#<-rumbles real name

[givesmebrainrot]

I don't understand why everything appears darker on my computer then when transferred to my phone, everything is so bright.

Anyway little rumble with her mama. I definitely don't have favorites... 🤥

Also I changed macaque scar, the other one was too difficult when he's drawn at this angle

[willowreadsgayfanfiction]

[finefett]

howling at shockwave's extremely disappointed stepfather energy

[tonycries]

BUTTER

Synopsis. First time cúmming inside = first time losing his mind.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, creampíes, PÚSSYDRÚNK JJK MEN, breéding, cúmplay, men whímpering, virgínity loss (Choso), overstím, ínnapropriate use of jujutsu, GOJO’S POWERS, proposals, full nélson, true form Sukuna, dp, spítting, p slápping, p talking, limitless, oraI (fem rec.), pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Earned it.

“I-is she really tellin’ me to hah- f-fill her up inside, doll?” Toji breathes, dazed eyes locked down at your stuffed entrance. And he can barely focus his gaze - barely even try to sound like himself right now. “I-is this real?”

Ragged rasps just about half as ruined as he feels, lilting up in pitch. In strain. Sharp intakes of breath becoming so labored when his entire hulking body wracks with a heaving shiver. 

And Toji’s scrambling his thick fingers to latch roughly onto your face, your waist - anywhere and everywhere that might help him keep an ounce of his sanity.

But it was too late.

“Heh, did I hngh- fuck the rationality outta ya? You really want me t-to-” Head throwing back, he can’t even think of finishing his sentence. Of doing anything other than curling one set of fingers around your throat. Biceps flexing when he shoves you even harder onto all fours on the silken sheets, he cranes over to place a line of pretty pecks down your teary cheeks, panting, “Well…wh-whatever my girl wants- she gets, right?”

And he meant it.

Oh, he couldn’t even believe it. Toji had your pretty pussy overfilled with all of his thick, thorough inches - slamming his hips drunkenly against yours when you’d babbled to cum inside. Fuck, it’s so real.

And that’s all it takes for him to clamor up one of his staggeringly muscular thighs up onto the plushy bed. To messily slip and slide across the saturated puddle of your sweet, sweet dripping juices and press his foot down shamelessly on your head. Like he couldn’t get enough.

The new angle nestles his hefty cock disruptively, dredges of his sweltering hot precum splat! against every inch of your clingy cunt.

“Oh yeah- th-this is the stuff.” His dark, dewy eyes veer to the very back of his head, hissing when his achy cock expands open your gummy walls. Throbbing head swelling plumper to curve even deeper, “Let me- l-let me hear ya, ma-”

Your trembly fingers rake a reddened line down his calf. Gasping for air at the way the rotund end of his angry, strawberry-pink tip kisses against your g-spot so snugly. “W-wan’ it so badly- please.”

“Want what?” Toji’s teasing tone rumbles from behind, and he’s gyrating his hips ever-so-slightly slower. Making sure to draw out those wet, translucent glides down your tight channel, “Can’t- can’t hear you-”

Honestly, he had absolutely no idea whether it was because of your honeyed tone breaking out into the cutest of whimpers, or because Toji’s ears were popping. Swatting a wet smack! at your beading clit to get you to yelp, his drawling mouth moves all by itself. “Already asked- t-tell me now unless ya want me to cum outside-”

“No! No no no-” And that was all the threat it took to have you careening unsteadily onto your elbows, fully forgetting the mean restraint of Toji’s foot on top of you. “Please- need you to cum inside please-”

“Louder.”

You’re sneakily shivering your hips down every one of his rummaging inches. “Toji-”

“Ohhhh- my bad.” With a slight snicker, his tongue glissades a wet gloss down the very edges of his scar. Leaving rounded circular bruises at your bobbing throat just how harshly Toji was jostling you with the vice-like embrace, and you can only manage out a few sniffles when he drags by one strong arm to crash the recoil into his ruthless hips. Dangerously stopping you in your tracks. Humming, “Stop fuckin’ running, I w-was talkin’ to ya pretty pussy.”

Your bleary eyes snap open, “What–”

“Shhh, doll- stop whining so much–” he’s cooing in a syrupy slow cadence. “Jus’ needa- needa hear it from her.”

Slapping down his leaky cockhead along your sloppy hole every few strokes, having you drooling a glossy sheen down his thick shaft like you were painting him. So much of it that the dripping wet noises were resounding in Toji’s ears, dancing around his melty mind like his new favorite song. 

