mr-sol

[mr-sol]

Size kink with Simon Riley (nsfw)

There is little Simon likes more than being bigger than you. (Regardless of your size babes).

He's a ginormous man. Extremely tall, extremely broad, muscled, strong. And God, he loves having you know it.

He fucks you from behind, groaning at how your pussy has to stretch so much to fit his thick cock.

Huge hand wrapped around your neck while he fucks you, his other hand on your hip as he thrusts hard and deep. “Oh, baby. Look at you, struggling to take me, hm?”

You whimper, trembling. He's so big, so so big. You can feel his strength, the sheer size of him driving you crazy.

Without breaking a sweat, Simon pulls out, flips you over and slips his cock back into your cunt. He loves manhandling you, loves the way you have no time to react as he just puts you in the position he wants.

“You love it when I just toss you around, don't you? Such a dirty girl,” he says,laughing lowly, as one of his huge hands moves to press down on your lower stomach, making you feel even fuller. His thumb moves to play with your clit, making your pussy clench him tighter.

“Fuck. Fuck, pussy's too tight, baby. Oh, God. You gotta let up, or I'm gonna come in this pretty cunt. If you make me come, I'm gonna make you suck my cock, and I know your pretty little mouth struggles with that, hm? Wouldn't wanna make your gorgeous lips struggle to fit my cock, baby.”

But you just can't help it. He's just so much bigger, and you just can't fit him. No matter how much you try.

And he knows it. And he'll take advantage of it.

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Taglist

@booboobear-12 @lilychristine01 @smzyyx @mxsatorisimp @akkahelenaa @crypticlxrsh @m-0-ssy-m-3-ss @actualpoppy @dawnnightshade666 @dethspllz @massivecandycrusade @mentally-unstable-hottie13 @shushyoudontknowme @readinggeeklmao @despairingrat @h0lydrag0ns @poseidonsbichild @Iiidiaaag @sillylittlereader @vanillarosekiss @jangles-the-clown @lem-hhn @doubledizzy22 @http-bell @readingthingy @velvetdimond @thegaywitchofwhimsy @weaniebeaniebaby @havoc973 @lucienofthelakes @keiminds @8pmismybedtime @i-wanabe-yours

*if you wanna be added to my Ghost taglist, lmk ❤️

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Blog masterlist

[mr-sol]

Could you also tag me too? x

Corruption kink with boyfriend Simon Riley, part 4 (nsfw)

Part 3 here

Slowly, Simon is getting you addicted to his touch.

Tonight, he’s kissing your lips as you two lie on the bed, his hand already wandering down your body as he whispers, “Lemme look at you.”

“What?” you ask gently, lips grazing his.

“I wanna see your naked body, baby. Please.” He holds your gaze, can see your hesitance. “I promise I’ll love it, honey. I won’t judge,” he assures.

You nod slightly and he’s already getting to work. He takes your shirt off, has to keep himself from ripping your bra off. Next, your shorts and panties come off. And he kneels there, at the foot of the bed, eyes taking in your naked form.

God, you’re so beautiful. You’re so perfect. So amazing.

When he sees you squirming under his gaze, he grins. “Don’t you go gettin’ shy on me, baby. Ain’t nothing you need to hide, you’re an absolute vision.”

His rough hands map out your body, feeling every inch. He squeezes your tits, fingers roll your nipples. And then he’s going down.

He spreads your legs, finds you soaked. The way your perfect pussy opens up for him, spread out in invitation. How can he not accept?

He thumbs at your clit gently, relishing the way you whine and writhe. His middle finger circles your entrance, watching your cunt clench around nothing, and then he gently pushes in.

Your body tenses and you gasp. He’s quick to reassure you. “Shh, shh. It’s okay. I promise it ain’t gonna hurt, okay? You’re worked up enough it won’t hurt. Trust me, baby. Trust me, I’d never hurt you,” he whispers as his finger slides in deeper. Your warm, wet gummy walls clench around his thick digit as he pushes in to the knuckle.

“That’s a good girl. Feel good?”

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly, chest heaving, eyes shut tight.

“Gonna fuck this pretty cunt with my fingers baby,” he says lowly, and then he’s thrusting his finger in and out of you while his thumb presses against your clit.

You respond immediately, clearly delighted with the new sensation, and Simon is losing it. He physically cannot handle it.

So, he reaches down with his free hand, palming his cock through his pants to find some relief, as he fingers you.

Your walls clench tight around him, your breathing grows heavier and you’re whimpering and squealing, and he knows you’re close. When you come, you clench around his middle finger tightly, and Simon is too far gone. He comes in his pants, feeling his sticky load staining at the fabric, but he couldn’t care less.

“You’re such a good girl, baby. My perfect girl with the perfect cunt. Fuck, if only you knew the things you do to me…”

---

Taglist

@booboobear-12 @lilychristine01 @smzyyx @mxsatorisimp @akkahelenaa @crypticlxrsh @m-0-ssy-m-3-ss @actualpoppy @dawnnightshade666 @dethspllz @massivecandycrusade @mentally-unstable-hottie13 @shushyoudontknowme @readinggeeklmao @despairingrat @h0lydrag0ns @poseidonsbichild @sillylittlereader @vanillarosekiss @jangles-the-clown @lem-hhn @doubledizzy22 @http-bell @readingthingy @velvetdimond @thegaywitchofwhimsy @weaniebeaniebaby @havoc973 @lucienofthelakes @keiminds @8pmismybedtime @i-wanabe-yours @happysmappy @jp600fox @moonbluff @hobiebrownenthusiast @dragons-flare @canyonmooncreations @foxintheferns @dreamland08 @fertilise-me @dravenskye @hobiebrownenthusiast @liidiaaag @viviansvault3 @alwayzmsbehavn @nicolebarnes @tysukier @icouldntthinkofanythingclever  @cd-mr @peculiaraussie @chaieanne @idiotic-nerd @rafaelacallinybbay @glittersparklebutt @mushr90 @calisnewworld @kylies-love-letter @your-rubenesque-bunny @zombiecuvt @laduenadelswing @your-local-dead-girl @bubbyprincesse 

*if you wanna be added to my Ghost taglist, lmk 💛

---

Blog masterlist

[mr-sol]

Simon and his habit of fucking you to sleep.

(Hear me out)

It was honestly accidental the first time, he’d gotten back from a deployment and whilst he was desperate to feel you…to be close to you and re-familiarise himself with the heat of your cunt…

He was also tired. Cant blame the man…

So the first time it happened, it was an accident. The slow, steady rock of his hips whilst his built frame was completely covering you was honestly enough to have you both nod off. His thick cock nestled in your cunt until you’d both woken up that morning…

And then after that…it happened a little too often.

