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laceyfaeryy · 1 month ago

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fire fighter! simon riley x single mom! reader

simon being completely enamoured by the pretty single mom that volunteered at the fire station with free lunch every friday.

pure fluff, mentions of burns and scars - might do a part 2 and not proof read teehee

he was a man of discipline - of routine, and hard work and yet he was currently staring at you moving around swiftly as she handed out cookies like a love sick boy. his eyes seemed to follow your every move, how you seamlessly interacted with his coworkers and even the other parents and children.

of course, his interest didn’t go unnoticed by his captain, price who gave him a sly smile before nudging him slightly.

“she’s single for if you want to make a move and stop ogling her.”

if looks could kill price would be six feet underground.

he couldn’t make a move, not when you were the complete opposite of him. you were the like sun, beaming no matter what as you platted each meal, you were always so positive, so selfless no matter what.

simon was convinced that someone as dark and troubled as him would dim your light, scars and burns on his body that were so ugly and gruesome it almost felt blasphemous to touch you.

“si? want some lunch?” your soft melodic voice breaking him out of his trance, you always had a way of making him spell bound, like a siren.

he shook his head with a small attempted smile. “‘m not that hungry.”

but he was really fucking hungry. though he was convinced that if he ate your food he would be addicted, begging for more.

“but fire fighters need energy!” a small high pitch voice spoke up, your daughter. “mama makes good food, try it pretty please?” her eyes wide and pleading, her small lips jutted out in a determined pout.

simon cleared his throat, “i guess a little bit won’t hurt.”

oh it wasn’t just a little bit. he came back for seconds, thirds, fourth.

simon ate like a man starved, his fork scraping against the plate as he finished it again. “told you mama’s food is the best!” your daughter beamed as she perched herself up on the step next to him, her feet swinging in the air whilst simon’s were extended out. the size difference was comical.

her gaze drifted over his uniform, her eyes wide and curious. “what’s this?” her small chubby finger pointing to his scarred hand. instinctively, he pulled his sleeves over them, shielding something so dark and ugly from her innocent eyes. “‘s nothing, kid.”

“does it hurt?” she asked, completely oblivious to simon’s insecurity. he shook his head “doesn’t hurt anymore

white lie. god, it hurts so bad not physically but emotionally. sometimes he couldn’t even stand staring at his hands, purposely trying to cover them up with gloves but it irritated the uneven skin which made it even worse.

“hey, you shouldn’t be asking questions like that missy,” you playfully narrowing your eyes at your daughter who smiled sheepishly. “thought i’d taught you better than to pry into peoples personal lives.” you raised a brow at the smaller girl whose eyes were crinkling due to her cheesy smile. “gotta go get food!” she giggled as she ran, well stumbled away.

“sorry about that, she’s a curious little thing,” your eyes glued to her as she asked another volunteer for more food. simon chuckled lowly, “‘s alright, got good intentions.”

simon’s heart felt like it was going to explode, it was never heated this fast, not even during the missions where he thought he was going to die. he felt so aware of everything, secretly hoping you didn’t notice how he was hiding his scars.

you cleared your throat, pulling something out of your pockets. “i got you something,” your tone soft and shy, completely different to what simon was used to.

gloves.

“i heard cotton is good for sensitive skin, so i thought it would be appropriate for you.”

god, what did he do to deserve you?

“if you don’t want it it’s fine, i don’t want to cross any boundaries-“

but before you could even finish he took them from your hands, putting them on. “they’re amazing,” his hands flexing under the material as he tried them on. he felt like a school boy who was talking to a girl the first time, his mind completely blank.

“do yer wanna grab sum coffee with me?”

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buckysleftbicep · 29 days ago

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high for this 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (sex pollen trope)

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, sort of dub-con (bucky and you under the influence of the gas), loss of control, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, regret, angst

summary: during a mission, you and bucky are exposed to a gas meant to strip away restraint. he resists, and well, you try. but when the heat fades, it’s not the mission that haunts you both, it’s what happened behind that door. based on this request! | requests are open

word count: 3.8k

author's note: hi everyone! i've been wanting to write a fic with this trope and i got a request for it so yay! i hope you enjoy it, and if you did, please drop a comment or reblog, thank you my loves!

look at him, oh my god

The air in the underground lab hung heavy and stale, thick with the sharp metallic tang of rusted machinery and decades of neglect. Fluorescent lights flickered sporadically overhead, casting a sickly, pale glow across the cavernous chamber.

You and Bucky moved through the shadows with practiced precision, each step deliberate but silent, your boots barely whispering against the cracked concrete floor.

Around you, the vast expanse was filled with obsolete equipment, dented metal tables, shattered screens, and tangled wires like forgotten veins pulsing beneath the surface. The hum of distant generators mixed with the faint drip of water somewhere deep in the tunnels.

“Keep it tight,” Bucky whispered in your ear through the comms, his voice low and steady, though you could feel the sharp edge of tension beneath his calm breath. The subtle hitch in his tone told you he was bracing for whatever was lurking just beyond the next corner.

The mission itself was deceptively simple: locate and retrieve experimental tech that had been developed in secret—a weapon rumored to be devastating in its scope.

But simplicity was a lie, twisted by every step you took deeper into the compound. You could feel it pressing down on you, the weight of what might go wrong.

Ahead, the vault door loomed like a sleeping beast, slick with grime and age, its steel surface cold and unforgiving. The locking mechanism was an intricate, ancient system, blinking red lights and mechanical clicks that echoed faintly in the vast silence.

You crouched down beside the control panel, fingers trembling ever so slightly as they danced across the cracked screen, searching for an override.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, each beat a hammer strike against your ribcage. You could feel Bucky’s eyes on your back, scanning every shadow, every inch of the room, the quiet intensity radiating from him like heat.

“I’ve got your six,” he murmured, voice barely audible.

“Door’s locked tight,” you muttered, frustration pricking beneath your calm facade. “Trying to bypass it… come on…”

The screen flickered, the system stubbornly resisting. Then, suddenly, the entire room shifted, an ominous metallic groan echoed off the walls, and a sudden blast of air slammed into your chest, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Shit.” Bucky’s voice snapped, sharp and urgent.

Before you could react, a faint hiss whispered from the vents above. It was thin, almost imperceptible, like a silent breath but the moment you inhaled, a strange sensation exploded inside your chest. Your lungs clenched painfully, as if something inside had turned razor sharp.

The air was saturated with a scent that was disarming in its sweetness, floral and delicate, like jasmine petals crushed beneath a gentle hand. But beneath that softness lurked something far more dangerous and intoxicating.

Your heart lurched in your chest, thundering wildly.

“Gas,” you gasped, your hand flying to your mouth instinctively, your fingers trembling as you tried to keep your breath shallow.

Bucky’s hand was on your shoulder in an instant—firm and grounding. He yanked the collar of his tactical jacket up over his nose and mouth, pulling you close until your chest pressed against his. “Hold your breath,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

But it was already too late.

A sudden, searing heat flared beneath your skin, blooming like wildfire beneath the fabric of your suit.

Every nerve ending ignited, the heat crawling along your spine, pooling low in your belly with sharp, urgent hunger. Your body betrayed you, trembling uncontrollably with the unfamiliar ache that twisted deep and raw inside.

You swallowed hard, throat tight, fighting to keep your voice steady.

Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours, those pretty cerulean blues now dark, blown wide, fierce, flickering with a storm he was desperate to hold back. His jaw clenched tightly as he fought the invisible pull clawing at him, every muscle taut beneath his black tactical gear.

“We’re locked in,” he said finally, voice tight with frustration and warning. “This is a trap.”

You swallowed again, heat pooling heavier now, your thighs pressing tightly together as you tried to contain the growing ache spreading between your legs.

“We need to find a way out. Fast.” Bucky added. But the walls seemed to close in on you, the air thickening with something more than just the gas. Your hands slick with sweat, trembling slightly as they brushed the cold, unforgiving metal of the walls for balance.

Bucky paced like a predator caught in a cage, jaw clenched, muscles coiled and ready to strike. He fought the pull dragging at him, every glance between you charged with a raw, electric tension—too close, too volatile.

You could see it in the way his eyes darkened, in the way his breath hitched just slightly when you shifted too near. Neither of you wanted to admit what was coming.

Neither could deny it.

The silence in the sealed lab wasn’t still anymore.

It hummed.

Low and thrumming, like the room itself was breathing heavier. The air had thickened, heady, warm, wet. A weight pressed down on your chest as your body rebelled against you, desire twisting deep and low, hotter by the second.

Your skin tingles, flushed with fever. Every breath burned down your throat. Every shift of fabric made you ache.

Bucky stood a few feet away, frozen mid-movement.

His hand was still gripping your shoulder from when he’d tried to shield you. But he dropped it now, like touching you had scalded him. His metal fingers flexed once, twice, before curling into a fist.