Oh, he loved to hear it. Over and over and-

“S-so soaked.” he’s groaning out like a mantra, darkened eyes grifting together. Mouth can all but lift his drunken maw slack open at every tightening clamp of your syrupy pussy, “You want me to cum inside this badly, doll?” 

And you feel your puffed-up pussy lips get even more soaked at the utter pussydrunk look on Toji’s usually smug-features. “Because I’ve been thinking about this e-ever since the day I met ya-” He’s craning over - hunching, more like.  Baring you with his most crazed gaze, “To breed ya- to fill you up ‘ntil you think you’re gonna hah burst. To make ya a pretty momma so-” Back muscles flexing, abs aching with fatigue, lips dragging a sopping wet kiss. “-please let me cum inside.”

Ah, who was Toji Fushiguro against you?

Because as soon as your head even dares to move within the inch of that half-delirious nod you send his way, Toji’s sopping your insides sloshing wet with his cum. For the first time. In awe. Load after load being fucked up into you - white flashes behind your eyes when you feel it knock against your womb, trickling down over your cervix.

And there’s so much of it.

“Gonna have yer g-gorgeous eyes-” he slurs, crushing you with his full body weight. “-n’ your smile fuck- my love for ya-” It won’t’ stop - Toji can’t stop, can’t reel back the weepy curving divot of his head. “M’thinking four- no- five.” Still oozing out a milky gloss even when he’s dragging his fat cock out of your hole. 

Still cumming. Smearing every nook and cranny of the sheet below white as he flips you around and plants a sudden smack! on your overspilling pussy, gushing out obscenely when Toji’s urgently bringing his face down, down, down.

“Oh. Fuckin’ delicious.” His eyes droop half-lidded at the heavenly sight - shit, he could get used to this. Mouth watering, his feverish breath wafts all over your sensitive pussy. “I earned this, didn’t I, ma?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Happy wife, happy life

“Ken-”

“...”

“Ken.”

But oh, Nanami Kento can’t even hear his pretty wife right about now. Can’t do anything but shove his greedy tongue down the ends of your sopping wet slit, pooling your syrupy juices all the way down to his throat.

In fact, the only response you’re being gifted with is a furious pull on his dangling work tie - barely even bothering to change out of it - to be able to swipe his nose down more freely in a long kiss down your puffy clit. More, more, more-

Keening, your fingers tangle into Nanami’s blond strands - tugging, dragging, but shit, he couldn’t - wont. It hurt for him to even think of pulling away. Roughened palms scissor past your folds, and he pants, “P-please- fuck- just a bit- more-”

He was addicted. Gone. 

“B-but Ken-” Couldn’t register anything past the way your voice was dipping into a whiny territory right now that made him twitch dangerously. That is, until- “Wan’ to cum w-with you- to have you ah- cum inside-”

Oh.

If you thought that Nanami was drunk on you before then you were completely unprepared for the way that singular babbling plea make him still. 

It makes him gasp, honeyed eyes widening, feverish breaths spilling out in heaving puffs of condensation - once, twice. Before your back is suddenly slamming down on the counter, legs splayed out shamefully by Nanami’s sturdy forearms, and your cunt-

Fuck, in a few split-seconds, you were being stuffed so thoroughly open. Nanami’s reddish cockhead springing down to gift a wet thwack! thwack! thwack! on your puffed-up clit, he’s swiping down the ends of your drooling lips. 

“I-inside?” he breathes, a few octaves higher than usual.

You’re nodding, your fingers twirling around his haphazard tie. “Inside.”

“Anything…” Nanami breathes, and he sounds like he doesn’t even know that he’s saying the words. Barely ripping his gaze from you to scramble for your left hand - before placing a sweet, sweet peck on that cool wedding band on your ring finger. “Anything f-for you, my love.”

You’re almost crying at that ruthless stretch of his globular tip poking at your insides, he’s caving in a way open - and even after so many years, you’ve never gotten used to how staggeringly big Nanami’s girth was. How his curved divot was steaming out a thick wad of precum that already made you feel so full.

Now, you two had discussed kids - but never acted upon it like this. This needy. This frenzied-

“Wh-whatever you want, y’know-” He’s humming depravedly into your mouth like a mantra,  thumbing past your pouty lips to spit into your mouth. And that very sight of those translucent splatters makes his hips stutter mindlessly, “Anything for you- anything for the future momma of my kids-”

Shit, you throw your head back as soon as he’s grazing two digits down the very hood of your neglected clit - only for Nanami to jostle your head over his hands.