He’d come back, strip off his gear and join you in bed. Getting settled behind you as his arms would wrap around your waist. Tugging you back into him with a tired and low hum of affection.

He’d lift your leg, just enough to slip into your cunt…he’d let out this sigh, almost relieved once the hot wet walls of your cunt wrap around him.

“Fuck…missed you.”

A calloused hand would grip your hip, keeping you completely pressed back into him as he’d slowly roll his hips back and forth. Gentle in the movement.

It’s that slow rhythm that would end up lulling you both to sleep, his arms wrapped around you, head in the crook of your neck.

But he’d always make up for it in the mornings.

It was also how he’d wake you up, his cock sinking in and out of your cunt gently at first…but when you let out that familiar moan as you start to wake up…he’ll move a little rougher. Holding your leg up properly so he can reach that sweet spot like always.

“S’good f’me…fuck…”

Neither of you would leave the bed until he’s made you cum at least two or three times to make up for it. But no matter what he’d be cleaning you up with his tongue each time.

[mr-sol]

mmmm..PLS HELP THIS BROUGHT ME BACK FROM THE DEAD

i can’t get out of my head simon’s thick hands holding your thighs apart, spreading you out and open with his body towering over you. shoving his thick cock into you so slowly as you whine and writhe beneath him because he’s too big.

“s’lright, doll. ya’ knew i was big. th’s shouldn’t be a surprise to ya’.”

all while it feels like he’s tearing your pussy part from how thick and long he is. pussy pulsing and fighting against the intrusion and also desperately sucking him deeper.

“jus’ relax, love. let me in. let daddy in hmm.”

[mr-sol]

Hii, I adore your writing. Can you please do one where Joelxreader had a fight, he didn't feel good enough, old and went to sleep angry. He woke up in the middle of the night, didn't see you there and even noticed your side was cold, which meant you hadn't been there for a while. He panicked and thought you left him.

In the end he did find you in the house and you made up. Some fluff please, smut if you want. Thanks :)

Only You

Word Count: 1,830

Tags: Angst, insecurity, emotional hurt/comfort, panic, soft making up, light smut (mildly descriptive, f!reader, oral f receiving), age-gap themes, language

AN: Thank you so much for this request! Hope you like it! As always, my inbox is always open for requests for anything specific you wanna read <3

My Masterlist

“You can’t just shut me out every time something scares you, Joel!”

Your voice cracked as it bounced off the walls of the cabin. Joel didn’t flinch. He stood near the table, arms crossed, face like stone.

“I ain’t shut you out.”

“You have,” you insisted, eyes shining. “For days. You’ve been in your head, pushing me away, barely talking, barely looking at me. And when I try to ask—when I try to love you through it—you act like I’m the one hurting you.”

Joel’s jaw flexed.

You took a step closer. “What is going on?”

His voice was low. Bitter. “What’s goin’ on is that you’re finally seein’ me for what I am.”

You blinked. “Joel—”

“I’m tired, baby. Tired of pretendin’ like this is easy. Like I ain’t constantly waitin’ for the other shoe to drop. You’re young, you’re kind, you got a whole damn life ahead of you, and I’m just—” He shook his head. “I’m just some old man clingin’ to somethin’ that don’t belong to him.”

Your heart shattered right in your chest.

“Don’t do that,” you whispered. “Don’t take what we have and twist it into somethin’ ugly just ‘cause you’re scared.”

“I ain’t twistin’ nothin’. I’m tellin’ the truth.”

“Well, it’s a shitty truth,” you snapped, tears brimming. “And it isn’t mine.”

Joel stared for a beat—then turned. “I’m done talkin’.”

He walked out.

Not a slammed door. Not a final word. Just silence. Like he’d already decided.

You stood there in the stillness, breath shaky, limbs buzzing with frustration. He didn’t even look back.

You didn’t go after him.

Your hands trembled as you grabbed a blanket from the closet and curled up on the couch. You couldn’t cry again. You were too angry. Too heartbroken. Joel had this way of building walls and convincing himself he was protecting you by doing it. But all it did was make you feel like a stranger in your own home.

You stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, blinking up at the darkened beams as the clock ticked on. He didn’t come back out. You didn’t go in.

Eventually, exhaustion claimed you.

Joel’s eyes snapped open.

The room was pitch black, save for the faint glow of moonlight through the curtains. His body was still warm with sleep, but something felt wrong.

He reached out instinctively for you—cold sheets. Empty space.

His hand searched again, heart beginning to race. Your side of the bed wasn’t just empty—it had been that way for a while.

“Fuck,” he muttered, bolting upright.

The fight came rushing back in pieces—your voice trembling, the look in your eyes when he said you deserved better. The way he walked away like a coward, thinking silence would protect you both.

But now?

Now all he felt was dread.

“Baby?” he called into the dark, voice rasping from sleep and guilt. No answer.

He got up fast, pulling on the first hoodie he found and moving through the house, bare feet padding softly across the wood floor.

No sign of you in the kitchen.

Bathroom light off.

Coat still hanging by the door, shoes untouched.

His chest clenched.

Maybe you left anyway. Maybe it had taken a few hours to decide, but you realized he wasn’t worth it after all.

He deserved that.

But it would ruin him.

The fear took over, clawing up his throat as he stumbled into the living room—and stopped.

There you were.

Curled into a ball on the couch, blanket twisted around your legs, a crease between your brows even in sleep.

His knees nearly gave out with relief.

He moved slowly, crouching beside the couch and brushing a piece of hair away from your forehead.

You stirred at the touch, eyes fluttering open.

“Joel?” Your voice was groggy, confused.

His face was crumpled in guilt. “I thought you were gone.”

You sat up a little. “Why would I leave?”

Joel looked down. “’Cause I gave you every damn reason to.”

There it was—cracked and raw. All his worry, all his anger, all his fear that you were too good for him, poured out like floodwater from a broken dam.

You reached for his hand. “I needed space, Joel. I wasn’t leavin’. I was hurt.”

“I know,” he rasped, voice thick. “I—fuck—I didn’t mean any of it. You were right. I pulled away and then got mad when you noticed. That ain’t fair.”

You squeezed his fingers gently.

“I didn’t want to sleep without you,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “Woke up and you weren’t there and... I lost it.”

His eyes were glassy. The vulnerability in them made your chest ache.

“Come here,” you said softly, shifting over to give him space on the couch.

He settled beside you, slow and careful like he didn’t think he deserved to. You pulled the blanket over both of you.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice barely audible against your temple. “I feel like I ain’t enough sometimes. Like you’ll wake up one day and see what I see.”

You looked up at him, gently guiding his face to meet your gaze.

“You wanna know what I see?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“I see a man who has survived things most people wouldn’t. I see someone who carries so much pain but still chooses love. I see someone who protects what he loves with everything he’s got.”

