#i want to ✨soak in it✨

[sainz100]

💙💙💫

[bitchkay]

Craving onigiri in the middle of the night

I need osamu to be my boyfriend so he can make me onigiri when ever I want

[danysdaughter]

I Think I Love You

pairing | fwb!bucky x new!avengers!reader

word count | 5.4k words

summary I You agreed to keep it casual—just sex, no feelings. But when loving Bucky in silence begins to break you, walking away is the only thing you can do… even if it destroys you both.

tags | Thunderbolts Spoilers??? I guess, tower fic, 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, obsessive!bucky, fem!reader, miscommunication, dumbasses in love, platonic!bob x reader

a/n | new acc, this was to cute to write. Enjoy! REQUESTS ARE OPEN

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

It was always like this.

His body above yours, surrounding you, drowning you in heat and hunger like you were oxygen to him. Like fucking you was the only way he knew how to breathe. Like if he didn’t bury himself inside you right now, he’d come apart at the seams.

Bucky kissed you like he was starving—mouth hot and bruising, tongue claiming yours with an edge of desperation that never quite dulled. His hands were everywhere, rough and sure, sliding under your tank, gripping your waist, dragging you beneath him like he was scared you’d vanish if he didn’t anchor you down.

You didn’t fight it. You never did.

Because this was the only version of him you could have—the one that came alive behind closed doors. The one who groaned your name like a curse when you kissed down his throat, who pulled your panties down with shaking hands, who slid into you with a sound like it hurt to finally be inside you.

“Fuck, doll,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, hips grinding into you deep and slow. “You always feel so fuckin’ good. You were made for me.”

God, it sounded like love. It always did.

His mouth found your neck again, biting gently, sucking bruises into your skin like a claim no one would ever see. And your hands clutched his back, nails digging in, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as you rocked your hips up to meet every thrust.

You wanted to believe this was real. That it meant something more. That the way he looked at you—eyes dark and blown wide, lips parted, breath ragged—wasn’t just lust.

But you knew better.

You’d agreed to this.

No feelings. No mess. Just heat and need and late nights tangled in sweat-soaked sheets.

Still, you craved it—him—in ways you couldn’t admit. Not even to yourself.

Bucky fucked you like you were a secret he couldn’t bear to keep. His metal hand gripped your thigh, forcing it higher around his hip, while his other tangled in your hair, tugging gently to expose your throat. He licked a stripe up your neck and groaned when you whimpered.

“Don’t hold back, baby,” he said, voice low and rough. “Wanna hear you.”

You moaned for him, because you always did.

And he gave you everything. Thrust after thrust, deep and controlled, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you from the inside out. Your bodies moved together like muscle memory—practiced, perfect.

You cried out when he hit that spot, again and again, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your orgasm built too fast to control. He felt it—knew it—and his grip tightened, pace faltering just slightly as he pressed harder, deeper.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growled. “Come on, give it to me.”

You shattered.

Your body seized around him, nails raking down his back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as pleasure tore through you in waves. And Bucky? He didn’t stop. He chased his own release through the pulsing grip of your cunt, moaning your name like a promise he’d never make aloud.

“Fuck—gonna come—shit, fuck—” he gasped, slamming into you once more before spilling inside with a groan so raw it made your chest ache.

He collapsed against you, face buried in your neck, his breath hot and ragged.

You held him, like you always did. Tangled in the afterglow, skin slick with sweat, hearts still racing. And for a moment, you let yourself pretend.

That maybe this time would be different.

That maybe he’d stay.

That maybe he'd roll off of you, cup your cheek, and tell you he couldn’t keep pretending this didn’t mean something.

But instead, he sighed. A soft, satisfied sound. Then rolled onto his back, pulling his arm behind his head.

He didn’t look at you.

He never did after.

You stared at the ceiling, heart pounding in your throat, your body warm and full and hollow all at once.

And all you could think was:

I want him to touch me like that in the daylight.

I want him to want me when we’re not naked.

But he didn’t. Or wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.

You weren’t sure which hurt more.

The kitchen in the tower was quiet, save for the soft clatter of a cutting board and the low simmer of something bubbling on the stove. You stood at the counter, knife in hand, carefully dicing onions while Bob sat beside you, his own cutting board a chaotic mess of uneven pepper slices and cucumber spears.

He was squinting at the vegetables like they’d wronged him personally.

“I swear,” he said, furrowing his brow as he tried to slice a tomato without completely demolishing it, “these things are out to get me. Slippery little bastards.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You don’t have to help, you know.”

“No, I want to. It’s… nice.” He shrugged. “Domestic. Also, I read somewhere it builds team trust or something. Shared food prep.”

You snorted. “Where’d you read that?”

“A Reddit thread about Dungeons & Dragons, actually.”

You laughed for real that time. “Of course.”

The smell of garlic and rosemary floated through the air. The oven clicked softly as it preheated. Outside the window, the sky was grey and moody—classic New York—but there was something warm about the kitchen. Safe. Familiar. Even with the quiet ache in your chest that you were pretending wasn’t there.

You kept chopping. So did he. Or tried to.

“Y’know,” Bob said after a beat, holding up a mutilated chunk of bell pepper, “I don’t think I’m ever gonna be a culinary genius. Might have to accept that my gifts lie elsewhere.”

“Like sitting on the couch and watching TV?”

“And comic relief,” he added proudly. “Two very underappreciated superpowers.”

You gave him a sidelong look, smirking. “You’re not wrong.”

He grinned. Then, more softly, “I like this, though. Being part of a team. Even if it’s weird sometimes. Even if people yell. Or punch through walls. Or if Alexei keeps pitching us matching uniforms with capes.”

You snorted again, setting down your knife. “He has been obsessed with that lately.”

“Right?” Bob said, picking at a cucumber slice. “But even with all the chaos, it’s good. I never really had this before. A group. People who give a damn. Who check in. It’s like… like being part of a weird, violent little family. And I know I’m not the most… stable, but I feel like—like I’m seen. Cared for. Loved, even. Not in the romantic sense—though Walker did call me ‘acceptable’ once, which I’m counting as progress.”

You laughed softly again—but it was different this time. Quieter. Shorter.

Bob didn’t seem to notice.

He kept talking, absently stacking pepper pieces into a leaning tower. “I don’t know. It just hit me earlier when Alexei dragged me to look at fabric swatches, and he was complaining about the thread count like we were planning a wedding. I was like… this is insane. But also—this is nice. Like I matter. Like I belong.”

The sting started slow. So faint you barely noticed it at first.

A tightness behind your eyes. A pull at the corners of your mouth. Something twisting low in your stomach like a warning bell you were trying very hard to ignore.

Bob looked over at you with an easy smile, still speaking, voice gentler now. “I guess I just wanted to say… I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I get to be around people who give a damn. That’s why I love being on this team.”

And just like that—it cracked.

The sting sharpened. The pressure behind your eyes pulsed hot, and your throat closed up around the sudden, suffocating weight of it.

Because all you could think was:

God, I want that too.

To feel loved. Chosen. Not just useful when someone needed to blow off steam. Not just fucked behind closed doors and forgotten in the light of day.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard, forcing yourself to blink fast, to keep your head down, to move your hands like nothing was wrong. But the tears came anyway—silent, slow, slipping down your cheeks before you could stop them.

You tried to wipe them away subtly, turning toward the sink, pretending to rinse your hands. But it wasn’t subtle enough.

“Whoa—oh no,” Bob said, his eyes going wide. “Did I—did I say something wrong?”

You shook your head quickly, facing away. “No. No, it’s not you. I swear.”

He stood up beside you, hovering awkwardly, clearly panicking. “Is it the peppers? I knew I was butchering them. I knew they looked sad but I didn’t think they were tear-worthy—”

A shaky laugh broke out of you, even as you tried to wipe your face. “Bob, no. Stop. It’s not your fault.”

He hesitated, frowning deeply, hands fidgeting at his sides. “Is it—do you want me to go? I didn’t mean to mess anything up—”

You turned to him, eyes red, cheeks wet, and smiled—small and painful.

“I just… needed to hear that,” you said softly. “What you said. About being seen. Cared for. Loved.”

Bob’s face softened immediately. “Oh. Oh. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“No,” you said again, shaking your head, voice barely a whisper now. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He reached out, then hesitated, then finally rested a hand gently on your hand. “For what it’s worth… I think whoever’s making you feel like you’re not those things is an idiot.”

You gave him a wobbly smile, another tear slipping free. “Yeah.”

Bob didn’t ask more. He didn’t need to. And you were grateful for that.

Instead, he just stood with you in the quiet hum of the kitchen, as the smell of dinner simmered in the background and the sky outside darkened to evening.

And all you could think—over and over—was:

I can’t do this anymore.

The second the quinjet touched down, Bucky unbuckled and stood, impatient fingers already tugging off his gloves. He barely registered Yelenas's debrief, or the way Ava elbowed him and muttered something about getting sleep for once. He just nodded and walked out, barely hearing her call after him.

He didn’t want sleep.

He wanted you.

He’d been thinking about you the entire mission. About the way you always curled up on the couch when you thought no one was watching. The way you’d made blueberry muffins the morning before they left and snuck him one while everyone else was busy fighting over the coffee machine. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled—just for him.

No one had to know.

No one did know.

And that made it easier to pretend this wasn’t killing him.

That this wasn’t something he wanted every damn day.

He reached your hallway before he even realized how fast he’d been walking. It was late—11:07 by the glowing red digits on the hallway clock. Most of the tower was asleep. But your light was still on.

He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders back, nerves flaring. He always got like this before seeing you. Like some teenager with a crush instead of a 100-year-old ex-assassin who’d watched entire countries fall.

But you made him feel… different. Human.

He raised his hand and knocked, soft and firm.

And then the door opened—and there you were.

A soft lime green nightgown hugged your body in a way that made his breath catch. It clung to your curves, all sleepy and ethereal and warm, and for a second, all he could do was look at you.

His chest ached.

God, you were beautiful.

He didn’t wait. He didn’t think. He reached out, cupping your face in both hands, drawing you in like a man starved for warmth and memory. His lips found yours—soft, reverent, desperate. He kissed you like you were the last safe thing he had.

And then your hands pressed against his chest.

Not pulling him closer.

Pushing him away.

He pulled back, blinking. His brows knit together. “What’s wrong?”

You looked up at him, eyes already glossy, mouth parted like the words hurt too much to say. “Bucky… we need to stop.”

His stomach dropped.

The hallway suddenly felt ice cold.

“What?” His voice cracked, quiet and rough. “What do you mean?”

You looked down, fingers curling into the fabric of your nightgown, and stepped back just slightly. “What we’ve been doing… this… it needs to end.”

It hit him like a punch to the ribs. All the breath knocked from his lungs.

“I—I don’t understand,” he said. “Did I do something? Say something? If I—”

“No,” you cut in gently, and it broke him how kind your voice still was. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why?” He was still holding your gaze, desperate. “Is it… is it someone else?”

You hesitated.

That was enough of an answer.

You nodded once. “I’ve… met someone. And this would complicate things.”

The lie hung between you like smoke. Fragile. Choking.

Bucky swallowed hard. His hands had dropped to his sides, and he clenched them into fists before forcing them open again. He was trying to stay calm. He had no right to be angry. You weren’t his.

You’d never been his.

But still, the ache that bloomed in his chest was unbearable. His heart was thundering, cracking in real time as he stared at you, unblinking.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you that no one could touch you the way he could. That no one could possibly know you the way he did. He wanted to grab you, beg you not to leave him in the dark again.

But he didn’t.

Because you deserved better than that.

You always had.

He cleared his throat, voice suddenly hoarse and distant. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

You blinked at him, a flicker of pain crossing your face. Then you leaned in, so gently it almost made him flinch, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Soft. Final.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

You stepped back inside your room.

And the door closed.

He stood there for a long time.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Just stared at the closed door like he could will it to open again. Like maybe if he stayed still long enough, this wouldn’t be real.

But it was.

And all he could think was:

You found someone else.

You—the one person who made him feel like maybe he wasn’t ruined. Who baked for the team. Who held him after nightmares without asking questions. Who looked at him like he wasn’t just the Winter Soldier, or some washed-up relic, or some broken man with too much blood on his hands.

You looked at him like he was worth something.

And now you were gone.

He backed away slowly, footsteps hollow against the corridor floor, heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out.

It was just supposed to be sex.

It was never supposed to hurt like this.

It started small.

You weren’t avoiding Bucky—not outright. But you were pulling away, and he felt it in every single subtle shift like a blade under the skin.

No more soft smiles in the hallway.

No more plates quietly set in front of him when you made dinner.

You still said “hey” in passing, still nodded when he entered the room, still asked if he wanted coffee when the whole team was around—but your eyes didn’t linger anymore. You didn’t touch him. You didn’t look at him the same way.

And that quiet, gentle retreat was worse than a clean break.

Because it gave him just enough to hope. And not enough to hold.

It drove him mad.

He tried to play it cool. Tried to remind himself that you’d made your choice—that you’d moved on. That there was someone else. But the words haunted him like a ghost he couldn’t punch, couldn’t outpace.

Who the fuck was he?

Where did you meet him?

Was he better than Bucky? Was that it?

Was he stable, normal, sweet? Did he hold you in the morning, trace your spine with soft fingers, kiss your forehead and mean it?

The thoughts ran wild in his mind like wildfire. And soon, it stopped being curiosity. It became need. Obsessive. All-consuming.

He started watching. Not you—he couldn’t stomach how far away you already felt. No, he watched everyone else.

Was it someone on the team?

Someone new?

Someone from missions? The tower? That goddamn bar you liked downtown?

He noticed every time you laughed at someone else’s joke. Every time you left a room too quickly. Every time your phone lit up and your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was driving him insane.

And it didn’t take long before he cracked.

──────────────────

“Seen her with anyone lately?”

Ava didn’t look up from the security feed she was reviewing. “What?”

He cleared his throat, leaned against the console like this wasn’t eating him alive. “Y’know. She’s been… out more. Wondered if you’d noticed her with someone.”

Ava gave him a look that said you have five seconds before I tear this conversation apart with a crowbar. “She’s not a suspect, Barnes.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean it like that. Just—wondered.”

She paused. “You checking up on her?”

He shrugged. “Just being observant.”

“Then observe your own damn lane,” she muttered, turning back to her screen. “She’s allowed to have a life.”

──────────────────

The next day, he tried John.

“Any idea who she’s been seeing?”

Walker blinked at him, halfway through microwaving a bowl of instant mac and cheese in the lounge. “She told you she’s seeing someone?”

“Yeah.”

John stirred his pasta slowly. “Huh.”

Bucky waited.

John shrugged. “I mean, good for her, I guess.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “That’s not helpful.”

“Neither is asking around like a jealous ex.” He looked up. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky snapped.

John gave him a long look, then went back to his mac and cheese.

──────────────────

Yelena was less gentle.

“Are you drunk?” she asked, one eyebrow raised as she watched him pace the kitchen while you chatted with Bob across the room.

“No.”

“Then you sound like a madman.” She sipped her tea. “You are obsessed.”

“I’m just—”

“You had her,” she interrupted, calm and sharp as a knife. “You had her when it counted. And now you’re circling like a lonely wolf because someone else has her?”

“You knew about us?“

“I am a literal spy, Bucky.”

“I just don’t know who it is.”

“You’re not entitled to know,” she said simply, and walked away.

──────────────────

Alexei was worse.

“She has mystery man, huh?” he said, delighted, cracking open a beer like they were old pals trading war stories. “Ah, young love! Reminds me of my fourth love—no, fifth. It was confusing time. She had beautiful thighs. We met during a snowstorm, and she carried me to safety like bear.”

Bucky stared at him, hollow-eyed.

Alexei clapped a massive hand on his shoulder. “You cannot compete with new love, my friend. It is fire. It is danger. But! Sometimes fire burns out. And when it does, you be there with flowers. Or your shirt off. Both work.”

Bucky did not thank him.

──────────────────

And then there was Bob.

Goddamn Bob.

Bucky cornered him while he was grabbing cookies from the kitchen. Big mistake number two. He tried to sound as casual as possible.

“So, uh. You and her hang out sometimes, right?”

Bob blinked, brow furrowing. “Uh… yeah? She’s awesome.”

“She’s been acting different. With me.”

Bob fidgeted, clutching a cookie like a shield. “I mean, she’s been normal with me. Maybe a little sad? But also like, really pretty. But she’s always pretty, so that’s—uh—not relevant.”

Bucky stepped closer. Bob stepped back, hitting the counter.

“I was joking, Bucky. Please don’t punch me.”

Bucky took a deep breath, backed off. “Sorry.”

He didn’t mean to scare him.

He just couldn’t take it anymore.

──────────────────

It didn’t help. None of it did.

Because no one knew—or if they did, they weren’t telling.

And every time he saw you, something inside him twisted.

The way you laughed with Ava over your shared playlist. The way you sat on the arm of the couch next to John during a debrief. The way you ruffled Bob’s hair like a big sister, patient and teasing.

He saw you with everyone.

And he didn’t know which of them you were fucking.

Which of them made you smile when you looked at your phone.

Which of them got to hold you the way he used to—like you were theirs.

And it was killing him.

He started losing sleep. His nights were spent pacing his room, replaying every kiss, every laugh, every small moment with you. He couldn’t go to the kitchen without thinking of you cooking in it. Couldn’t walk by your room without hearing your voice.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t stopped wanting you.

Not for a second.

But he hadn’t thought he deserved you.

He’d told himself it was better this way. That he couldn’t be what you needed. That he was too broken, too guarded, too haunted.

He didn’t want to drag you into his shadows.

But now you were in someone else’s light.

And Bucky Barnes—super soldier, ex-Winter Soldier, world-class killer—was unraveling.

One glance. One silence. One laugh that wasn’t his to earn.

At a time.

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks since that night at your door. Since you told him you were seeing someone. Since your lips brushed his cheek like a goodbye that had already been decided, like the end of a story he hadn’t realized was even being written.

And still—no one.

Not a name. Not a face. Not even a damn clue.

No late-night laughter through thin walls. No footsteps sneaking down hallways. No signs of you sneaking off to a date. You still had the same quiet routines. The same soft smile when Bob told one of his nervous jokes. The same stretch in the mornings when you walked into the kitchen with sleepy eyes and socks that didn’t match.

But different.

He still watched you.

Not like before—when he’d admire the slope of your shoulders, the way your nose scrunched when you were concentrating, or how your hands always smelled faintly like vanilla and cinnamon. No, now he watched you with something closer to desperation.

He was trying to catch you.

Catch you in a lie. Catch you with him. The one who apparently meant enough to end everything you and Bucky had.

But nothing ever happened.

Instead, he saw things that confused him more.

You started going out on your own more often—midday errands, little walks, solo grocery runs even though there was food delivery and team shoppers. And he followed once.

Not to spy, he told himself.

Just to know.

You walked into a bookstore first. Wandered the aisles slowly. Bought two paperbacks and left without speaking to anyone. Then you stopped by a florist—picked out a single bouquet of fresh lilies, something subtle and quiet.

He expected you to deliver it to someone.

But instead, you brought it back to the tower and placed it on the dining table. Just something to brighten the space, like you always did.

You went to the park next. Sat on a bench. Ate a pastry. Fed the ducks.