“C-careful-” he murmurs, hand dipping down to massage your neck. Your shoulders - all while his fat cock was rummaging every nook and cranny of your insides. “-don’t wan’ you to hurt your- hah-self, darling. S’not good f-for the-”

Baby.

Nanami doesn’t think he can even bear to say that simple word right about now. 

Risking losing whatever’s left of his sanity, he’s wrapping one beefy arm around your middle to crush your body to his. And before you know it, you’re being hastily jostled off of the counter and dangled midair - all while your gentle husband barely even breaks a sweat. Utilizing the lewd properties of gravity to let you bounce down onto his long length and back upwards. His voice cracks, “-baby.”

“Ah-” your trembly hands wrap their way around his neck, giving Nanami the perfect angle to pepper peck after sultry peck onto your bouncing tits. “D-don’t hah- drop me, Ken, m’kay?”

Drop you?

Drop you?

God, he lets out a slight chuckle at the very thought. Angling to rut his inches even deeper upwards, every tiny massage of your elastic walls around his painful cock makes Nanami nod. So fervently that stray strands stick to his prespired forehead. Such a pretty mess of your sensible husband. “Mhm- w-won’t drop you, I swear- I swear-”

Hips speeding up in such a sloppy way now, but even how you’re tightening his tie won’t make Nanami stop - slow down.

“Promise?”

Slowly, his dribbling cock gushes out even in even more velvety ribbons, you’re watching in such delirious awe at the way those delicate strings of slick and spit stretch all down his pinkish shaft. 

“Promise-” he groans, feeling light-headed. Heavy balls thwacking in a sticky staccato against your ass. Fingers gliding up, up, up to where he was nudging your sensitive g-spot, bruising out his circumference on all your sensitive areas. Kiss after French kiss into your gooey heaven. He presses down. “-gonna f-fill you up right here- won’t miss. Swear I won’t m-miss-”

And he doesn’t.

God, he grows sullenly quiet to hear all those delicious squelches the very moment Nanami’s steaming hot cum is spilling into you. Warming you from the very insides- and your own orgasm has you seeing stars. 

Sloshing around in his favorite little swivels, he can’t help but let his hips gyrate slowly to feel it coat a creamy gloss down his sensitive cock. To feel your tiny whimpers and whines when his seed dredges down your womb. Drip! drip! dripping onto the kitchen tile in an echoing splatter from your slobbery slit. 

You leave a wet peck at the ends of his curled lips, “W-wan’ keep it all inside, Ken- all of it-”

God, you were going to be the death of him.

“M’gonna marry you all over again- s-swear and- and…” And just then, he shudders so violently that you fear for a split-second, legs around his toned waist tightening. “-o-oh, my love- m’gonna cum again.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - “U-use me.”

“I-I’m so close-”  Geto finds it in himself to grit his teeth, to force his jittery fingers up to pinch your plump clit. “-gonna cum- fuck, s-stop riding me, honey- unless ya want me to fill you up heh-”

It’s said so low and sultry and even through your hazy mind, you know that it’s a simple tease coming from your boyfriend. You know that he didn’t mean anything by it - but that certainly doesn’t stop the way that your hands grasp around his shoulders, knocking your heads into a messy French kiss. “But, I want you to, Sugu.”

Oh. 

Geto Suguru can’t hide the way his chest heaves with a choked-up moan, how his head throws to the very back of his silken pillowcases when his hips rut upwards into you like a fucking animal.

It’s like he was out of control. Ears ringing with the words, it takes the cult leader below you every shred of will in his entire body to groan out, “D-don’t joke like that- fuck- gonna give me a heart attack, y’know-”

“M’not joking.”

Shit, his eyes widen. Straying down to where your puffy pussy lips were bulging around his fat girth, swallowing up every greedy inch that you were being drilled with. Throat dry, every sound that comes out of him now is painfully raspy, “Y-you fuckin’ mean it? Better not be fuck- talking outta this naughty-” Swat! Coming down to kiss a punishing smack against the edges of your drooling cunt. “-pussy.”

You couldn’t fake the way that makes you glissadingingly drenched even if you wanted to. Nails raking down Geto’s curvaceous pecs to steady your stuttering hips, your bounces grow frantic. 

“Please- c-cum inside-” begging. Maybe you were cockdrunk already, pouting in a way that has his hefty, cum-filled balls squeezing. “Jus’ want you all inside-”

And when Geto thinks back to this situation, he doesn’t know how he was ever supposed to stand a chance. Because with a gasping ricochet of his fat, curved cock onto your most precious g-spot, he’s surging stringy wads of seeds that trickles down your inner thigh. Cumming and cumming so hard - it’s never felt this good - that he almost forgets it’s too early.