Joel’s eyes shone in the low light.

“I see someone I want. Someone I love. Exactly as he is.”

A shaky breath escaped him. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” you whispered. “Stop sayin’ that.”

You kissed him then—soft and slow, mouths moving like they’d missed each other all night.

Joel deepened it, a low sound escaping from the back of his throat. His hand settled on your waist, pulling you closer.

You climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling him beneath the blanket, hands cupping his face.

He kissed you like he was trying to make up for all the words he didn’t know how to say.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered against your lips.

“You didn’t.”

“Never wanna go to sleep mad again.”

You smiled, touching your nose to his. “Then don’t be an ass next time.”

That earned a breathy laugh from him. “Fair.”

His hands slid under your shirt, rough palms skimming the soft skin of your back. You shivered, not from the cold, but from the way his touch still made your stomach flutter.

You rocked gently against him, your forehead resting against his, heartbeats syncing in the quiet.

“Let me show you,” he murmured, voice husky. “Let me show you how much I need you.”

You nodded, voice caught in your throat.

Joel kissed down your neck, warm lips lingering at your pulse point. One hand slipped between your thighs, fingers teasing gently through your sleep shorts.

You let out a soft moan as he touched you, his name a breath on your lips.

“You always so wet for me, baby?” he murmured, fingers stroking slow, deliberate.

You whimpered. “Only for you.”

He slid a finger inside, then another, curling them just right. His thumb circled your clit with practiced care, watching your face the whole time.

“You’re perfect,” he said, voice gravel and reverence. “Every part of you.”

You bucked against his hand, breath catching. “Joel—”

“Shh, I got you,” he whispered, kissing you again, slower this time. “Wanna make you feel good.”

Your body trembled as he worked you open, fingers stroking deep until your thighs shook around him.

“Cum for me, baby,” he said against your neck. “Let go.”

You fell apart with a soft cry, clinging to him as the wave washed over you.

He held you through it, murmuring sweet nothings as you came down, pressing kisses to your shoulder, your cheek, your lips.

When your breathing slowed, you looked up at him. “Can we go to bed now?”

He smiled. “Yeah, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

Joel carried you back to the bedroom like you weighed nothing, setting you gently under the covers before crawling in beside you.

You curled into his side, his arm wrapped tight around your waist.

This time, the sheets were warm on both sides.

[mr-sol]

Simon sees no reason why there is a vibrator hiding in one of the cabinets - he has fucked you deep and raw, all through the night and arched through the begining of dawn where you weren't even awake.

Sometimes your knees around your head, sometimes his hands digging in your flesh, sometimes his lips swallowing you completely while his cock fills your inside with hot dripping cum, sometimes when he holds you in his chokehold and breeds your bareback, sometimes tenderly in his arms, in all ways.

Why would you even need this?

He eats you out like his life depends on it, on his knees face buried deep in your cunt, sucking on your clit and lapsing in your hot juices.

What irks him more is the hiding state in which he finds your pink vibrator.

Doesn't he makes you feel so good?

It unnerves him, which is why Simon doesn't cater to your ushered moans, begging him to fuck you. "plea...si-" you wiggle back your naked ass, while pressed flat on the desk. "fuck me, nyea-" arching at his touch.

His sadist finger trailing down your naked spine, cum marked by your orgasm of earlier. His fingertips wetting against your dripping pussy oh fuck, you're so hot - and he sucks in one sharp breath, you are so intoxicating, his doll.

"feelin' good, aye?" Simon rubs two fingers along your sore, puffy lips. He has been it for a long time, hours, he guesses, already has made you cum with four fingers piston fucking you relentlessly until your toes curled which were hanging above the floor.

Your knees are weak and you don't know about the vibrator he has with him. “please...mmm, simon.” you whine.

Simon's palm fall flat on your ass with a loud yelp, before resting back on the small of your back keeping you flat against his office desk, the only thing supporting you.

Your own fingers curled at the edge holding for dear life. "Si...baby..ah, ah" again his one deft digit slips inside your warm folds.

You pout, overwhelmed, "I N-need yo..your dick."

Simon smirks and pulls out his sticky wet finger, marveling at it, ofcourse lovie, but he has plans for now, and with a smug look in his eyes he hisses, painfully hard and oh, how easy it would be to fuck you like this, dripping, hot, and begging for him.

But Simon's not an easy man, is he?

He pressures you further against the desk before you start wiggling, "Just there lovie." he smiles, and goes on to put blunt round head of the vibrator against your clit.

Before you could know, because ofcourse your walls know what Simon's cock like, how he feels inside and over you, "Thats no-"

Simon starts the vibrator on its highest setting, buzzing against your sore pussy.

"-Si...nyeah..oh god, oh fuck, fuck," your mouth is incoherent, back at the powerful sensation pulsing inside you.

He doesn't even have to see what setting his thumb is on, your ass doing erratic movements tells well enough. "mmm, what ya' want lovie?" he massages along your clit, the pink ball glossing with your coating.

"mmph...oh fuck, oh fuck m-me baby." you mumble, fucked out of your head.

Anything for his love.

Masterlist

[mr-sol]

simon who always guides your hand to palm at his cock when you guys kiss. tells you you’re makin’ ‘em feel s’good. that that’s what good girlfriends do.

loves feeling your quiet little gasps against his mouth as he throbs in your hand, as his thick, heavy cock fills your palm.

and the sweet little noise you make when he cums all over your fingers. only to wrap his fingers around your own to have you stroke him again :(

[mr-sol]

elaborating on this, but older bf!simon is so fucking mean dude

will get you all slick and wet right before you go out with your friends but won’t let you cum. does it bc he knows you’ll come home early so he can finish what he started :(

is also like super condescending. when ur explaining something that he already knows he’ll stare down at you, arms crossed over his chest and go, “oh yeah? tell me more.” which you already know means he knows what ur talking about

likes to grab on your face to make sure you’re paying attention to him. cheeks squished between his fingers, “ya’ listenin’?” only when you nod your head will he let go.

likes to cage you in against him. against the wall, the counter, your bed. likes hearing the way you struggle to breathe as his cock pummels into your tight little hole as his weight falls over you. “s’okay, baby. just breathe.” even though you can’t 😕

[mr-sol]

Munch! Simon.

It’s not something he exactly hides.

Whether it’s passing little comments, or simply the way he could spend hours devouring your cunt.

Simon has never hidden the fact that he enjoys eating you out, almost to a sadistic level.

He was gentle at first, learning your body.

But eventually, he simply couldn’t get enough.

Not when you look so pretty riding his tongue, not when you taste so good that he can’t even help but moan against your slick cunt with every pass of his tongue.