Alone.

He watched from across the street, feeling something cold settle in his chest.

When you returned, he waited a few hours before asking Yelena—casually, as he always did, which fooled absolutely no one anymore.

“You know where she went today?”

Yelena raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “She went to clear her head. Like normal people.”

“Not with anyone?”

“Do you think she is incapable of being alone? Because that says more about you, Barnes.”

He didn’t answer.

He stopped asking questions after that.

Because it was dawning on him—slowly, painfully, in pieces—that there was no “someone else.” There never had been.

You hadn’t lied to hurt him. You’d lied to protect yourself.

And he had made you feel like you had to.

The thought made him sick.

He started noticing more, then—not just your absence, but the echo of what used to be. How you still made muffins for the team on Mondays. How you always passed out Advil after training. How you left soft music playing in the kitchen while cooking like you didn’t know anyone was listening. How you still took care of everyone except yourself.

He noticed how tired you looked sometimes. How your smile faltered when no one was looking. How your laugh had a hollow note now—like it had to fight its way out.

He noticed how you stopped meeting his eyes entirely.

And he finally asked himself what he had been to you.

Not just the sex. Not just the soft groans in the dark or the way your body curved into his like you were made for him.

But the mornings.

The muffins.

The hand you placed on his back after nightmares.

The way you listened when no one else could see he was slipping.

The way you waited—patient, hopeful—for something more from him.

And he hadn’t given it.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he thought he couldn’t.

He had told himself he wasn’t ready. That he was too broken. That he would only ruin something good and pure if he touched it too deeply. But the truth was, he’d already touched it. You had given him your heart in small, quiet ways, and he hadn’t even noticed until it was gone.

And now you were hurting, silently, because of him. Because you’d fallen for someone who told you not to. And he’d let you think he didn’t feel the same.

Until now.

He couldn’t sit still.

He’d tried. For two days. Two full fucking days since the realization broke through him like a goddamn lightning strike—and he’d tried to be patient. Tried to breathe. Tried to think.

But he wasn’t thinking anymore.

He was moving.

Searching.

Every room. Every hallway. The kitchen, the gym, your room—empty. He was spinning, chest tight, mouth dry, pacing like an addict itching for a fix, until finally—

Laughter.

The living room.

His boots hit the floor fast. He rounded the corner and stopped.

You were there. On the couch.

You, Bob, and Yelena.

Golden Girls was playing—Dorothy mid-quip, the volume just low enough to keep conversation alive. You were laughing, body relaxed, tucked into the corner with a blanket over your legs and a mug in your hand.

And he didn’t hesitate.

He walked straight in. Right past Bob’s curious look. Right past Yelena’s raised brow.

Straight to you.

You looked up immediately, your smile faltering when you saw his face. The tension in his shoulders. The storm in his eyes.

“Bucky?” you asked, sitting up. “Are you okay—?”

“I think I love you.”

It spilled out of him like it had been waiting behind his teeth for weeks.

You blinked.

Bob’s mouth dropped open mid-sip.

Yelena turned fully toward him, brows lifted to her hairline.

He didn’t care.

“No—” Bucky swallowed hard. “No, that’s not right. I know I love you.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly. Stunned.

Bucky’s heart pounded against his ribs, chest tight and burning. “I know it’s not the way I should’ve told you. And I know I don’t—fuck, I don’t deserve to say it after everything I didn’t say before. But I need you to hear me now.”

You still didn’t say anything. Just stared.

Then your hand twitched. Slid to your opposite arm.

And you started pinching your skin.

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “What… what are you doing?”

Your voice was breathy, soft. “Trying to wake up.”

“What?”

“I’m pinching myself,” you said, barely louder than a whisper. “Trying to wake up. Because there’s no way this is actually happening.”

Bucky felt something in him break.

He took a shaky breath, stepping closer, dropping to his knees in front of you. His voice was rough but steady now.

“It’s real. I swear to you, it’s real.”

You stared at him like he was a ghost. Like he wasn’t allowed to be saying this.

“I’ve been losing my mind,” he continued, voice cracking slightly. “Thinking there was someone else. Trying to believe you’d moved on because it was easier than facing the truth.”

You swallowed hard, but didn’t speak.

“And the truth is—I was scared.” He laughed, humorless, shaking his head. “I thought I wasn’t enough. That I’d mess it up. That I couldn’t give you what you deserve.”

He looked up at you now, eyes wide, glassy.

“But then I realized… you are what I deserve. You’re everything. You’re the reason this damn place feels like home. You cook for us even when no one thanks you. You remember everyone’s coffee orders. You make playlists for Bob and knit Ava a goddamn scarf even though she acts like she doesn’t care. You bake when you’re anxious, and I fucking love when you bake. You hum when you clean. You take care of everyone and let yourself break when no one’s looking.”

He reached up, brushing your arm where you’d been pinching.

“And I didn’t see it. Not really. Not until it was too late.”

A beat.

Then, softly—“But maybe it’s not too late.”

Yelena had stopped breathing. Bob looked like he might cry. But none of them mattered right now.

Just you.

Bucky’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you. And I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out. But I know it now. And I’m not running from it anymore.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Just looked down at him.

And your eyes… your eyes were full.

You couldn’t breathe.

He was on his knees in front of you, staring up with those wide, heartbreak-blue eyes, his voice still echoing in your ears like a song you hadn’t heard in years but somehow still knew all the words to.

I love you.

And now he was waiting—watching—like his whole world depended on what you were going to say next.

Your throat felt thick. Your heart was pounding so hard you were surprised no one else could hear it. You blinked fast, trying to keep your vision clear, but the tears were already threatening to fall.

You stared at him for a long moment, lips trembling, and whispered, “Promise me this isn’t a dream.”

Bucky’s breath caught. He reached up, brushing your cheek so gently it made your chest ache. “It’s not,” he said, voice wrecked. “It’s not, baby. I swear.”

And then you saw the moment he broke.

The last thread of restraint snapped, and suddenly he was rising—leaning in, closing the space between you before you could even think.

His lips met yours, soft and trembling at first—almost reverent—then deeper, hungrier, like he couldn’t bear to hold back another second. You gasped into his mouth, one hand flying to his jaw, the other looping around his neck, pulling him in like you were afraid he might vanish.

He groaned against you, like the sound of your mouth opening for him undid something inside him.

And then he climbed onto the couch, practically on top of you, bracing one knee beside your hip as he leaned down, his hands burying themselves in your hair. Your back hit the cushions, breath caught in your throat, and the world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the feel of his body pressed into yours, the desperate, perfect weight of him finally, finally there.

His thumb stroked the line of your jaw as he kissed you again, deeper now, and you let yourself sink into it. Into him.

Until—

“…Guys?” Yelena’s voice cut in, dry and deeply unimpressed. “We are still here.”

You froze.

Bucky pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead to yours, his lips still hovering over yours, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run ten miles. You were both breathless, giddy, flushed.

“I forgot they were here,” you whispered, blinking up at him.

“Me too,” he said, smiling against your cheek.

From the other end of the couch, Bob cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Sooo… should we leave now?”

“No,” Yelena snapped immediately. “We were here first. This was very sweet two minutes ago, and now it’s making me deeply uncomfortable.”

You laughed into Bucky’s shoulder, muffling the sound.

He just chuckled and kissed your temple before whispering, “Still not a dream, I swear.”

You smiled up at him, and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like something you had to fake.

It felt real.

Because it was.

[cumironi]

TOOTH FAIRY jjk men

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

summary. it’s just a one time thing. one bite. one bite. and now they refuse one thing that keeps you alive? and what is that? yeah, $uck them off! and what do you do? being unhinged and just throwing a goddamn tantrum. what can they do? ban you from $ex? yeah, as if!

warning. non-sorcerer jjk men, established relationship, 23 you & 31 them, tantrums, petname(2), dirtytalk(?), c$ck-drunk maybe?, name-calling(s), degrading just a bit, you are being a brat and insufferable, overstimulated, abuse mentioned,

since a lot of you amazing people send me the sweetest anon messages (which i appreciate so so much 🥹💕), i’d really love to know who’s behind them! if you’re comfortable, feel free to leave me a little signature — it can be anything! an emoji, your name, a nickname, literally whatever you like 💌✨ i’ll be adding them to my lil friends list like in this link, so i can keep track of all the lovely souls who’ve been showing me love 🫶💖 thank you for being here!!

GOJO SATORU

you’re on your knees. he’s on his back. and he’s not letting you suck him. again.

your palms are pressed to his lower belly, thighs tight around his legs, drooling over the absolute gift of a dick that’s twitching against his stomach—and yet, despite all the teasing, the eye contact, the hungry little whines spilling out of you like prayers, he just lays there. arms folded behind his head. like a fucking lounger chair with abs.

“satoru.”

“mm?”

“why aren’t you in my throat right now.”

he hums like you just asked about the weather. “hmm… probably ‘cause last time, someone went full piranha halfway through and tried to devour me.”

“i slipped!”

he laughs—loud, unapologetic, his stupid pretty smile on full display. “you clamped down, baby. i yanked you off, and you were still holding on like a gremlin. i thought i lost circulation.”

you glare down at him, completely naked, chest heaving, pussy soaked between your thighs and still grinding slightly on his leg like your body’s acting on survival instinct alone. “you know what? next time i’m just gonna choke on air, is that better?! just pretend-cock until i pass out?!”

he bites his lip to stop from laughing again.

you growl. “this is abuse. emotional. spiritual. oral neglect.”

“oral neglect?” he echoes, wiping fake tears. “my god.”

“YES. i haven’t sucked you off in days. DAYS, satoru! my lips are getting soft! my jaw forgot how to unhinge!”

“baby—”

you slam your fists on his thighs dramatically. “I’M WASTING AWAY. there are people in the world who would kill for this opportunity, and you’re out here being stingy!”

“you bit me.”

“WITH LOVE!”

he stretches, big and smug and insufferable. his cock twitches again, begging for your mouth like it misses you too. he knows. he’s evil. and you’re about to cry.

“i just wanna taste,” you mumble, lower lip trembling as you drag yourself up his body like a starving animal. “just a little lick. please. please satoru. i’ll be so good. i’ll moan and everything. i’ll gargle if you want me to.”

he blinks. “you’ll what?”

“satoru,” you say again, softer this time, almost too genuine for the chaos you were spewing just minutes ago. “i’ll be gentle. i’ll go slow, i promise.” your hands slide further up his thighs, and you bat your lashes at him with a look so sinful it could start a religion.

“you said that last time. and i nearly blacked out. i saw stars. you think that’s normal?”

“maybe i wanted to show you god. ever think of that?”

he snorts, gropping you by the boob with no warning. “you’re a freak. a dangerous, beautiful little freak.” his voice drops, eyes hooded now, and you can feel him twitch beneath you even as he tries to act tough.

“then let me be your little danger,” you purr, leaning forward to bite his earlobe just enough to make him shiver. “just one chance. i’ll be nice. i won’t leave a single tooth mark—unless you want me to.”

his head falls back with a low groan, hips jerking up slightly before he slaps a hand over his eyes like he’s shielding himself from the sun. “you’re lucky you’re cute. and hot. and you smell really good. ugh.”

you place both hands on his hips, face hovering dangerously close. “satoru. i’m gonna start crying.”

“don’t you dare—”

a sob bubbles in your throat. “i need it.”

he sighs like a man who’s lived through five wars and still got defeated by your tears. “you’re insane.”

“and your problem! now give me my fucking lollipop!”

you lurch forward—and he catches you by the forehead with one hand, holding you back like a villain holding off an overexcited puppy. you squeal. your hands are slapping at his thighs. your mouth is open. and he’s still denying you.

“okAY, OKAY,” he says, eyes wide, panicked laughter spilling out as you start going full feral. “baby—baby, fine, you get ONE chance. one! i swear if i feel even a hint of teeth—”

“you won’t even remember your name, satoru,” you growl, lowering like a woman possessed. “now shut up and let me ruin your fucking life.”

“you’re unbelievable,” he laughs, finally lifting his hips in surrender. “get over here and do your worst. or your best. god, i don’t even know anymore.”

GETO SUGURU

you’re already underneath him, thighs twitching, body bare and needy, his cock dragging along your slick folds just enough to make your brain fizz. his hair’s loose, dark and wild, face annoyingly calm while you’re fighting for your damn life beneath him.

“suguru,” you hiss, hips bucking. “let me suck your dick or i swear to god i’ll set the apartment on fire.”

he raises an eyebrow, unbothered, not moving an inch closer. “interesting escalation. is that before or after you bite me again?”

you whimper—genuinely whimper, back arching as you clutch his arms like a woman who’s just heard she’s been banished from salvation. “it wasn’t a bite, it was a nibble! a love nibble! a little hello from my molars!”

“you broke the skin.”

“i’m in mourning, suguru. don’t you see me?” your voice cracks as you throw your arm across your forehead like a shakespearean tragedy. “i haven’t had cock in my mouth in two days. two. i’m dehydrated. my jaw’s cramping from emptiness. i’m dying.”

he blinks slowly. “you ate an entire box of cookies this morning and called it your ‘oral coping mechanism.’”

“because you won’t feed me properly!”

his dick twitches against you and your eyes lock on it instantly, like a predator. you try to sit up, but he pushes you back down with a hand to your chest like you’re a possessed little brat on the verge of attacking.

“uh uh. no. last time you gave head, you went feral. it wasn’t a blowjob, it was an assassination attempt.”

“you liked it!” you screech, trying to bite his arm just to prove a point.

he yanks it back before your teeth land and gives you a look that’s 50% exasperated dad and 50% amused boyfriend who absolutely lives for your bullshit. “and you keep proving my point.”

you lean closer, brushing your nose against his jaw, your voice dropping to that sweet, sultry tone that makes him tense up every damn time. “suguru,” you whisper, grabbing his hips and dragging your nails into them like a demon, you murmur, pressing soft kisses under his ear, trailing them down to his neck, “if you don’t let me suck your dick right now, i will walk outside, climb on the kitchen counter, and yell to the neighbors that you don’t fuck me anymore.”

he sighs deeply. “you’re so dramatic.”

“i’m in pain!” you wail, rocking your hips against his just to make your point clearer. “your cock was in my mouth one minute, and the next you’re yanking me off like i’m some horny stray! i’m starving!”

he leans down, mouth brushing your ear, voice low and sinful. “you think starving is bad? keep whining. you’ll be begging for days.”

you make a noise—somewhere between a growl and a sob—and immediately start pounding your fists against his chest. “LET! ME! SUCK! YOUR! COCK!”

“no!” he says, wheezing from laughter as he holds your wrists. “not until you can promise to behave.”

“i won’t! i never will! i want to be ruined! i want to suck you until you’re twitching and sobbing and i black out like a fucking feral beast!”

he stares at you.

you pant.

he runs a hand over his face. “…jesus christ.”

you grab his cock.

he lets you.

“…fine,” he mutters. “but if you bite me again, i’m putting you in a muzzle.”

“deal,” you purr, already sliding down. “and maybe a leash next time too.”

NANAMI KENTO

“absolutely not.”

his tone is calm. firm. the kind of firm that makes people shut up and sit down. but not you. oh, never you. instead, you’re standing at the foot of the bed with both hands on your hips, hair wild, eyes blazing, looking like you’re about to go to war.

“you’re denying me?” you say, like he just said no to proposing. “me? your girlfriend? the woman who washes your shirts and steals your ties and lets you use her thighs as stress pillows?”

“you bit me,” he reminds you coolly, as if he hasn’t been shifting in his chair all day thinking about it. “very hard. and I’m not in the mood to gamble with my physical wellbeing tonight.”

“it was one time!” you cry, throwing yourself dramatically onto the mattress. “and you made that noise—you know, the one that sounds like you’re possessed by lust? it turned me on so bad i just lost control!”

“that noise,” he says dryly, “was the sound of pain.”

“okay, but, like... sexy pain!” you scoot closer, crawling toward him with the dedication of a woman on a mission. your hands are already creeping up his thighs as he sits there in his crisp button-down, sleeves rolled up, glasses low on his nose, looking like the hottest finance god who ever lived. “you looked so hot. so flustered. so... biteable.”

nanami exhales slowly through his nose, as if he’s meditating. you can see his restraint cracking—see the way his hand twitches like he’s fighting the urge to grab you and punish you in the most delicious way.

“i’m not some chew toy for you to get riled up and gnaw on when you’re horny,” he mutters, but his voice is already lower, rougher, his legs spreading just a little as your lips graze his thigh.

“nooo, you’re my perfect, hardworking, ridiculously handsome man with the most glorious dick i’ve ever seen,” you moan dramatically. “i miss him. he misses me. we had a thing, nanami. we had a connection.”

he actually groans under his breath, tossing his head back for a moment. “you’re insufferable.”

“you love it.” your mouth is already pressed against his clothed length, nuzzling through the fabric like it’s the only source of oxygen in the room. “you love it when i get like this. desperate. needy. dramatic. all for you.”

“you make it... extremely difficult to be the responsible one in this relationship,” he mutters, finally threading a hand through your hair and gripping it just a bit too tight. “i’m trying to have boundaries.”

“boundaries are for cowards,” you say, voice muffled by his zipper. “i’m not leaving until i’ve got your dick in my throat or you drag me away kicking and screaming.”

he glares down at you, jaw clenched, but his eyes are blown wide and his breath’s hitching like he’s already giving in. “and if you bite me again?”

you blink up at him innocently. “then you’ll have to teach me a lesson. daddy.”

his hand tightens in your hair so fast, you whimper. his face drops into something darker. flushed, heated, unchained.

“that’s it,” he says, voice a low growl now. “you get one chance. no teeth. and if you so much as grazed me—i swear to god, i’ll tie you to the bed and leave you there aching for hours.”

you shiver. “promise?”

he groans again—this time pained for a different reason—and unbuckles his belt with a look that spells doom and bliss in equal measure.

“you’re lucky i love you,” he mutters, pushing your hair out of your face like he’s about to watch art unfold.

“i know,” you grin, already lowering your head with stars in your eyes. “and your dick’s lucky too.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“look at you.”

his voice is low. almost a purr. one arm thrown over the back of the couch, the other resting on his thick thigh, fingers absently tapping like he’s got all the time in the world. and there you are—on the damn floor, crawling toward him with a sheet half-draped around your bare body, your knees hitting the carpet with each desperate shuffle.

“you’re so dramatic,” he chuckles, watching you like a predator, boxer briefs soaked through with a very obvious dark patch from just how much he’s leaking. you two had barely finished wrestling on the bed—bodies tangled, lips bitten, hands everywhere—before he escaped, telling you to cool off and earn it if you really wanted him.

and you did. god, you did.

“toji, please,” you whisper, clutching his thighs like they’re your lifeline, forehead pressed just above his knee. your lips are swollen, eyes glassy, your whole body buzzing from the leftover high of grinding against him. the sheet slides a little lower, barely covering anything at all. “i need it. need you. want your cock so bad it hurts—”

he snorts. “you didn’t seem to have any problem using your teeth last time, sweetheart.”

“that was reflex!” you cry, kissing the muscle of his thigh, voice shaking with humiliation and need. “you were flexing. i blacked out. i was in heat or something.”

