll come just from looking too long.
“you’re—you’re not serious.”
“oh, but i am.”
you shift your daughter slightly, stroking her tiny back as she continues to suck lazily in her sleep-heavy rhythm. “you’ve been walking around this house like a kicked puppy for a month. you’re hard every time i take my robe off. flustered every time i bend over. and don’t think i didn’ notice how long you stood outside the door last night just listening to me pump.”
his lips part again. nothing. just breath, yet again.
“fuck.” he finally manages to drag one word out of his throat.
“you want to taste what your daughter gets, don’t you? you want mommy to feed you, too.” you say the latter like it’s a statement, not a question.
you don’t know what came over you when you uttered that word, what spurred you to actually say it. but the way he reacts tells you he’s into it.
in fact, he’s very much into it because he whimpers. actually whimpers.
“say it. say what you want, baby.” your voice is barely a whisper, excited to see what might come out of his mouth. because not everyday does a six foot super soldier look like the ground has been ripped away from him.
his eyes flutter close like he’s in pain. “i want—fuck. i want to suck your tits, mommy.”
you smile like you’ve won something. hearing him call you that is a different type of arousal, one that you hadn’t felt before, but now embraced it fully. he’s exactly where you want him.
“good boy,” the two words leave you way too easily.
your husband moves without thinking. crawls onto the bed like he doesn’t remember how his knees work. when he’s finally kneeling beside you, his hands hover again, like he’s uncertain.
you’re still feeding your daughter. she’s still latched, little sucks slower now, fading more towards sleep.
bucky, on the other hand, is breathing hard.
“you want to wait until she’s done? or do you want the other one now?” you ask sweetly, like you’re not short-circuiting your husband in real time.
his eyes flick down to your boobs, and then back to you, then down again, as though he’s weighing his options. “now.”
you reach up and tug the robe down off your other shoulder, letting the soft fabric fall completely. you’re bare from the waist up now.
you bring your hand to the full breast he’s been staring at and squeeze just slightly. a thin stream of milk beads at the tip.
a moan rips out of him. and you haven’t even touched him, nor has he touched you. yet.
“open,” your voice is way too soft for an order.
his lips part instantly, like he’s waited enough.
you guide his mouth to your nipple, and he latches as though he’s the one who’s starving. his hands go to your waist, gripping you tight like you might float away. the groan he lets out when he tastes the first trickle of milk is obscene.
there’s no hesitation in the way he suckles, it’s just him, his mouth, his tongue and soft suction.
“good boy,” you whisper again. “drink.”
you stroke his hair, like you’re petting something loyal. you can feel the tension leaking out of him with every suck. and the unmistakable strain of his cock against his sweats now that he makes no effort to hide it.
“that’s it,” you coo. “you missed mommy, didn’t you?”
he nods against your skin, mouth never leaving your breast.
“you’ve been so patient and sweet. helping me every day. putting our daughter down. kissing me goodnight and walking away with your cock hard, haven’t you?”
he pulls off for half a second with a gasp, mouth still wet and swollen with saliva and milk. “i tried to be good.”
you smile and guide him back to your nipple.
“you were. that’s why i’m letting you drink.”
his groan vibrates against your skin and your whole body spikes with heat. you’re soaked between your legs now, your thighs clenching every time he pulls more milk from you.
there’s precum leaking through his pants that you can clearly see now.
your daughter unlatches with a little sigh, drunk on milk and sleep, and you shift carefully to lay her in the bassinet beside the bed.
bucky doesn’t stop sucking. he just follows you, stays latched, hands on your hips like he thinks you’ll take it away if he lets go.
you chuckle breathlessly and run your fingers through his hair. “you’re really needy, huh?”
he just nods.
“you wanna make mommy come first?”
he looks up at you, with stark black eyes and lips impossibly pink.
“please.” he pops off your breast to utter the word and goes right back to it, like that’s where he belongs.
you stroke his hair again, watching his eyes flutter. his tongue moves slower as he sucks you, almost softer now, more worship than hunger. his grip on your hips is tight, like you’re his anchor.
“god, you’re a mess. look at you.” your voice is thick with both affection and arousal.
another groan slips past him as he pulls back slightly, tongue dragging along your nipple as he breathes out. your breast is wet with milk and spit, your nipple flushed and shiny and swollen. he looks up at you like he’s drowning in it.