“…You okay?” he asked roughly, though his voice already knew the answer.

You swallowed. “Not really.”

He nodded once. Barely.

You could see the war raging inside him, written in every tense line of his body. His jaw was locked tight, muscles twitching beneath his stubble, as his gaze darted, your face, the floor, the wall, anywhere but the place he was dying to look.

But then his eyes dragged back to your chest, lingering just a moment too long, and you saw it, the unraveling. The want. The fight that he was losing, second by second.

“Fuck,” he muttered, turning away.

He was pacing again, but slower this time. Almost as if he was trying to bleed something off. Shake it loose.

Sweat shimmered at the base of his neck, catching in the hollow of his throat before trailing downward, disappearing beneath the clinging fabric of his black tactical shirt. You watched the slow, measured rise and fall of his chest, controlled, but only just.

His fingers twitched, betraying him as he tugged at the collar like it was strangling him, like air itself had become too thick to breathe. There was a tremor in him, small but unmistakable, and it wasn’t from exertion.

It was restraint. Barely contained. Ready to snap.

“It’s not just pheromones,” Bucky said, his voice low, rough around the edges like it hurt to speak. “This shit’s tactical. Weaponised. Hydra created it back in the day to override judgment. Strip you down to the parts of you that can’t say no.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “I’ve seen it before. They used it in field tests, watched how soldiers broke,” his eyes finally met yours, heavy with something close to shame. “It wasn’t about pleasure. It was about control.”

Your stomach flipped.

You leaned against the wall, heart pounding. “How long until we’re not?”

He paused. Didn’t answer.

His fists flexed again.

“Bucky?”

He didn’t turn.

“I don’t know.”

That was when you saw it, the change. Not just restraint. No, this was something else. He was coiled, like a wire stretched to its limit, every muscle taut beneath his skin. His shoulders curled inward, not in defeat, but like the very weight of his body was suffocating him. When he finally drew a breath, it shook on the way in and left his chest more like a growl than air.

“I can feel it crawling under my skin,” he muttered. “It’s not going away.”

He braced both hands on the metal table at the center of the room, head bowed between them. His back heaved with the effort of staying still. You could see the sweat pooling between his shoulder blades, the veins in his arms standing out.

“I can’t stop thinking about…” he cut himself off, slammed a fist into the table.

Metal dented under his knuckles.

His head snapped toward you, and this time he didn’t look away.

“I shouldn’t be thinking about you like this.”

You stepped forward slowly, drawn by gravity. “But you are.”

He let out a sharp breath, jaw ticking, lips parted like he couldn’t get enough air. “You have no idea what this is doing to me.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.”

He turned again, pacing tighter now, like a predator testing the edges of its cage. And every time he passed, you felt it. The heat radiating off him in waves. The tension rippling beneath his skin.

His eyes dragged over you, your mouth, your chest, the curve of your hips, each pass lingering longer, darker, more dangerous than the last.

“It’s like… like my whole body’s screaming for it,” he hissed. “My skin’s burning, my fucking senses are haywire. I can hear your heartbeat from across the room, and I can smell you."

He was unraveling. And so were you.

Your thighs pressed together, instinctively chasing even the slightest relief from the ache building low in your belly. It wasn’t subtle. He saw it, caught the motion with sharp eyes and his jaw locked tight. A low, filthy curse slipped from his mouth, barely audible but ragged, like it had been dragged straight from his chest.

“We have to wait it out,” he said, but his voice was more plea than order. “We just have to, fuck, fuck, don’t look at me like that.”

You hadn’t moved.

But your lips were parted. Your eyes wide, dark, matching his hunger.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered, then dipped lower, much lower. His jaw worked once, twice, before he turned and slammed both hands into the wall.

“We’re not doing this,” he snapped. “Not like this. You don’t want me. It’s the gas talking.”

“I’ve always wanted you.”

That stopped him.

He turned, slow, like he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the words. His chest heaved, a muscle twitching at his temple, sweat trickling along his jawline. He looked wrecked already—and you hadn’t even touched him.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, voice raw.

“I do.”

He swallowed hard, tongue running along the inside of his cheek like he was trying to keep himself from lunging. “You say that now, but if I lose control-”

“Then lose it.”

That broke something in him.

He looked away, hands curling at his sides like he was trying to anchor himself to something real. But there was nothing real left in this room—only heat, the smell of your arousal, and the sound of your name caught between his teeth like prayer and curse.

“We’re not gonna make it,” he said softly. “Not without…”

His voice trailed off.

But the implication hung thick in the air, like smoke after a fire, suffocating and inescapable. His eyes found yours again, and this time, he didn’t look away.

They were no longer the cold steel-blue you’d grown used to. They burned. Not with restraint. Not with discipline. But hunger. Raw, untempered need. And something darker beneath it, something primal and barely held together by the thinnest thread.

This wasn’t the Bucky who stayed silent in briefings, who watched you with veiled eyes and clenched fists. This wasn’t the careful man who always pulled away before his hands could linger too long.

This version of him was stripped bare, instincts flaring in a space where consequences didn’t seem to exist.

And yet, he hesitated. Chest heaving, jaw tight, voice a rasp: “Fuck… I can’t—”

“You can,” you whispered, throat dry, mind drowning beneath the ache between your legs. “Please Bucky… I need you.”

That was all it took.

His restraint shattered like glass under a hammer.

Bucky surged forward and crashed into you like a wave, hands grabbing, mouth consuming. Your back slammed against the wall, but you didn’t feel the impact over the way his lips crushed yours.

There was no finesse, no caution, just teeth, breath, heat. He kissed like a man starved, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling away to bite down your jaw, your throat, the pulse hammering beneath your skin.

His metal hand twisted in your hair, forcing your head back so he could taste you deeper, tongue leaving the sweat from your collarbone as a groan vibrated against your flesh.

“Been tryin’ to hold back,” he growled into your neck, his voice fraying at the edges, broken and desperate. “But you, fuck, you’ve been killing me.”

You could barely think. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, pulling at his gear, desperate to feel more. You arched into him, gasping when your thigh brushed the heavy bulge straining against his pants.

“I need you to fuck me,” you breathed, shaking. “Please. I need to feel you-”

“You will,” he bit out.

His hands were merciless, stripping your gear away with a speed that spoke of long-suppressed fantasies. The moment he pulled your suit down and dragged your soaked underwear to the side, the cold air hit your swollen, dripping core, but nothing could compare to the blistering heat of his fingers pushing between your thighs.

“Jesus,” he hissed as he slid two fingers through your slick folds, coating them in your arousal before thrusting them inside in one hard motion. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.”

Your knees buckled, body lurching into his chest with a whimper as he fucked you on his fingers, deep and fast, curling just right to make your eyes roll back. His thumb rubbed circles over your clit, slow and deliberate, like he wanted you trembling before he even gave you his cock.

“You that wet for me?” His voice was low, thick with lust. “Or is that gas still makin’ you a mess?”

You moaned, barely able to breathe. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

That made him groan, from deep in his chest, his mouth crashing against yours again, swallowing your whimpers as he fucked you harder with his fingers, the metal hand at your hip bruising with how tight he held you in place.

“You’re so goddamn tight,” he snarled, voice muffled against your lips. “This pussy’s beggin’ for me.”

He yanked his pants down just enough to free his cock, thick and flushed and leaking at the tip. You barely had time to register it before he grabbed your thigh, hiked it around his waist, and lined himself up.

“You want it?” he demanded.

You nodded frantically, breath ragged, nails sinking into the kevlar on his shoulders. “Yes, god, fuck me like you need it.”

“I do need it,” he growled, and then he buried himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out, the stretch stealing the air from your lungs. He was so big, the angle so deep, your body clamped around him like it didn’t want to let him go. The pain and pleasure blurred, and all you could do was hold on.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “You feel like heaven, feel like you were made for me.”

He started to move, fucking into you with unrelenting force, fast, rough, each thrust shoving you against the wall with a dull thud. It was messy, desperate, your slick coating his cock, dripping down your thighs.

You couldn’t stop the moans pouring from your lips, each one higher-pitched than the last as his hips snapped harder, deeper, relentless.

“You like this?” he hissed into your ear. “Like being used?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Fuck, yes, I love it.”

He growled again, one hand wrapping around your throat, not tight, just firm, his other bracing against the wall. His thrusts grew erratic, hips slamming into yours with bruising force as he drove you higher, closer, the pressure building fast and sharp at the base of your spine.

“Gonna come inside you,” he groaned against your neck, voice wrecked and shaking with restraint. “Gonna fill you up so deep you’ll still be leaking days from now.”

You whimpered, barely hanging on, the pressure inside you coiled so tight it hurt. “Please,” you gasped, eyes brimming, breath catching. “I want it, want all of it.”