“you damn near bit me,” he mutters, but he’s already spreading his legs wider, letting you slip in closer between them. “ain’t lettin’ you suck me off until you beg like you mean it.”

you look up at him, face hot, eyes wild. “toji, i am. look at me, i’m naked and on my knees—i’m practically weeping for it.” your fingers curl into his thighs, massaging slowly. “i love your cock. i miss it in my mouth. i wanna taste you so bad i’m shaking. please let me make it up to you, i’ll be good, i swear. no teeth, just tongue. soft, warm, wet, messy—however you want it, please.”

he groans under his breath, cock twitching under the wet fabric, already starting to swell again.

“fuck. you’re pathetic,” he says, but there’s affection in it. a twisted sort of pride. “my poor little slut crawling for dick. what’d i do to you, huh?”

“ruined me,” you whimper. “you broke me. there’s no coming back. i need you in my throat or i’m gonna lose my mind.”

his hand drops to your head, gripping your hair tight. “you’re sick.”

“you made me sick,” you whisper, nose brushing the base of his length. “and now you gotta take responsibility.”

toji laughs—deep, dark, filthy. “that so?” he lets you tug his boxers down just enough to free him, his cock soaked, heavy, dripping against your cheek. “you better treat him right this time. if i feel teeth, you’re not gettin’ shit for a week.”

you nod frantically, lips parting as you kiss the head, licking up his length like it’s the answer to every prayer you’ve ever said.

“good girl,” he mutters, voice all grit and gravel, hand tightening in your hair like he’s anchoring himself to reality. “make it nice. messy. and if you make me cum like that again, maybe i’ll let you ride me like the rabid little bitch you are.”

you moan in response, mouth full, eyes fluttering, sheet slipping off your back completely as you settle in between his thighs like it’s your altar.

and toji?

he just grins.

“atta girl. daddy’s real proud.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

“are you insane?” sukuna growls, yanking you off his cock with a wet pop, thick fingers gripping your jaw as he glares down at you like you just committed a federal crime. “i told you no fuckin’ teeth, brat.”

you blink up at him, dazed, spit trailing down your chin, his taste still hot on your tongue—and then you gasp, like you’ve just been stabbed in the heart.

“it was an accident!” you shriek, dramatically flopping back onto the bed with a loud wail, dragging the back of your hand across your forehead like a Victorian widow. “i didn’t mean to! you’re so big it’s hard to breathe, sukuna!”

he groans and rolls his eyes, turning away, his cock still hard and glistening, twitching with every heartbeat. “and now you’re being fuckin’ dramatic.”

you let out a gasping, exaggerated sob. “because you RUINED me! you ripped your cock out like i was some uncivilized beast! i was worshipping you! that was the best head you’ve ever gotten and you know it!”

“you bit me!”

“NOT ON PURPOSE!” you're full-on yelling now, wrapping yourself in the sheets like you’re mourning the death of your dignity. “i was in the zone! it slipped! i’m sorry, your majesty, please just let me suck you again before i combust!”

he doesn’t say anything. just leans against the wall with his arms crossed, cock still leaking, veins bulging from how hard he is—and that only makes you worse.

you crawl to the edge of the bed and point at it like it’s a crime scene. “look at it! it’s crying, sukuna. your dick misses me. it’s not even mad! we made up already! we’ve been through so much together, and you’re going to let one little bite ruin everything?!”

he barks out a laugh—real and sharp and rough—and wipes a hand down his face. “you’re fucking unhinged.”

you whimper, lower lip wobbling as you shuffle back onto your knees, reaching for him with trembling hands like a woman starved. “i just want to make you feel good,” you whine, hands clutching his thighs dramatically once he is close. “please let me try again. i’ll be slow, i’ll go so soft, i’ll baby it. i’ll kiss it better, i swear.” you lean in and whisper like it’s sacred: “i’ll sing lullabies to it.”

he nearly chokes on his breath, head thrown back in a bark of laughter, but when he looks down again, his expression twists. your eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and wet from earlier—and you’re trembling with need, thighs pressed together like you’ll die if he doesn’t let you back on his cock.

he watches you for a second. his cock twitches again. hard. twitchy.

“…fuck me,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “you’re so annoying it’s hot.”

you light up. “so does that mean—”

“no,” he growls, pushing you back onto the bed again before took another steps back. “you’re gonna lay there and think about what you did.”

you wail like a banshee. “I WAS THINKING ABOUT IT WHILE I WAS SUCKING YOU!”

“TOO BAD.”

you thrash under the sheets like you’re possessed, kicking the mattress, fists in your hair. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU SO MUCH! I’M GONNA DIE WITHOUT YOUR DICK IN MY MOUTH, IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? TO KILL ME? MURDER BY DENIAL?!”

sukuna’s lips twitch.

“drama queen,” he mutters, but he’s already walking back toward the bed.

and you?

you’re waiting, pretty little pout on your lips, one eye peeking open, whispering:

“…does that mean i can suck it now?”

he sighs.

“if you fuckin’ bite me again, i’m tying you up and making you watch me jerk off.”

“…deal.” his cock , thick and soaked and pulsing against your cheek. “mmm,” you moan, nuzzling him like you’ve been starving for this. “hi, baby. missed me?”

“you talk to my dick more than you talk to me,” sukuna mutters, watching you with a half-crazed grin. “but keep going, let’s see if you can make me cum without getting punished.”

you wink up at him, tongue out, already devouring him.

and sukuna just growls, one hand in your hair, the other gripping the back of your head like he’s barely holding himself back.

“that’s it. make it messy, slut. show me how desperate you really are.”

SHIU KONG

“mmph—wait, ow—okay, nope, that’s it,” shiu grunts, suddenly yanking your head back by your hair. his cock slips free from your mouth, slick and flushed, and his eyes are sharp with irritation.

“you bit me again.”

you blink up at him, wide-eyed, lips shiny and red like sin, a little dazed. “...i didn’t mean to—”

“you bit my dick.”

“it was barely a nibble!”

one sharp, violent bite,” he snaps, brows raised, looking at you like you’re some wild animal that got inside his house. “you think that shit’s cute?”

you sit back on your heels, eyes wide, chest heaving like you've just survived a war. “it wasn’t on purpose!” you shout, voice cracking. “you grabbed my hair and moaned like a goddamn demon, i thought i was dying—it scared me! it was a survival response!”

shiu runs a hand over his face, cock still standing tall and twitchy like it doesn’t care what his brain is saying. “a survival response is ducking. not biting the head of my dick like it owes you money.”

you gasp again—deeply offended—before flopping backwards onto the bed with a loud, wounded groan, sheets tangling around your body like a collapsing ghost. “i can’t believe this,” you moan, hand over your chest. “i’m being punished. denied. forsaken.”

“good,” he mutters. “think about what you did.”

“i was! i was repenting! with my mouth!” you shriek, writhing on the bed now, like your soul is being pulled out of your body. “and you ripped your cock out like i was some kind of threat! do you hate me?!”

he stares at you like he’s mentally filing a restraining order.

and you? you crumble. dramatically. hands over your hair, you tangled into the sheets like you’ve been mortally wounded, the back of your hand flung across your forehead like you’re starring in a Shakespearean tragedy.

“oh my god,” you wail. “you’re rejecting me. again.”

“yes. because you keep fucking biting me.”

“i didn’t mean to! i got excited!” you sob. “i told you, you were moaning like, like... some low-budget porno villain and you were so deep, i couldn’t breathe, and then—then my brain shut down!”

shiu’s hand is on his hip now, head tilted, staring at you like you’re a broken vending machine that just ate his money.

“you are too unhinged to have a mouth license.”

you gasp, offended. “you’re gonna punish me for enthusiasm?! for dedication?! shiu, i was trying to impress you! i wanted to be your top-ranking throat champion!”

“you’re disqualified.”

you let out a long, theatrical wail, rolling yourself in the sheets like a demented spring roll, clutching a pillow to your chest.

“then what’s the point of living?!” you cry out. “what’s the point of being sexy if i can’t even use it?! i was born to suck your cock, and now it’s been taken from me. how cruel the world is.”

he groans, wiping his hand down his face. “you’re exhausting.”

“then let me drain you!” you sit up, eyes wild, hair a mess, sheets slipping off your shoulder. “you’re already hard again! your dick misses me! he’s not even mad! he’s asking for me—i can hear him whispering. he said, ‘where’s she goin’? bring her back.’”

he’s losing it now. jaw clenched. lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. “i should muzzle you and put you in a cage.”

you moan. actually moan. “yes, daddy, punish me for my crimes! let the punishment be your cock down my throat!”

shiu walks away like he’s going to go pray or find an exorcist.

you?

you follow him on your knees, dragging the sheet behind you like a bridal veil, whispering, “please… please, just let me make it right… let me apologize to him personally…”

he turns around slowly, staring down at you. his cock’s still hard. you both know it.

“you swear you won’t bite me again?”

you nod frantically. “i’ll treat him like a prince. a baby lamb. i’ll be a good girl, i swear.”

“…if i feel even one tooth, you’re getting a gag and i’m going to edge the fuck out of you all night.”

your eyes sparkle.

“you promise?”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

you’re under his desk, knees pressed into the carpet, palms spread against his thighs like you were summoned by divine command. his slacks are already unzipped—his shirt sleeves rolled, pen tucked behind his ear, glasses slipping down his nose. he looks like a goddamn courtroom fantasy.

you’re seconds away from having your dinner. the meal of kings. your mouth is practically watering, lips already parting as your fingers hook into his waistband.

but the second you tug his briefs down and get a glimpse of him, warm and heavy and waiting for worship—his hand snaps down.

he stops you. stops you.

your mouth hovers a breath away. “what the fuck?”

his eyes don’t even lift from the paper he’s reviewing. “no.”

you blink. “no??”

“you bit me two days ago.”

you sit back on your heels like you’ve been physically struck. like he just told you your favorite bakery burned down.

“that wasn’t on purpose!”

his brow twitches slightly, finally glancing down at you over the rim of his glasses. “you’ve said that three times now.”

“because it’s true!” you cry, grabbing his thighs dramatically. “it was enthusiastic teeth, not malicious teeth!”

he exhales slowly, setting his pen down like he’s preparing to deliver a verdict. “my cock disagrees.”

“he was moaning! he was into it!”

“he was in pain.”

you gasp, hands flying to your mouth. “you’re lying to turn him against me!”

“he has trust issues now.”

you lurch forward again, arms wrapping around his hips as you press your cheek to his thigh like a rejected lover begging for one last dance. “i’ll rebuild that trust. i’ll make amends. i’ll speak to him directly if i have to.”

“you’re not putting my cock through trauma bonding.”

you groan like you're dying, forehead thudding against his knee. “hiromi, please. this is cruel and unusual. i’m starving. you’re there, he’s there—everyone’s here! let me serve my country.”

he’s trying not to smile. you can tell. you see the slight twitch in his lip, the way his fingers tap against the desk like he’s counting to ten.

“you're unbelievable.”

“i’m committed.”

“you’re a menace.”

you pout up at him, eyes big, lower lip trembling. “i’ll be soft. so soft. i’ll hum him lullabies. i’ll put a little bow on him if that’s what he needs.”

he groans under his breath and leans back slightly in the chair. “if i let you, and i feel even one tooth…”

“then what?” you whisper, excited now, leaning in. “you gonna make me cry?”

he leans forward, resting one elbow on his knee, staring you down with that judge-like stare that makes you throb.

“i’ll finish on your tongue and tell you it’s your punishment.”

you grin like the fucking devil. “your honor, i accept the sentence.”

his fly is open.

you win.

for now.

[sparklebabybear]

Toys/Stuffies PSA!

Here’s a few things I wanted to remind you about your toys and plushies! It’s important to remember!

✨ Your toys love you so much!!! You are their best friend, don’t forget that!

✨ Toy Story is fictional! Your toys don’t feel sad or upset when you don’t play with them for a while! They understand, and they’re happy regardless. When you get new toys, they’re happy to have new friends!

✨ Stuffies need to be washed. Make sure you give them a nice warm, relaxing bath occasionally. Stuffies don’t breathe like we do, so they enjoy being soaked underwater sometimes. They’re also very flexible! Ringing water out of them and scrubbing them is like a nice massage!

✨ They like the washer and dryer! It’s like a theme park ride! Just make sure it’s gentle, you don’t want them getting hurt!

✨ If you wake up, and a plushie is on the floor, don’t feel bad! That means they went on a super secret mission to make sure there were no monsters hiding anywhere

✨ There are plenty of ways to play! There is no one way to play, so don’t feel bad if you don’t interact with your toys the same way as someone else, or even if you don’t have any toys! Here’s a post on some non pretend play ideas!

✨ If you can’t keep a toy, don’t worry, they’re not upset! It’s just the beginning of a new adventure for them!

✨ It’s okay if you struggle to give your toys names and personalities! As long as you like them, that’s what matters!

Personally, I love thrifting my plushies and toys! It’s like reaching an animal from a shelter, versus a pet store! :3 all toys deserve love 🩵

[syluss-littlecrow]

sweet

<Sylus x fem!reader>

where you let Sylus know you're missing him with a nice shower video when he's in the middle of his little business meeting.

genres/warnings: smut, pwp, very Sylus heavy pov, so much fluff, sending Sylus a showering video--nudity description(?), unprotected sex, light nipple play, breeding, size kink

a/n: first of the LADS x cigarettes after sex series ✨ hope you loved reading it as much as I loved writing it. And happy valentine's day to all of you lovely people 🩷

w/c: 2.2K

Sweet.

A taste that Sylus never thought he’d experience once more, until he met you, again. 

Even then, you had him taste bitterness the second time he met you, and he'd wonder to himself–did he do something wrong in between? He resented you for a while, wondering what turned you like that. 

He resented the idea of having to start over again. He resented that it was as if you never knew him at all, especially when you spent so much time with him before.

Ironically enough, he still tried, and the resentment softened, way quicker than he'd thought. The realisation hit him like a freight truck one night when he watched your chest rise and drop slowly beside him–he could never resent you. 

In Sylus’s eyes, you are the same person before and now, and it dawned on him that he'd still fall in love with you over and over again. 

The day is dragging on at an agonising pace. He still has business to deal with. It's one of those days where you've slipped into the crevices of his mind, and suddenly, all he's craving is to have you wrapped around him, in his tight embrace. 

The coin twirls aimlessly around his fingers. His ears are listening to the empty words of his business partners accompanying the sounds of poker chips and cards strewn across the table, but his mind is filled with you, you, you. 

As if the universe had infiltrated his mind, the phone in his pocket buzzes. He contemplates ignoring it but something in his mind is bugging him to check.

So he does. 

He fishes out his personal phone from his pocket, and the second he notices your name on his lock screen, he immediately unlocks his phone. 

[Kitten sent a video.]

A soft smile spreads across his lips. He wonders if you've sent him more media of you catching cats, or doing the utmost to torment Mephisto. 

But the moment he opens the preview, his smile immediately drops. 

It's a video of you, in nude, in his bathroom. The glass panels of the shower are fogged up–you’re using his hot water. You're lathered in his soap (how did you manage to reach it?), the foamy bubbles sliding down the curve of your ass down your thighs, to the floor. A huge lump of soap lather covers your nipples. 

Sylus feels both his fist and pants tighten. 

Kitten: stole some of your new body soap 😛 come and punish me for it~ 

He knows he shouldn't be watching this, other than it being slightly inappropriate, but mostly because he doesn't want anyone to know about this side of you. 

But the video continues to play. 

The light bounces off your skin when you turn to the side, your curves highlighted under the warm lights. You stand back further, letting your face come into view, the cheeky grin splayed across your lips. It makes Sylus subconsciously touch his. 

Of course, your hair is soaked wet, drips of it falling off the ends, splattering and disappearing onto your body. 

Then you walk further from the camera. Sylus’s eyes follow your movements–the way your ass jiggles at every step, the way your hips move so enticingly. 

The water runs, and the soap is washed off instantly. Sylus watches the soap slide off your body, leaving droplets of water to sit on your skin. If you’d bend over any further, your pussy would be bare all for him to see.

Instead, you turn around, your perky nipples coming into full view since the soap was rinsed off. Sylus feels himself swallow hard. 

And at the final 10 seconds of the video, you turn around once more, and bend over, fully enough that your glistening pussy comes into full view. 

You don't say anything throughout the whole video, and Sylus is thankful you didn't, because if you had uttered a single word, he would have burst right there and then. 

“What's your decision, Sylus?”

The man before him asks. 

“Fold”, he curtly replies. He dumps the remainder of his chips, throws the cards and leaves, taking his jacket with him. 

There are no speed limits in N109, Sylus recalls telling you. And right now, every single traffic light that turns red is pissing him off. 

When he bursts through the doors of his mansion, you're there–lounging on his black leather couch, wearing nothing but his black dress shirt. He sees that your hair is still slightly damp. 

“You're back already, Sylus? I thought you'd be taking awhile”, he hears you say. Your voice is driving him insane. 

“Have you eaten yet?” 

He doesn't bother answering that question, at least, not yet. He, instead, carries you into his arms, and he's silently relieved that you don't resist. 

“Not yet. How'd you know? I’m starving, kitten.” 

Your arms wrap around his arm, keeping Sylus impossibly close to you, and you press a kiss on his jaw. 

“Welcome home, my love.” 

Sylus hopes he isn't being rough when he has you under him on his bed. He adores the way you're eye fucking him when he unbuttons his shirt, then un-buckling belt and then his trousers. 

“Aren't you staring too much, sweetie?”

You'd tilt your head and scoff playfully, as if you heard the most ridiculous thing.

“I was given eyes for a reason, Sylus.”

He groans at the way you’d lick his cock and tease him through his underwear, as if his precum wasn't enough to soak the fabric. The sensation of your tongue pressing and teasing the base of his cock makes him bite his lip a little harder. 

“I should punish you for that video you sent, hm?”

You look up at him, feeling his slender fingers run through your hair, the wetness between your legs making you clench even more.

“What did you think of it?” 

“Plain evil, kitten.” 

Sylus pushes you back onto the bed, and your head is dizzy with anticipation when he forces your legs open and leans in closer.

His fingers undo the button of your shirt in less than a split second, and he continues south until he realises that you're literally wearing nothing underneath.

Sylus joins you on the bed, his knee intentionally pressing up against your wetness, and it makes you squeeze your legs, trapping his knee. 

His thumb is on your chin, grazing your bottom lip.

He knows you look away when you get shy, so he ensures he traps you to fix your gaze onto his. He doesn't need to use his aether core to bring out your desires. Maybe, he’s the one who has his desires bleeding out of him, all out for you to see. 

“Open for me, sweetie.”

Your fingers rake through his locks when you yank him towards you. He could never get tired of your taste. 

“Sylus…please. I don't think I can wait”, you whine, your hips grinding against his knee. 

He chuckles softly at the way you're begging for him. He likes it when you're feisty with him, and he adores it when you beg for him like that. 

Just a little longer. “Be patient, kitten. Good girls get rewarded.” 

To you, it's teasing. To Sylus, maybe it is teasing, but that's on top of wanting to feel your body, to elicit pretty reactions out of you. 

He traces your skin, your curves, your rawness with his fingertips. He feels the way your nipples have hardened under the fabric, and he uses his thumbs to flick them, savouring the moans you give him. 

“How does it feel?” 