“i c—can’t think when you say it like that,” he stammers, “you say it and my brain just… shuts off.”
you grin down at him. “good. i don’t need you thinking right now. i just need your mouth.”
you lean back against the headboard, spreading your legs slowly, watching the way his eyes drop and his jaw tightens at the sight of your bare cunt.
you’re soaked. well, no surprise there. you’ve been aching since the second he looked at you like that. since you saw his cock twitch behind the fabric of those old sweatpants.
“you still remember what i like?” you spread yourself for him with two fingers. “it’s been a while.”
bucky exhales like he’s about to cry. “i remember everything, mommy.”
the word, even uttered for the hundredth time today, brings a new wave of arousal between your thighs. “then show me.”
there’s no hesitation inn his movements as he crawls between your legs and settles there.
the first touch of his mouth is soft. his lips part and he exhales hot against your folds before dragging his tongue up in a wet line that makes you moan and buck your hips upwards.
“ohhh, fuck—yes, just like that, baby.”
he groans in response as he licks deeper, the tip of his tongue pressing just enough to tease before flicking against your clit.
he’s slower than he used to be. maybe careful is the word. like he knows your body’s changed and he’s not here to rush it. he’s here to worship every inch of you.
he spreads you with his thumbs and sucks your clit into his mouth slowly, and your hand flies to his hair.
“there’s my good boy—ahh—keep going.”
he moans again, hips rocking down into the mattress like he can’t help it, like he’s trying to grind through the fabric just to relieve some of the pressure.
his tongue slides down to your entrance to tease and circle, and then goes right back up to your clit.
“fuck, bucky, don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”
he mumbles something into your pussy and it takes you a second to realize he said, “won’t stop, mommy.”
you tug his hair harder. “say it again.”
he obeys you in an instant as he looks up with half lidded eyes, “i won’t stop, mommy.”
your cunt clenches around nothing, and you laugh. maybe it’s a little mean what comes out of you next.
“you’re so fucked out and you haven’t even had your cock touched yet.”
he whines. genuinely whines. he actually rocks his hips down again like he’s going to lose it just from licking you. you decide to test that theory.
“you gonna come in your pants like a good little mommy’s boy?”
he lets out a strangled sound and sucks harder, tongue swirling over your clit until your whole body arches off the bed.
“jesus— yes, baby, right there, don’t stop—”
he’s locked in now, moaning into you and grinding down. very desperate and obedient of him.
you just ride his mouth like you own it. because you do. every inch of him. every twitch of his tongue and clench of his jaw belongs to you.
your orgasm hits like a wave. sudden and earth shattering after the abstinence.
you cry out and pull his face into your cunt, grinding down, letting him drink every last second of it from your body.
a moan tears off him like he’s the one coming.
when it finally passes, you loosen your grip on his hair and stroke his scalp gently. breathing hard, he pulls back slowly. his entire face is wrecked.
“did you…?” you raise your eyebrows in question.
he swallows. “i—almost.”
you glance down and see the wet patch on the front of his pants. cupping his face, you lift his jaw up, “you want to come, sweet boy?”
without waiting for his answer, you push his back towards the headboard. he leans back, sweats still on, cock still straining hard against it, like it aches.
“pull down your sweats, baby,” you order him and he obeys without wasting a second. there’s no thoughts behind his eyes, only desperation.
when his pants are discarded to the floor, you gaze over him. his cock stands proud, a little bent towards his abdomen, smearing precum.
the tip is flushed, a delicious shade of pink, begging to be tasted. but you have other plans for him.
you slide up higher to where he is, bracketing his thighs with yours.
he watches the whole thing like he’s watching the moon rise. his hands come up automatically, gripping your hips, trying to hold you steady.
your swollen, aching cunt is hovering over his dick. when you cannot support your body so much, you feel yourself sitting over him, more like, right over his dick.
a hiss leaves his lips as your pussy makes contact with his cock. but he makes no effort to move you, only supporting you by your hips.
“mommy, please i need to be inside you,” his voice is a wreck when it does come out.
you thoroughly ignore his request, as you drag your cunt over his cock once. he whimpers like it actually hurt him, and your hand flies to his cheek.
“are you okay, baby?”