His pace faltered just enough to press in deeper, harder, his body trembling with the force of it. “You don’t get to beg for this and not fucking mean it,” he snarled, every word rough and fraying at the edges. “Say it. Tell me what you need.”

Your head fell back, voice hoarse and breaking. “Want you to cum in me,” you choked out, every word laced with desperation. “Want you to fuck it into me, wanna feel like you own me.”

Bucky groaned at your words. He thrust once, twice, then held himself buried to the hilt, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he spilled into your cunt with a growl so guttural it vibrated through your chest. Hot spurts of cum filled you, leaking down your thighs as he trembled, arms wrapped around you like he never wanted to let go.

You were a mess, panting, shaking, skin flushed and damp with sweat. His body was still pressed to yours, breath ragged against your neck, his cock twitching inside you even as he softened. His lips dragged along your jaw, your temple, soft now, almost apologetic.

“You okay?” he whispered, softer, voice thick.

You nodded, barely able to speak. “Yeah. Are you?”

He didn’t answer.

Just stayed there, holding you, forehead pressed to yours, while the silence thickened again, and the weight of what had just happened started to settle over both of you.

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was thick and deafening, a heavy weight that pressed in from all sides. You were still against the wall, your body cooling far too fast, thighs sticky with his release and your chest rising and falling beneath your half-unzipped tactical suit.

Bucky’s body hadn’t fully left yours, his forehead was still resting against yours, breath hot and shallow, jaw clenching like he was physically holding something back.

But his hands had already dropped from your waist. Like he’d realised what he’d done. What you both had done. What it meant.

He wouldn’t look at you.

You swallowed the rasp in your throat and whispered his name, barely a breath. “Bucky. Are you okay?”

He flinched like the sound of your voice cut through whatever fragile control he was clinging to. And then, without answering, he stepped away from you. Just a few paces, but it was enough. Enough for the heat to dissipate, for the air between you to feel cold and wrong.

He dragged a hand through his damp hair and adjusted his pants with sharp, efficient movements, his jaw tight. His eyes were dark with conflict, shame. Something he didn’t want to name, but couldn’t quite suppress. It was in his posture, in the stiffness of his spine.

“We shouldn't have done that,” he said at last, the words raw and thick. “Not like that.”

The words hit you hard, cut deeper than they should have. You reached for something solid, something to hold on to. “You didn’t hurt me,” you said quickly, too quickly, as if easing his guilt might cut through the tension between the both of you.

But Bucky only shook his head, the bitterness in his voice almost enough to drown you both. “That’s not what I’m worried about.” He paused, eyes flicking to the floor like he couldn’t bear to see your face. “You were dosed. So was I. None of that was real.”

You could feel your breath catch in your chest, tight and painful. “You think I didn’t want it?” The question hung in the air like smoke, curling between you, dangerous and impossible to take back.

He didn’t answer. Not with words. Just clenched his jaw and turned away further, the tension in his shoulders wound so tight you thought he might snap. His silence said enough.

And then the comms crackled to life, cutting through the atmosphere like a blade. Ava’s voice came through the static—concerned, clipped. “Bucky, (y/n) report. Are you two clear?”

You froze. Your eyes met his for half a second, and he moved faster than you could react, snatching the comm piece and answering before you could even open your mouth.

“Yeah,” he said, voice stiff, cold. “Copy that. We’re fine. Situation’s contained. We were exposed to something, but it’s neutralised now.”

A beat of silence followed.

“You sound… off,” Ava replied.

“Just prep extraction,” Bucky said, sharper now. Then he cut the line before she or anyone could ask anything else.

Silence returned. But this time it wasn’t laced with tension or heat. It was suffocating. You pulled your suit back into place with shaking hands, not from aftershocks of pleasure, but from the sudden emptiness.

From the way he wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t speak. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something that had already crumbled beneath your feet.

“Don’t shut me out,” you said quietly, though it already felt like he had.

“I’m not.” But the words were flat, hollow, too calm to be true. He still wouldn’t look at you. “I just need air.”

“You mean you need to not look at me right now,” you murmured, the words escaping before you could temper them. They came out too sharp, too raw, but they were true. And they stung like hell.

His body stiffened. “I just don’t wanna say something I’ll regret.”

That of all things hit the hardest, not because it was cruel, but because it was honest. You wrapped your arms around yourself as the chill of the room settled into your skin, as the weight of what he wasn’t saying started to suffocate you.

“That makes one of us,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

He turned away, moving toward the sealed vault door like it offered an escape he didn’t deserve. Like if he just got it open, everything could go back to the way it was before.

But nothing had changed that vault more than what happened inside. You saw the tremble in his hands as he reached for the control panel, the way his breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t over. Not even close.

The door would open. The team would come. They would ask questions. They would assume you were fine. But the real damage wasn’t the mission. It wasn’t the gas.

It was here, in this room, with sweat and skin and bitten-back moans, with words neither of you could say now without setting off the final detonation.

Because the real explosion, the one that mattered had already happened.

And there was no undoing it.

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pmrin · 1 year ago

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tfw you spend 3 hours researching various animal eyes and their scleras going down a deeeeeep rabbit hole only to remember that nictitating membranes exist and so does occam's razor

#i had fun while researching though so that's all that matters #seafolk yellow scleras existing as a concept should explode in fire though #got all the way to hypothesizing that they had a thick conjunctiva membrane that thins out during the change before i stopped myself #i think that theory is way cooler though and explains why we dont see the nictitating membrane move during the change #(aside from the animation style simply not being detailed enough to show it)#(but they show regular eyelid animation so)

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kurooh · 4 months ago

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★ QUIRK MISHAPS DURING SEX ! — BNHA

⊹₊˚. featuring various characters and their quirks acting up during sex.

☆ warnings: 18+ content, f! reader, crack & cringe

after a long day, izuku’s excited to come home and fall asleep in your arms. but when you surprise him with the barest amount of clothing on, it’s hard to remember anything about being tired. it’s hot and sweaty, desperate kisses exchanged as you push him through the hallway and into the bedroom. now, he gets too excited, and hoists you up with ease—he’s about to show off, toss you onto the bed and really make your pussy ache. it’s a hot moment until one for all sparks through his veins and you’re thrown gracelessly onto the bed, which slides back and smashes an imprint into the wall. lowkey gives you whiplash and izuku sobs when he sees you in a neck brace or when he’s in home depot picking out the paint to fix the wall.

we’ve known that katsuki sweats buckets. it doesn’t come as a surprise when he’s sweating like a pig in missionary, beads of salt falling from his jaw to your chest and making the room stink of BO. he’s clapping your asscheeks, you’re both forgetting about the sweat; you make the mistake of squirming away from the sensitivity and this is when things go downhill FAST. “fuck,” he bites his lip, frustrated as his clammy hand finds his cock and tries to re-insert it. kat is struggling, so you reach a hand down to help him out, and he groans when he gets the tip in, starts moving too impatiently. sparks fly from his hands, tiny little explosions sounding off against his cock and your inner thighs/asshole. after all the screaming wraps up, you sarcastically ask him if he needs to be cuffed to the bed while you ride him. he just gets more upset because he’s genuinely considering it after this event and sits in silence for the next half hour. (+bonus: he’s exploded his dick n balls while jerking off and only does it in the shower now)

out of everyone, shoto’s acts up the most. you could suck his soul out his dick, then stand up to see fire catching on the left side of his hair or arm. the worst of it happens the day you reunite after having been apart for two weeks, since he was away in another part of the country with another group of heroes. you were going at it pretty fucking hard, throwing it back on him while he thoughtlessly babbled out words of horny praise. you came explosively, and he did as well! a smaller version of his great glacial aegir split through the bedroom wall and half of his chest was on fire. accidentally burned some of your hair off :(

typically eijirou has excellent control over his quirk. typically. he’d gotten hit by a small-time quirk eraser and decided he could forget about it by burying himself seven inches deep inside you or eating your pussy like a decadent dessert. all was well, you were in the middle of switching positions and tugging his cock into your fist for a handjob. halfway through it, eijirou’s quirk returned, just as you were sliding your hand down. it hurt badly and he couldn’t stop apologizing furing the bandaging process although it wasn’t his fault. honestly he couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky you’d both been that his dick wasn’t anywhere else when it happened.

did someone say human vibrator? denki’s the best man for the job! he’s got you spread out on the bed and shaking, his dutiful fingers pressed into your clit while he shallowly fucks in and out of you. it’s a kink he’s come to love, because he can feel the gentle shocks right in the tip of his cock. your mouth hangs open lamely, too blissed out to say anything other than his name in a cute, whiny tone. it seems very safe until his brain briefly short circuits when your cunt squeezes down particularly hard around him; a startling zap of electricity shoots through the both of you and you fly apart like repelling magnets. he’s on the floor grabbing his electrocuted dick with tears in his eyes while you hiss in pain on the bed, rolling around like you’re on fire.