That is, until you’re gasping a soft “Baby, did you-”

“Sh-shut up-” And you swear your big, strong boyfriend whimpers. He’s furiously blinking away those glittery globular tears at the ends of his eyes. A tiny pout smeared across his rosy pink lips when you’re being flipped.

One hand around your throat, the other plugging back creamy dredge after dredge into your drooling cunt. Almost as if it was offensive to him to catch that syrupy drizzle, he’s making such a fucking mess. 

“Such a filthy girl- n’ a filthy cunt-” He sputters out, and Geto felt like he was burning a bright red blush all down his pretty features. Matching the angry way your hips were being slammed into his, “Think you s-sooo fuckin’ fuck- fuck fuck fuck-”

And shit, he can’t even finish his sentence before those moans are petering out into speechlessness. A singular tight squeeze of your gummy walls encircles his hot girth. And it’s enough to make him whine, “Please- fuck, how are you doing this-”

Sounding so genuinely in disbelief, you watch as Geto’s mouth drops lewdly at the way every pearlescent bead of his cum was directed towards your cunt. Seeping out through the edges of your sopping lips.

You’re giggling in a drunken way that makes him flinch, “S-something wrong, Sugu?”

“Don’t-” he bares you with a feral grin. Heavy limbs throwing apart your limp legs to jostle his hips into you even harder, and it’s like Geto was spearheading into your lungs. Swiping up translucent wet splatters of his fat head in delicious drags down your spongy cervix. Hissing that even the slightest bit of recoil had him parting from the melty depths of your pussy. “-don’t call m that ‘nless you want me to- oh-” His dewy eyes roll to the back of his head, leaving another unapologetic smack! on your peaked clit. “-t-too late. M’gonna cum- fuck fuck fuck- n’ s’all your fault-”

“Awww–” Teasingly, your fingers drag through his long curtain of hair, scratching lightly at Geto’s scalp in a way that makes him purr. “-how can I hah- make it up to you, Sugu?”

The only thing he wanted right now was to cum inside you again. Once more. Twice. Thrice. Again and again and-

“Use me-” Geto gasps, and he’s careening his head down for what you assumed would be one of his favorite messy kisses - only to wrap those pinkish lips around your tongue and suck. “Use me use me- ohh please, use me- honey- make me a daddy. D-don’t even care anymore-”

And when he cums, Geto’s filling your already sloshingly drenched cunt with heavy loads of his seed. Sticky and honeyed enough that it’s next to impossible for him to pull out and sheath his rock-hard dick unforgivingly into your pussy. 

One of the biggest threats to jujutsu society - whimpering when he spews out a stream of wet swears into your open-mouth, shivering at every one of your milking clamps to drag out something delicious from him. 

He’s curling his hulking body into yours, dripping fingers glistening all the way down to Geto’s wrist with just how much of his loads he’d shoveled all the way back inside your cunt. Giving your sloppy hole a languid circle around the diameter with his slender fingers, before popping them into his mouth. 

And Geto can only see stars behind his eyes, he can only moan at the taste, “I think…” Peaking out a hazy eye at your squirming figure - where the hell did you think you were going? He’s hypnotized, dragging you back into his clutches with a hand curled prettily around your throat. “-that w-we’re not done until m’cumming b-blanks, honey.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Marry you…

One swipe - just one swipe of Choso’s fattened, blushing red tip down your slit is all that it takes for his stupidly pussydrunken eyes to run to the back of his head. For his drooling mouth to slack open with all the utter need of a virgin, “Please-”

You’re humming through your moans, arching your body just right for him to feed you more and more of his half-flaccid inches. “Tell me what you want, baby-”

Fuck, he’s winking open his eyes to peer down at you. Hands traveling their way to roughly jostle your pliant body into one of the meanest mating presses you’d never thought your dear inexperienced best friend possible.

“N-noo–” Choso’s whining, pressing wet pecks down your lips. “Don’t call me that, baby- or else m’gonna…”

Choso’s handsome cheeks burn a shameful red when his eyes drift down to the gooey splatters of cum smeared along your stomach from not too long ago. Just the prospect of being able to put it in too much for his fried brain to handle.

And you’re finding your fingers darting across the glossy sheen sticking to your skin, bringing those drippingly wet digits up, up, up for Choso to gladly wrap his lips around. Sucking. 