“You're teasing me again…”

“I'm not, sweetie. You know how much I adore listening to you tell me what you like.” 

He switches over to rubs by applying pressure–and the pleasure sparks through your body.

You've yet to even cum, but you've begun staining his sheets already. 

He presses his tongue on your clothed nipple, his tongue rubbing soft circles. He feels you tug his hair, rolls of your moans washing into his ears, begging him to do more.

Sylus really likes it when he gets you wet and sticky for him, before he even starts fucking you. He likes playing with his prey before he devours them. 

The sound of your pussy squelching when his fingers enter you is another thing he loves. He likes watching the way your pussy sucks them right to the knuckle, the fluids going from clear to white and creamy. 

“Sylus ... please, please. Fuck.”

Do you know what you're even begging for?

Sylus has one of your legs rest against his shoulder, giving him a better opening of your soaked little hole. He fucks himself with his hand, then lines himself to your entrance, and thrusts in.

He watches you fist the sheets and your back arch, your pussy perfectly tight for him, your soft walls devouring him in soft pulses. 

He lets you adjust, and shifts a pillow under your lower back to support you. He watches you relax against the pillow. 

Sylus can't get enough of the way you struggle to fit him. When he sees his bulge in you, it turns him on. 

“I'm gonna start moving, kitten.” 

His rhythm always starts off steady, mostly for you to adjust to his fat cock. He'd bite and kiss your calves to distract himself from how tight you are. 

Your moans start off soft, and they grow more needy and lewd, just how Sylus likes it. 

When the tension builds, Sylus gets a lot greedier. He’d fold your legs and push them against you, his cock completely sinking deep into your cunt, and he knows it drives you nuts when he does that–forcing himself into your hole. It feels so fucking good. 

“I love it when you do that.” He knows. Sylus loves it when you say that. 

You let him touch you all over when he fucks you when the pace accelerates–his hands are all over you. He thinks it's a waste to leave any patch of your skin untouched. After all, you're his.

When your thighs start trembling, Sylus knows your body like the back of his hand. 

“You're cumming soon, kitten?”

Your eyes would be watery from the pleasure by then, nodding desperately. 

“How close are you?”

He watches your abdomen contract when his fingers rub your clit.

“Fuck. So fucking close. It feels so good. You feel so good, Sylus.”

He loves undoing you like that–making you reach to your high–the way your voice climbs in octaves when you're screaming that you're cumming on his thick cock, your eyes rolled back and shut, your cunt so wet that friction barely exists there. 

He pauses and rests his tip in your hole, his breathing growing heavy when he watches you visibly cream on his dick, the way your pussy convulses and squeezes him uncontrollably forces him to use all of his restraint not to burst in you, not yet. 

The overstimulation when he continues to fuck you through your orgasm makes the pleasure all the more so delicious. 

“Keep fucking me like that, please”, you moan into his palm. How could he not want to?

“You're so cute when you’re like this, all fucked out for me”, you hear the slight strain in his voice. He plants more kisses across your lips to your cheeks, to your jaws, to your temples. 

White spills into his vision while he spills into you, his cock throbbing and filling you up. The way he would shut his eyes and furrow his eyebrows, while red dusted his cheeks. He squeezes whatever body part of yours he had his hands on. 

Breeding you full is easily his favourite part. 

He thrusts himself into you a couple more times, letting you milk him completely dry, so that when he pulls out, he can see his pretty creation leak out of you in loads.

Sylus never forgets to kiss you after fucking you. You would giggle or sigh when he does, and he'd clean you up before fetching a glass of water to cool down. 

You're surprised his shirt stayed on you for the whole duration of it. Not that you were complaining. 

Sylus sits up against his pillow slightly, pushing and tucking away strands of hair from your face.

“You know, Sylus, you’ve ruined intimacy for me.”

He scrunches his eyebrows in confusion. His heart drops. 

“What?”

You pout, cupping his face with your thumb and fingers. 

“I said, you've ruined intimacy for me”, you repeat. 

Sylus isn't following. Why tell him this now? He tries to ignore the sting in his heart, and the myriad reasons why he's ruined it for you. Suddenly he's prepared for you to leave.

Instead, you glance downwards to his lips and press yours against his. 

“Because I don't think I can do it with anyone other than you.”

Sylus grits his teeth, not because of stress, but because you always have ways to get under his skin like that, and he knows he wouldn't mind otherwise. 

“Scared you a little, didn't I?” And you still have the cheek to giggle at him.

His palm presses against your forehead in retaliation, and you squeal in surprise. 

“Do that one more time and see what happens, kitten.”

You stick your tongue out at him. Then you're swept into his arms, and it catches you by surprise.

“Where are we going?!” 

“You're showering again, sweetie. This time with me.”

He tops his words with a kiss on your jaw. 

It's so… sweet. 

Knowing that he loves you, you don't have to say it to each other, sweet. 

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

Super random , but I was watching tiktoks of Jake getting ointment put on his canker sores and it just made me think of how cute and fussy Jake would be and how cute and lowkey over dramatic y/n would think Jake is being but still hold his hand real tight when she helps apply the ointment 🤣

LMAOOOOOO pls this one is funny bc 1) all those clips of jake actually straight up SUFFERING are so hilarious to me and 2) i literally used to help my ex put ointment on his canker sores too bc he too used to get them all the time .. ANYWAYS

──── YOUR BABY ❤️‍🩹✨💉 ↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !

“Jake, you have to let me do this.” 

“No—I don’t think you really have to—“ 

“Jake.” 

You blink at him, frozen mid-movement, holding a cotton swab soaked in antiseptic ointment in the air. 

Jake’s sitting on the couch next to you in the most dramatic blanket burrito you’ve ever seen—his hood pulled over his head, the blanket wrapped all around him, legs pulled up to his chest like a cocoon. 

He blinks back at you. Then at the cotton swab in hand. 

“…Please spare me,” he whispers, his lips forming a sad, tiny pout. His voice comes out nasally—there’s a lisp. 

A tragic, comical lisp. 

You stifle a snort. 

“Jake. You can’t speak like that forever. Plus, how are you supposed to eat?” You lift a brow at him. 

He sinks deeper into his monstrous blanket mountain. 

“I’ll just juice all my meals,” he shrugs, all innocent. “I can survive off smoothies. You’d help me blend my meals right?” 

You give him a look. 

“I can’t believe I’m dating you.” 

He frowns, “Really?” 

“I’m kidding, Jake,” you roll your eyes, a sweet smile on your face as you nudge him. 

Jake smiles back, relieved. 

“But I’m never kissing you again if you don’t let me do this.” 

Jake’s smile drops. 

He looks at you like you just suggested the worst idea possible. 

“You’re so mean,” he breathes, sad, miserable, lispy. 

“You heard me—“ you shrug, “—no kisses until you let me fix the hellfire pit in your mouth.” 

His jaw drops. 

“Do you even love me? You don’t right? I knew it. Is this revenge for that time I accidentally made your matcha taste like pond water—“ 

“—Jake—“

“—and now you want to stab me in the mouth.” 

“It’s literally medicine. I’m dabbing medicine.” 

He whimpers. Whimpers. 

“Dabbing hurts,” he whines, eyes big and glossy. “Do you know how much pain my mouth is in anytime it moves? I can feel the wind inside our apartment. I can taste the flavors of each and every atom entering my mouth.” 

You try your best not to laugh.

You fail.

“Okay baby, come here,” you say gently, letting the pet name slip out like a bribe, hoping it’ll soften your ridicously dramatic boyfriend. You lean in closer, cotton swab in hand, aiming for the tiniest sore you’ve ever seen. 

“That’s not fair,” he mumbles, eyes wide. “You can’t pull the baby card like that.” 

You sigh, lips twitching. 

“I’ll hold your hand.” 

Jake immediately brightens. 

“You’re the best, baby,” he says sweetly, beaming as he grabs your free hand in both of his without a second of hesitation. 

He’s sweating. You can see the glint of it on his temple. 

You lean in even closer, bringing the swab back in front of his mouth. 

“Okay,” he lets out a breath. “Okay, okay. I’m ready. Wait—no, okay.. Just warn me.” 

“I’m warning you.” 

“No, like countdown. Please.” 

“Jake.” 

“COUNT. DOWN.” 

“Okay, okay—three…two—“

Jake squeezes your hand so tight you think you’re about to be one-handed for the remaining of your life. 

His eyes are clenched shut.

Shoulders are at his ears. 

“…One.” 

You dab. Gently. 

He lets out a full-on moan. 

“STOP STOP STOP.” 

“It’s over.” 

“Oh.” 

He opens one eye. 

Blinks.

Touches his cheek slowly. 

“That’s it?” 

You roll your eyes, standing from the couch and leaning down to press a light kiss to his forehead, “You’re such a baby.” 

“I’m your baby,” Jake smiles smugly, eyes fluttering shut when you kiss him. “You called me baby. You never call me baby.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you snort, ruffling his hair. “Good job, Jakey. Proud of you.” 

You turn to put the ointment away, but you don’t make it far—Jake grabs your arm and tugs you back down onto the couch, falling into him. 

“Wait—can I have a kiss now?” 

You give him a look. 

“I thought your mouth was in so much pain anytime it moves.” 

“…I’ll suffer through it.” 

Jake’s eyes practically beg you, his hands already holding lifting your chin up towards him. 

“Please.” 

You give in to your smile and press a gentle kiss against his lips. 

Even with the sore. 

Even with the ointment breath.

Because he is your baby. 

And you’ll suffer through him any day. 

no doubt m. list

tag list pt 1!: @bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @heekolazz @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

[mrsvante]

Honorably Discharged

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: idol au, established relationship, pfp

summary: he served his country. now he’s coming home to you. eighteen months of distance. eighteen months of longing, discipline, and denial. but no amount of time, no uniform, no public ceremony can restrain him once he sees you again.

warnings: military discharge, dom!taehyung, oral for everyone, fingering, desperation, devotion & downright destruction 😈, degradation, overstimulation, mirror sex, fluffy aftercare

word count: 4,480

a note from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: sooo i prepared a drabble for each of the boys in honor of them completing their military service. i might add one for jin & hoseok at a later date. but hope you enjoy!!

WE ARE BACK 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜✨

The cameras were a blur. A white hot flash here, a reporter’s question there—none of it mattered.

Not really.

Taehyung bowed when expected, smiled when they asked. Nodded solemnly, let his gaze linger on the crowd like he was soaking it all in, like he was basking in this ceremonious farewell. But it was all muscle memory at this point. Empty performance.

The ache in his jaw from forcing that gentle smile didn’t come close to the throb in his chest. Every second dragged. Every cheer, every congratulation, every prescripted word he uttered to the press, useless.

He didn’t want to be here.

He wanted to be inside you.

He shouldn’t be thinking like this, not with cameras pointed at him, but fuck if he could help it. Eighteen months. Eighteen months of discipline, suppression, polite nods, and wet dreams in the dark. No amount of self control could erase what the sight of your name on an envelope or the sound of your voice over the phone did to him. No picture or voice note was enough. You weren’t real to him until you were underneath him again.

He exhaled slowly, blinking through the final press call before murmuring, “Thank you,” one last time. His manager’s hand landed on his shoulder. Time to go.

The SUV was idling at the curb, dark tinted, familiar. But it wasn’t the car he saw.

It was you inside it.

He didn’t walk. He stalked toward the vehicle like something feral, the uniform on his back a barely there leash around a beast that had waited far too long.

The back door swung open and there you were. Eyes wide, lip caught between your teeth, nervous and glowing. And before you could even say his name he was on you.

His arms caged you in, his scent all clean soap and masculine spice from the base. His lips crushed yours, tongue prying into your mouth like he meant to stay there.

The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was starved. A collision. No finesse, just hunger.

You whimpered against him, fingers tangled in his beret as he growled into your mouth. His hand found your jaw, held you steady as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, hips rolling once, hard, against yours like he couldn’t help himself.

“Tae,” you breathed, barely coherent. “We’re in public…”

The words hit like a splash of cold water.

Taehyung froze, eyes still closed, breath ragged as he pulled back just enough to look at you. Your lipstick was smudged, your lips swollen, and he wanted to ruin you. Right here. Right now.

But he nodded, jaw clenched so tight it ached. “Get me home,” he rasped. “Right now.”

—

The moment the front door clicked behind him, he snapped.

You’d barely kicked your shoes off when he was on you again—gripping, kissing, unbuttoning with frantic hands like your clothes had personally offended him. You laughed at first, breathless and warm against his mouth, but the sound melted into a moan when his teeth scraped your collarbone.

“Don’t laugh,” he whined, dragging the hem of your top up over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him. “Not when I’m two seconds away from fucking losing it.”

You reached for his uniform jacket, but he slapped your hands away, growling against your skin, “No. Let me. Been thinking about this too long to rush it.”

His fingers trembled as they popped each button down your front, exposing your bra. Then he paused. Just long enough to look at you.

His lips parted. A guttural sound escaped.

“Fuck… You’re unreal.”

Your hands went to his belt, but he dropped to his knees before you could finish.

You gasped. “Tae—”

“No,” he said, voice wrecked, eyes wild. “You don’t get to speak right now. Not until you’re crying on my tongue.”

He lifted you, hands cupping your ass as he carried you like you weighed nothing. One arm wrapped around your thighs, the other ripping at the clasp of your bra with brutal urgency. He dropped you onto the plush sectional, and before you could even gather your thoughts, he was tugging your pants down with feverish, jerking movements.

“Spread,” he hissed. “Now.”

You did.

Or maybe your legs fell open on instinct, Taehyung didn’t care. All he saw was your slick, swollen pussy glistening like a reward for every sleepless night. He dropped his head with a shudder, dragging his tongue up the center of your folds with a groan so deep it vibrated through your thighs.

“God, fuck,” he breathed. “I forgot how sweet you taste. No—no, that’s not right. I dreamed about how sweet you taste, and it still didn’t come close.”

His tongue curled against your clit, soft at first, like he was reacquainting himself with his favorite meal. Then he moaned into you, like your cunt was the first real thing he’d had in a year and a half.

You whimpered, hips lifting, but he slammed your thighs back down, arms hooked under your knees to pin you open. “No running,” he growled. “You stay right fucking there.”

He flattened his tongue against your clit and began devouring you. Sucking and licking. Letting his teeth scrape ever so slightly.

“Tae—ohmygod—”

He pulled back only to slap your inner thigh. “Did I tell you to talk?”

You shook your head frantically, eyes wide, chest heaving.

“Didn’t think so.” He slid two fingers into you, slow, and then crooked them just once, and you cried out, hands flying to your face. “That’s right. Be good. Let me hear how much you missed me.”

The wet squelch of his fingers and the obscene slurping of his mouth echoed in the room, but Taehyung didn’t care. He’d waited for this. Earned this. Every groan, every whimper, every flutter of your walls around his fingers, he drank it all in like air.

“You’re dripping, baby,” he whispered, nuzzling against your clit. “You fucking missed me, didn’t you?”

You nodded, a broken sob catching in your throat.

“Say it,” he commanded.

“I missed you—so much—oh my god—Tae—please—”

Your words dissolved into screams as he curved his fingers and sucked hard on your clit in tandem. Your thighs clamped around his head but he only groaned in approval, fucking his fingers deeper, faster, and rougher until your orgasm exploded against his tongue with a wild, keening cry.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t want to stop.

You were twitching, sobbing, trying to crawl away, but he chased you, fingers still pumping, lips still dragging along your slit. “Thought about this every night,” he panted. “Jerking off in silence, pretending my hand was your pussy. Thinking about how tight you are, how wet you get. Fuck, I’d cum just thinking about you moaning my name.”

“Please, Tae, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He gave you a devilish grin, eyes dark. “You’re gonna come again. And again. Until I say you’re done.”

Your second orgasm crashes through you like a thunderclap moments later. Loud, shattering, inescapable. You sob into the crook of your arm, thighs quaking around Taehyung’s shoulders as he licks you through it, savoring every ripple, every shake of your body against his tongue.

When he finally pulls back, lips shiny with your release, eyes heavy with lust, he looks wrecked. Disheveled. Starved. His jaw flexes as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, staring down at your spread thighs with a look that could peel paint off walls.

“Baby…” His voice cracks. “I can’t—fuck—I need your mouth.”

You’re still gasping, still recovering, brain thick with the fog of your orgasm, but the moment you hear him plead, you blink up at him. Your lips parted, pupils blown, heart stuttering at the desperation in his voice.

“Please,” he rasps, reaching for you. “Come here. On your knees for me. I’ve been thinking about your mouth for months, jagi. Thought about how warm it is, how wet, how you moan around me when I fuck your throat—”

You crawl forward like a woman summoned, limbs still trembling, but your eyes locked on his with feverish intent. Taehyung groans, loud and low, as you sink to your knees in front of him.

“That’s it,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut for half a second. “That’s my girl. Always so good for me.”

Your fingers reach for his belt, fumbling at first, and he catches your wrists, gently helping you undo the buckle, button, and zipper. His hips already arching into your hands with frantic need. You shove the waistband of his fatigues down, dragging his boxer briefs with them, and…

Fuck.

He springs free, thick and flushed, the tip already leaking. Veins prominent, shaft heavy, twitching like it’s aching for your touch.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, and he laughs—shaky, strained, already panting.

“Don’t say that unless you’re ready to worship,” he groans, thumbing your cheek. “You see what you do to me? Look at me, baby—look what just thinking about your mouth does.”

You wrap your hand around his cock and he nearly crumbles.

“Shit—fuck, fuck, fuck—don’t stop,” he hisses, hips jerking slightly. “Just like that. I’ve been so fucking hard for weeks and had no one to touch me but me. You know how sad that is? Stroking myself in the bunk with your name in my mouth, praying nobody walked in…”

You lick a slow, teasing stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, letting your tongue flick at the bead of precum gathered there.

Taehyung whimpers.

“I swear to God,” he chokes out, “if you don’t let me cum in that pretty mouth, I’ll fucking lose my mind—please.”

You don’t make him wait.

You slide him into your mouth with slow, deliberate intention, inch by inch, feeling the weight of him settle on your tongue like he was always meant to be there. His head falls back immediately with a guttural groan, hands twitching at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Oh fuck, yes. Baby… baby, your mouth.”

You bob your head, tongue swirling around the tip every time you pull back, then sinking deeper, hollowing your cheeks and swallowing the moans that tremble from his thighs.

Taehyung tangles his fingers in your hair, just like you want him to. Just like you need him to.

“You want me to fuck your mouth, don’t you?” he pants, hips jerking. “Want me to use you like you’re just a little cock sleeve? My own personal toy?”

You moan around him, and he shudders.

“Fuck—yes, that’s it, take it, take all of it, baby. Deep throat that shit—just like that. My dirty little girl. My good girl. God, you’re so fucking good to me—”

You grab his thighs and relax your throat, taking him deeper, eyes watering slightly from the stretch. He groans again, body trembling, every muscle tense as he fucks shallow, needy thrusts into your mouth.

“Too long,” he gasps. “Too fucking long—I’m gonna—shit—I’m cum, baby, please, don’t stop, don’t stop—please—”

You speed up, moaning around him, fingers fondling his balls with practiced care.

His thighs tremble.

His grip tightens.

Then he breaks.