i’m crying hanta has a mild bondage kink. his quirk hasn’t ever presented itself as a problem, besides the rare elbow to the nose while changing positions, but his idea of safety is proved wrong on your anniversary. he’d been buttering you up the whole day, growing more lovesick with each gift or compliment given to you. later that night, you were elaborately tied/taped to a chair, engaging in a little roleplay with him. sexy stockholm syndrome quickly turned into taken 2008 when even HE couldn’t get you out of the fucking bondage. the tape was too sticky and too adhesive to get off of the floor, let alone your skin. so, hanta came up with the best solution he could. he used some scissors to cut the tape away from the chair and floor, picked it up (with you taped into it, naked), and hauled you into the backseat of the car. you were promptly taken to the ER, where the medical staff and waiting patients gawked at the scene in front of them: a sloppily dressed pro hero holding a chair with his naked girlfriend elaborately taped to it. he shed a few humiliated tears in the corner while the doctors painlessly got the tape off your skin.

tamaki’s just a wild card. random shit happens during sex, like him accidentally moaning your nickname for HIM, or slapping his own ass. it’s easy for him to get flustered, for wires in his brain to cross incorrectly. he literally had sukiyaki with his friends for lunch at a new place near his agency, and then you were riding him to oblivion on his desk when you stopped by after hours to distract him from a stack of paperwork. everything was more than fine, euphoric to be exact, and you just turned back to look at your bouncing ass, ignoring the sudden flush on his face. you were instead met with the sight of his newly sprouted cow leg hanging over the edge of the desk.

keigo’s wings are highly sensitive, since every single feather is telepathically connected to his brain. brushing your hand through the red plumes or tugging harshly at them can either yield the sexiest noises, or the most embarrassing. keigo’s quick to shuffle away when he feels your fingers getting close to the base of his wings, but one day, he’s not fast enough. you’re pinned under him, one hand tugging through his curls while the other sifts through downy feathers at his back. it happens too quickly for him to register it—an innocent tug to his scalp, then another at the base of his wings at the same time. it’s like squeezing a rubber chicken. keigo squawks like a bird, loud and shrill and startling you into a fit of laughter. he literally rolls off of you and wraps his wings around himself, feeling his dick become flaccid and soft. physically cannot become aroused if you mention it at all, and the memory hits him whenever he looks at or hears a bird.

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 4 months ago

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To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37) heavy dacryphilia, finger sucking, use of “good girl”, use of pet names, Sukuna is his own warning.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him.

An: I fear that I was going to explode if I didn’t write this. I’ve been in a not good headspace. Blah blah blah school sucks blah blah work sucks blah everything sucks. I’m sorry if this sucks too. Edit - I forgot to mention that this will be a multi-part fic.

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four. |

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

Nothing in this life comes for free.

Your father taught you from a very early age to never take handouts from anyone because they’ll always benefit the other person more. He was an immigrant to Japan, and he worked hard for every yen he made.

He instilled that same work ethic in you.

After being hurt on the job from working in a poor environment, your father became very ill. He couldn’t move around as much. Sitting up out of bed made him feel winded. He slowly withered away into a shell of the man who once raised you.

Your mom was long gone. She couldn’t help out, nor did she even want to.

All you were left with was a pile of debt and utter rage. Had your father not been taken advantage of by greedy corporate conglomerates, he would still be here today.

It inspired you to want to go to law school. Your dad should’ve received a hefty settlement check for what he endured from his workplace conditions. The money wouldn’t have solved everything, but it would’ve alleviated some of the stress your dad dealt with in his final days.

You’ll never forget how hoarse his voice sounded while he was on the phone with different agencies, trying to sue that place who forced him into an early grave.

You’ll never forgive them for stealing your dad away.

If you were more ambitious, you’d work to try to change the system entirely, but you knew that wasn’t your fight to face. You wanted to help the already disadvantaged families who were facing injustices beyond their control.

So, you started law school. You were smart enough for it. You had the heart. You just didn’t have a special last name to fund your college tuition. You were a first generation Japanese American in the family. While both your parents were born in America, you were born in Japan, but you were still an outsider.

You were never properly indoctrinated in the culture. Sure, you knew the basics. You knew proper etiquette and appropriate behaviors to live in Japan, but you didn’t understand the layers of how society operated. It was as if you were never assimilated into society as a Japanese citizen.

Your dad wasn’t born here, so he never could explain to you how your last name means everything in this town.

Despite it all, you’d become a lawyer even if you had to bury yourself into debt to do it. You’d work to put yourself through college. You’d do it and bear a smile on your face because you don’t take fucking handouts.

That lead you to becoming a bottle girl at one of the most exclusive clubs in the entertainment district: Malevolent Mass.

The manager said you had the right look, whatever that means. It didn’t matter. He hired you on the spot despite your lack of a substantial last name.

This would be fine. You’d work at night on the weekends and put yourself through school during the day, and you’d keep it a secret from your school, knowing you could lose your position in the prestigious school.

It was a perfect plan, right?

Yes, it was perfect.

Customers seemed to love your polite attitude and warm hospitality. You had quickly made a name for yourself in the few short nights you had worked there.

It was only your second weekend, and your section was full. It was almost comprised entirely of men and their gold digger wives, but you got use to the sexual comments and predatory smiles.

The environment was heavily secured. When you were hired, the managers made sure to show you where security was posted up at every dark corner. They also showed you where cameras were located and assured you that not anyone could just walk into Malevolent Mass.

However, you were well aware that the most dangerous people often worse suits and golden Rolex’s.

It was a busy Friday night. You had already shotgunned two 5 Hour Energy drinks, and you had been steadily sipping on a Monster throughout your shift. You had been in classes all day, and you were scheduled to work until close at 4am.

“Cherry, can we get another round of champagnes?” a sleazy voice pipes up, calling you by your codename. The club was so security driven that they gave all the bottle girls codenames to protect their identities.

“Yes sir,” you respond with an entirely fake bright smile. Your buzzed customers couldn’t tell the difference especially with the low lighting and bass boosted music.

As you walked over towards the bar, your eyes fall onto another table. A man was leaned back with his hands behind his head. He looked entirely relaxed as a girl was bent over your lap.

A crease formed between your eyebrows. They couldn’t be serious, right? Malevolent Mass had a whole downstairs portion dedicated to public sexual acts and other deviant kinks. Why the fuck were they doing that in the normal club area?

As you took a step further, ready to confront them, you realized that the girl was positioned oddly. She wasn’t angled towards his crotch, instead she was hovering over his thigh.

That’s when you noticed she had a rolled up 10,000 yen note, and she was snorting a white powdery substance off the man’s thigh.

Holy fuck, you were in over your head.

Stumbling back towards the bar, you felt your head start to spin a little. It was probably due to fact you’d only consumed energy drinks in the past 12 hours.

“Girl. You don’t look too good,” the bartender, Yorozu, said as she guided you to take a seat. “Are you okay?” she asked cautiously. Compared to the other bottle girls and dancers, Yorozu was the closest thing you had to a friend in this establishment.

“I’m fine,” you quietly replied, shaking your head. It was just drugs. You needed to take a chill pill. It’s not like people go to clubs like this just for some liquid courage.

Yorozu put a glass of water in front of you anyways, not quite believing your words. “Here. I promise you get used to it all,” she offered with a kind smile.

You gave her an appreciative smile as you took a sip of the water. Your hand was trembling, and you realized you had been sweating.

The water felt nice, and you inwardly warded off energy drinks for the rest of the night. It wasn’t worth feeling like a panicky mess.

“I need another bottle of Dom Prignon for booth 12,” you said as you looked back up towards Yorozu. She nodded and walked towards the back to retrieve the bottle of too expensive champagne.

While she was gone, you took a deep breath and looked around towards the security posts. It felt like a small safety blanket in a place like this. Finishing your glass of water, you felt infinitely better as she returned with the bottle.

“Here you are! Let me know if you need anything else, and seriously, don’t feel bad for reacting that way. It’s a bit of a culture shock for everyone during their first few nights,” she assured you as she handed you the bottle.

“Thanks, I appreciate you,” you replied with a genuine smile. Yorozu had a nice energy to her like you felt like you could get close to her one day. A girl friend would be nice to have in a place like this.

As you walked back over to your section, your lips curled into a frown as empty seats filled your eyes. Had they gotten tired of waiting and abandoned your section?

You felt disappointed as you looked around for your customers. They were nowhere to be found, but one silhouette remained in the very back corner.

“Did you bring that bottle for me? How sweet. Too bad I don’t drink,” a deep gravely voice spoke up with a hint of condescension and pure predatory prowess.