Which was what led you to the first bout of overstimulation.

He’d been down there for nearly 10 minutes already, gentle, loving. Exploring your cunt like he’d never tasted it before.

And when you came, he kept going.

“Mm, sweet girl. Gimme more.”

His tongue would find your clit, lightly flicking over it again and again earning that addicting choked sound out of you that had him gripping your thighs a little tighter.

And when your second orgasm came, he groaned into your cunt. Lapping it up like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

“Another…c’mon baby…let me give you more.”

He’d let his tongue trail down, sinking into your clenching hole only to bring it back up to your overstimulated clit. Moaning when you bucked from the sensation.

“You can take it…I know you can…so good for me.”

Over and over, his tongue would flick your clit, briefly sucking on it which only served to make his eyes roll back downright pathetically when you pull his hair a little too tight. His hand trailing down, two thick digits breaching your sensitive hole and curling into that sweet spot that had you squirting before you could even realise.

His head would pop up, eyes as dark as the damp mud outside…that shit eating smirk on his face as he curled his fingers into that spot over and over. Release gushing out of you until you physically couldn’t take it.

“Alright…alright sweet girl…s’okay…I got ya.”

——————————-

@whore4romance this was the one I meant to tag you in 😭

[mr-sol]

simon laughs against your ear if you try to scramble away from his cock. like you had just been begging him, not even 30 minutes prior, to fuck you silly.

well, now you’re gonna take it. :(

your back to his chest, legs kicked apart. one of his hands has both of yours pinned under his, and the other has your hips up for him to push his cock into you.

pathetic little noises leave your lips as he ruts into you, over and over again. his weight crushing against you and knocking the air right of your lungs.

you’re babbling incoherently, pleading for something. and he’s not even sure if you know what you’re asking for.

hips stuttering forward as the pleasure grows too intense, your orgasm coiling low in your belly and white hot pleasure zipping up your spine. but it’s simon dragging you back and forth on his cock that sends you hurtling towards your third orgasm.

his thick, pearly seed filling you up not long after.

and it’s not until you’re boneless and whining does he let up. pressing kisses down your spine and soft praises.

[mr-sol]

thinking about jerking off a butch or masc (^o^) but it’s a double sided dildo stuffed in her hole so every time u stroke her all u hear is her pretty little moans nd grunts bout how she’s gonna cum all over u and ur hand OH MY GODDDDD 😵‍💫

Js imagining her wrapping her hand around mine as I stroke her slowly grip tightening around me as I slide it deeper inside of her

And when she’d get close she’d become a whimpering mess throwing her head back, fucking herself into my hand as her hole leaks around her fake cock

but idk maybe I’m crazy ☹️☹️ butch bottoms wya

Also this was somewhat inspired by this post I seen on my tl😢 genuinely FOAMING at the mouth ok.

[mr-sol]

need a femme to jerk me off as I talk dirty to her. fuck baby you’re making me so hard. you look so pretty on your knees with your hands around my cock. no you can’t lick it. i know you want to but you have to wait. wait until daddy says so. oh I know babygirl you’re so needy. you want my cock in your mouth. you waited all day for me to come home and take care of you. you just wanna be a good girl for me. you just want me to take out my stress on your holes. look at you jerking me off with that hungry look in your eyes. can you stick your tongue out for me babygirl? open your mouth. do it for daddy.

[mr-sol]

My Shaylaa (this is beautiful)

I Would Let the World Burn

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Non-superhero!Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You attend a public Avengers event as Bucky’s girlfriend for the first time, but things spiral from nerves to chaos in a matter of seconds. And when you’re caught in the crossfire, Bucky unleashes.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: violence; injury; PTSD elements; emotional distress; explosions; mass panic; allusions to death; protective!Bucky; nobody hurts his girl; seriously, he’s a little feral here

Author’s Note: I need protective Bucky all day and all night omg. Thank you so much, my love, for this absolutely amazing request!! I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The lights are everywhere.

Glinting off skyscraper windows and camera lenses, bouncing off metallic armor and too-white smiles.

The voices are everywhere. They swarm like bees - the press, the fans, the murmuring of people watching people.

The flash of the cameras is a strobe light stinging the back of your eyes. Reporters shout questions like bullets, flinging them past your ears and into your chest.

You feel your lungs shrinking in your ribcage as if they’ve decided you’ve seen enough. Felt enough. Been too much.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in this crowd, not in this dress, not in front of a hundred reporters and their glittering cameras. Not in the spotlight. Not on the arm of the Bucky Barnes.

You tug at the hem of your dress, fingers nervous, breath catching on a sigh you don’t release. Everyone here looks like they belong - as if they were born to walk red carpets and sip sparkling drinks under light that only blinds you. You feel like an ink smudge on a page of golden script.

It’s the first time you’re out in the public with him. The first time the press will capture who’s been speculated to be the former Winter Soldier’s girlfriend.

Bucky spent the night whispering reassurances into your skin, but it seems you should have listened to his words rather than the feeling of his plump lips all over your body.

Your hand is in his, and his thumb traces slow circles against you, metal fingers warm from your skin. His other hand rests lightly on your back. He hasn’t let go of you once.

You look up at him.

And he’s already looking at you.

He looks perfect, tailored, controlled, dangerous in a way that makes people stare too long and then look away even faster.

His hair is swept back tonight, save for one defiant strand that keeps falling across his brow. You keep watching that strand as if it’s a lifeline. Like if you can count how many times it falls, maybe your nerves will shut the hell up.

You know he feels how tense you are.

He frowns, and it’s so soft it nearly breaks your heart. That Bucky Barnes can frown like that. As if you just told him you were fading into dust.

“Hey,” Bucky coos, voice soft, voice low, the world dissolving for a second into nothing but him and you. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You try to nod. But you can’t lie to him. Words jam in your throat, caught somewhere between the beat of your heart and the reality of who he is and who you are not.

“I just-” you manage, but it’s a little shaky, you look around. “I feel out of place.”

Bucky tilts his head, brow still furrowed tightly. “Why?”

You open your mouth, then close it again. Try to explain how it feels to be ordinary in a sea of extraordinary. How it feels to be his, but not one of them. How terrifying it is to not have armor, or training, or anything more than love for a man who could kill with his pinky finger and kindness in his eyes just for you.

Bucky steps in close, crowding the noise out with the breadth of his body, his warmth, the familiarity of his scent - cedar and cold and something quietly him. His nose brushes yours, and it’s stupid how it grounds you.

“I’d rather be anywhere else,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “I’d rather be nowhere. Just me and you. On a rooftop. Under the sheets. In the woods. I don’t care. Just not here. No noise. No cameras. No Stark in a tuxedo with a martini making bad decisions.”