With a strangled cry, Taehyung throws his head back and explodes into your mouth, hips stuttering, cock pulsing wildly as he spills down your throat. He’s loud, unabashed, panting curses and love like his sanity depends on it.

“Fuckfuckfuck—you’re perfect—I love you, I fucking love you—so good to me—so good—don’t stop, baby, please—”

You suck him through it, letting him fuck your mouth even as he twitches and groans, his thighs quaking, your lips stretched around him like a prayer. When he finally stills, you swallow with a pleased hum and slowly pull back, licking your lips.

Taehyung drops to his knees in front of you, eyes dazed, face flushed, hands cradling your jaw as he crashes his mouth to yours.

“God, I missed you,” he groans against your lips. “You’re so perfect. So fucking perfect. That mouth is gonna ruin me.”

You giggle softly, breathless and swollen, but he’s already hardening again, twitching against your thigh.

And this time, he lifts you into his arms, stands, and carries you toward the bedroom—his voice a dark whisper against your ear.

“Now I’m going to fuck you like I’ve dreamed of every night for the last five hundred days.”

—

He carried you down the hall like a soldier returning from war with his most prized possession.

Because he was. Because you were.

His arms were tight around your waist, your breath ghosting against his neck, your fingers curled weakly into the collar of his uniform as if you knew something primal was about to tear loose.

And it did.

The moment he stepped into the bedroom, Taehyung didn’t hesitate. He tossed you onto the mattress like you weighed nothing, and before you could even blink, he was on you again.

He gripped your hips, flipped you onto your stomach, and shoved your ass up with both hands until your knees sunk into the mattress and your face was buried in the pillows.

Then his mouth found you, and you screamed.

Because his tongue was back on your pussy, and his thumb—God, his thumb—pressed between your cheeks to toy at your other hole like he had every right to touch you there too.

“Stay just like that,” he growled against your folds, voice soaked in heat. “I want to see this pussy shake when you cum.”

You moaned so loud the sound bounced off the walls. He grunted into you, devouring you from behind like he was starving, dragging his tongue from your dripping slit to your clit and back again.

His thumb circled your ass slowly, teasing but never invading with just enough pressure to make you writhe.

“Oh God, Tae—please—oh fuck—please—I can’t—”

“You can,” he growled, tongue flicking ruthlessly over your clit. “You will. Gimme one more, baby. Just one more, I know you can. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

You sobbed into the sheets, nails clawing the mattress. And when his thumb pressed just a little deeper, your whole body snapped.

The orgasm ripped through you. You screamed, trembled, your body jerking as if it didn’t belong to you anymore, and Taehyung just held you there, tongue still working you, sucking every last drop of pleasure until you collapsed into a quivering mess.

He kissed your inner thighs, murmured something obscene you couldn’t even process, then eased you onto your back.

He stood at the edge of the bed, bare and beautiful, cock in hand, pumping himself in long, lazy strokes as he looked down at you like you were salvation incarnate.

“Look at you,” he whispered, eyes glassy, lips parted. “Spread out like this. Shaking. Fuck, baby… you broke for me.”

You blinked up at him, dazed and trembling. “Tae…”

“I love you,” he murmured, voice suddenly soft. “I fucking love you so much, it hurts.”

Then the softness cracked.

He grinned and hissed through his teeth, hand stroking harder. “And I missed this pussy. Missed the way she looks, swollen and dripping. Missed the way she pulses for me. Look at that—look how she’s clenching just from watching me jerk off. You want this cock, baby?”

You nodded, moaning. “Please.”

“Say it.”

“Please, Tae—please fuck me—I need it—I need you.”

That broke him.

He crawled over the bed with the grace of a predator, thick thighs settling between yours as he guided your legs up—one, then the other—over his shoulders. And then he looked down.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, thumbing your clit gently. “This pussy is a fucking dream. Look how swollen she is. How sensitive. She’s crying for me, baby. You see this?”

You cried out, lifting your hips, desperate for him to do something, anything, but he just chuckled darkly.

“You wanna be split open?” he muttered, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. “Wanna be filled up so deep you feel me in your throat?”

“Yes—yes, Taehyung, please—”

He pushed.

And the sound he made was animal.

“Fuuuuck, you’re tight,” he snarled, hips rolling deeper, slow and brutal. “So wet. So fucking tight—oh my God—”

You screamed again, legs trembling against his shoulders as he sank into you inch by devastating inch, stretching you wide, filling you like you were made to take him.

When he bottomed out, he paused, eyes clenched shut, jaw slack, the veins in his arms straining.

“I’m not gonna last,” he groaned. “I can’t—shit—I’m gonna ruin you, baby. I’m gonna fucking break you.”

He pulled back and slammed forward.

Again.

And again.

Each thrust harder, deeper, filthier than the last. The bedframe rocked. The headboard slammed. Your cries became incoherent, babbling messes of need and praise as Taehyung fucked you with the force of a man trying to make up for every second he spent away.

He gripped your ankles, pressing them into your chest to fold you deeper, watching your pussy swallow his cock over and over again. His breath was ragged, words falling from his mouth in a stream of desperate reverence and filth.

“Mine—this pussy is fucking mine—no one else gets to feel her—no one else gets to make you scream like this—look at me while I fuck you—let me see those eyes—yeah, that’s it—take it, baby—take all of it—”

And God, you did.

Because there was no one else. Nothing else. Just him. Just Taehyung, finally home.

He came hard.

Deep inside you. Warm and pulsing, body bowed over yours, mouth slurred against your neck with half spoken confessions and frantic curses. He stayed there for a moment, still buried in your cunt, still trembling, and overwhelmed by the heat and the stretch and the realness of you.

But then you clenched around him again. So sweet and soft and tight, and it was over.

The blood roared back to his cock. The heat flared like wildfire. And Taehyung couldn’t stop himself.

He lifted his head, hair stuck to his temple with sweat, chest heaving as he whispered hoarsely, “One more.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, wrecked, lips parted as if to protest. But then he pulled out, groaning at the sight of his cum spilling from your swollen pussy, and grabbed your hips again.

“One more,” he repeated, darker this time.

Just let him drag you off the bed, legs weak beneath you, body pliant in his hands. He kissed your shoulder, your spine, the nape of your neck as he guided you to the tall full length mirror standing beside the dresser.

And then he bent you over in front of it.

Taehyung grinned—half feral, half awed—at the reflection before him.

There you were, hair mussed, lips bitten raw, nipples peaked, thighs slick with your cum and his. Your pussy puffy and glistening in the mirror’s reflection.

He almost came again just looking at you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, pressing his body against your back. “So fucking ruined. Look what I did to you.”

You whimpered, hands braced against the mirror, and he chuckled darkly as he reached down between your legs and ran two fingers through your folds.

“Still dripping for me. You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

Taehyung caught your throat in his other hand and gently tilted your chin toward the mirror.

“Eyes up,” he growled. “You’re gonna watch.”

He slid his fingers up to your clit, circling, teasing, just enough to make your thighs shake. “I want you to see how pretty you look with my cock in you.”

You moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

“No,” he warned, fingers tightening around your throat. “Eyes open, baby. You owe me this. I spent a year and a half jacking off in the barracks like a fucking teenager. You know how many nights I dreamed of this?”

He lined himself up and sank back in with a deep, satisfying thrust, watching in the mirror as your pussy welcomed him greedily.

“Fucking hell,” he gasped. “She’s choking me. She missed me so much, didn’t she?”

You nodded frantically, mouth parted in a broken moan.

Taehyung started slow. Long, deep thrusts, the kind that made you feel every thick inch of him. The kind that forced your eyes to stay locked on the sight of your bodies meeting over and over again. His hand stayed wrapped around your throat, thumb stroking lazily under your chin, while the other worked your clit in firm circles.

Then he leaned down and bit your shoulder. Hard.

You cried out.

“That’s it,” he groaned, licking over the mark. “You like being fucked like this, huh? Bent over, helpless, drooling while I ruin you?”

You tried to speak, but he squeezed your throat and whispered, “Shh. Just nod, jagi.”

You did.

“Good girl,” he praised, picking up his pace.

Skin slapping against skin. Your ass bouncing. His cock disappearing again and again into the wet clutch of your cunt. The mirror fogged from both your breaths.

“I had dreams,” he murmured, voice ragged against your ear. “So many dreams. Dreamed of this pussy. Dreamed of bending you over the supply closet at base. Dreamed of you sneaking into the showers to ride me quietly.”

You moaned, breath hitching.

“But it was never enough,” he snarled. “Woke up hard and aching. Had to jerk off like some desperate fucking loser. Nothing—nothing—came close to this. This pussy? These sounds?” He thrust harder. “This is mine.”

He let go of your throat and grabbed your hair, forcing you to keep watching as he fucked you into the mirror, every muscle in his body straining with effort and lust.

“You see that?” he growled. “You see how good you take it?”

“Taehyung—” you whimpered.

“Say it. Say whose pussy this is.”

“Yours. It’s yours—fuck, Tae—it’s always been yours—”

He lost it.

His rhythm faltered, becoming erratic, brutal. His teeth scraped your shoulder, your neck, his tongue soothing where he bit you raw. His balls slapped against your soaked folds, your arousal smeared across your inner thighs and down your legs.

“You’re perfect,” he moaned, thrusts slamming into you. “So fucking perfect. I’ll never get enough of this. I’ll die with my cock buried in you and still think I didn’t get enough.”

Your walls clenched.

“Oh fuck, you’re close, aren’t you?” he panted. “Gonna cum on me again? Gonna milk my cock like you’re starving for it?”

You sobbed, nails scratching down the mirror.

“Cum for me, baby,” he begged, grip tightening on your hips. “Wanna feel it. Wanna feel that greedy little pussy suck me dry—now—”

You shattered.

And so did he.

With a loud, feral groan, Taehyung buried himself to the hilt and came again, warmth flooding you as you convulsed around him. His body collapsed over yours, chest heaving, mouth open against the slope of your back as he whispered things no soldier would ever dare admit.

“I love you. Missed you so much.”

Your legs gave out the second he pulled out.

You collapsed into his arms, flushed and trembling, your breath shaky, your body spent. And Taehyung didn’t speak—not right away.

He just watched you.

Watched the way you trembled in his hold. The way your fingers curled against his chest like you couldn’t quite let go of reality yet. The marks he’d left along your skin, bites, kisses, and bruises bloomed like secrets only he’d ever be trusted to keep.

His heart ached.

You looked like a dream. A fevered vision of pleasure and surrender. But what stole his breath, what gutted him, was the trust in your exhaustion. The way you gave him everything without fear. Without doubt.

He brushed the damp hair from your face and leaned down, his lips finding your temple in a soft kiss.

“Sweet girl,” he whispered, his voice barely there. “Come back to me.”

You stirred, eyelids fluttering, eyes glazed with the last waves of pleasure.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you now, okay?”

You nodded weakly.

He scooped you into his arms, holding you close. He walked you to the bathroom like he was carrying something holy.

He set you down gently on the edge of the tub while he turned on the shower, testing the temperature with his hand before returning to you, kneeling at your feet.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, fingers brushing the backs of your thighs. “Even now. Especially now.”

He stood and helped you in first, stepping in after you. The water hit your skin in a soft hiss, steam blooming around you both. You leaned against the tile wall, too tired to do anything but exist, but he was already reaching for the body wash, lathering it between his hands.

“I used to imagine this,” he said softly, guiding your body under the spray. “Every night, when the lights went out. I’d close my eyes and pretend I was here. Just like this. In our shower. Holding you. Washing your back.”

His hands moved in gentle circles down your spine, over your shoulders, around your waist.

“I missed you so much it scared me sometimes,” he confessed, voice caught in his throat. “Some nights I’d wake up because I thought I heard you whispering my name. I’d look over at the empty cot next to me and wish it was you. I kept one of your hoodies in my locker. Slept with it under my head. Wore it when no one was around.”

You blinked, eyes glassy.

“I would’ve come home sooner if I could,” he murmured, brushing the soap down your arms, then lacing his fingers through yours to wash your hands. “I counted every day. Every hour. Every fucking second.”

He brought your hands to his mouth, kissed each knuckle, and then reached for your shampoo.

When he lathered your hair, he did it like you were fragile. Like if he pressed too hard, you might vanish again. His fingers massage your scalp slowly, lovingly, and when he rinses it out, he kisses your forehead through the curtain of water.

“You’re it for me,” he whispered. “I don’t care how far I ever have to go again—I’m never spending that long without you. Not ever.”

You turned toward him, leaning into his chest.

His arms wrapped around you immediately, one hand behind your head, the other splayed across your lower back. He held you there beneath the shower for long minutes, letting the water fall over both of you as he rocked you gently side to side.

“I love you,” he murmured against your temple. “You’re everything, jagi.”

You lifted your chin and looked at him, eyes wet but not from the shower.

“I love you too, Tae. So much. I’m so happy you’re home,” you whispered, voice achingly soft.

He kissed you then. Softly, and slow, like he had all the time in the world.

Because now he did.

masterlist

[outtathisworld-imagines]

My only sunshine

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x F!Reader

Warning: MDNI! 18+ content, smut, heavy kissing, fingering (fem!rec), Oral (fem!rec), mutual orgasm, aftercare, some fluff, Bob is quite into the dirty talk and just being an all round kind, slightly slutty gentleman, swearing, very mild voyeurism, unprotected sex- pls wrap before you tap. Not proofread 🙃.

A.N: This is a continuation of this fic because I cannot let go of writing for Bob 🥲 Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I’ll start to post soon 😊 and just let me know if you’d liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

—☀️—

When you were launched as ‘The New Avengers’, not everyone expected such newfound fame so fast. Some adapted well, like Alexei, most weren’t accustomed at all.

But in all the media circus, all the cameras, all the general PR chaos, you had one pillar of calm and that was Bob.

Since the moment two months ago shared between you both and the sunrise, the morning where you had both declared that the two of you had loved each other, the pair of you had been inseparable. Of course, you wanted to keep it as private as possible, to the point where you hadn’t even told the team yet- you hadn’t even told your brother. However you both loved your little bubble of privacy as the two of you started to find your feet in this relationship. Sharing a brief kiss every now and then, brushing hands and holding them under a blanket when it was movie night with the team. And of course, you had your nights where you held him close when he was fighting off demons in his nightmares.

“We are heading out for a couple of hours, some suspicious behaviour in Washington.” Yelena told Bob as everyone gathered themselves one late afternoon. “Will you be okay on your own?”

“Someone should probably still stay with him.” Bucky had spoke up, looking at you as he was zipping his coat. It instantly took you back two months ago to your conversation on the roof with him.

You cleared your throat “Y-yeah I can stay. I’ll stay with Bob. We can catch up with the dishes.” You smiled the group who agreed it was a good idea. They had all left and as soon as they did, Bob pounced on you, peppering your face with kisses. “I was serious!” You giggled “We should do some housework.”

Bob longingly sighed “Alright…I can always get my kiss fix later.” He kissed you again before pulling you to your feet.

The pair of you made fast work of cleaning the rooms of the watchtower where you all now lived before attempting the multitude of dishes.

“I don’t think Alexei realised you can wash a plate between each Doordash order…” you joked between scrubbing endless of plates and passing to Bob to dry.

“Let me take over for a little bit, save your hands from getting all wrinkly.” He scooted over and tried to take a mug from you, causing you to drop it in the water and splash over you both. You let out a shriek and looked up to Bob who had bubbles and water all down his front.

“Oh-oh I’m sorry!” You said between giggles. Bob looked at you with a sly grin, scooped up a handful of water and soaked you. “BOB!” You laughed and soaked him back. After a bit of back and forth spraying each other with bubbles and water he suddenly stopped and swallowed hard. “What? What’s up?” You asked, suddenly worrying that you had done something wrong, or worse…that a shadow was creeping back in. “Bob,” you grabbed his upper arms “What’s-“

“Y-your top…it’s wet…” he gulped again, swallowing hard.

“Well, of course it is you got me,” you looked down, your white top wasn’t probably the best idea to wash dishes in. Especially with no bra. “You, uh, got me wet…” you covered your chest with your arm. “I mean the water got me wet, that you soaked me with!” Your words spilled out, fumbled between apologies. You tried to turn away but Bob’s arm was tightening around one of your wrists.

His eyes were darting between your chest and your eyes. “S-sorry, I-I just- you know I think you’re so beautiful. A-and I know we haven’t had the chance to be…you know fully intimate with everyone always being here and-“ you silenced him with a firm kiss, one that he fully embraced along with you. You both stumbled backwards into the living room, lips still locked together.

You giggled falling back onto the large sofa as Bob hungrily kissed you. “You got me all wet too…” he retorts as he sat himself up, his legs straddling you as he slowly raised his t-shirt up and over his head. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip seeing his perfect form glowing in the light of the sun that was starting to set. He leaned back down and feverishly kissed you “But I can guarantee you’re wetter…” you gasped at his words.

“Bob…you might not be as innocent as I once thought.” You kissed and softly took his bottom lip between your teeth, pulling it just enough to tease and draw a groan from him. “Maybe you’re as innocent as me…”

Bob smirked, his fingers tugging at the end of your damp top. “Oh…? I always thought you were a ‘butter wouldn’t melt’, ‘sweeter than sugar’ girl, my sunshine…” his words, dripping with tease made you show how just how strong that serum had made you and you flipped Bob over, now you were the one straddling him. You smiled down as the boy with the curly, floppy hair that captured your heart was now catching his breath.

You pitching out of his misery and mirrored the actions he had done earlier and removed your top. A mixture of a groan and a gasp left his throat as his hands subconsciously reached for your waist and then up to caress the rest of your body. “Oh god, dear god, my god…you’re so unbelievingly stunning.” He watched as the sun shone on your chest, how the tiny droplets of water shone, and suddenly became jealous of the light. How it hugged and caressed every inch of you when it should be him. He sat up ever so slightly. “I need to kiss you everywhere. I need to touch you everywhere…” his hands were jolting in excitement from the sparks he felt from your skin. “Can I do that? Can I have all of you?” He asked. He begged.

“Of course you can.” You softly shared a kiss in the orange glow on the sunset before it turned more and more passionate. Bob nervously fumbled with the button on your jeans which you were happy to oblige helping taking them off. You wriggled out of them and Bob began kissing up your leg and then to the inside of your thigh.

“So, so perfect.” He said between kisses “You’re so fucking perfect, my sunshine.” You felt a flush rush up your chest and to your cheeks at his words. You suddenly felt him stop kissing and you looked down, find him completely transfixed on your underwear. You ran a hand through his curls and he glanced up, as if asking for permission without moving his mouth. You nodded and rest your head on the pillow behind you, feeling his head move closer to the other wet spot on you. Bob gently kissed it, a soft growl leaving his lips as he tasted you on them. You gasped hearing a rip and found your underwear between both his hands as his eyes bounced between them in surprise at himself. “S-sorry I just- holy shit.” He dropped the shedded material and sat backwards in awe at you. All of you. “You’re the most goddamn beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my whole life Y/N.” He then crawled towards you “I bet you’re even prettier when you come…”

“B-Bob!” You gasped in delight as his tongue explored every curve and fold of your wet pussy. You groaned and grabbed onto his hair tightly “Oh god baby, just like that, god YES!” Your sounds only encouraged him more and he added his fingers into the mix, gently pumping one hand in and out of your pussy sand the other rubbing your clit while continuing to eat you out. “God Bob!” You moaned “What did I do you deserve this?!” You could feel him smile as he continued sending waves of pure pleasure through your body. You both locked eyes, he watched you intently how your face and body contorted in the sunlight, what was just right and made a mental note of it so he knew what he could do again to draw these stunning reactions from you.