You hesitate as it feels like the air in the club shifts simply from this man’s presence alone.

“You don’t drink..?” your voice is uneasy. You feel off balance while interacting with the man tucked away in a dark corner.

“No,” the stranger replied, and he leaned forward a bit, propping his elbows on his knees as his eyes were staring straight at you. “Don’t be shy, girl. Come closer. I won’t bite…” the condescension in his voice tells you otherwise.

You swallow thickly before slowly taking a few steps closer. As you approached him, you were able to see him in all of his glory. The breath is completely sucked from your lungs as you’re able to finally get a good look at him.

He wore a white button-up top with black slacks that really didn’t leave much for the imagination. His sleeves weee rolled up to his elbows, showing off tattoos on his arms.

His face was hauntingly alluring. His tattoos also went up to his face. He had intricate lines under his cheeks that stretched down to his chin. His hair was a natural light rosy color that was pushed up from his forehead. It looked effortless and messy, unlike most business men who rely way too heavily on hair gel.

His eyes were a soft crimson color that looked like blood that had been spilled. A jarring scar slashed over his left eye, but it wasn’t ugly by any means. No, this man held a god-like status when it came to looks. However, his energy felt nothing short of daunting and corrupt.

“Who comes to a club to not drink?” you ask nervously, having to fill the eerie silence with something. It felt like you were suffocating in this man’s presence.

A rugged chuckle leaves his lips, and he tilts his head back slightly. It feels like his laugh sticks to you, making you relax and tense back up all at the same time. You can feel every yen he’s worth with each chuckle.

“If you must know, I come here for a… different sort of entertainment,” he says as his lips curled into a smirk. His eyes unabashedly roam your body — twice before he meets your gaze again.

“Oh, that’s downstairs,” you reply as you feel relieved. This man was just in the wrong section. Surely, you’d guide him to where he needed to go, and you’d be free from whatever kind of verbal hostage situation this was.

“I’m content with where I’m at,” he says with a sort of finality that leaves little room for argument. “Come closer, doll.”

His arm props up on the back of the curved booth, and his legs part into that sort of manspread position where he takes up a good portion of the booth with his massive size.

“I-“

The man pulls a clip of money from his suit, and he makes a show out of flipping through the money before he lays six 10,000 yen notes on the table.

What the hell.

“60,000 yen for you to shut up and come closer,” he says in a voice that lacks the faux kindness he was putting on earlier.

Every survival instinct in your body was telling you to run, but your brain was telling you that 60,000 yen was enough to cover your student housing and for a train pass for a month.

You slowly inch closer, your heels not even lifting from the ground.

The man gives you an amused look as he raises an eyebrow at you. “How much for you to sit on my lap?”

“I-I’m not a dancer..” you reply sheepishly, wondering if he thought you were one of the performers for the club.

“Good thing I’m not asking you to dance, doll. I’m asking you to sit in my lap,” His lips curl into a feline grin. He’s enjoying toying with you like this. “So, I’ll ask only one more time. How much?”

Your heart is pounding against the confines of your ribcage. It felt like you had a little angel on your shoulder telling you that selling this man your time will only further escalate, but the little devil on your other shoulder was telling you to milk him for whatever he was willing to give.

You stayed silent for a few minutes, calculating what a whole month’s expenses would cost you along with the 60,000 yen you already made.

“90,000 yen,” you sheepishly murmur, bracing yourself for him to yell at you for even suggesting such a high number.

There was a beat of silence before the sound of more money being unfolded was heard. He chuckled as he placed down nine more 10,000 yen notes.

“Look at you being all cute while asking for money from me,” he teased, resting his back against the back of the booth. His hand patted his thigh, signaling for you to take a seat.

“I’m not asking— You offered!” you protested, feeling a bit defensive that he would suggest that you just asked him for money.

“Don’t take such a whiny tone with me, doll. I’m only teasing you,” he says as he gestures to his lap yet again. “Sit.”

You bite your bottom lip as you look down towards his lap. You were really about to sit on this stranger’s lap for money… If your dad could see you now, he’d probably disown you.

Good thing he isn’t here.

You slowly walked over towards him, and you carefully take a seat on one of his thighs, planting your feet firmly on the ground so you’re slightly hovering. You need to be able to get away from him at a moment’s notice.

A strong hand slowly snaked up your back, towards your hair, and you tensed up quickly. The stranger wrapped his hand around the back of your neck.

“If I have to tell you again, I’m taking back my money. Sit,” he viciously growled in your ear.

You were already this far in. You should see this through. This club is safe. You were sure of it.

As you slowly allowed yourself to prop your full weight across his lap, your eyes scan around the club, looking at the security points. None of the men would even glance in your direction as if they were purposefully ignoring your section.

What did you just get yourself into?

“See? Was that so hard?” he taunted as his hand slowly dropped down to clasp around your hip. “Why is an angel like you in a club like this?”

Everything in you told you not to answer that question. As soon as he knew your weakness, he’d definitely use it to his advantage, but he probably already knew money was a good motivator for you.

“I didn’t know there was a no angel policy,” you say, trying to remain casual as you flash him a small smile.

A deep chuckle erupts from his chest. He appreciates you trying to use humor to deflect. Clever girl.

“I suppose you’re right,” he rolls his head to the side, cracking his neck from both sides. The sound of bones popping causes a shudder to go through your body. This man was good at giving a false sense of security. “But angels don’t last long in a place like this. It would be a pity to see you be ruined.”

His other hand firmly rested against your thigh, right above your knee. He gives your leg a light squeeze. “Tell me your name, doll.”

“Cherry,” You respond without missing a beat, giving your code name instead of your real name.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” he asks, allowing his fingertips to glide against the exposed skin of your thigh. Your breath picks up in speed, noticing he’s getting more bold with touching you.

“Am I suppose to?” you ask, genuinely curious if this man was some big shot that you were suppose to know.

You very rarely kept up with politics, only knowing major crime names from your law classes, and you definitely didn’t keep up with conglomerates. This man wouldn’t be the first millionaire to walk through the doors of Malevolent Mass, and he wouldn’t be the last.

Another deep raspy chuckle escapes him. “No, I actually find it quite cute you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

His hand slithered up your back once again, and this time he grabbed a fistful of your head, tugging your head back to look up at him. A gasp slips past your lips as your eyes meet his crimson ones.

“Tell me a secret, cherry,” he hisses your codename like it’s disgraceful on his tongue. “Do you belong here?”

You think to try to get up from his lap, but his other arm has worked to secure you to him tightly. The security men aren’t even glancing in your direction. No one would hear you over the music blasting if you tried to scream, and if this man was as important as his inflated ego suggested, no one would likely even help you.

You’ve done everything thus far to get out from underneath the rich man’s thumb, but it feels like every time you take one step forward, something pushed two steps back.

Do you belong anywhere? No where feels like home after your dad passed. Tears stung into your eyes. Why were you thinking of him at a time like this? He can’t save you now.

The man’s lips twitched into a smirk as he saw the tears building in your eyes. That alone was confirmation enough. You didn’t belong here at all.

His other hand reaches up to your face, and he gently strokes your cheek — a contrast to how tightly he was holding your hair. “Such a pretty crier,” he deep gravely voice coos to you.

You can’t even help it at this point. You try to blink the water away from your eyes, but the tears slip down your cheeks anyway. You just silently cursed yourself for ruining your own makeup.

“You’re a crybaby, aren’t you?” he asked as his fingers brush against your pouty lips, and he grabs your chin carefully. “Open.”

Accepting defeat, your lips part ever so slightly for him, and you can feel the way his heart races in his chest from the sight. He narrowly eyes you as two of his fingers slip past your lips.

You’re momentarily stunned from his thick fingers filling your mouth. You feel a thrum between your thighs, but you try to ignore it. Surely, your body was just betraying you, and his body was betraying him. You were able to feel every inch of his hard on through his slacks. The sight of your tears only served to spur him on further.

When you give his fingers a light suckle, he purrs a praise for you. Leisurely, he thrusts his digits in and out from your mouth. He admires the way you accept them in without a single complaint.

“Such a good girl for me. Try a little harder,” his voice darkly instructs you as he slides his fingers deeper past your tongue, hitting your inexperienced throat.

Your throat involuntarily constricts, causing you to gag and cry more. You hum around his fingers as you whimper. He merely laughs at your pitiful display.

“We’ll have to train your cute little throat to take more, won’t we?” he asked, making a dull ache settle in your lower stomach. You had never done anything like this, and the way he was treating all this so casually filled you with some sort of… excitement.

His words also struck you with fear as you realized this meant he was likely far from being done with his antics.

His fingers continue until you’ve coated them in a thin sheen of saliva. When he pulled from you, you were panting even though he hadn’t taken away your ability to breathe.