You laugh, and it trembles out of you.

His smile is all softness and secret promises. His eyes are glinting. “But if I have to be here - then I'm glad it’s with you.”

The way he says it - quiet, low, as if it’s something he only ever told the wind - freezes everything inside you and sets it on fire all at once.

You blink, and the fear stutters. Collapses a little. Because it’s not you and the Avengers. It’s you and Bucky.

His lips graze your ear, then your temple, taking his time. He’s not bothered at all by the cameras flashing around you, capturing this moment, capturing the Winter Soldier going soft on his girlfriend.

You want to fall into him. You want to crawl into his chest and live there.

You let out a breath. It’s just beginning to feel okay. The world quiets just for a second.

Then it explodes.

There’s a metallic whine, a rumble like thunder swallowed by stone. The ground jerks beneath your feet as though it’s trying to shake you off. Screams tear through the air. A plume of smoke mushrooms in the sky as fire roars from the far end of the pavilion. People scatter. Glass shatters. Concrete buckles.

You don’t even have time to be shocked when Bucky already reacts.

He pushes you behind him so fast your teeth snap together. He doesn’t look back. His body shields yours, metal arm braced outward, flesh hand pressing you into his back, eyes scanning for threats.

Another explosion cracks through the sky, rips through the atmosphere like an angry god. And right after, the next explosion follows, punched through the sky like a fist made of fire.

You cough, eyes watering. There’s debris. Someone’s car door skitters across the ground like a dead insect. Tony’s suit whirs to life across the square. Natasha’s already sprinting. Sam is in the air.

Bucky is moving, dragging you behind a line of armored cars, his body is coiled with tension, his expression is deadly serious.

“Stay here!” he orders. It’s his soldier voice. Cold steel and no argument. He’s never used this voice on you before.

“Bucky-”

“Y/n, stay down,” he barks sharply, and you nearly flinch. But his tone is not filled with anger. It’s filled with fear. “Do not move until I come back for you.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might break your ribs. Your head is shaking from side to side so fast, you can’t do anything. “No- Bucky-”

He cups your face, his hands stiff, his hold almost rough. He leans in. “Stay. Here,” he growls. “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you.”

His eyes tell you he already is. He will be. But he doesn’t tell you.

He waits for you to nod, although he doesn’t have the time. An almost aggressive kiss is pressed to your mouth, then to your forehead, and he is gone. Thrown into chaos, lost in the smoke and fury and shouts.

You barely register the space he leaves behind. The smoke moves like a creature through the crowd, making people disappear wholly. Somewhere nearby, there’s another explosion. The screams rise again, louder.

You crouch lower, press yourself against the cold steel of the car, try to breathe through the hammer in your chest. You want to do what he said. You try to do what he said.

But the panic moves toward you.

You don’t see where it starts. Just feel it. A shove. A push. Someone collides with your hiding place, someone is behind you and suddenly you’re on the ground. White-hot pain at your side. You fall hard enough to see stars. A sharp ache slices down your shoulder where debris must have caught you. Blood runs hot and slick beneath your dress.

Disoriented, you try to push up on trembling arms but they shake too much, and everything is spinning.

You don’t see the soldier until you turn your head and there’s a flash of metal in his hand. A knife.

“Y/n!”

It’s your name. It’s Bucky’s voice. It’s not a shout. It’s a roar. As if it was ripped out of his chest. As if he’s afraid of what he’ll find when he gets to you.

From fifty yards away, across smoke and bodies and fire, he sees the blood blooming on your sleeve. Sees your fingers twitch as you try to sit up. Sees the man with the knife coming too close.

And he is barreling through the smoke like something unholy, eyes wild, teeth clenched, hands balled to fists. The light behind his eyes just snaps.

He moves as though he’s been set free. No hesitation. No fear. No softness left in him. His face is stone, is fury, is death, is Winter Soldier. His arm gleams under the flames, a ghost of his past resurrected in defense of his present.

Bucky hits the guy with bone-crushing force, enough to send teeth skittering across pavement. A scream echoes once before it’s cut off. Another blow. Another. Fist to face. Elbow to jaw. A crunch that sounds like death and rage all rolled into one. His vibranium hand wraps around the man’s throat, and you swear you see something flash in his eyes - something ancient and broken - before Bucky picks him up and slams him against a crumbling wall. Again. And again.

It’s not strategy. It’s not mercy. It’s pure rage.

Somewhere, Steve yells his name like a warning.

Bucky doesn’t stop.

“Bucky-” you croak, blood warm down your arm. You try to sit up.

In an instant, he turns back to you, easing up on his brutal hold and the soldier crumples to the ground. Bucky’s whole body is tight with adrenaline, his breath sawing in and out as though he ran through a warzone - which he kind of did. For you. His eyes find yours and shatter.

He’s at your side in half a breath.

“Baby,” he whispers, hands on your face, on your shoulder, trembling now. “No, no, no. You weren’t supposed to be- I told you to stay-”

“I tried,” you defend weakly, dizzy. “I didn’t- I’m okay. I think. Just- grazed me, maybe-”

But he’s not hearing you. Not through the panic tearing holes in his composure. His hands flutter, unsure where to land without hurting you more. His voice drops, gravelly and hushed. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Shit, I should’ve known-”

“Hey.” You grab his wrists. “Bucky.”

He stills, but he won’t meet your eyes. Your thumb brushes the inside of his wrist. “I’m okay.”

But he’s too far in his head.

He wraps you in his arms in seconds, cradles you as if you’re made of moonlight and scripture, as if you’re hallowed and half-broken and held together by threads only he can see.

His metal hand supports your back, curved protectively around your spine. His other hand is pressing your legs into his chest.

The darkening sky is still full of smoke and sirens.

Colors smear across the sky like blood in water. Reds and blues. Shouting and static. Flashing lights and fractured ground. Somewhere nearby, someone is screaming. Somewhere farther, something explodes.

But not for him anymore. He doesn’t seem to hear anything. Doesn’t seem to listen to anything other than your breathing, your pulse.

He walks fast, but carefully. Erratic feet cut through rubble, his jaw is locked so hard, his body so rigid, he surely is in pain from holding all that tension. His eyes are storm-dark and unblinking. No one stops him. Not Steve. Not Tony. Not even the medics who see the look on his face and take a cautious step back as though maybe the devil borrowed his bones tonight.

He never trusted any random medic to look you over. It has to be someone he knows.

You whisper his name.

Soft. Breathless. Almost an apology.

And he almost drops to his knees.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps, hoarse and urgent. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You know you are. But he doesn’t.

Your fingers curl in the collar of his suit jacket. His real name - James - lives on your tongue but never quite makes it out because he’s holding you too close, and perhaps saying his name might crush him completely.