Bob pulled away and you just had enough time to catch a single breath before kissing you with his slick lips. He giggled as he wiped the rest of his face “You deserve that all the time, my sunshine.” He kissed you again “Believe me I’ll be doing that all the time anyway because you taste so fucking good.” His tongue found yours and danced across it, letting you taste your own sweet mess that he made. He felt you try to undo the belt of his trousers which made him gently laugh against your lips. “Someone is excited,” he teased and you playfully bit his lip as retaliation. “It’s okay,” his hand found yours and moved it from the belt to his already rock hard cock “I’m excited too.” He spoke so innocently and softly while doing the least innocent thing which made you even weaker at the knees for him.

Bob stood up and in one swift and smooth motion, his trousers and boxers were off. You propped yourself up on your elbows, jaw almost hitting the floor at the sight of him. “Y-y-you’re…wow. Just wow.” Bob bashfully swatted away your comments “I’m serious Bob, you���re so beautiful…” your voice could raise barely above a whisper.

“I think I’m pretty well endowed…” He jested and you raised a brow at his underestimated comment. He walked towards you “You look so pretty with your mouth open for me like that, sunshine.” You smirked and opened wider, causing Bob to chuckle. “As much as I’d love that pretty open mouth to take me…” his thumb swiped over your lips and tongue before brining it to his own mouth and licking it with a groan. “It’s that pretty pussy I need. I need to feel that tight, wet, pretty pussy swallow my cock, sunshine. Can it do that?” You practically throw him on top of you, passionately kissing him as he laughed between your lips and said “I take it that’s a yes?” You smiled and gazed in his eyes as he pulled back. “Let me just grab a con-“

“Bob, it’s okay. Being injected with super solider serum and all…” you hinted in a round about kinda way that it would be fine.

He almost choked on his drool at the fact and said it aloud “I-I get to come inside you? I can come inside you?”

“Yes…” you smiled and then dozens of kisses grazed your face and your neck and across your bare chest. You looked up and saw Bob, glowing in the last burning orange light of the day before his lips reached yours again and he gently moved his hips forward towards yours and slid himself inside you. You tightly gripped onto his shoulders as you both let out a groan in delight.

There was no denying the man was right, he was very well endowed. “C’mon baby, you wanna take me all? I can feel that little pussy of yours squeezing my cock so good,” you widened your legs a little more and he moaned “That’s it, take all of me, I wanna give you all of me.” He started moving his hips back and forth and you shuddered in pure bliss.

“Just like that, Bob, god please don’t stop!” You begged as you held onto him for dear life.

He kissed you “Baby if I had it my way I would never stop, I’d never leave this perfect pussy.” You moaned in his ear and he picked up the speed a little. “C’mon my sunshine, so goddamn beautiful, more beautiful as that sunset out there. I love you, I love you so much Y/N.”

“I love you too Bob,” you said between pants and moans. “God I think…I’m gonna come Bob.”

“That’s it baby, come for me, come all over my cock I wanna feel you come for me.” Your face and body contorted in a wave of pleasure and Bob wrapped his arms around you, gently cradling you through your orgasm while still thrusting. “Oh god that was so fucking hot, you’re gonna make me” Bob practically screamed out as he came inside you before landing on your chest panting and trying to catch his breaths. “Holy shit…” he tiredly giggled and you wrapped your arms around him, resting your chin on his head with a smile on your face.

“Good day?” You asked.

“The best goddamn day of my life.” He turned his head and let his lips lock to yours as he pulled out and then sat on his knees to look at his work. “I thought that pussy couldn’t get any prettier,” he lay back on top of you and kissed you again “Turns out it’s just as pretty with all of me coming out of it.” You bashfully smiled and burried your face into the crook of his neck. “Someone getting all nervous on me now? All shy after all that? You’re too cute.” He teased and you shuffled around on the couch so you were laying next to him you looked up and shared a soft, lingering kiss. The stars were steadily burying into the night sky as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

You lazily traced pattered on his chest while he held you close, your limbs intertwined and both your worlds in complete peace.

That was until the doors opened and you both tensely grabbed one another, Bob practically pulling you on top of him as if that would hide you both any more than you were exposed now.

“I told you not to do anything stupid Alexei! Next time you’ll have to get yourself out of your own mess,” Yelena complained.

“Hey guys we’re home!” John called out. “Y/N? Bob?”

You and Bob remained hidden behind the back of the couch, hoping that they wouldn’t spot either of you. “Hey Y/N? We’re back!” You heard Bucky called.

“Maybe there are sleeping?” Ava said “It’s pretty early though, but they could be in their rooms?”

“Whatever, it’s royal rumble tonight! The sofa is mine!” Alexei called out and ran towards the sofa before you called out.

“Stop! No I’m here!” You peeked your head over the back of the sofa. “Hi guys, how was the mission?”

Everyone raised a brow at the same time with a stunned silent look on their faces. “Um…yeah it was good. Are you okay?” John asked and you nodded your head yes with a tight, nervous smile. “Are you…” he looked at your exposed shoulders “Uh…are you…” Bucky snapped his head to John and glared at him, ensuring he chose his next words carefully. “Are you wearing…anything?” With the same tight smile you shook your head no.

Bucky groaned and held his head in his hands. “You’re shitting me. You didn’t. Not there.”

“Uh…well.”

“Where is he?” Bucky clutched his hands into a fist, everyone still completely dumbfounded to what was happening.

“Would you kill us if I told you he’s underneath me?” Bob slowly raised his head and turned to look at everyone.

“Hi guys, how’s it going?” He waved and you were trying to look anywhere beside the wide gawking mouths and even wider eyes staring back at you both. “We did the dishes.”

“Yeah and then did each other…” Yelena smirked and everyone, aside from your brother, stifled a laugh.

You groaned, trying to shield yourself with a pillow and a throw “You guys we, we love each other very much and we’ve never had a moment alone!” Ava and Yelena ‘aww’ed’ while John and Alexei were silently shooting Bob a thumbs up. “I’ll buy a new sofa!”

“Please god do it in a bed next time.” Bucky grumbled while walking away. “I’m getting a drink. A large drink.”

“Don’t worry there will be a next time and we will probably do it in a bed at some point.” Bob shouted out and you cupped his hand with your mouth, nervously laughing. The team had the decency to vacate while you both threw on your now dry clothes.

It was only when walking hand in hand with Bob back to your room did you notice your shredded underwear peaking out of his front pocket. You tapped his chest with a dropped jaw and pointed at it. Bob winked and held his finger over his lips, telling you to not let on.

“Gotta keep a memory of you and our first time together, my sunshine.”

—————

Tags are open! ✨

[rhiannonsknife]

no thoughts, just cowgirl!jackie

- ✨

some more cowgirl!jackie taylor thoughts for you!! 🙂‍↕️ (obviously: nsfw content so mdni!)

cowgirl!jackie!!! <333

cowgirl!jackie who uses sex like a reward: like the sugar cubes she’ll feed to her horses, she’ll treat you if you’ve been good, if you finished your to-do list or told her she looked pretty in that denim skirt. then, she’ll pull you behind the barn and press her thigh between your legs from behind. “i know how to treat someone who behaves for me…” jackie whispers, kissing the nape of your neck.

pervert!cowgirl!jackie anyone…?

pervert!cowgirl!jackie who keeps a pair of your panties in the pocket of her flannel. she’ll finger the lace during long shifts fixing fence posts, glancing around like someone might catch her when she gets it out to sniff it.

pervert!cowgirl!jackie who has had to excuse herself from the dinner table more than once because you kissed her jaw a little too long or said ‘ma’am’ in that voice you use to tease her. she’ll lock herself in the bathroom, palm herself through her jeans and try to calm down while her hips are already grinding into her hand.

pervert!cowgirl!jackie who suddenly ties her flannel around her waist when you have friends visiting….it’s only later that you realize it’s because she soaked through her jeans from watching you lick a popsicle on the porch, sticky sugar catching in the corner of your mouth.

cowgirl!jackie who jerks off thinking about you moaning for her “harder, jackie, please- fuck, you feel so good!” with your nails digging into her shoulders and sweat dripping from your neck to your chest, down to where she can taste it. she does this more often than she cares to admit: on her knees in the hayloft, in the cab of her truck, sprawled out on the couch, hoping you’ll catch her but always biting her knuckle to stay quiet.

cowgirl!jackie who always talks you throught it <3 “yeah?” she’ll rasp, even when she’s breathless and exhausted from rocking her hips into you. “that’s it, baby. you can take it. so fucking good for me.”

cowgirl!jackie who wakes you up before she has to leave to work so she can pull herself into your lap and ride you slow, warm and sleepy and half-laughing when you grab at her for another round.

cowgirl!jackie who pulls you into the barn and fucks you on a hay bale because she can’t wait until you’re home. your skirt is bunched around your hips and jackie’s pants are shoved down, pooling by her ankles. she has to bite your shoulder to keep herself from moaning too loud whilst snapping her hips forward over and over and pushing your face into the hay. “god-“ she groans. “been thinking about this all damn day…fuck, just listen to you…so wet for me!”

cowgirl!jackie who usually wears jeans that ride low on her hips when she’s working, so your eyes keep dropping to the curve of her waist, the sliver of tanned skin between her tank top and the denim.…

…cowgirl!jackie who later grinds against your thigh through those exact jeans because she wants it filthy. jackie wants to rut on you like she’s in heat, with your hands pinned and your mouth against her throat. “don’t touch!” she instructs whenever you try and reach out. “just let me- just let me use you for a minute!”

sucking cowgirl!jackie’s strap?? when you get home, she’s already on the bed, legs parted, working it slow. “you wanna be a good girl for me?“ she asks with heavy lidded eyes. “then get over here…” once you’ve put your mouth on her, though, jackie is no longer all that smug: she’s got one hand tight in your hair, the other trembling on her thigh, while you’re on your knees with your lips wrapped around her strap, bobbing your head like it’s the real thing.

cowgirl!jackie who “works better when she knows you’re watching her” (once, she caught you staring while she was chopping wood and made a point of flexing her muscles for the rest of the chore). so, she takes you out to the back pasture in the dead of summer, tells you to “sit tight” on an old blanket she laid out under the shade of a tree while she checks the fence line. jackie gets distracted, of course, and returns to kneel between your thighs. she pushes your sundress up with calloused, dirt-smeared hands and her tongue is in on you before you can ask what she’s doing. “can’t help myself,” she mumbles against your cunt. “you looked too fucking pretty sitting there.”

[cinnamongrl2006]

Ok since we have college! Jason, mayhaps a professor Bruce? Who sees you walking home in the rain and gives you a ride back to your dorm but he takes the ✨scenic✨ route if you know what I mean lmao

౨ৎ Professor!Bruce Wayne x female student!reader ౨ৎ mdni (18+)

౨ৎ Warnings: Legal age gap, power imbalance, vaginal sex, unprotected sex.

౨ৎ a/n: I will never stop writing for Bale Bruce Wayne, he's the love of my life, man of my dreams, I'm insane for him. I obviously don't condone this kind of relationship, but all I write is fiction and I find it reallyyy attractive in fiction, SUE ME!! also, creds to my divas @ditzydoe444 and @ellesthots because their professor!Bruce fics are TO DIE FOR!!

You hadn't expected it to rain so much that afternoon; that's why you had forgone the idea of bringing an umbrella in your bag, it would only add weight to your already heavy backpack, and you'd spend most of your time in the library anyways.

You began to regret your decision when you exited the library and the cold water began to patter against your head and shoulders, soaking through your clothes. Your damp shirt was stuck to your chest uncomfortably, your shoulders shook with shivers. You really should have brought an umbrella, or at least a jacket.

You were cursing yourself on your walk back to the dorms when he saw you. Bruce was in his car, another late night after a long meeting with the dean. He registered your presence quickly, it was raining heavily and there wasn’t a soul in the street—there shouldn’t have been, much less a young woman like you, so cluelessly strolling alone at night, so he did what he thought necessary, he rolled down the window and called out your name.

“Mr. Wayne?” You looked at him with wide eyes, the surprise and embarrassment were evident in your soft features. God you were so unlucky, the day you go out thinking that nobody will see you you cross paths with the hottest professor in the entire college—just your luck.

“You look like you need a lift,” He smirked, poking his head out the window, and slowed the car down to a stop.

────୨ৎ────

The car ride was quiet at first, only the low hum and static of the radio on a rainy night broke through the silence. You had your bag in your lap, clutching it close to you for dear life.

Bruce wanted nothing more than to chuck the bag into the backseat and get his way with you, he felt like an asshole but the way your top was clinging to your chest was making his brain go haywire and his cock fatten up in his slacks.

“You can leave the bag in the backseat, more comfortable that way,” He spoke as if he knew better, as if that was the right thing to do; patronizing and authoritative.

You did as he said and threw the bag into the backseat, folding your hands in your now empty lap, awkwardly. The tension between you two could have been cut with a knife, the silence heavy and loud.

Bruce stretched out a hand to move something on the center console and instead of moving it back to the wheel, he placed it on your thigh, squeezing it softly. It was a declaration of intentions, he was giving you a way out.

"You shouldn't be walking alone so late, more so when it's raining." He sounded truly worried as he caressed the soft, damp, skin of your thigh.

"Lucky you were here, then." You spread your legs further, urging him to go higher, and he followed suit. His fingers danced along the seams of your panties, not quite hovering, not quite touching.

The bumps on the road were the only thing forcing contact between him and you, and they were few and far between. You were beginning to get desperate, your breaths were coming out whiny and shaky, your hips stuttered against his thick fingers.

And Bruce was just a man, his self control had been thrown out the window the moment he’d seen you walking back to your dorm drenched and shivering all alone. You were so helpless, huffing and puffing, feet dragging across the pavement, shirt drenched in water and sticking to your chest so deliciously; he had to help you, poor little girl, who didn’t even think to bring an umbrella.

The louder your whines got, the faster he drove; he moved through the back roads with expertise, not even wavering with the rain, his hands steady.

────୨ৎ────

You were sprawled across the backseat, your bag on the floor of the car, as Bruce pounded you mercilessly. He held your thighs apart as he thrusted in. A creamy white ring sat at the base of his cock from your previous orgasm

He didn't know what had gotten into him; he was usually so professional, never would have even glanced at a student before he met you. Maybe it was because of the way you looked at him, your gaze intense and unwavering, never missing one of his classes. Maybe it was because of the way you spoke to him during tutoring hours, your voice soft yet confident, drawing him in. Or perhaps it was the subtle way you brushed your leg against his when you sat side by side.

He was grown, after all; he was not stupid. He noticed how your eyes drifted down to his chest when he rolled his shoulders, or how they lingered on his arms when he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the toned muscles underneath. It made his heart race.

"That feel good, sweetheart?" He breathed out.

You knew if you tried to speak the words would not come out so, with your hands pawing and tugging at his shirt— all wrinkled and rumpled now, thanks to your relentless movements— you just nodded your head, staring at him with wide, glassy, eyes and an open mouth, letting out little whines and moans at the rhythm of his thrusts.

"Come on, you're a smart girl, my top student; you can use your words, can't you?" There it was again, the sweet voice, the patronizing tone.

"Yes. Feels good, sir." You managed to breathe out.

"Call me Bruce, let's leave the titles for the classroom, huh?"

You nodded, eyes meeting his hungry gaze. Bruce's cock twitched at the sight of your dazed smile, half lidded eyes, pupils blown wide and your cheeks flushed that pretty shade of pink you got when you made eye contact in class.

"mhm, Bruce," You whined, your hips stuttered up, back arching when he angled your hips to get slightly deeper. You could feel the slight burn from the way he was stretching you out, the spur of pain when the tip of his cock hit your cervix repeatedly, but all of that was kept in the back of your mind, as he kissed your lips and cooed at you.

"So pretty...you're a beautiful girl, you know that? Smart too," He spoke between kisses, his voice was hoarse, breathy.

Bruce didn't moan, but he grunted a lot, to punctuate his words when he spoke, or after a particularly deep thrust.

"So tight, baby. Just relax, I've got you." He spoke into your neck as his thrusts got messier, harder. The squelching and clapping of your thighs against his got louder, and so did your moans. You came almost instantly, leaning your head back against the car window, his hands held your waist, keeping you in place as he fucked his thick cock into you. He came shortly after you, with a hard thrust and a grunt.

After a moment of shared silence, the sound of the rain drumming against the car filled the space between you. You both caught your breath, the lingering warmth of the moment wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. Bruce rested his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight.

"We should talk about this before Monday," He spoke as he caught his breath.

“Yeah, or it’ll be super awkward in class,” you replied, a light laugh escaping you. Bruce chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he tried to regain his composure.

“Well, we can just keep it professional, right?” he suggested, looking at you with a hint of amusement. 

────୨ৎ────

@lalitalux

[danysdaughter]

Red Is The Color Of Want

pairing | civil!war!bucky x widow!reader & winter!soldier x widow!reader

word count | 4.8k words

summary | in a crumbling safehouse far from the fights you both escaped, you—a former black widow—unravel the man beneath the metal as the winter soldier comes undone in your arms. but when a page of trigger words drags bucky back into the shadows of who he used to be, the only thing more dangerous than his programming… is how much he needs you.

tags | (18+) MDNI, unprotected sex, p in v, oral (f!receiving), fingering, rough sex, desperate sex, emotional hurt/comfort, dubious consent (due to Winter Soldier programming), ptsd and trauma responses, emotional angst, mutual longing, slow burn that explodes, comfort after breakdown

a/n | YALLL, this is not the a sequel to Сетка, this is a complete different widow!reader, Сетка Pt 2 is still on its way, anyway this is based on this request

taglist | ALSOOO I've created a tag list for this, so if you wanna be tagged whenever I release a new bucky fic, just fill your username to this taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

Romania, Bucharest — 2016

The café was falling apart in the charming way only Eastern European buildings could get away with. A crooked sign hung above the door like it was waiting to fall. Inside, it smelled like cheap coffee and something burnt a few days ago.

You were sitting by the window, hunched over a chipped porcelain cup, one foot tucked under you. The table rocked slightly every time you leaned on it. You’d already emptied two packets of sugar into the bitter brew, and now you were on your fourth.

Across from you, he watched with that quiet intensity of his—chin in hand, blue eyes barely blinking, like every movement you made held the key to unlocking some part of him. He said nothing until the fifth sugar packet disappeared into your cup.

“Going for diabetes or just hoping to dissolve the pain?”

You didn't even look up as you stirred. “Why stop at diabetes? If I keep going, maybe I’ll reach enlightenment.”

His lip twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. The most you ever got from him on a good day.

“Doesn’t matter how much you sweeten it,” he said finally, nodding toward your cup. “Still tastes like shit.”

You leaned back, cradling the mug in both hands like it was precious. “Good. So it matches you.”

He blinked, and you almost regretted the jab—until you saw the way the corner of his mouth lifted, barely, like a secret between you.