“no—aah, fuck, mommy, i’m gonna cum if you keep—keep doing that.”
you trail your fingers up his abdomen, smearing a bit of cum as you go. his abs clench under your touch. you’re not even trying to be cruel, but the effect is devastating.
the flesh arm leaves your hip to find your tit, and he brings it to his mouth. even wrecked, he needs to be drinking.
you lean forward a bit, making it easy for him to nurse. carding your fingers through his hair, you pull him towards you, and he comes to you without hesitation.
he squirms a little under your touch, and you pull back to see his lips glistening.
“what is it, baby boy?”
“ah—fuck, mommy, it hurts! please— please do somethin’,” his voice is hoarse, and you grind down on him, maybe just to torture him a little more, thus pulling a whimper out of him.
he buries his face in your neck and mumbles, “please, mommy.”
you think he might cry if you keep this up.
“aw, you’re so needy, baby,” you coo and run your hands through his hair. a whine leaves him as he nuzzles closer to you.
you sit back up slowly, watching the way his eyes track your every movement. you reach for his cock and wrap your hands around the base, gently, so gently, that touch equals torture.
he lets out a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat.
“you’re so full, baby,” you marvel at your husband.
you stroke him slowly, barely moving your wrist. the pressure is feather-light, more tease than anything. the tip of his cock is angry-red, veins flushed up along the shaft, pulsing under your hand.
his hips twitch, like he’s trying not to fuck into your fist.
“i’ll come if you do that, mommy, aaah, please.”
“i thought you wanted to cum, sweetie.” your eyes flick up to his face. he’s flushed from the neck to his ears. his head tips back into the headboard, so much so you think it might hurt, but then you remember he’s a super soldier and that he can probably take it.
“i do—i do, i just— i wan’ to cum in you, mommy.”
“you poor thing,” you stroke him slow and steady now, your palm gliding over the slick head with every pass. “did i let it build too long? should i have let you cum sooner?”
“please please let me inside you—nnngh—please mommy.” he’s trembling now. his whole body is reacting, like you’ve bypassed his brain and gone straight to the part of him that just feels.
deciding that you’ve tortured him quite enough, you lift yourself from his thighs and let your cunt hover right over his cock.
his hands grip your hips, in an attempt to push you down, but you hold yourself together as you slide his cock up and down your pussy until it catches your entrance, earning another groan from him.
a broken sigh emerges from him when you finally lower yourself fully on his cock, and you’re seated snug on his lap.
his head slumps towards your body as you start slowly grinding on top of him.
greediness engulfs him as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, his tongue working circles over it until his lips wrap around it fully, followed by which there’s a soft suckle.
the dual assault on your body is too much, especially since this is the first time you’ve welcomed him inside you after delivering your babygirl.
like he’s read your mind, his metal arm grips your hip tighter, while his flesh arm snakes down between your legs to find your swollen clit.
the sensation of him rubbing slow circles on your aching nub is almost too much, and you feel yourself slipping away, falling into another mind blowing orgasm.
all while, he hasn’t taken his mouth off you, drinking languidly. you feel his cock twitch inside you, and your walls clamp down on him, both of you reaching the sweet release at the same time.
the milk let down increases when his latch doesn’t waver, but only strengthens as he spills hot cum inside you.
breathing grows heavy on both sides, until you cannot do anything. not even move. wrapped up in one another, like there’s no possibility of space between you.
he lifts his face from you, and that’s when you catch sight of him. utterly gone. milk and spit and the remnants of your cum adorn his face, lips flushed pink, and irises completely eclipsing his pupils.
you lean down and kiss him, tongue slipping into his mouth with lazy ease.
“you’re okay, baby,” you whisper. “you did so good.”
he doesn’t even speak. something like a groan comes out of him and you nuzzle against his cheek, still smiling.
“i love you,” he whispers, looking down at your chest, eyes dragging over the shiny, slick skin of your breasts. “you’re still leaking. fuck. mommy, you look edible.”
edible isn’t a word you’d use to describe yourself, but whatever floats his boat. you roll your eyes at him, but your thighs clench.
“wanna suck it again,” he mutters, dragging his thumb across the side of your breast. “lick it up and swallow every drop. god, you taste so good—so warm—”
you press your hand flat against his stomach. “you’re literally trembling.”
“i know.” he laughs breathlessly. “my legs don’t work. my balls are empty. my brain is gone. i’m just a mouth now. just a mouth and a cock actually.”
you snort into his skin.