He smells like smoke and ash and steel and blood. Your temple is tucked against the curve of his neck, where his pulse thunders beneath the surface. He’s warm and shaking.

He bursts into the quinjet that brought you here like a man on fire, like a man trying to outpace grief, and he yells something sharp. He lays you down - reluctantly, tenderly, surrendering - onto a stretcher, but his hands don’t stop touching you.

He’s a storm with a purpose, and that purpose is you.

You, safe.

You, whole.

You, alive.

“Bucky,” you try to ease, blinking up at him, face pale under flickering emergency lights. “I told you, baby. It’s not that bad.” Your voice is soft. Slow.

“You were on the ground.” His voice cracks.

“I was on the ground for like two seconds-”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It stopped, baby. Okay? There’s no fresh blood.” You are close to whispering.

Bucky doesn’t seem eased, though. He sits beside you. Big body bent in half, elbows on knees, one trembling hand reaching to gently - so, so gently - brush your hair from your forehead.

And then he says it.

“I would’ve burned the whole goddamn city to get to you.” Quiet. Like a vow. Like a confession. Like faith. Like a truth, he doesn’t know how to carry anymore. “I would’ve torn down buildings with my bare hands if I didn’t see your breathing. I don’t care who saw. I don’t care what they think-” his voice breaks, his breaths spill all over his words. “I can’t be okay without you.”

You stare up at him. Your throat is tight, eyes are stinging. Because he doesn’t say things like that. Not often. Not out loud. You see it in his eyes every day, in the way he looks at you, in the way he treats you. But it’s something else entirely to hear him form those words and let his tongue roll them out.

He presses his forehead to yours. His breath ghosts over your lips. His eyes are closed. His hand cups the back of your head.

He’s holding you so close to him, as if he’s never intending to let go ever again.

[mr-sol]

I love this ughh this is what I imagine Bucky doing yes

Your Ghost Knows Me

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mind control; non-consensual behavior (not sexual but bodily autonomy themes); possessive behavior; gun violence (implied, not graphic); threats of violence; emotional manipulation (unintentional); PTSD; trauma responses; forced proximity; mentions of Bucky’s past; Hydra

Author’s Note: I'll never get tired of a possessive Winter Soldier!! Honestly, I should write about him more often. Anyway, this absolutely iconic request is from my sweet dear!! Thank you so much, and I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

There is always something quiet about Bucky when he looks at you before the mission begins. Quiet in the way thunder is quiet just before the crack. As if he is holding something inside himself too loud for the world.

You always say his name and he would look at you like he’s afraid to blink.

You don’t think you’re supposed to notice the way he hovers at your side. You’re not supposed to feel his shadow, stitched to your steps. But you do. You always do. Because Bucky Barnes does not know how to stay subtle. Not with you. Not when he thinks you might not make it out of this alive.

Your mission is to break into an old Hydra base with heat still humming through the walls and ghosts still hanging from the rafters.

The team drops in like rain. Controlled chaos. Clint on the left flank. Sam from above. Steve on the right flank. Nat somewhere in the dark.

You are light-footed and fast and smart and alive. Bucky stays behind you. Always behind you. Watching your six. He never lets you fall.

And you get the proof of this for the thousandth time when he throws his arm out and grabs your vest to yank you back hard enough to make you gasp. Your heart stutters in your throat. You stumble, twist, spin - and crash into him.

There was a tripwire. You almost walked into it. And Bucky saw. He sees everything.

“You okay?” He breathes, voice low, not quite touching worry but brushing the edges of it.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Thanks.”

He nods. Says nothing. Keeps moving.

You press forward into the maze of concrete and metal that is the Hydra base, gun raised, heart playing the drum in your ribs.

Bucky slows.

You glance over at him. “What is it?”

He stares at a rusted door, barely ajar. A soft static pulses from within, like an old radio dying in slow motion. The sound crawls down your spine. Your skin prickles.

“Bucky,” you start, reaching for him. “Let’s move.”

But he’s already walking toward that door with narrowed eyes.

The room is dark. Cold. Frost is on the walls like a memory that won’t let go. A machine in the corner makes low noises. Wires twitch on the floor like veins ripped from a corpse. The air stinks of metal and mildew and something old. Something wrong.

And then it speaks. A voice, thick with static, seeps out of the machine. A voice you don’t understand. Not really. You can’t make out the words, but you know them. You know what they mean.

“Желание. Ржавый.”

You spin around, heart rushing up to your ears, calling his name, but it’s too late.

“Семнадцать. Рассвет.”

Bucky stands frozen.

Stone. Steel. Silence.

His face is slack. That haunted stillness takes over.

He isn’t gone. But he isn’t Bucky anymore.

“Печь.”

His eyes go distant. Flat. His face cracks into something you’ve only seen in nightmares. No fury. No fear. Just absence.

“Доброкачественный.”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart forgets how to beat. “Bucky,” you basically yell at him. Nobody even knew there were still functioning systems here. But they’d been waiting. Planning.

“Девять.”

“Bucky please snap out of this.” You know it’s useless. You don’t know why you say it.

“Возвращение на родину.“

Your hand trembles around the grip of your weapon as you force yourself to jump out of the shock your limbs are locked in. You raise your arm and aim. You pull the trigger. One.

“Один.”

Two.

“Грузовой вагон.”

Three.

Four times.

The machine sparks. Cracks. Screams. A dozen red lights blink and die like stars going out. The voice cuts out, perhaps wanting to give a command, a final breath of Russian strangled by silence. And it slams into the room like a body.

For a heartbeat, for a breath, you think it’s over.

You hope it’s over.

But his name dies on your tongue when you turn back to him.

Bucky doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe like a man. He doesn’t look at you - he tracks you, the way a sniper does. As if you’re a piece of intel.

Sam’s voice crackles over the comms. “Hey. We heard something. Everything good over there?”

You can’t answer right away.

Your voice is lost.

Because Bucky Barnes is gone.

And the Winter Soldier is standing in his place.

It takes you a minute to explain your situation and you hear the tremor in Steve’s voice when he tells you they’re on their way.

You try to breathe around the panic growing like thorns in your chest.

You whisper his name, again and again, as if it’s a spell that might pull him back. But the Winter Soldier does not know your voice.

Does not know you.

And when Steve finally rounds the corner, face pale, shield up, Bucky growls.

Low. Subhuman. A warning without words.

“Woah, woah- easy,” Steve says, holding up a hand. He looks at you. “He’s- He’s not gone. We’ll fix this. We can bring him back.”

You don’t know how promising he tries to make this sound.

But Bucky shifts his body, in front of you.

He plants himself between you and everyone else, like a wall, like a weapon.

Like a threat.

No orders. No hesitation. Just instinct.