“Dark and bitter,” he murmured. “Just like me.”

You took a sip. It was terrible. Burnt and sour with an aftertaste like regret. You looked him straight in the eyes.

“Speak for yourself. I’m fucking delightful.”

You were slouched back now, one leg kicked over the other, sipping your sugar-soaked coffee like it was actually palatable. Outside, the gray streets of Bucharest moved on—slow, indifferent, same as always.

Bucky’s eyes drifted down from your face to the red leather jacket slung over your shoulders. It was too bright, too clean for a place like this. Too loud for someone like you.

“That’s a lot of jacket for someone trying to stay low,” he muttered, eyeing it like it offended him.

You scoffed, as you smoothed your hand over the sleeve. “I love this jacket. You have no taste.”

He huffed a breath. “I’ve got taste. That just ain’t it.”

You gasped, setting your cup down with a clink. “Excuse me. This jacket is iconic.”

His brow lifted. “It’s loud. You look like a traffic light.”

“I look fabulous,” you corrected, smoothing a hand down the sleeve. “And this is the first thing I ever bought for myself, okay?”

He blinked at that. “That?”

“Да,” you said, chin up. “You don’t like it?” [Yes]

“I didn’t say that,” he mumbled, but the twitch in his lips gave him away.

You narrowed your eyes. “You did not not say it.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking beneath him. “You still look ridiculous.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your mouth. “That is rich, coming from man who wears the same three Henleys on rotation.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “They’re comfortable.”

“And this is freedom,” you said simply. “The point is… I’ve never had control over my own life before. I want to do things now. Stupid things. Selfish things. Bright red jacket things. And I think you should want that too.”

That shut him up for a beat.

You didn’t push it. Just looked down at your drink, tracing the rim of the cup with your finger. When you glanced up again, his expression had softened—those sad eyes of his lit with something quieter. Warmer.

“I think your jacket’s cool,” he said, voice low.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

You grinned again, slower this time. “I get you matching one.”

His face immediately scrunched. “I’m good, thanks.”

You leaned back smugly. “I get you one anyway.”

He shook his head, but there was no bite to it. Just the faintest quirk of a smile he didn’t bother hiding this time.

────────────────────────

His Apartment

The apartment was barely a place. The walls were cracked in some places and water-stained in others. The furniture was sparse—just a torn couch, a table that wobbled if you leaned on it wrong, and a mattress on the floor in the next room. But it was safe. Or safe enough.

The stereo in the corner played something modern and vaguely electronic. It fuzzed in and out, like even it didn’t want to be here. You lay sprawled on the couch, one arm thrown over your eyes, foot tapping out of rhythm to the beat.

Bucky sat nearby in a folding chair, arms resting on his knees, watching you like he didn’t quite understand how someone like you ended up in his space.

How you, with your loud voice, bright jacket, and endless sarcasm, had carved yourself into the quiet corners of his life.

He hadn’t gotten used to the music you liked—shrill, repetitive, too fast. He’d told you as much. “It’s noise,” he’d said.

“I am noise,” you’d replied with a grin. “Get used to it.”

And somehow, he had.

Around you, the silence didn’t ache the way it used to. You filled it, even when you weren’t speaking. It was your presence—commanding and unbothered, like you were meant to be anywhere you sat.

He didn’t know how it happened. One day he’d just found you, or maybe you'd found him. In an alley in Warsaw, bleeding from a gunshot wound, muttering in Russian as you crouched beside him and said, “I’m not saving you because I care, I’m saving you because you owe me now.”

You’d been by his side ever since.

He reached into the drawer of the flimsy side table, pulled out the small, black notebook, and held it out to you wordlessly.

You shifted, eyeing it with some suspicion before sitting up just enough to take it from him.

“What’s this?” you asked, flipping it open.

“Things I remember,” he said, voice rough. “Bits. Fragments. I write them down before I forget again.”

You flipped through it slowly, eyes scanning a list of names, dates, odd phrases.

“‘Red sock in a white wash’? This a code?”

“Laundry accident. Brooklyn, 1936.”

You snorted, and he swore you smiled just a little softer than usual.

“‘Train smell. Winter. Steve’s mittens.’ That one sounds like the setup to a bad poem.”

“Smelled like coal and metal. He used to take his gloves off to share with me.” His voice drifted a bit, like the memory was speaking through him more than he was choosing to share.

You leaned your head back against the couch again, notebook open on your stomach. “You are sentimental old man,” you muttered.

He looked at you like you were sunlight through a window—something warm he never quite thought he deserved.

“And you're loud,” he said quietly. “Even when you’re not talking. I can’t hear the silence when you’re around.”

You cracked one eye open and smirked. “Good. It’s an annoying silence. Brooding and sad. Very you.”

He huffed a laugh, eyes still on you.

You flipped to another page, still lounging back on his couch, one leg dangling off the side. The paper was creased and worn, filled with a list in neat Cyrillic script. Your eyes narrowed.

“What’s this?” you asked, tapping the page lightly with your finger.

Bucky glanced over absently from the table where he’d been cleaning a disassembled pistol. “What?”

You didn’t wait. The words slid easily off your tongue, your Russian fluent and unthinking.

“Желание, Ржавый, Семнадцать, Рассвет—”

[Desire, Rusty, Seventeen, Dawn]

His head snapped up, the rag in his hand falling to the floor with a soft thud.

“Stop.”

You didn’t hear him—too caught up in your mockery, still thinking this was another relic from his past you could tease him about. Your voice took on a theatrical lilt as you continued.

“Печь, Девять, Добросердечный, Возвращение, Один—”

[Oven, Nine, Benign, Homecoming, One]

“Stop.”

But you were already at the last word.

“Товарный вагон.” [Freight Car.]

The silence after was suffocating.

You looked up, still grinning—ready to make another snarky remark.

But he was staring at you.

Not in that usual, quietly fascinated way. Not the soft, storm-swept gaze that always felt like it saw more than you were willing to show.

No, this stare was hollow. Still. Too still.

The warmth was gone.

“Bucky?”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, posture rigid, jaw locked, eyes fixed on you like he was trying to calculate something. Or waiting for something.

Your pulse quickened.

You sat up fully, the notebook slipping from your hands and falling to the floor with a soft flutter.

“Bucky, what—” Your voice faltered.

You stood slowly, movements careful, like approaching a wild animal. His breathing was steady, mechanical. His hands were relaxed at his sides, but there was something wrong in the way they hung—too precise. Like they belonged to someone else.

You took a hesitant step toward him.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked quietly, tilting your head.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t even twitch.

His silence pressed in on you, heavier than the broken ceiling above, thicker than the smoke that sometimes drifted through the window from the street.

Then it hit you.

The page.

The words.

Your stomach dropped.

“Bucky…” You whispered his name like a lifeline, like saying it softer might bring him back.

Still nothing.

Just those empty, soldat's eyes staring through you.

You swallowed hard. “Come on. Say something.”

But he didn’t.

Your mouth became dry.

You took a step back, eyes locked on his. They didn’t follow your movement—not in the human way, not in his way. They tracked you like a target. The realization settled cold in your gut.

You licked your lips, heart hammering in your chest.

“Солдат…” you said softly, reluctantly. A test. A plea. [Soldat]

His posture shifted instantly, his chin lifting just slightly, shoulders drawn tight.

“Готов подчиняться,” he replied without hesitation, voice flat. Hollow. Obedient.

[Ready to comply.]

The breath left your lungs.

Shit.

No no no.

This couldn’t be happening.

You felt your stomach twist violently, and the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“Блядь…” you muttered, horrified, under your breath. “Чёрт, трахни меня—” [Oh, Fuck me]

“Понял.” [Understood.]

Your eyes snapped up, wide, just as he moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

Before you could take another breath, his hand was at the back of your neck, the other on your waist, and then his mouth was on yours—rough, forceful, devouring. There was no hesitation, no question. Just action.

His lips crushed into yours like a command being executed.

And the worst part? Your body didn’t pull away.

It froze.

Caught in shock, in the wrongness, in the heat of it.

You barely registered the wall against your back before you felt his hands—strong, unrelenting—gripping your thighs. The torn leather of the couch creaked beneath you as he lifted you like you weighed nothing, pressing your body flush against his without pause, without question.

Your breath hitched.

“Bucky—no—” you gasped, palms against his chest. It was solid, unmoving. “Wait—this isn’t—”

But he wasn’t listening.

His lips moved from yours to your jaw, to your throat. Rough, possessive. He kissed like he was claiming you, like he’d waited too long and now he was making up for lost time. His mouth found the soft skin beneath your ear, sucked hard enough to bruise.

A broken sound slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

You hated that part of yourself—the one that’d thought about this. That had looked at him too long, too often, wondered what his hands would feel like wrapped around your hips. What his mouth would taste like.

But this wasn’t him.

Not really.

“Soldat,” you tried again, voice cracking, fingers curling weakly into the fabric of his shirt. “Stop—”

But even as you spoke, his grip didn’t falter. His hands roamed with precision, with purpose. Like he knew exactly what you needed before you did.

And somewhere inside those glacier-blue eyes was something burning.

Not cold. Not mechanical.

Hunger.

Longing.

Bucky had wanted this. Wanted you. Maybe not like this. Maybe not so brutally, so suddenly. But it had been there—in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching, in the weight of his silences, in how he never pulled away when your shoulders brushed.

And now all that want had been uncaged.

The Soldat was moving like he’d been given orders.

But the man you knew—he was still in there.

You could feel it in the way his fingers trembled for just a second at your waist.

His breath was harsh against your skin, uneven—like he hadn’t drawn a real one in years until now. Like you were the first breath of air after a long, dark silence.

His hands moved fast. Too fast.

Fabric tore.

The sound of your top splitting down the middle echoed like a gunshot in the small room, the cotton giving way in his fists like it was paper. You gasped, chest exposed to the cool air, to his burning stare.

“Wait—Bucky—” you started, but your voice was swallowed beneath the weight of his body pushing you back onto the couch.

He didn’t say a word. Just hovered over you, braced on his elbows, eyes devouring every inch of bare skin like it was the only thing that existed. His pupils were blown wide, mouth parted like he was starving.

And maybe he was.

Maybe the Soldat was hunger without outlet. Maybe Bucky had been starving too—silently, patiently.

And now?

Now that leash had snapped.

His mouth was on your collarbone, open and hot, teeth dragging roughly. He kissed you like he didn’t care if it left marks—like he wanted it to.

One hand slid beneath your thigh, lifting it over his hip. The movement ground his body closer to yours, and you choked on a breath, caught off guard by how right it felt—how wrong it should’ve felt.

“Soldat—” you tried again, but this time your voice was barely a whisper, barely a protest.

His body was shaking, barely controlled. Like if he let go of even one thread, he’d tear through everything between you. Like he wasn’t following an order now—he was answering a need.

Your need.

His need.

He lowered himself further, breath hot against your breast as he dragged his mouth across your skin, reverent and brutal all at once.

And all you could do was clutch at his shoulders, your mind screaming that this wasn’t him—

But your body? Your body didn’t care.

And so you didn’t resist.

Not really.

Maybe it was the way his hands gripped your hips—tight, trembling like restraint was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Maybe it was the way his breath caught when your nails dug into his shirt, clutching him like a lifeline even as he pushed you deeper into the cushions.

Maybe it was that part of you that wanted to be taken.

By him. The man. The weapon. Both.

His weight settled over you, all muscle and heat and presence, like he needed to feel every inch of you against him to believe you were real. His hips rutted against yours, rough, desperate, like he was trying to bury himself in your very existence.

“Скажи мне нет,” he rasped against your throat, voice fraying at the edges. [Tell me no]

But you didn’t.

Your legs wrapped around him tighter, drawing him in, anchoring him.

He groaned—a real sound, a human sound—and it rattled through his chest as he ground down harder, clutching at your body like it was the only thing keeping him from shattering.

You let him. You let him take you.

Because you’d seen the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. You’d heard the longing buried beneath his silence. This wasn’t just the programming.

It was him.

It was all of him.

And when his mouth crashed down onto yours again—rougher this time, teeth catching your lip—you moaned into it, fingers twisting in his shirt, holding on as he moved with a desperate rhythm, like he didn’t just want you—

Like he needed you to keep from disappearing.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hands were on his own shirt, fists bunching in the fabric. One violent pull, and it was gone—ripped at the seams, flung aside without a second thought.

And then it was skin.

Hot, scarred, solid.

His chest pressed against yours, the rough drag of his skin over yours sending a shiver down your spine. You arched into him instinctively, needing the contact just as much as he did.

He growled—low and broken, more animal than man—as his hand found your bra and shredded it in one sharp tug. The snap of elastic was lost in the haze as his mouth dropped immediately to your chest, lips latching around one nipple, tongue circling with fervent, uncoordinated hunger.

“Ебать—” you gasped, head tilting back as your nails raked down his back, leaving angry trails in their wake. [Fuck]

He groaned against your breast, the sound vibrating through you. His hands were everywhere—one gripping your waist like a lifeline, the other palming your other breast, thumb swiping over the peak with desperate precision.

There was no rhythm to him. No practiced seduction. Just need.

Raw and overwhelming and real.

Every kiss, every scrape of teeth, every press of his body screamed a single truth: he didn't want to just fuck you—he wanted to feel you. Carving the memory of you into his skin, into his blood, like he didn’t trust the world not to take you away too.

You clung to him harder.

Not because you were afraid he’d hurt you.

But because, in that moment, you were terrified he’d stop.

You didn’t notice the shift at first—just the sudden absence of weight, the cold hit of air against your skin.

Then your eyes opened.

He was between your legs.

Kneeling, eyes burning, chest heaving. His fingers worked fast at the waistband of your pants, yanking them down along with your underwear in one swift, impatient motion. Your legs twitched involuntarily as the fabric slid past your ankles, discarded without care.

He stared at you like he was starving.

“Боже, посмотри на тебя,” he muttered under his breath, reverent and ragged. [God, look at you.]

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open, dragging you to the edge of the couch like he owned the space between your legs.

You opened your mouth to say something—his name, a protest, a prayer—but the words died as his head dipped low.

“Моя...моя вдова,” he breathed, just before his mouth touched you. [My widow.]

And then—

Heat. Tongue. Pressure.

You gasped, hand flying to the back of the couch for balance as his mouth found you, tongue moving like he’d been trained for this too—like even in this, he wanted to master it.

He groaned against you, low and helpless, like your taste ruined him.

“Так хорошо...” he mumbled, voice muffled, worshipful. [So good…]

Your fingers buried in his hair instinctively, hips jerking against his mouth.

There was no finesse. No teasing. Just hunger.

And he was drowning in you.

His tongue was relentless—broad strokes, then sharp flicks, lips sealing around you with a precision that shouldn’t have been possible from someone this desperate. But he was intent, focused like a man on a mission, like your body was the only thing grounding him in reality.

Your thighs clenched around his head, back arching off the couch, and still he didn’t stop—if anything, he held you tighter, dragging you impossibly closer to his mouth, like he needed more of you, like you were slipping away and he couldn’t bear it.

You gasped his name—not Soldat, not a command—just Bucky, soft and raw.

And maybe he heard it.

Or maybe he just needed more.

He pulled back just enough to murmur something, the words lost under his breath, hoarse and reverent—“Я хочу внутри, я хочу чувствовать тебя, мне нужно чувствовать тебя...” [I want inside, I want to feel you, I need to feel you…]

Then you felt the cool press of metal.

Your breath caught.

His metal hand, fingers thick and gleaming in the low light, slid slowly between your thighs. He spread you with one, then pushed a finger in—slow at first, but with no hesitation. The contrast was electric: heat and steel, your body slick and pulsing around him.

Then another finger.

You whimpered, nails scraping across his bare shoulders as he curled them just right, just so, his mouth returning to your clit like he couldn’t stand being away from it.

The stretch, the weight of him inside you, was almost too much—but your body sang with it. Welcomed it.

“Ты сделана для меня…” he whispered against you. [You were made for me.]

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

All you could do was hold on as he devoured you—mouth and metal working in brutal rhythm, dragging you higher, deeper, closer to a place you couldn’t come back from.

Your moan cracked in your throat—raw, strangled—as he thrust his fingers deeper, curling them just right, just perfect, while his mouth locked onto you with maddening precision. The heat in your belly coiled tight, then tighter, your body trembling beneath him, straining toward the edge with every wet, ruthless stroke of his tongue.

And then—

You shattered.

Everything broke.

You cried out, head thrown back against the cushions, legs shaking violently as you came hard against his mouth, his hand, his name barely a whisper in your lips—“Bucky—”

He didn’t stop.

Not until you were gasping, twitching, until your hands gripped his hair and pushed gently, weakly, needing space, needing air.

He pulled back—just barely—and looked up at you.

Hair a mess, face slick with your release, eyes blown wide with hunger.

“Я не могу больше ждать,” he whispered, voice ruined. [I can’t wait anymore.]

Then he was moving.

Fast.

Rising up, his fingers leaving you with a wet sound that made your hips buck involuntarily. He fumbled with his jeans—his hands weren’t shaking, but you were. He shoved them down, not even bothering to take them off completely—just far enough to free himself, and then he was on you again.

Hard thighs between yours.

Heavy, hot, bare against your soaked skin.

You felt the press of him—thick and already pulsing—at your entrance.

He hovered for a breathless second.

“Я должен быть в тебе,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. [I need to be inside you.]

And then he pushed in—deep, with a groan so guttural it punched through your chest and made you moan again, your nails clawing into his shoulders, into the scars and the skin that was all his, all real.

He filled you in one slow, brutal thrust.

And he didn’t move.

Not right away.

Just stayed there, buried to the hilt, shaking with the effort to hold back, to not come from the sheer feel of you wrapped around him.

You breathed his name again, softer this time. And he looked down at you like he’d been lost for years and just now found his way home.

His hips snapped forward again, dragging a rough moan from your throat as he filled you to the hilt, then pulled back only to slam into you harder, deeper. Over and over—no rhythm, no finesse—just a brutal grind of body on body, like he needed to feel every inch, every pulse, every contraction of your body around him.

Your thighs locked around his waist instinctively, heels digging into the small of his back, holding him there, in you, as if you could stop the world from spinning with just that grip.

His mouth was at your shoulder, his breath ragged and hot as he snarled half-broken curses against your skin—words you didn’t need to understand to feel. They bled need. They bled ownership.

“Твоя... моя... так туго... так тепло...”

[Yours. Mine. So tight. So warm…]

He rutted into you like an animal, like something had come loose inside him and now there was no going back. The couch creaked beneath you, the frame groaning under the force of his thrusts. The slap of skin echoed off the walls—loud, wet, constant.

You clawed at his back, nails digging in deep, dragging over muscle and scar tissue. He hissed but didn’t stop—only fucked you harder, faster, sweat dripping from his brow, jaw clenched like he was trying not to fall apart right there inside you.

You were moaning—raw, helpless, your head thrown back as he pounded into you, each thrust sending fire up your spine. Your hands gripped him like he’d vanish if you let go.

And beneath all of it—his breath, your cries, the obscene sounds of your bodies crashing together—was that undeniable truth:

You didn’t want him to stop.

His thrusts grew more erratic—less controlled, more desperate.