“But I want you to, Cho–” Watching as his eyes widen, mouth dropping into a soft oh! Your voice drops into such a hum that makes his swollen tip twitch startlingly. “Want you to c-cum inside m-”

Shit, he doesn’t hear the rest of the sentence - and he doesn’t want to. 

Not unless Choso wants to make an even bigger fool of himself in front of his pretty best friend that oh-so-kindly suggested taking away his virginity. Not like there’s anyone else he’d even dream of giving it to.

Thick, sculpted thigh hiking up, he’s slamming his hefty cockhead down until your swollen folds were kissing up in a sweet, sweet pucker against his thick hilt. Grinding in slow, sultry gyrations upwards like he still wanted to stuff you with more, more, more- 

“I-I can can cum inside?” Forehead beading with sweat, lower lip wobbling with the sheer effort that it took to merely hold back the way that his achingly hard cock was straining for release once more. Hissing at the almost sizzling drag of precum down your bulging g-spot. “For my first time? Inside? R-really inside?”

And despite the way that he was so patiently waiting for your answer, Choso couldn’t help the way the greedy curve of his thumb swipes down your peaked clit. Rolling in lazy circles - low, and slow to make your gummy walls clench in that particular way he’s slowly gotten addicted to. 

You’re nodding with a smug smile at how pretty he looked all fucked-out like this. Darkened eyes all droopy and half-lidded like he was blinking through syrup, muscles twitching mouth-wateringly, hair browner than usual with his sweat-dampened streaks. You can’t help but wring your fingers through his locks and tug, in a way that makes him hiss. In a way that makes him gasp. 

In a way that has him spurting out a thicker stream of precum into your gooey cunt - close. So close. “Mhm– let it a-all out inside, baby.”

Oh god, and then he does-

He does and Choso’s sure he sees the pearly gates of heaven right then and there, and he knows you’re his very own angel.

“Move your pretty fingers, baby– I wan’ you to t-take it all-” It’s not even mean the way he swats away one of your hands subconsciously cupping your split pussy - it’s just desperate. So that he can place pound after filthy pound to fuck you into the soaked sheets. 

Whining out, “Yeah please- fuck-”  Snapping his flexible body down until you were folded helplessly in half, every languid second is spent with such velvety ropes of cum being stuffed down to the bottom of your pussy. “Wan’ this forever- forever please-” Thick, stringy wads that stick and slide down your walls - that overspills when it’s too much for your snug channel to take. “W-want this…”

And just one look of his greedy gazy downwards And Choso’s gasping like he couldn’t even believe he could cum this much - couldn’t even believe he could stop at this point.

“Marry me-” he’s sputtering, eyes clearer with the sudden idea. As if he’s imagining it already. Hips shifting to lazy down his sloppy staccato into something more thorough. “B-be my wife- have my kids- please-” Something that has your toes curling with pleasure, branding every ridge and thumping vein down his shaft into your walls contorting around him. Hiccuping - little sobs curling at the back of his throat, “Please- please I need you to marry me-” 

It’s overspilling - adding to that little milky pool from below. He’s barely even thinking before swiping a hand through some of those creamy remnants of cum. Sucking. Taking your own - popping that ring finger of yours into his mouth.

Drool drips down the side of his sodden lips, moving to mewl softly. “D-did that really just happen?”

The words come out nothing but a whisper, strangled and strained from the very depths of his rumbling chest. And Choso’s peering down at you like you were everything - his softening cock sending sparks down his spine with every slight rub down your sopping wet folds. 

“Mhm–” your hands make their way down his pecs, rubbing over pert, pink nipples. Something that makes him let out a low shudder, reddened divot bursting in a few more wispy strings of seed. “N’ you did so hngh- good, Cho.”

“D-did I? Was I your oh- good boy?” he stutters, before letting out a keening pout. “B-but I need to have you cum, too, baby- need to have you cum-” And you’re so at his ravenous mercy when Choso swipes a wet thumb over and over down your throbbing clit. “-and then- then can we get married?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - MESS!

“What the fuck-” The king of curses breathes - he heaves - like never before, even in that human form of his right now. “Wh-what the fuck have you done to me, woman-”

And all the foes in the world had nothing against your honeyed whines. Absolutely no match for the way your elastic walls were clinging around his throbbing cock so tight. No match for your cockdrunk babbling that drove him insane.