He scans Steve’s hands. Sam’s gun. Natasha’s eyes.

Every time someone even twitches in your direction, he angles his body tighter around you, metal hand flexing. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.

He has no words. No explanations. He doesn’t seem to need them.

You try to take a step forward, away from his back. He moves with you. You stop. So does he.

“Please,” you whisper. “Bucky. Come back.”

But he doesn’t flinch.

Not for the begging in your voice. Not for the heartbreak in your eyes.

But you know he doesn’t hear you. He only hears the ghosts in his blood. The machine in his brain. The purpose Hydra seared into his bones.

“Alright, this can’t-“ The moment Sam takes a step forward, Bucky moves.

He grabs you. Not roughly, not violently, but fully. As if the air between your bodies has never existed. As if he’s made of magnets and you’re the only thing that ever pulled him north.

His metal arm anchors around your waist, his other hand at your shoulder, your spine, your hip - everywhere, all at once. He places himself between you and the others again and makes sure to keep you there as if you are a holy thing. His breath is ragged. Feral.

“Bucky,” Steve tries. There is something pained in his tone. Also something warning. “Let her go.”

But he doesn’t listen.

Because there is nothing left to listen to.

No more commands. No more codes. No more voice in his ear.

So he seems to have written a new directive into his mind and that is you.

You are the mission now. You are the purpose, the protection, the last thing left when everything else burns.

His hand is wrapped around your wrist so tightly, it makes your breath hitch. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. There is something in his eyes. Something not Bucky but not nothing either.

Not the soldier.

Not the man.

Just this animal of loyalty. Of violence. Of need.

You try.

God, you try.

You speak to him in pieces. In whispers. In words coming from trembling lips and bruised hope.

“Bucky,” you plead.

Soft. Like maybe softness will do it. Like maybe he’ll come back to the sound of your voice wrapped in love instead of command.

But he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t let anyone near you.

Not Steve, who takes one careful step and ends up with a knife lodged in the floor in front of his foot.

Not Sam, who reaches out and gets a warning growl that raises the hairs on your arms.

Not Natasha, who tries to circle behind, quiet as a whisper - and is met with the barrel of Bucky’s gun aimed clean between her eyes.

You frantically call Bucky’s name.

“Hey- easy,” she says, voice low. “Nobody wants to harm your girl, Barnes.”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip on you, fingers locking around your arm like a shackle. You try to find a piece of Bucky still breathing in there.

But all you see is possession.

He steps back into the shadows, pulling you with him, shielding you with his body as if the world is trying to take you and he’s the last wall still standing.

No one sees you now.

Because he won’t let them.

He moves you behind crates. Walls. Corners. Shadows. Always putting something between you and them. Always hiding you. Not out of shame. Not out of fear.

Out of possession.

Out of protection.

Out of a command he gave himself.

You are a mission. A precious object. A singular order sculpted into the ruins of his memory.

You hear Steve’s heavy sigh. His quiet and deep voice. The pain in it. “We need to sedate him.”

The next thing you pick up is the click of a safety releasing.

Bucky’s gun is pointed and ready.

He would kill for you right now.

He would kill them.

All of them.

Within the blink of an eye.

For you.

“No,” you croak out, voice breaking. It feels wrong to call him Bucky. It feels wrong to call him Soldat. “Please don’t! Don’t do this!”

You don’t know if it’s something in your voice or something in your tense stance against his back, but he slowly lowers his gun, slowly turns his head to stare at you.

Empty.

Unreachable.

But somehow not cold.

And then his hand rises. Flesh fingers trace your jaw. So gently it nearly breaks you.

It’s not affection. It’s assessment.

He’s checking. For wounds. For weakness. For threats, you might be hiding beneath your skin.

You breathe as if forgetting how to.

You try to shift. Just a little. Just to look behind him. Just to meet Steve’s eyes, Sam’s, Natasha’s, Clint’s - who finally got his ass here as well.

But Bucky moves. Fast.

A hand around your chin. Tilting your face back toward him.

Eyes narrow. Jaw locks.

You know what it means.

He doesn’t want you to look at them.

He doesn’t want you to speak with them.

He doesn’t want you to think of them.

You are his now.

Because something in his mind burned the world down and left you standing in the wreckage, and he needs something to hold onto. Not just anything. Not just anyone. You.

You try again.

Whispers, again.

“I have to talk to them-”

He shakes his head. Once. Sharp. Final.

“No,” he growls. Not language. Not word. Just a sound scraped from somewhere too deep and too far gone.

You flinch and he feels it.

His grip grows stiff.

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t let you go.

You catch the glint of Steve’s shield out of the corner of your eye.

They haven’t moved in minutes.

They’re waiting.

They’re watching.

They don’t want to hurt him either. But they will if they have to.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- don’t try to talk to me, he- he doesn’t want that.”

You hear Sam lower his weapon, just a hair. “We can’t leave you like this.”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to pull Bucky into your arms and shake him until something clicks and he remembers you. Remembers himself.

But the Winter Soldier only seems to be remembering his duty. Violence shaped into protection.

And right now, that protection looks like isolation.

You. Alone. Tucked behind crates and corners and silence and his broad shoulders.

You speak anyway. Because you have to. Because he’s in there somewhere. Because he might not hear the others, but maybe he can still hear you.

“Bucky,” you speak. Swallow. “They’re not the enemy.”

His hand twitches on your arm.

“They’re your friends.”

He tightens his grip.

“They’re my friends.”

He releases another deep and gravelly sound.

His body is tense, electric, fury held in the cage of his bones.

“Please,” you say. You hate the sound of your own voice now. You sound like you are shattering in slow motion. “You don’t have to protect me from them. You don’t- I’m not-”

You breathe out shakily.

Your lip trembles. Your eyes sting.

Because he’s looking at you as if he would kill the whole world to keep you safe. And he doesn’t even remember who you are.

You press your forehead to his chest. His body doesn’t move.

He’s breathing faster now. His pulse thrums under your cheek.

But he lets you stay there.

That has to be something.

Behind Bucky, someone whispers your name. Carefully. Cautiously. As though if they say it wrong you’ll be ripped out of this moment and Bucky will hunt them all down.

You lift your head.

Bucky sees it.

Sees the way your eyes pull toward Sam’s voice.

Sees the way you’re still trying to hold onto them. Still reaching.

He doesn’t like that.

He hates that.

His hand finds the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, hides your face in his chest. Your shoulders lock. His body shields you like a fortress of flesh and metal and confusion. As if your gaze is a window, and he is closing the shutters.

You are not theirs anymore.

And he will not let you be.

[mr-sol]

This is underrated, like holy yes I need Price like this.

Old Man!Price and his jealousy 💚

When John Price sees you grinning at your phone, he remains silent.