He smirked as he gazed at you as if he can tell that your cunt is clenching around nothing right now. It’s like he knows every perverse desire you’ve fantasized about in your alone time.

“You’re a vision, doll. I’m going to have so much fun breaking you,”

Before you could even think to inquire what he meant by that, an unfamiliar male voice spoke up to your side, causing you to flinch slightly. The other man was dressed in basic business attire, but he had a scrappier look to him.

“Sir?”

The stranger tensed, and you could practically see all the playful taunting energy in his face melt away. He stared daggers into the newcomer’s soul. “Speak.”

“Members of the Gojo clan were spotted near Dante’s 7th circle,”

“Dammit, what a pest,” the pink-haired male growled. He clearly didn’t fancy being interrupted.

You perked up a little from the mention of the infamous Gojo clan. You had heard plenty of whispers about the clan fluttering about on campus, and the clan had been brought up momentarily in your organized gangs class before the professor quickly shut down the conversation.

Yakuza clans were talked about in school, but the professors were very careful about what they chose to say, knowing that members were everywhere amongst them.

The stranger carefully moved you from his lap, and he stood up, gathering himself before turning to you. “You behave. I have to go tend to something, but I’ll be back for you,” he said as he reached into his coat, and he casually tossed a whole clip of yen onto the table.

Your eyes widened at the stack of money sitting on the table, and your heart began to race. It felt like the last two hours had been a complete blur, but now, you were face with a thick stack of money — probably enough to cover you for at least three months… and you weren’t even done with your shift yet.

Your excitement was quickly overshadowed by fear. He was coming back for you. How intertwined had you gotten yourself into this mess?

taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby

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annabelle--cane · 1 day ago

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they just don't make characters like jon archivist sims. he spends an entire season having a forty episode long delusional breakdown and that's only maybe the third or fourth worst period of time in his life. he gets intervened on twice. he gets kidnapped thrice. during one of those kidnappings he spends a month tied to a chair getting forcibly moisturized by a plastic ringmistress mannequin and no one notices. he fully dies for six months but gets up again when a friendly grim reaper gives his unbreathing body a pep talk. he spends several episodes at the start of the final season so depressed that it's unclear if he even moves for multiple days in a row. the basis for his magic powers is that he is so traumatized that he begins to need continuous further trauma in order to live, which gives him the ability to explode people with his mind. he spends about fifty seconds at the top of an episode self-harming directly into a tape recorder, which is not even the most fucked up thing to happen to him that episode. he finally cried on audio for the first time in the penultimate ep and the only reaction I saw for several days after was wildly enthusiastic cheering. he's missing two ribs and he's at least 80% scar tissue by volume and the only canon information we have about his appearance is that he looks terrible at all times.

#tma #marina marvels at life

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sangunary · 19 days ago

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- BatBoys × Civilian Reader.

SCENARIO: pecking them on the cheek after they saved you from danger.

- DICK GRAYSON.

Dick had ran inside the burning building after he realised that you were still inside, he discard all the training and ran for you.

He didn't have time to think the moment he heard your name his body move on its on, like he was chasing oxygen.

He was not going to lose someone he loves dearly again, this time he would protect you and be your boyfriend someday.

He had been secretly consuming videos on how to be the best boyfriend in the world and he haven't even got to try that. Bullshit, even if he had to fight death itself he will. No one is going to take you away this time... Not when he's still breathing.

When you peck him on the cheek he froze, the adrenaline rushing back in, his eyes wide shock and still holding your hands.

He just wanted to hold you in his arms and comfort himself and you but holding the edge of your fingers was the best he would do for now.

" That's not my lips tho "

he commented, managing to weild his brain back to the right direction but not without some complications.

" Huh? "

You looked at him confuse.

His hands still clinging onto yours desperately trying to remember the feeling of your hands on his.

" You accidentally kissed me on my cheek and not my lips "

Activity trying to gaslight you and himself.

What he wanted to say was ' Please just do me a favour and open the gate of heaven by kissing me already, I cannot go another day without your lips on mine... '.

How much he yearn to hold you and kiss you infront of everybody, kissing you so hard that he forgot his own name and could only remember the taste of your lips.

" Kiss me Alr- "

Before he could spill his desire Batman drag him away frowning and kept looking at you and Batman.

- Jason Todd.

He saved you from thief's and you kiss him on the cheek. He's in another planet the moment your lips touches his skin.

Goosebumps all over his body, an electric charge sent down his spine and his heart about to explode from the unexpected affection. God, what kind of grip did you had on him?

Hes utterly surprised in a good way, he didn't knew all it took was some expensive costume and doing the right thing.

Unfortunately for you he's hooked. His shoulder relaxing and his once prideful stance turns into one that reminds you of a puppy wishing for more pats.

The scene playing inside his head over and over dissecting everything into pieces. His face didn't turn that red just his whole posture and language did change tho.

Now, he demands kiss for everytime he did and not leaving until you gave him that kiss he was so addicted to.

" Where's my kiss? "

He asked, turning to look at you. His face plastered with that cunning smirk he had whenever he knew he won.

" Kiss? eh "

You look at him confuse, you were just standing there watching him do his heroic deed. Whereas, he suddenly turns with the most idiotic smile and demand a kiss.

" Yeah, my reward. For being a good hero "

Silence.

" You saved a kitten from the tree and you want a kiss? It's not even my kitten "

"... Contribute to society by motivating me through kisses"

He was serious, tho you trapped yourself in this case... Kissing him and thinking he won't take advantage of it. He's smart when it comes to his needs.

He cannot wait until he gets to actually collide his lips with yours... Maybe in the possible future he would get a kiss on the lips for every good deeds.

- Tim Drake.

He's confusion. Staring at you while holding onto the place where you kissed him, he couldn't tell if he was hallucinating because he was sleep deprived or you did kiss him.

His face flush red as his entire body turns warm, even tho it was during the middle of winter he couldn't feel anything else but warmth.

His ears were red as well, he totally forgot about the fact that there were gour people he had tied near the pole watching in silence.

" I- Why would you do that? "

He didn't mean to sound so mad or upset, infact his brain had probably melted by the thought of you kissing him.

" Im not complaining just... I Didn't even have time to process that "

He could clearly hear ever time his heart was beating against his rips, his hands going stiff and extremely warm... Even his eyes were betraying him.

He began, not only didn't he had time to process the pleasure of your touch he did not have time to remember it, how was he supposed to deal with that?

Tho, Tim was the boss of trying to play cool and feeling cool but in reality he's a blushing mess with a smile that scream 'im a pathetic loser inlove'.

" Do you want me to kiss you again? "

You asked, and Tim was over the moon with such opportunity handed to him on a random Tuesday night.

" Yeah, let's do that again... I'll be ready this time "

He might try to make you kiss him again by creating some excuses only he could think of.

- Damian Wayne.

He's happy and not at the same time. His mind is racing itself to see which one will make him restless.

He should be happy that you were so willing to kiss him on the cheek but you kissed him without knowing who he was under that domino!

You didn't kiss him as Damian Wayne, you kissed him as Robin... Batman blood son.

Now there was two thing keeping him sane and insane, one the precious kiss you had given me to him and the fact that you kissed him without knowing it's him...

Should he focus on the positive and be delusional like his older brother...No, he's full of questions and you'll hear them all.

And the fact that you kissed him so easily for just stopping someone for stealing from you? He's going to lecture you as Damian Wayne.

Well, he did like about the fact that you smelled like perfection and your soft lips pressed on his cheek with the cutest smile.

This felt like a shoujo manga, but if his institution is correct the guy would grab the girl by her face (gently) and roughly or gently kissed her infront of everybody.

Tho he's still not happy with you for kissing him for being a decent human being... Your standard are low.

" You're ridiculous for kissing me without any reason "

He fold his arms, the redness in his ears still visible. He doesnt like the way his heart was pounding at him to stop being delusional. Maybe he was consuming too much manga.

" You do realise not everyone should be kissed because they save you "

Yes, tho you should kiss Damian Wayne Instead of Robin... That way he would be able to smile about it in the dark.

" If I see you kissing random I wil- "

You hurried away before Damian could start teaching you on what he will and will not tolerate.

You should only kiss him and he is the only one privilege enough to call your lips his... He's definitely going to lecture you nonstop for kissing people as a gratitude.

He absolutely love's the kiss but he hate that you won't kiss him as Damian Wayne...

- Half asleep and do not know what i wrote I'll fix em tomorrow.

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sourkiki · 14 days ago

Note

riki filming his girl during sex 🫠🫠🫠 imagine his thumb rubbing her little hairs and her clit… and he would take pic of her creamed pussy 😃

#hardthoughts

ALBUM'S CONTENT: explicit mature content, established relationship, dom! 西村力 x fem! reader, recording during sex, one usage of "good girl", very faint degrading, ❀ unprotected sex (wrap it up) 𖤐 769 ... ᧔♡᧓ catalogue.