“god, you’re disgusting,” you whisper, but there’s no heat to it, you punctuate the sentence by placing wet kisses to his collarbone.
he turns his face toward you, brushing his nose against your temple. “i mean it. the second you said i could have a taste—fuck, something in me just broke.”
you could feel his cock slightly harden in you by the second, and he looks at you like he’s just realised that too. but he also knows you don’t have enough in your body to give him another orgasm.
you try to nuzzle close to him, try to grind down on him despite being wrung out, but he gently lifts you off him and you both silently hiss.
"can we just lie down?" to which you reply with a kiss to his lips. he takes that answer eagerly and curls into your side.
he's half on top of you now, one arm slung across your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. his face is pressed against your chest, lips brushing the swell of your breast.
the stillness doesn't last longer as he twitches every now and then, little aftershocks still rippling through him.
you think he’s drifting. until he shifts slightly and murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, “can i…?”
you glance down. he’s looking at you with that dazed expression again. completely blissed out and somehow still wanting. he nuzzles your breast, dragging his mouth lazily over your skin, and repeats it, "mommy… can i just… can i nurse again?”
you smile and kiss the top of his head. “of course, baby.”
shifting slightly, you guide him to the soft weight of your breast, your nipple already stiffening at the feel of his breath. he’s gentle, so damn gentle it almost breaks something in you.
he opens his mouth slowly, presses his lips to you, and latches without a word.
you realise there's no hunger or desperation this time, like earlier when he was moaning and grinding and trying not to come.
this is something else. this is soft. and soothing. and soft.
his tongue drags lazy circles around your nipple. he sucks lightly, rhythmically and his cheek is pressed to the curve of your breast like it’s the only place he ever wants to live.
you wrap your arm around his head, fingers sinking into his hair, just to hold him closer.
you feel the letdown and the warm ache. the subtle sting that comes just before the release.
but you just watch him without a word.
he moans softly, the sound vibrating against your chest.
“tastes so good,” he murmurs, voice muffled. “so fucking warm. feels like you’re feeding me straight from your heart.”
quiet laughter ripples through you. “i might be.”
he sucks again, deeper now, lips sealed around your nipple, his tongue moving with slow precision like he never wants to stop. your other hand finds the back of his neck, rubbing gentle circles there, keeping him grounded. keeping him yours.
“i love this. i’d live here if you let me.”
you smile and tilt your head to kiss his forehead. “you already do.”
his hand slides over your belly, stroking the soft skin, fingers tracing the stretch of you, the weight you still carry.
“i love this body,” he whispers. “you made me everything in it. you feed me from it. you fucking break me with it.”
a slow exhale leaves you, and he just keeps nursing.
you can feel his cock— not hard, but not soft either —resting against your thigh. it twitches every now and then like it’s remembering earlier. like it’s responding just to the taste of you in his mouth.
he shifts a little, pulling your breast deeper into his mouth, moaning as he suckles like he’s trying to coax every last drop from you.
his tongue flicks gently, then presses firm. you can feel the tug low in your belly. your nipple aches, your core pulses, but you stay still and let him take what he wants.
let him keep drinking.
“am i gonna get addicted to this?” he mumbles around your skin.
“you already are, baby.”
“i don’t wanna stop.”
“you don’t have to.”
you look down again. he looks so peaceful. so full of want and contentment at the same time. he shifts his legs a little, then presses closer, curling into you like he’s trying to melt into your skin.
you whisper into his hair, “you want to switch sides, baby?”
he hums. “mmhm.”
you gently ease him off your breast. his lips make a soft, wet pop as he pulls away, and he actually whines. his tongue darts out to lick the corner of his mouth, already chasing the taste again.
you guide his head to the other side, lift your arm so he can tuck beneath it, and he latches just as eagerly as the first time. maybe even more.
this nipple’s still wet from earlier, still sensitive, and the moment his tongue touches it, you shiver.
he groans.
“god, mommy,” he mumbles. “still leaking.”
you run your fingers through his hair, stroke the curve of his jaw.
he keeps sucking. messy now. even drooling a little. he's moaning like it gets better the longer he stays latched. and it might.
you’re not sure where the pleasure ends and the intimacy begins anymore. it’s all blended together—this soft, sticky need that just keeps pulsing between you.
your thighs are slick again. you don't have to voice it out for him to know that.
he pulls off suddenly, just for a second, eyes dazed as he looks up at you. his lips are swollen, and you feel him shaking.
"i love you so much," it's a statement, that holds more love than it could ever express.