He was fucking you like a man coming undone, like if he stopped, even for a breath, he’d fall apart completely. Every snap of his hips was rougher than the last, the slap of skin on skin filling the air, raw and unrelenting. Your body rocked beneath him, pinned under the full weight of him, legs wrapped tight around his waist as he drove deeper, harder.

“Чёрт, не могу—” he gasped into your neck. [Fuck, I can't—]

You could feel it—the way he was trembling now, not just from the force, but from everything else. From what he was feeling. From what he didn’t know how to process.

And still, he thrust.

Over and over, burying himself so deep it felt like you’d never be empty of him again. Like he needed to put something inside you just to prove he was still real, still alive, still human.

“Ты… ты заставляешь меня чувствовать,” he choked out, voice breaking.

[You… you make me feel.]

You held him tighter, nails raking across his back, hips rolling up to meet him every time, matching him, grounding him, even as you felt his rhythm falling apart.

His breath hitched—once, twice—then turned into a sob.

A real, broken sound torn from somewhere deep inside.

He pressed his forehead to yours, still thrusting, still moving, but now he was shaking. Eyes clenched shut, jaw tight with everything he couldn't say.

“I can’t—” he whispered, in English this time. “I can’t—you—”

But he didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

Not until he’d buried himself in you one more time—so deep, so hard—and everything inside him shattered.

He came with a strangled, guttural cry, hips jerking violently, arms locking around you like if he let go you’d disappear.

And even as his body trembled and spilled into you, his face was buried in your shoulder, hot tears slipping silently onto your skin.

Because he was feeling. And it hurt.

But he was with you.

His breathing was still ragged. His body still trembling.

But slowly—slowly—the rhythm of the moment faded. The rush of adrenaline, of heat and friction and need, drained from his limbs like a dying storm.

And the silence that followed?

It was deafening.

He froze.

Still buried deep inside you, still wrapped in your warmth, your scent, your body—but everything about him changed in an instant.

His arms, once tight around you, loosened.

His breath caught. Not from exertion.

From realization.

“No,” he rasped. The word cracked, sharp and breathless, like he didn’t believe he’d said it aloud. “No, no—fuck—”

He started to pull back. Away from you. Out of you. Like his body had committed some crime his mind was only just registering.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—” His voice shattered as he tried to extract himself from your grip, shaking his head like it would rewind the clock. “I hurt you—I—I used you—I didn’t want—”

You grabbed his face before he could escape.

“Нет,” you whispered, firm. [No.]

He froze again, caught in your hands, his eyes wild and wet and full of something you’d never seen in him before.

Fear.

Disgust.

Shame.

“Look at me,” you said, voice low. “Посмотри на меня, Джеймс.” [Look at me, James]

He did. Barely.

“I let you in,” you whispered. “I wanted you.”

“But I—I wasn’t—me,” he stammered, throat thick. “I was him.”

“You were you, too,” you murmured. “And I knew it was you. Even if you didn’t.”

His face crumpled, the last of his defenses giving way as he collapsed against you, burying his head in your neck, his body still shaking—not from pleasure now, but from the weight of the world crashing down on him all at once.

Your fingers slid into his hair as he clung to you.

You murmured soft in his ear—like prayer, like song.

“Тише… всё хорошо… я с тобой… ты безопасный…”

[Easy… it’s alright… I’m with you… you’re safe.]

He didn’t answer.

Just held on tighter. And you let him.

Because you weren’t going anywhere.

[yanderedrabbles]

THE SINNERS WELCOME YOU TW: noncon and yanderes ahead

Hi! I'm val and this is where you can find everything I've written. Maybe bring protection? These boys are not nice.

Requests: closed for now

What I won't write about: pregnancy

Yandere Drabbles, Imagines & Oneshots [part two]

Part One

These are my primary masterlists. They have the most variety, with yanderes from different genres and time periods. Dirty cops, corrupt politicians, sleazy and dangerous boyfriends. Pirates, princes and poets too. Is your yandere sick, twisted and hopelessly in love? This is where you'll find them.

Yandere Fairytales

Dark and sinful, these stories are from a time long ago. When the gods still walked the earth and when monsters wore the skin of men and when a bride could still be built out of wishes and blood. In a time and place far, far away...

Yandere Movie Week

A fun side project where we watch and review seven yandere movies! What can you expect? Popcorn (obviously) but also in-depth reviews, breakdowns of yandere tropes in cinema, and short fics inspired by the movies. Are you ready for plenty of psycho men, shirtless shower scenes, and constant torment? If so, get your snacks ready, bring out your favourite dubiously legal pirating website and let Yandere Movie Week begin!

Yandere Cyberpunk Fairytales

A futuristic retelling of all the classic bed time stories. The world you know spans the stars. Cities soaked in neon and tropical rain. Neo Direwolves and cybernetic implants. Drug lords and oligarchs. But some stories will always repeat themselves.

Misery - A Yandere Short Story

Based on Misery by Stephen King [Currently ongoing] Stuck in the mountains, you foolishly decide to drive through a blizzard. The man that drags you from your wrecked car brings you to his cabin and patches you up. But as the snow piles up outside, you start to suspect that your rescuer's intentions may be far from pure.

Art & Doodles

Want a masterpiece of yandere art? Look no further!

You can also check out my moodboards, writing advice, blog recs and upcoming works.

Want to know if you missed any updates? Check out my monthly writing wrapped.

Current Anons: 🍪, 🐰, ♥️, 🐧, 🧷, 📌, 📮, ⚙ 🤖, 🍯, 🦚, 💵, ⭐, 💗, 🌙, 🐳, 💣 ,🌷, 🪩 voidic yapping anon, 🌸, 🌊, 🐉, 🎀, 🍒, 🚦, 🪷, anglingforlevels, 🥀, 🪐,☀️, 🕺, ✨🐾

[wonton4rang]

how would bnd legal line react to them making you squirt for the first time?

(love your acc btw!😙)

hiii <33 ofc !! (I luv yours too💖💖)

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pairing: bnd legal line (everyone but woonhak)

warnings: smut +18, squirting, unprotected sex (do not try at home !!) and I think that's about it.

summary: how would bnd legal line (everyone but woonhak) react to them making you squirt for the first time.

note: please send something about woonhak :') i want to write something about him so bad but i am ✨blank✨, what do y'all think about high school crush with ot6?

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sungho; he is such a giver I'm afraid, his top priority would be make you enjoy the whole thing, that doesn't mean that he won't take care of himself, though. so when you guys are having some intimacy for the first time in a while, you are very overwhelmed, he could tell by the way you were moaning his name into his ear and pressing your hands in his wide naked back. you were so sensitive that your pussy kept clenching around his dick, making him leave the crook of your neck to look into your eyes without stopping his pace "you good, baby? feeling good?" he would try to reassure himself and when you nodded and let out a cry he got his answer. "please, sungho, I'm going to-" your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he just kept going while attentively listening to you. "I'm coming, I'm coming, sungho, pull out" but he knew that was not true, not with the way your arms grabbed around his neck and your hips started to thrust up. but when you actually came your eyes flew open and sungho's did too, his movements coming to a stop while he looked at your eyes and the place where you two were linked. "I'm so sorry-", "you squirted?" you got nervous because you thought he might get angry for the mess, he was such a clean person so you stuttered before he continued "did you feel that good, y/n? you look so pretty right now" his smile made your muscles relax and you just laughed a bit, he helped you get clean because he just noticed that he also came after that event so you both just went to bed afterwards.

riwoo; i honestly think he would be soooo proud of himself, he is so sweet but i can see him being very into passionate sex, touching your body with precise hands to reach every single nerve that drives you crazy. he would not be a very vocal one when it comes to talking but I can definitely seeing him smiling at you with so much appreciation that it just melts you, giving in to his touches and opening your legs more so that your pelvis can touch in more depth. he's so into you (quite literally) that he doesn't even feels when you squirt all over him, he can only hear your moans and cries while your pussy clenched around him and made him cum too. "baby, I'm so sorry" you muttered when you saw him looking down with panicked eyes, riwoo's eyes pawned to yours and he said "I'm so sorry, I came inside, babe, I-" but he couldn't even finish the sentence when he added "you came so hard?" he was slightly surprised but again, his chest inflated in a way his shame went away after you reassured him that it was fine that he came inside. he kissed you so softly and whispered against your lips just how much he loved you and how intrigued he was with this new discovery.

jaehyun; you guys would be touching each other in his bed, kissing since half an hour ago and both of your bottoms already left behind, your left hand was jerking him off, his middle and anular finger pushed deep inside your soaked cunt while his tongue played yours in a way only him could. you had your eyes shut closed and your legs started to shake before you tried to close them too, the action alerted jaehyun who cut the kiss to look at your blushed face "did I hurt you?" he softly asked before trying to pull his fingers out of you but your hand stopped him while you shake your head in denial "it feels so good but I'm scared I might... you know... make a mess" jaehyun did not understood what you meant by that right away, only picking up on it a few seconds later when you lowered your head. "oh... oh! if you say it because of me, I don't mind! in fact, that'd be great" he encouraged you "but your sheets" a shush made you silent and his lips were on yours again for a short fraction of time before his fingers flicked up inside of your pussy "you can soak my sheets, baby, please cum for me" and the way his fingers moved in your insides was crazy, the tips of his digits constantly hitting that bulge of nerves when he curled them, his lips making you breathless and your own hand being thrusted into when you couldn't concentrate on moving it anymore. it was so hot, so exciting, your tights got tense and you tried to close your legs again but it was useless, he made you come with the last two thrusts and the way his hand and leg got wet with your squirt made you feel ashamed, just so he could kiss you again with that dumb smile in his lips "you think we could do this again sometime?" you just punched him playfully in his shoulder before he helped you up and led you to the bathroom, giving you some towels so you could shower before cuddling all night in his couch.

taesan; shower sex with taesan was not a weird thing, in fact, you guys did it pretty often since you both came tired from work but still wanted to share some intimacy so you showered together and one thing took to the other. like now, one of your legs being held up by your boyfriend, your arms holding on his shoulders and you two kissing like two addicts, so desperately that it was almost obscene, loud kissing noises coming out of your mouths when your tongues met each other. "can i go in, love?" you would just nod and resume the kiss, your pussy pulsating when you felt taesan's dick slide through your folds and then press in your wet entrance. "please, baby, go in" he loved when you were so sensitive for him, so willing, so ready, it turned him on like a flame, so he just pushed inside, throwing his head back with a low groan, his wet hair flicked back when he came back to face your contorned face, a grin on his lips that made you wanna cry. "hold on tight, pretty, i can't take it slow right now" and you certainly did not needed him be slow, so when he started thrusting into you, you just let him, your boobs wiggling with every thrust he gave you, feeling him so deep made you dizzy. "tae... slow down a bit" but he didn't want to, and neither did you. "just a little bit more, y/n, please" and how could you say no when you were feeling so good it made you drool all over your chin, only to be kissed aggressively by your pretty boyfie before you could feel him lowering his body so he could grab your other leg and pick you up, he pushed your legs up and practically pressed you against the shower wall. that friction between his pelvis and yours was all you needed before squirting all over him, his dick falling off your cunt only for him to lick his lips at the sight and push back in, making you gush and moan loudly about how overstimulated you felt. "you're so good for me, love, I'm almost done, just a little more" but when he finally came with two harsh thrusts, you squirted again, making him laugh a little before letting you go back in your feet. "good thing that we decided to do this here, you made such a mess" he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and kissed you softly, he was not surprised but he was definitely going to induce you more in order to see this show again.

leehan; it was a great idea for you guys to live in an apartment complex with pool, especially when your house was the penthouse and had a personal pool and jacuzzi in the rooftop. it was great for spending time or even to invite your friends over, but leehan had something else in mind for today, inviting you to swim with him at 12am and excusing himself by saying that there was too much sun in the afternoon. you didn't mind, it was just a few steps until the rooftop and you liked to swim AND spend time with your boyfriend so it was a win win. as soon as you guys got there he jumped in the pool, making you giggle while you turned around it to sit in the edge before jumping in but his hands stopped you when they held your tights from inside the pool "you look so pretty with that bikini" he managed to whisper with his low voice, his fingers grabbing around the waistband of your panties and pulling a little bit before you stopped his hand with yours "what are you doing?" you looked around a little panicked "you know this is a public area, right?" a shrug was your answer before he came closer to you, his chin resting in your tights before he spoke up "let me eat you out, y/n" you could never get used to how direct his words were, a blush running through your cheeks as you tried to talk him out of it but when leehan had something fixed in his mind, it was useless. so that's how you ended up with your legs spread open in the edge of the pool while he eagerly ate you out, his tongue wetting your whole cunt, flicking your clit for a bit before slowly and deeply thrusting into your gapping hole with his tongue. he kept placing open mouth kisses in your pussy and he now got his right thumb to play with your clit, his other hand keeping your legs open. it was all so sexy, especially when you grabbed his wet long hair to press him more into your pussy and practically grind on his face, and he just let you, he loved every single thing that was happening. but when he got two fingers in you without notice, you opened your eyes wide, receiving a kiss in your lips when he jumped out the pool to lay you down in the floor instead, kissing your lips with hunger and madly curling his fingers to hit your spot, needless to say that you came undone a few seconds after the switch, squirting all over his hand only for him to leave your lips and kiss your pussy instead, tasting your squirt with some satisfied moans against your cunt that sent shivers through your spine due to the vibrations. "stop doing that" you told him, you were just so ashamed for everything right now. "you think you can do it again? I want you to cum in my mouth now" yes, your boyfriend was crazy and he was not going to rest until you squirted all over his pretty face.

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this progressively got longer but I ain't even regretting, hope y'all enjoyed~ 🫶

[moondustbaby]

Letter F for CEO!Rafe please (nsfw az)

F – Favorite position

ceo!Rafe x nanny/gf!Reader

✨1k celebration post✨

mdni 18+

Rafe swears missionary isn’t boring when it’s you.

When your legs are wrapped around his waist. When your arms are clinging to his shoulders. When your pretty, wrecked face is tilted up toward his and there’s nowhere—nowhere—for you to look but at him.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he whispers, rocking into you slow and deep. “Always so fuckin’ good for me.”

Your lips part, eyes fluttering as your walls clench around him. His cock drags against every sensitive spot inside you like he knows your body better than you do. And he does.

He keeps it slow. On purpose. Just to watch you fall apart.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, one hand cradling your cheek. “Don’t look away.”

You moan, hips bucking up toward his. He grabs your thigh and presses it higher around his waist, sinking deeper into the heat of you. You’re soaked. You’re trembling. You’re already close.

He doesn’t stop talking.

“Love seein’ your face when I fuck you,” he breathes, nose brushing yours. “Love feelin’ you under me, all soft and warm, takin’ every inch like it’s what you’re made for.”

“Rafe—” you gasp.

He leans down and kisses you—slow, messy, like he can’t get enough.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he says between kisses. “Cum for me. Wanna feel it.”

You break. Writhing, gasping, moaning into his mouth as your body clamps down on his cock and you pulse around him again and again.

Rafe groans, burying himself deep and stilling when he finishes inside you. His forehead presses to yours.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” he whispers. “Never.”

a/n: i know some people think missionary is boring but ceo!rafe?? rafe mf cameron?? he wants to be on top of you, in you, looking in your eyes while he tells you how pretty you look takin’ his cock. thank you for the request nonnie 🫶🏻

♥️ lani

nsfw a-z

✨1k celebration schedule✨

[mariasont]

I Want It In Ink - S.R

a/n: the tattoo in the pic obviously isn’t what the reader has but just imagine that ✨placement✨

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: spencer finds your secret tattoo… with his initials

warnings: suggestive content, alcohol consumption, reader has a tat with spencers initials kinda delulu but also real, secret relationship, established relationship

wc: 0.7k

You were blissfully unaware of the chaos you had caused Spencer. There you stood, not doing anything particularly special, yet you were making his head spin. It became glaringly clear why fraternizing within the office was frowned upon; concentrating on work proved to be a Herculean task when his gaze incessantly sought you out.

Currently, you were stretching upwards, fingertips grazing the spine of a book on a higher shelf, your shirt hitching up, revealing a sliver of your hip and stomach. But what captured his attention was not the skin—it was the ink he had never seen before. He had prided himself on seeing every inch of your body through an eidetic lens, yet here was a price of you he had somehow missed.

Spencer squinted, realizing he might need a new prescription for his contacts, but even with his questionable eyesight he was able to see just what was tattooed into your perfect skin.

Maybe it was temporary. But no, the subtle reddish halo encircling it and the inflammation most definitely indicated healing, and that it was, in fact, permanent.

Spencer stood so quickly that his mug nearly toppled over, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the edge. He closed the distance between you in seconds, his hand covering the tattooed area as if he could soak up the ink into his own hand, not that he’d necessarily want to.

He was startled by the reaction he had to it. The swirling warmth in his chest, the burning of his ears, the slight tightening of his pants.

“Christ,” he hissed, close enough for the word to brush against your ear. He stood at your side, affecting an interest in the printed words on the shelves as his palm stayed glued to your hip. “When did you get that?”

“Get what?” you asked, your focus elsewhere as you made another attempt at the book.

He intercepted, plucking it from the shelf and pressing it into your hands, his fingers discreetly pulling your shirt down just a fraction in the process.

You were surely going to send him into cardiac arrest.

Spencer casted a quick look over his shoulder, thanking the gods that the team was engrossed in a lively discussion about Morgan’s dating habits. “The sizable S.R on your hip.”

“Oh, that…,” you mumbled, peering down as though it were a mere afterthought, oblivious to the way his heart leapt out of his chest just to think about it. “I was kind of drunk, and—hey, Penelope, do you remember—,”

Spencer quickly covered your mouth with his hand, your words turning into a muted hum against his palm as he steered you into the break room.

“Do you realize the statistical improbability of keeping our relationship a secret if you announce my initials are on you to the whole team?”

You laugh, easing his hand away from your mouth, but not releasing it entirely, letting your entwined hands dangle at your sides.

"What? It's not like it says property of Dr. Reid."

"It might as well."

"That can be my next one." He didn’t hate the thought of that.

You were teasing him now and he could feel the smile creeping into his face. However, it quickly waned as he saw the unease on yours. Your voice was much quieter as you spoke, “are you mad?”

I could never be mad at you.

"No, I-well, I was just surprised is all," he clarified, his fingers instinctively adjusting his glasses before releasing they weren’t there and moving to his nose instead. He squeezed your hand. “I like it.”

"You like it?"

"I like it."

He wasn't lying. He liked it. A lot. Once the initial shock wore off he realized just how much he liked it. Did he mention he liked it?

His fingers moved from his nose, slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace the outline of the tattoo, already having it etched in memory. You winced.

"Does it hurt?"

"Just sore. Nothing I can't handle," you said, your shoulders rising in a dismissive shrug.

Your nose wrinkled slightly, and your gaze met his from beneath your lashes.

"Atta girl."

You licked your lips, pulling your bottom lip through your teeth as you shoved his shoulder just enough to make him clamp down harder on your hip.

"I can give you a better look at it, later tonight?"

He cleared his throat, eyes flickering to the door as his hand traveled from yours to your neck, squeezing slightly as a warning.

"Looking forward to it."

He gave your hip a small pat before walking back out the door. He had a tattoo appointment to make.