FROM PRODUCER: anon, let me kiss your brain because this is SO hot hello!!! thank you for sending this.. hopefully i did this justice heh

“You want to what?” You gaped at him, eyes all wide and jaw dropped open, dumbfounded with what your boyfriend just asked.

Riki coughed, scratching the back of his head. His eyes averted to the side, not having the courage to look at you. “I was wondering if I could record us having sex.”

“Not that I’m against it or anything, but what brought this on?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you. Seeing how he was struggling to formulate his response, you reached out to place a reassuring hand above his.

“I just wanted to try it out and the idea of recording it is hot,” he shrugged his shoulders, eliciting an amused chuckle from you at the sight of him squirming on the spot, like a child being questioned by his mother.

“Riki, seriously, I don’t mind it,” you replied and that was enough to loosen the weight on his shoulders.

A few weeks passed with both of you busy with your respective schedules, the conversation you had long forgotten. That was until Riki had you straddling his lap one random afternoon, pushing your laptop aside. You weren’t surprised when you ended up tangled amongst the sheets, legs loosely wrapped around his waist as he snapped his hips against yours.

Your bedroom was filled with the sounds of your moans along with skin slapping against skin, creating a symphony of music. Your back arched off the bed, mouth dropping open in a silent ‘O’ shape at how his cock keeps hitting the same sensitive spot, enough to make stars explode within your vision.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he cursed, reaching over to the bedside table without slowing down, managing to grab his film camera.

Turning the small device on, he switched to video mode and started recording without having your face taken. He slowed down his tempo, switching to moving his hips in circular motions, drawing breathless moans and mewls from you. He continued moving down until he stopped to record where you’re connected with one another, zooming in on how your clear, white liquid was sticking onto his cock with every thrust. His breath hitched with how erotic the sight was—your plump, pussy lips spread to accommodate the girth of his cock.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well. It’s like you’re made for me,” he breathed out, awe and amazement evident in his voice.

Riki reached out with his free hand, his thumb appearing in the video as he made a show of pressing down on your clit that was peeking out, causing you to let out a startled gasp, making you tightened around him. Your action made him moan—the sound getting picked up by the camera. He moved this thumb, purposely rubbing it against your little hair surrounding your clit, feeling the slightly rough sensation against the pad of his thumb.

“Ngh, R-Riki, fuck,” you whimpered, eyes rolling up to the back of your head as he quicked his pace, fucking you through your orgasm. He could see a visible white ring around the base of his cock as you creampied around his cock.

“Look at you, creampie around my cock like the desperate girl you are. Does being recorded turn you on?” He mocks you, moving his thumb away and replacing it with his fingers, spreading your lips apart to reveal more of the mess you made.

You whined, unable to utter a single word, not when how good his cock feels inside you, reaching places that should be deemed impossible. Riki’s grip on his camera loosens, the device slipping from his hand as he spills deep inside you, pumping you full of his cum. He cursed when he nearly dropped it, pausing the recording and placed it on the bedside table, ensuring it was placed far from the edge before turning back to you.

His greedy eyes drink in your current state—your neck covered in hickeys and bite marks left behind by him, faint marks on your hips left behind by his nails. What caught his attention was how his cum was trickling down from your stretched-out cunt. The sight made his eyes darkened and his cock that was still inside you, hardened.

You turned to him when you felt it. “Riki, don’t—!?”

Your voice died down in your throat, only for you to let out a pitiful whimper as your boyfriend gave an experimental thrust up, making you visibly flinched. Riki chuckled, leaning over to rest his hands on both sides of your head.

“One more time, hm? Be a good girl and cum one more time for me, would you?”

taglist: @byshens, @emisluvr, @riqomi, @rikisoup

#ㅤ⠀⠀ ㅤ⸺ 情书 .ೃ࿐#enhypen x reader #enha imagines #enha smut #enha x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #ni ki imagines #ni ki x reader #riki imagines #riki x reader #riki smut #riki x you #riki x y/n #ni ki smut

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sunshinesfreckless · 29 days ago

Text

Bias Wrecker

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

Pairing: Idol!Felix x Fan!FemReader

Summary: Felix crashes during a concert — but luckily, there’s a pretty Hyunjin stan nearby to help him release all that pent-up energy.

Warnings: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU’RE A MINOR. Includes Felix bending reader over and fucking her raw.

A/N: See how she didn’t freak out over seeing Felix or disrespect his privacy? And got his D as a reward? Very sweet, very calm fan behavior. ♡

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───

“FUCK.”

The word exploded out of Felix like a bullet, reverberating through the dim alleyway as his boot connected with the dented trash can, sending it crashing against the brick wall. The hollow clang echoed into the emptiness, sharp and ugly. His chest heaved.

His hands found his hips, jaw clenched so tight he could feel the pressure in his temples. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and he tore a hand through his perfectly styled blond hair, messing it up without care. The stadium roared in the background — a tidal wave of cheering fans, lights flashing, cameras everywhere. But here? It was quiet. Secluded. Hidden.

And still not far enough.

He hated it. The constant eyes. The pretending. The fucking choreography corrections at the last second. The media training. The handlers. The no-time-to-breathe life that chewed you up if you didn’t smile on command. Chan was probably looking for him by now, probably telling someone to stall the encore. But Felix couldn’t go back out there. Not yet.

His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms.

Then — a door creaked open behind him. Footsteps paused.

Felix turned his head slowly, his whole body humming with fury — only to freeze.

A girl stood in the doorway, bathed in the orange glow of the alley’s security light. She looked like trouble in the best way. Short denim skirt clinging to her hips like it was made to be peeled off. Platform boots that made her legs look endless. An oversized Stray Kids jersey stretched over her chest, the number 8 in bold white, and beside it… a fucking Hyunjin ferret print. Seriously?

His eyes traveled up to her face — flushed from running, lips parted, glossed. She blinked, like she hadn’t expected to stumble into anyone, let alone a pissed-off idol.

“Sorry,” she said softly, voice breathy, like she’d just run from somewhere. Or maybe like she liked what she saw.

Felix exhaled through his nose, shoulders still tense.

“You’re good…” he muttered, voice low and raspy.

“I… I was looking for the toilets,” she added quickly, eyes flicking to the dented trash can and back to him. “Wrong door?”

Felix’s lips curved — not in amusement. Something darker.

“Wrong door, sweetie,” he said, drawl thick with something dangerous. “Go down the hall. Left.”

But she didn’t move. Not right away. Her eyes lingered on him, curious. Her stare flicked over the way his chest rose and fell under his stage tank, his jaw tight with frustration, the disheveled hair, the red Jacket. Like she saw the chaos in him — and didn’t want to look away.

And maybe that made him even angrier.

She tilted her head, lips quirking as her eyes raked over him — his flushed skin, his heaving chest, the sweat at his temples.

“Shouldn’t you be on stage?”

Felix’s tongue slid across his lower lip as he gave a slow, deliberate nod. His gaze didn’t leave hers.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting in the crowd?”

She smirked. “I’m standing, actually.”

“Didn’t see you there.”

“A lot of fangirls in front of me, I guess.”

Felix let out a breath of something close to a laugh, but it was low, strained, like he was barely holding something in. His eyes dropped for a second, then came back up — slow and hungry.

“Well, a pretty face like yours seems hard to overlook.”

That made her smile, just a little. She shifted her weight casually, the movement making her denim skirt ride just a little higher on one thigh. Felix noticed. His jaw flexed.

“You good?” she asked, watching him more carefully now. “You seem… wired.”

His voice was quiet when it came.

“You ever feel like you’re gonna lose it if one more person tells you what to do?”

She blinked, unsure if it was rhetorical. But Felix didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped closer, slow and predatory, until the heat from his body washed over her.

“I can’t go back out there like this,” he murmured, voice low, almost a growl. “I’m so fucking pent up I could break something.”

He looked her over — from the curve of her waist to the sliver of thigh beneath that skirt — and then locked eyes again.

“Unless you wanna help me burn it off.”

Her lips parted slightly. “…Excuse me?”

“I’m serious,” he said, not breaking eye contact. “Right here. Right now. I need it.”

She could’ve sworn no one had ever made her feel this dizzy, this dangerously turned on — not with just a few fucking words. Her fingers tightened around the door handle like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“How…” she started, but her voice cracked, breath catching.

Felix didn’t answer with words. Instead, his palm drifted down, slow and deliberate, brushing over the outline of his cock through his pants. His jaw clenched. Eyes fixed on her like she was prey.

Her stomach flipped.

That casual touch alone sent a shockwave between her legs.

His stage outfit clung to him in all the right ways, damp at the collarbones with sweat. God, he looked like sin.

Her breath came quicker. Was she really about to do this?