"i love you too, baby," you caress his hair and pull him closer to you.
a smile spreads on his lips and he kisses the side of your breast. then latches again, eyes fluttering shut. and drinks.
my masterlist .ᐟ
extras | aight i’ve been summoned to hell. i’ll see myself out. i genuinely forgot that the baby existed, so if we can collectively imagine it’s in the next room fast asleep, that would be terrific! taglist | @devililithh @buckyfmd @sheriff-bodecker @houseofhyde @umbreoni @bckyslover @kqtholins @54nboo @amoremarveloustime @barnesandashes @colettebarnes @barnes-babydoll @miraclediviner @of-sanguine-eyes @flockoff-featherface @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @manly-man-whore @indigo123789 @wasa-bby @biggestfangirl @herejustforbuckybarnes @buckysbunnny @highhopes1008 @castielscaplan @grumpysunnybarnes @pinksplace @luvyoupxmimi @slutdier @yes-ilovetowrite @cautiouscas17 @astridphantom @delusionalwomsn @cinnamon-girl-writes @wherewinterblooms @stifflyspeedyquirk @sassandscribbles @marvelouslyme96 @tw1sters @stesha02 @floatingvalhallasea @goobers-mcgee @t1redphoenix @vickynguyennn @bluellamacheesecake-blog @serenityrjd @pitabread79 @galaxygoddess30 @biggestfangirl @chenoadouble-o7 + to get added to the taglist .ᐟ
Warning: sub!bucky, slight size kink, cowgirl style, Bucky restraining himself (yes that’s a warning), praise (toward Bucky), one use of James
Summary: Okay, here’s an idea guys… imagine you being soft to Bucky makes him hard. Hear me out! From his experience with hydra and all the fighting, he’s so used to people being rough with him so when he experiences that intimate softness it gets him whimpering and hard. Action!
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The late afternoon sun cast long, golden rectangles across the living room floor, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Bucky was on the floor, meticulously folding laundry. He took an almost military precision to the task, creasing the towels into perfect, uniform squares. You watched him from the couch, a book forgotten in your lap, a warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the sunlight.
He finished the last towel and placed it in the neat stack before leaning back on his hands, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked so peaceful, so content in this simple, domestic moment.
You set your book aside and slid off the couch, moving to sit behind him. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to the worn fabric of his t-shirt between his shoulder blades. He hummed, a low, contented sound, and leaned back into your embrace.
“You’re so good at that,” you murmured, your voice soft. “So patient with everything.”
You began to knead the tense muscles of his shoulders, your fingers working gently but firmly. He was always a little tight, a living monument to the stress he carried. He let his head fall forward, giving you better access, a silent surrender to your touch.
You pressed another soft kiss to his neck, right over his racing pulse. “I love taking care of you,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his skin. “Love seeing you so relaxed.”
He let out a shaky breath, and you saw it—just a glance over his shoulder where you could see his pants chubbing. You slide your hand down a little to experimentally brush against his bulge, making him let out a deep shudder.
A slow, dawning smile spread across your face. You pulled back just enough to look over his shoulder. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw tight, and a faint blush was creeping up his neck. He was trying to hide it, to will it away.
“James,” you said, your voice a gentle, teasing purr. You slid your hand down from his shoulder, over his chest, and down the hard plane of his stomach until your fingers rested just above the waistband of his jeans. “Is this for me?”
He let out a whimper, a broken, desperate sound that went straight to your core. He didn’t answer, but the way his hips twitched up into your touch was all the confirmation you needed.
“It’s okay,” you soothed, your fingers tracing the button of his fly. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I love it. I love that I can make you feel this way just by being… soft.”
You popped the button of his jeans and slowly pulled down the zipper. His breath hitched, his hands clenching into fists on the floor. You could feel the barely restrained energy coiling in him, the primal instinct to take, to dominate, fighting against the overwhelming need to submit to your gentleness.
“Let me,” you whispered, coaxing him. “Let me take care of you. Just lie back and let me do all the work.”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second before giving a sharp, jerky nod. You helped him shift, guiding him to lie back on the soft rug. You tugged his jeans and boxers down his hips, freeing his cock. It was thick and flushed, curving up towards his stomach, already leaking at the tip. He was magnificent.
You quickly stripped off your own clothes before straddling his thighs. You looked down at him, at the raw vulnerability in his eyes. His metal arm was lying stiffly at his side, as if he were afraid to use it, afraid of what it might do.