“Such a filthy mouth you h-have-” he groans, leering over his inhumanly powerful body to bend over yours. You’re gaping when one of his big, beefy arms jostle you upwards into a headlock. Even shapeshifted from his true form, he was still so strong. Spitting, “Do you dare to- fuck- move those pretty lips of yours n’ repeat those words back to me, brat.”

As if you could do anything else. 

“I-I said-” you’re choking out, panting in feverish gasps of the heady air. “-said I want you to c-cum inside-”

Oh. 

In a split-second, you’re feeling your tautly stretched walls expand to limits you weren’t even sure were possible. The very bottom of your pussy being ravaged with two circular brandings - two. Two matching rock-hard cocks jostling around you. 

And the stretch of Sukuna’s devilishly true form opening your cunt to its very limits is so maddening that it takes you a second to realize that the rest of him had shapeshifted, too. 

Suddenly bigger, suddenly more towering, suddenly the king of curses. 

His strong forearm curls even tighter around your throat, knocking the remaining gasps out of your lungs. “Seriously? L-look where talking outta ya slutty pussy hah- got me-” Sukuna chuckles. Deep and rumbling from his bulging pecs, “-c-can’t even hold a n-normal form- you made me do this- fuck-”

He was fucking you like it was your fault.

Solid inches upon inches that were bruising. And if you thought that Sukuna’s size was staggering in whatever human form he’d conjured up for the safety of your poor pussy - it was absolutely incredible with both his twin girthy cocks. Bigger, thicker. The slightest ruts and grinds into your gushing cunt having him knocking into your lungs, painting down a hefty load of steamy precum. 

Messy.

“Messy-” you hear a primal rumble from above you. Shit, did you say that out loud? Condensed breath heady and hot against your ear, “Heheh- you think this is m-messy, lil’ human? Wait until I-I- hah-”

“Y-you’re really gonna cum inside, Kuna?” you’re batting your teary lashes up at your king, a delirious smile smearing itself all over your face. 

Wobbling when his snapping hips purposefully slow down to mere gyrating squelches, every push and pull feeding your slobbery pussy languidly. You have him hypnotized, maw slacking open with every lazy drag of his heavy cocks back and forth back and forth back and- “Mhm- gonna fill ya up. Breed ya u-until you’re begging that ya can’t take it. Until y-you’re all round n’ glowing with my heirs.”

God. He was out of control.

“I-I can take it-” Your nails rake airily down his ever-tightening forearm - nothing but mere kitten scratches to Sukuna. “Promise Kuna- I can-”

“Tch- this damn naughty m-mouth of yours.” he smirks in a sleazy way - just about all that Sukuna can do to not let his voice break out in whimpers right now. All he can do to hold back his building high, curvaceous tips of his thickened cocks spazzing out tight, voluminous globs of wispy white. He’s covering your prattling mouth with one hand, “Take it then- take it- but ya better make an equal mess f’me. Heh-”

Even through your bleary mind, you already knew what he wanted - to have you squirt all down Sukuna’s weepy cocks. To make a mess. 

Always his favorite.

“Th-think ya can do that?” He snarls down at you, twiddling a few sopping wet digits to toy with your pulsing clit. Third and fourth arms snaking around your waist to keep from your pathetic scrambling. To stop your escape when his hips jackhammer away harder. “Can you- my queen?”

Oh, he cuts himself off with a whimper.

Because all of a sudden your gushing cunt is surging out in waves of translucent slick. It sticks to his rubbing cocks - and all the way to his washboard abs -like a gloss, stars behind your eyes when Sukuna’s fucking you through your high. Praises slipping out in a way that would’ve tarnished the king’s reputation if anyone found out.

But right now, he didn’t care. 

Not when he’s all but bursting from his bawling tips - such thick rivers of cum that knock mercilessly into your gummy spots. The force of both his fat heads streaming out relentlessly is enough to leave your forbidden sweet spots all bruised and battered. 

Inflating your snug channel until Sukuna only had to slide a hand down to about halfway down your abdomen, pressing down at that nudge. “Heh, s’right at h-home-” 

And now that he’s filled your pretty pussy with seed, Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t think it’s possible to cum anywhere else. With a shuddering hiss, he’s dragging his cocks out, spying down with hooded eyes at the way your sloppy entrance was molding and constrictign around him - like you were trying to milk the fucking soul out of him.

But Sukuna had other plans - plans that included letting his second tongue loll out, rough tastebuds sweeping a long lick down your leaky slit. Creamy cum trickling down the pinkish muscle, and he could feel his mouth grinning. Something he’s been wanting to do since he moment he fucking saw you.