He merely observes.

Jaw clenched so tightly that you could see the muscle flex. Arms folded across his chest, and his shoulder braced against the doorway. Sharp, dark, and unblinking, his eyes are fixed on you as if he's looking directly at you. As if you were on a mission.

The air changes.

Thick and stifling tension settles down into the room, coiling its four corners. It's the seething type, not the shouting kind. Quiet, dangerous, and in control. That look is familiar to you. It has been observed in pre-raid briefing rooms. Prior to a killshot, in the field.

Just before a bomb goes off.

It isn't until your back hits the bed that you realise how quickly he has moved.

John throws you down like a doll, harsh but not reckless, knocking the air from your lungs in an instant. Heat, bulk, and shadow are all hovering above you. With barely controlled power, John’s fingers catch your panties, dragging them down your thighs, falling to the ground long forgotten in a mere seconds. 

With a low, raspy voice filled with a mixture of authority and need, John growls, "Legs up."

You follow orders mindlessly. Every nerve on fire, heart racing, knees apart. With a harsh hiss of leather, he drags his belt free and throws it aside as he steps between your thighs.

Lining himself up, John’s blunt cock head is slippery as it snags on your wet entrance, and murmurs, "Smile at him like that again. See what happens."

With a voice like smoke and gravel, he growls, "You think he could fuck you like this?" as he clenches his thick, hot cock and drags the head through your slippery folds. He's already hard, angry, hard, as if he's been suppressing his emotions ever since he saw that message appear on your computer. "A soft little prick in his twenties?"

When John repeats his bullying of your swollen clit, your body twitches and begins to writhe. His hand, powerful but not brutal, clamps down on your jaw as you attempt to speak.

"No." He narrows his gaze. "You only talk when I tell you to."

Then, in one forceful push, John’s cock buries himself in your weeping cunt 

John’s hands hold your hips so tightly that you will feel him there the next day as he hisses, "Christ, this tight little cunt… Do you believe he could manage this? Do you believe that he could fuck you through the mattress the way I do?”

At first, he fucks you deeply, slowly, and purposefully, as if he wants to appreciate the destruction. Then your hips start to buck. You scream. And he snaps in some way.

As John fucks into you more forcefully, grunting with each thrust, he leans over you and pins you to the mattress with one palm pressed down between your shoulder blades.

The room is filled with obscene, wet noises. Your body pounding into the covers, your breath catching on every stroke, your excitement coating his cock.

With perspiration streaming down his brow, he growls, "Tell me whose cunt this is." Rough fingers circle your clit as his hand slides between your thighs. 

John tuts, "Now, kid." 

“Y-yours, John! fuck, it’s yours!”

"That's right," he growls, fucking you more forcefully as the rhythm is harsh and unrelenting. "Mine. I will ensure that it remains mine. will penetrate you so deeply that you will still feel it tomorrow.

As your orgasm erupts in waves, you collapse first, your knees shaking, your mouth loose, your nails tearing at the covers. Your body clenches around him like a vice as it rips a sound from your throat that you were unaware you could produce.

As he follows, Price lets out a loud, guttural groan and slams in progressively deeper until he is flush to the hilt, his cock pulsating as he flows into you.

Hot. heavy. Never-ending.

Even after it's over, he remains there, breathing raggedly against your skin with his cock still twitching inside you as if he wants to fuck it in even more.

He raises his head at last, but his voice is gruff and low in your ear.

"I own you. Never again should you cause me to doubt that, birdie.”

You nod, stunned and crying because you needed it so much and it felt so amazing.

"I'm yours," you murmur, sleep weighing down your eyes. 

"Only ever yours."

[mr-sol]

I’m here for this.

Poly 141 concept cw: sharing, public(kinda) mature language

Fucking the captain in the bathroom of an underground club.

The dulled sound of the music as the DJ mixes another track has the walls thudding with the bass, condensation drips from the walls from the sheer heat that has formed in the small underground club. People shout and cheer as the DJ plays a familiar tune causing people to jump around, drinks sloshing everywhere causing your shoes to get stuck to the floor if you stand in one place for too long.

But none of that matters in this moment as John has you pinned against the bathroom wall, a leg hiked over his arm as he grips at your waist to keep you supported. His dick pumping in and out of you, ramming against the sponginess of your walls, battering and bruising them as he relentlessly pounds into you. 

The bathroom is just one room with a toilet and sink, so you don’t have to worry about anyone walking in and you certainly don’t have to worry about anyone hearing you. As the blasting out the speakers in the room just outside this one covers that. 

However the only sound the music doesn’t seem to be able to hide is the fist pounding at the bathroom door. As the rest of the team wait on the other side, for their turn with your sweet, sweet pussy. It seems they’re getting impatient, as the fist continues to pound at the door even after John yelled for them to wait their turn. 

John’s dick has your poor little pussy stretched all the way out as he buries himself to the hilt, the angry tip of his dick pressed directly against your cervix. Your whines are like music to his ears as he thrusts up into you. His mouth latched onto a nipple, sucking it into his mouth before releasing it.

“Captain, you struggling to get your dick up or something!” Comes from the other side of the door, which is quickly followed by a group of laughs. 

“You better shut up out there or I won't let you have her at all.” John answers, as he thrusts into you one last time making you yelp out before he’s spilling his release deep inside you. 

Planting you back on the floor with legs like bambi and cum sliding down the inside of your thighs, John tucks himself back into his jeans and unlocks the door to allow the next brute of a man have his turn. 

“That old man made quite the mess of you, aye lass.”

[mr-sol]

Twirling my hair like a fucking teenager bye

Simon Riley mauling readers tits. CW : Tit sucking.

Simon really fucking loved your tits. No matter the size, the moment your bra comes off, his mouth is on your tits.

You wouldn't even react after dating him for well over a year. Far too used to his antics by now.

Stepping out of the shower and into your shared bedroom, you dropped your towel and put on a pair of his boxers. Turning your head at the sound of your phone dinging.

Then you heard a thud and felt a wet hot mouth on your left tit. Sending a spark of pleasure down your body.

You look down only to see Simon on his knees with his hands firmly on your hips.

"Really Simon? Now?" You asked, raising a brow.

Simon grunted, removing his left hand from your hip and moving up to grasp your right tit. Growling at the feeling.

"I was about to put dinner on" you grumble, glaring down at him.

Simon pulled of your tit for a moment, pinching the others nipple in a way of punishment for the attitude you gave him. "We'll get takeout. Felt like Malaysian anyway".

You roll your eyes. But sit down on your bed, thankfully close to it. Knowing you'd be here all night. You would have complained, but Simon started biting; making you moan and grasp his hair.

Hopefully the Malaysian place will still be open at 11pm.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