You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and guided him to your entrance. You sank down on him slowly, savoring the way he stretched you, filled you completely. You both moaned in unison as you settled, your hips flush with his.
You began to move, a slow, deliberate roll of your hips that was pure, liquid pleasure. You watched his face, the way his mouth fell open, the way his brows furrowed in ecstasy.
“You feel so good inside me, Bucky,” you praised, your voice a low murmur. “So big. You fill me up perfectly.”
A shudder ran through him, and a high, broken whimper escaped his lips. His hands flew to your hips, his grip almost painfully tight. He was holding on, anchoring himself.
“Look at me,” you commanded softly.
His eyes fluttered open, locking with yours. The sight of him—this powerful, deadly soldier completely at your mercy, undone by your softness—was intoxicating.
“You’re being so good for me,” you told him, increasing your pace slightly. “Just taking it. Letting me make you feel good. I love it.”
His control was fraying. You could see it in the desperate way he was panting, in the flex of his muscles as he fought to keep still. His hips began to twitch up to meet yours, a small, involuntary movement of a man who was used to taking charge.
“Shh, no,” you cooed, slowing your pace, bringing him back from the edge. “Not yet. Stay with me. Let me have this.”
He let out a ragged groan, his head falling back against the floor. He was fighting a battle with himself, and you were determined to win it for him. You reached down and took his metal hand, guiding it to your breast. The cool plates were a shocking, thrilling sensation against your heated skin.
“You can touch me,” you whispered. “Gently. Just feel.”
His fingers twitched, and then he was cupping you, his touch hesitant, reverent. The sight of his deadly, metal hand holding you with such care was your undoing.
You began to ride him in earnest, your movements becoming more fluid, more confident. You praised him with every roll of your hips, every bounce of your breasts. “That’s it, Bucky. You’re doing so well. So good for me.”
The combination of your soft voice, the praise, and the relentless pleasure was too much. With a strangled cry, his control finally snapped. His hips surged up to meet yours, his thrusts becoming hard and deep. But it wasn't feral; it was desperate. He was chasing his release, completely undone.
“Come for me, Bucky,” you gasped, your own orgasm coiling tight in your belly. “Let go. It’s okay.”
Your permission was the last straw. He drove into you one last time, a deep, powerful thrust, and came with a hoarse shout of your name, his body arching off the floor. The feeling of him pulsing inside you sent you over the edge, and you shattered around him, crying out his name as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.
He collapsed back onto the rug, his chest heaving, his eyes closed. You slumped against him, boneless and sated. For a long while, you just lay there, the only sound your mingled breathing.
After a moment, he shifted, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest. He buried his face in your hair, his body trembling slightly.
“I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “More than anything.”
You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “I love you too, Bucky. More than anything.”
hi bug my love I loved your hc about shane sleeping on his stomach :') do you have any sleepy ilya hcs? 💖🫶💖
Ilya sleeps badly in my mind, takes him a long time to drift off, but he’s gotten better with his shane there to anchor him. He loves to sleep on his back with his Shane ontop of him, a warm lovely weight curled up on his chest. But I think Ilya loves to sleep in any position, he’s not fussy, in truth he wants any position that gets him close with Shane. Ilya neeeeeds cuddles to sleep well now. He wants to feel the rise and fall of Shane’s breathing, the touch of his hand. He loves to shove his cold feet against the warm back of Shane’s knees, against his ankles. He just loves to feel cosy and held. He also does love to be a little spoon, Shane wrapped up over his back, holding him to his body 🥰 I also think when he’s in a reeeeally deep sleep he has these gentle snores, raspy, mouth open and Shane honestly thinks it’s really cute. Without doubt the easiest way to get Ilya to sleep is Shane’s hand in his curls, he’s out like a fucking light, every time.
shane is literally a Boyfriend guys he’s stocking the cottage full of stuff he’d never eat bc they’re ilya’s favourite snacks and he’s driving his passenger princess around and carrying ilya’s bags and asking what he wants for dinner and waking him up in the middle of the night to be like ‘hey here’s how we can be together forever until we are old and wrinkly. do u agree yes or yes’
and even before that he’s constantly checking if his baby is okay and he’s sitting in that stairwell cuddling ilya’s jacket and he’s so desperate to hold ilya’s hand when he’s off his head on painkillers. he’s rereading old texts. he’s got his phone in his hand and he’s texting ilya when he’s literally just got off the ice after winning the cup again and that’s years before they’re even together. he’s inviting ilya to the cottage because he gets two weeks off a year and he wants to spend them both with his favourite person
he’s a loverboy! he’s spent so so long wanting to be able to connect with ilya like this and now he finally can! he was born to play hockey but also to be ilya’s boyfriend!