“H-hey-” you’re turning your head to huff back at him. 

Smack!

“Ahh, stop yer whining-” Sukuna’s smoothing one hand down over the raised bumps of all five digits on your ass, another one of his hands guiding his fat bases to drive up your sopping crease. Pooling the milky remnants on his rotund tips. “-because m’not done breeding this cunt properly yet, my queen.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Limit(less)

“This time-” Gojo’s heaving out a dragging shudder, his face burying hotly within the tender crook of your neck. Spitting - panting, “This time this time- this- time-”

Oh, it’s been just about the same thing that he’s been babbling for the past few hours now. All that he can utter after so long of his sensitively overworked cock stuffing in and out over your overspilling cunt, flickers of jujutsu bolting with every sodden drag down your melty walls.

Truly, the strongest didn’t expect to be addicted the first time he filled your drooling pussy with thick globs of his seed - it was an accident, the first trial of trying to use limitless for its…unintended purposes. 

But right now, Gojo had absolutely no clue if this was the nth trial or whether he was simply addicted to breeding your pretty cunt.

“T-Toru–” Your fingers scramble backwards to bury in his snow locks - difficult, with the way that your boyfriend was wrangling you into a tight full nelson. Feeling the push and pull of thick cursed technique in the air - inside you. “-s’not gonna work.”

God, just the sear of your grip on his scalp is enough to have Gojo’s hips rutting up in a perfect curve off the plush king-size mattress. Fucking up into your cunt so thoroughly that you gasp at the syrupy slosh of his cum from before inside you. 

His hiccups, voice cracking into a whine at the very end. “D-do you hate me, sweetheart?”

“No?” you’re breathing out in exasperation. But shit, you underestimate just how crazed this tiniest sentiment would drive him, choking back a strangled cry of your name when he’s sending a buzzing smack! down to the hood of your plump cunt. “Fuck- why would you think-”

“Th-then let me use limitless as a- hah- condom, pretty girl-” he’s whining. And you jolt at the wet splatters of a few stimulated, pearlescent tears slipping their way out of Gojo’s eyes. “It’ll work- this time- m’the strongest- s’gonna hah- w-work- a-and if not m’jus’ breedin’ my girl’s cute cunt, r-right?”

But even as he’s prattling on and on about this, you’re feeling the flickering falter of jujutsu around Gojo’s hefty girth. Molding your gummy walls taut around his fat circumference, your spine arches with electricity. 

“Heheh-” Goosebumps prickle down your spine at the high, humorless bout of laughter at your ear - and you crane your head to look at Gojo. Sure that he’s lost it. Already wondering just how high the kill count would be. “-didn’t think th-this pretty pussy of yours would have me so ruined, sweetheart.”

And truly - he sounded like it. 

He looked like it, with his rosy lips ajar, those cerulean eyes watery and half-lidded. Glowing with power and tiny shivers of lighting at every sodden kiss to the bullseye of your g-spot. Clashing over and over in a wet push and pull, Gojo thinks that he could almost feel the rotund indentations of his curved tip right on your sweetest spots. 

“Looks like y-you’re the one ruining me- Toru-” you whine. “Just look-”

Drunkenly, Gojo’s lolling his head to the sound of your voice. Not even looking, barely even thinking - that is, until he sees.

And Gojo can’t help but let out a slew of honeyed, pathetically cracking profanities at the heavenly sight below. Pale forearms stretching out your trembly thighs even more shamefully wide to get an even closer look. 

Of your quivering hole winking up at him glisteningly, coating his fat hilt a creamy ring of white from so many of his failed attempts. Your saturatedly wet pussy lips were practically gulping up all of his heavy inches, slobbering a slow trail of drool down the side of his strawberry pink shaft and onto his twitchy balls. Needy. 

And if Gojo’s limitless protection was unsteady before then-

“Shit-” Gojo takes in a shuddering gasp, slender digits falling down to plant a wet smack! on the very middle of your bulging slit - as if all of this was your fault. “Shit shit shit shit- I-I can’t- oh-” Sharp canines sinking down so hard into your skin that you think he might break through. Just about all that’s keeping Gojo tethered to reality when his limitless shatters. “Oh god. Th-think s’gonna be another b-baby…”

All the way into a zillion pieces of nothingness and-

And then he’s cumming. 

Cumming so hard that the dim lamps by the side of your bed flickers. Then explodes. 

Pouring out such steaming hot piles of his cum - once. Twice. Before his swollen, overwhelmed balls are clenching and then he’s shooting nothing but pathetic blanks. 