Getting fucked by Felix. Raw. In his stage outfit. With his voice still raspy from yelling, and that pent-up anger simmering under every move.

She didn’t say a word. Just let the door click shut behind her and stepped fully inside the alley, her heels echoing slightly against the cement.

One step. Two.

His gaze dropped to her legs as she slowly made her way down the stairs, the skirt shifting again, teasing more skin. His tongue darted out over his lip — brief, but loaded.

She stopped in front of him, barely a breath of space between them.

He grabbed her waist in one swift motion, pulling her against him like he couldn’t wait another second. The force of it made her gasp softly — his hands were rough, urgent, but still careful, like he didn’t want to break her. Not unless she asked him to.

Felix bent down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke — low, dark, breath hot.

“Are you a virgin?”

His voice was so soft it was almost reverent — but laced with hunger, a growl beneath it.

She swallowed, heart pounding wildly against her ribs. “No,” she whispered, already breathless.

“Good.” His hands slid down to her ass, gripping hard enough to make her knees go weak. His voice dropped another octave, filthy.

“Then you can take what I’m about to give you.”

Before she could react, he moved — spinning her around.

He bend her forward over the edge of the nearby trash can. It was dented, cold against her thighs, but none of it mattered. Not when Felix shoved her down with one palm between her shoulder blades, the other hand yanking her skirt up over her ass with no ceremony.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered behind her, the sound guttural. “You came out here dressed like this? Skirt riding up, platform boots, no clue what that does to me?”

Her panties were soaked through — and he let his fingertips trail lightly across the damp fabric. Teasing. Just enough to make her hips twitch backward toward him.

“Oh, fuck me,” he exhaled sharply. “You’re dripping through this. You wanted someone to ruin you tonight, huh?”

She whined, humiliated and turned on and breathless.

He hooked a finger around the side of her panties and pulled them aside roughly, exposing her soaked folds to the cool alley air — and to him. He didn’t touch. Not yet. Just stared.

“Look at this pretty little pussy,” he growled. “So wet for me already. All this from a few words?”

He slid two fingers through her slit, slow and deep — spreading her slick, watching it catch the light.

“Fucking slippery,” he groaned. “You don’t need prep. You’re begging for cock.”

“Felix,” she gasped, arching back against his hand, “please…”

“You want it raw?” he asked, voice dark, unfiltered, panting. His hand palmed her ass hard, gripping her like it was his. “You want me to fuck you bare in this alley where anyone could walk out that door and see you bent over for me?”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes, please—”

That was all he needed.

She heard the hiss of his zipper, the clink of his belt falling open. Then the hot, heavy weight of his cock sliding against her folds — thick, pulsing, leaking.

“Fuck,” he hissed, grinding the head of it up and down her entrance, spreading her slick. “Gonna feel every inch of me, baby. I’m gonna split you open on this cock until you forget your fucking name.”

And then — he slammed into her in one brutal thrust.

She cried out, loud, but the sound was swallowed by the alley as Felix buried himself to the hilt. The stretch was obscene, brutal, but her body welcomed him like it was made for this. He didn’t give her time to adjust — he was too far gone. He drew back and slammed in again, harder.

His grip on her hips was bruising now. His thrusts came fast, filthy, brutal — skin slapping, breath ragged.

“Fucking tight,” he grunted. “You feel that? How deep I am?”

She could only moan in response, hands gripping the trash can’s edge like her life depended on it.

“Take it,” he growled, slamming in again, harder, deeper. “Take every inch. Just like a good little slut.”

The sound of their bodies echoed in the alley — slick, wet, raw. Her moans, his curses, the sharp rhythm of his hips.

And he wasn’t slowing down.

“Tell me something,” Felix growled against the back of her neck, hips still snapping into her with ruthless, desperate rhythm. “Is Hyunjin still your bias?”

Her head jerked up in shock — but she couldn’t speak. Not with his cock grinding against that spot that made her toes curl, not with her brain short-circuiting from overstimulation.

“Hmm?” He slapped her ass, hard, making her gasp. “You wear his Pin. You swoon over him online. But who’s got you bent over a fucking trash can right now?”

She whimpered, fingers slipping as she gripped the metal edge tighter. “Y-You…”

“That’s right. Me.” His voice was low, primal, broken. “You think Hyunjin would fuck you like this? Watch you take it raw with your skirt up and your panties pushed to the side like a cheap slut?”

A sob tore from her throat — high-pitched, aching — and he fucked her harder.

“You think he’d be proud?” he growled. “Proud that his little fan’s out here getting bred by me in a back alley like a dirty little secret?”

“Felix—!”

“You gonna forget about him now?” He leaned over her, one hand wrapping around her throat from behind — not squeezing, just holding, grounding her while he pounded into her mercilessly. “Forget that bias shit. You’re mine now.”

She cried out, hips bucking, tears in her lashes. “I’m yours—I’m yours—I’m—”

“Fuck, I’m close.” He bit her shoulder through the fabric. “Gonna fill you up. You want that? You want my cum leaking out of you while you go back into that stadium full of people?”

“Yes, please, do it—”

The sound of a door slamming open in the distance cut through the haze — the heavy metal creak of it echoed down the alley. It was the Door outside next to their dressing room. He knew exactly who it was.

Footsteps. Fast.

Felix didn’t stop.

He snarled under his breath, his grip on her tightening as he slammed into her one last time — deep, hard, brutal — and came inside her with a guttural moan, spilling deep and raw.

Her entire body shook, held up only by his grip and the dented trash can beneath her. She gasped, eyes wide and dazed, still pulsing around him as he stayed buried inside.

Then—

“Felix!”

Chan’s voice rang out.

Fuck.

Felix turned his head just as Bang Chan rounded the corner into the alley. His chest was heaving, clearly pissed, clearly searching — and then he saw her.

Still bent over. Skirt pushed up. Felix’s hands on her hips. His cock still inside her.

Time stopped.

Chan’s mouth parted slightly, jaw tense, face unreadable.

She turned her face away, flushed and trembling, but Chan’s eyes were locked on Felix.

Not a word was said.

Not yet.

Chan’s jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. He stared at Felix like he didn’t know whether to drag him off her or kill him on the spot.

Felix exhaled shakily, his hands sliding slowly off her hips as he pulled out — cum already starting to drip down her inner thigh.

Chan’s voice was low. Controlled. Deadly.

“You fucked a fan?”

Felix didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Chan turned on his Heel.

“You have five fucking minutes,” he bit out, voice tight. “Clean yourself up. Get to the stylist. They’re stalling for you already.”

Chan didn’t even look at her. Didn’t even flinch.

He stared at the opposite wall, jaw clenched so hard it looked painful, giving her whatever privacy he could. Because he was furious — but he wasn’t cruel.

“I’ll tell them you threw up. Don’t make me a liar,” he muttered, and without waiting for an answer, he stormed off — the metal door slamming behind him with finality.

The silence he left behind was heavy.

Felix exhaled. Shaky. Spent. Still panting a little as he tucked himself away and straightened up. Then he looked at her — still bent slightly forward, thighs shaking, hair messy, shame crawling hot across her cheeks.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She didn’t look at him.

But he stepped closer, pulled something small from his pocket — a little pin, yellow and smiling.

Bbokari.

He reached over and, without a word, unclipped the Hyunjin ferret button from her jersey. Replaced it with the bbokari pin.

“There,” he murmured. “That’s better.”

She blinked up at him, wide-eyed, dazed, lips parted like she still couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“You good?” he asked gently, crouching just a bit to meet her gaze. His voice was low again, but this time soft. Tender. “Need help walking?”

She nodded, helpless.

He slipped an arm around her waist and helped her stand, his touch careful now — like she was glass. Her legs were trembling, and the moment she tried to step, she stumbled again. He caught her easily, chuckling under his breath.

“I really did a number on you, huh?” he teased quietly.

She gave him a look, and he smiled — wide and boyish, like he hadn’t just ruined her life and wrecked her body against a trash can.

As they reached the hallway again, he paused by a small metal table near the staff entrance. Snagged a tiny scrap of paper from a clipboard and scribbled something on it with the pen tied to the cord.

He handed it to her before she could ask.

His number.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, cocking his head and flashing that sweet, impossible smile.

She stared at the paper. Then back at him.

He winked.

And just like that, Felix walked away — heading toward the main corridor, where the muffled roar of the crowd still echoed beyond the walls.

She stood there frozen, fingers gripping the note, jersey crooked, thighs sticky, literal cum dripping out of her in her Panties — and her heart thudding like the bass drop to her favorite track.

Hyunjin might have been her bias.

But Felix just made sure he’d be her problem for a very, very long time.

#stray kids #felix stray kids #felix x reader #felix yongbok #lee felix #skz felix #lee felix smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #felix #felix smut #felix skz #stray kids felix #felix lee

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