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actually it isn't Shane who is a nag and insits on certain rules around their home. it is Ilya with his slavic heritage and superstitions who comes up with one rule after another.
- no outdoor shoes inside. Ilya tried to play it cool for long enough, but he is over 30 now, he has no patience for mess anymore and his mama was right. Ilya gets Shane some expensive personalised adidas slippers & he is the guy who provides guest slippers
- no whistling inside. never. especially if it's hayden. he won't be the reason Ilya will lose another sports bet.
- if one of them leaves the house they don't go back inside home if they forgot something. he is very serious about thst one. once shane went back inside because he forgot to pack his gloves and they lost a game afterwards and Ilya insists this was just because Shane refused to get new gloves from the equipment department (and it was not at all because a little barren spell)
- No empty bottles on the table and that applies to protein shake bottles too, Shane! That's bad luck.
- Only odd numbers of flowers in a bouquet. Ilya panics as he realises Shane bought twenty tulips for Yuna for mother's day and makes Shane pull over so he can pick five wild flowers and add them to the bouquet.
- No sitting in an air current between opened windows because they WILL get sick. Ilya had to pick up Shane and sit him down somewhere else a few times.
i think if hollanov decide to have more than one kid at least one of them will be a goalie. and you know that kid is going first in whichever draft they end up in because they practiced on shane fucking hollander and ilya fucking rozanov (because if your dads were casually the two best centres in the nhl and two of the most successful hockey players on the planet, then you defend that net like your life depends on it)
everyone else in that years draft thinks this hollander-rozanov child got picked first out of nepotism (because who the fuck is that desperate to pick a goalie first overall in the draft?) until one day that team’s starting goalie is injured and all of a sudden your scoring chances have gone to hell because you’re trying to get the puck past cerberus, the three headed dog that guards the gates of hell
Ok. But have any of you thought about shane and Ilya fucking while Ilya is fully dressed in a suit while Shane is all naked and needy in his lap. Maybe it’s an award show- something for the charity. But when they get home, Ilya stays in his pressed expensive suit, nice heavy cuff links, watch, neatly done tie. Even his dress shoes. Shane is on Ilya once they get through the door, nosing and kissing and grabbing and Ilya grabs his face and whispers “needy huh?” And shane huffs “come on Ilya I need you” he’s nuzzling his face into throat, mouthing at the skin, hands pushing under Ilya’s jacket, trying to get the jacket off him. Ilya just clicks his tongue and pulls Shane’s hands together behind his back, gripping at his wrists. “Why don’t you show me, how bad you need me” he asks, and he’s stripping shane out of his jacket, before moving to sit on the couch, legs sprawled out.
Shane gets completely naked, careful work of his clothes as Ilya watches him. Maybe Ilya asks Shane to get them a nightcap, and shane does, naked as he pours them one glass of vodka. “One for you too” ilya insists and shane nods. “wanna share” which makes Ilya smile, rub his hand over his peck as he watches him.
Ilya keeps his arms sprawled along the back of the couch, legs wide as shane climbs into his lap. Ilya wants to touch but it’s so much more fun to feel shane nuzzle into him, like an over eager puppy, his big strong bare thighs shifting against the rough rich fabric of his suit.
Ilya is careful not to move, not until shane is saying “here” and handing Ilya the glass, and Ilya accepts it in his hand. Ilya takes his sip, slow and pulls back to eye shane, who low lidded and staring, chin tilting up in the way that’s him asking for a kiss. Ilya presses the glass to his lips instead and helps shane take a drink. They share it a couple times more before Shane’s squirming getting incessant, wriggling and pushing into Ilya’s warmth. Then a soft “Ilya?” And his hands are on Ilya’s chest, pushing up to fiddle with the white press of his shirt collar, to his tie, fingers fussing.
“Mm come, give me a kiss then” Ilya concedes and shane is on him, hands gripping into his tie and Shane is licking into Ilya’s mouth, hungry, needy, and pressing in tight.
They make out like that, until shane is aching dripping hard and his bare cock is rutting against Ilya’s clothed hip. The suit fabric has such a perfect lovely nice scratch to it, making Shane’s skin tingle and burn. It feels filthy, having Ilya’s hands gripping at his waist, ass, thighs, the fabric of his sleeves dragging over skin.
Shane is making a mess of Ilya’s suit when Ilya gets his fingers inside him, steady wet precum dripping down to the black fabric of Ilya’s suit pants. Lube dripping messy from between his legs, where Ilya is knuckle deep. Some of it smearing on the sleeve.
They fuck like that too, just Ilya’s cock pulled out of the open zip of his pants, and Shane rides him. Shane’s hands are all over Ilya’s body, rucking up fabric and dizzy and needy at not being able to feel his skin- while shane is all skin right now, nude and stretched and wet. Everywhere free for Ilya to be able to touch and grip.
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thank u for tagging me @firstprinced & @sunnypeachyy - love y'all, uh! (the sound is included in the message) 🫶
tagging a whole bunch of gifmaker moots, no pressure ♡ @shilyas @actuallysara @holllanov @ottawacentaurshq @blond-shell @russianblush @heymacy @pookieshane @ilyasmole @yearnalisms @shnehollander @hudsonswilliams @userilyarozanov @rozanovs @therozanov @ilya-rozanova @shane-ilya @ilyrozanov
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i lied im not sleeping im thinking about sugar daddy shane buying a $250,000 watch for ilya and ilya wearing it everyday and then they’re getting ready in the locker room for practice and someone whistles super loud and is like “damn cap, you spent my entire salary on that watch or what” and ilya takes it off gently and places it in his duffle and looks up at all the boys looking at him “no, shane bought it for me.” and then everyone is hootin and hollering and shane walks in from the physio room smiling at the antics asking everyone what’s going on and someone is like “roz just told us you’re his sugar daddy.” and shane rolls his eyes and starts getting his skates out “so i like buying pretty things for my pretty husband, sue me.” and ilya is like “you think i am pretty?” and shane frowns cutely “of course baby.” and then the entire locker room starts gagging and someone yells out GAAAY and then ilya is like “i will show you gay! Shane take off your pants.” And then shane throws a sock at him. anyways they fuck after practice and shane calls Ilya his pretty boy when he rides him.
my hot take of the day is that ilya actually runs a tighter ship than shane, not like as captain or anything i mean in the household.
1) afraid of being lazy 2) military son 3) slavic. shane has certain preferences for things sensory wise which is why he is neat abt his stuff, ilya will kill himself & everyone in the room there's a Difference. iykyk
shane would "he asked for no pickles. ☝️" and ilya would love it. not because he can't stand up for himself or any of that (he most certainly can; hes the worlds most brash and obnoxiously confident man <3) but because no one's ever stood up for him before. obvi its small scale and over a mistake, but ilya eats it up every time. and shane loves it bc he loves to take care of his baby even if they both know ilya is more than capable of doing this himself
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i actually think that what's being missed in the 'why does everyone love heated rivalry' conversation is just that it's good
it's well made, well shot, well directed, the music is interesting, the costumes are both thoughtful and subtly period accurate, the sex scenes are intentional and, again, accurate to what hooking up when you're like 18 actually feels like...the actors are of course attractive but they look like real people. the characters are varied and well fleshed out, the acting is really, really strong
so many shows and films shoot and then slot in whatever music kind of fits or could be licenced in the budget after time, but you can tell that the scenes in hr were shot with that specific music in mind. and the same intentional approach runs through the whole thing
it feels...so nice to watch a show that cares about itself
Nobody knew in advance that this show would become a massive international phenomenon. It was a mid-budget Canadian show (which means low budget by US standards) adapted from a Harlequin romance novel. The deal with HBO for US distribution rights was only signed a few weeks before it began to air.
But everybody involved treated it as if it was serious art anyway. Not just some little Canadian streaming show that might well disappear after airing. Based on a book from a genre that is usually ridiculed by people who consider themselves serious film people. The cast, the crew, the writer/director, the music supervisor, everybody. They all did their best work for love of the game.
ilya pre first hookup: i wouldn't be surprised if this is his first time i better be a little careful with that awkward canadian i don't wanna spook him
ilya coming out of room 1410 at 9:12PM with his third eye opened: oh okay so i might have underestimated him
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