It takes you a second to register the sudden darkness - all across Tokyo, in fact. You’re gasping, “O-oh, Toru did you-”

“Run out-” he’s giggling. Giggling. “Fuck you m-made me- hah- really milked me dry, didn’t ya- Spread those pretty legs a bit more, pretty girl. Let me see.” All five rounded pads of his fingers are bruising on your thigh when Gojo’s splaying them out to confirm the sputtering way his cock was driving into you. “Can’t- can’t believe- no way, baby m’supposed t-to fill you up-”

Shit, he was babbling out his true intentions so stupidly. But luck was on his side, because with a final, jujutsu-sheened swat at your cunt, the buzzing power finally sends you over the edge. 

Crashing headfirst into waves upon waves of white-hot pleasure, the engulfing goodness made you squeal. And it made Gojo grit his teeth with a low whimper at the way the simple clenching convulse of your gripping walls wrapped around his cock made him twitch in another dry orgasm. Another. And another. 

God, his first - well, not quite first - time cumming inside you and he’s already so fucked out.

Yet, despite it all, Gojo could almost count it a success…almost. 

“S-sweetheart, y’know Yaga always taught us that science experiments have hah- twenty-five trials, right?”

“...”

A/N. Gojo’s so annoying I love him.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, unprotected, vīrgin gojo, established relationship, doggy, whiny gojo, premature ejac, mdni.

loserboy gojo who’s so confident to fuck you stupid once you give him a chance but folds the moment he goes inside raw for the first time.

he blabbers and blabbers to you on a daily of how there’s over ten thousand nerves in the clit, how he’s just so ‘good with his fingers’ and even brags at how his good his strokes are.

but the moment he’s leisurely delving his cock into your sopping walls, ogling at how easy his blushing pink tip disappears onside you, he grunts. so warm, you’ve got the stretch that’s so gripping that it practically gives him whiplash. “ngh, such a pretty girl, thaaaat’s it,” a single breath rips from his windpipe, combing a few fingers against the fat edges of your ass. you moan, instinctively wriggling your hips against his pelvis and he hisses. “fuck, fuck baby, godddd.”

and already, he’s a mess.

naturally sheeny slick lips rub against each other as he digs his slender fingers, slender fingertips into the soft parts of your flesh. gojo’s shaking, he’s never felt it from the inside, he’s shaking so much that it’s almost mouthwatering. a swirling pool of saliva starts to fill inside his mouth as he’s gradually trying to make a thorough piston of his hips. “s- satoru, harder,” you moan, and you feel his dick twitch inside of you almost immediately.

as he’s deepening himself inside, he shudders.

by now, his eyes become droopy.

gojo stares at your body, perfectly arched and hunched over.

as you’re in such a lewd position of doggy, a plump, sweaty thumb of his traces against the curvature of your body.

“s- sooo pretty,” he coos out, and he’s feeling the crazed repetitive throb on his tip accelerate. each second he spends inside, trying to give you every inch, he’s about to lose it. he’s panting, huffing out short breaths as the squelches of your cunt makes him ten times harder. once his hips finally start, he yanks onto the back of your shirt. the fabric makes a shrilling riiiip and you could hear it tearing a bit from his feral grip. “ugh, ‘s warm inside baby, ‘m not gonna last.”

and he doesn’t last—

all that talk about fucking you stupid, making you moan his name, and he’s the one babbling yours.

lengthy snowy lashes squeeze themselves tight as he’s barely even giving you any pumps. he’s practically humping your cunt like a pillow, trying to memorize specific positions from this one thread he’s read. a thread that had a title of ‘how to fuck a girl right, no clickbait.’

and of course, with a smug conceited grin, satoru clicks the link, jotting down everything in his notes.

he was gonna be the best you’ve had.

yet, the moment he’s stuffed inside your sloppy pussy, he could barely last a few seconds. because as his breaths continue to grow raspier and raspier, he’s already cumming.

it shoots out quick— it’s hot, velvet ropes pour inside between your folds as he’s trying to reel you back against him.

clashing, rutting hips that come to a brief halt once he realizes he came too quick. pretty lips curl into a surprised ‘o’ and his husky grunt makes your own cunt pulsate. his hits against you was sloppy, rhythm barely able to keep up a pace. you’re on all fours, feeling his entire cock from his flustered crown plug you in until you feel his body rumbling against you.

“o- oh, fuck fuuuckkk,” he whimpers, trying to thrust some more but he’s already finished.

out of all the enemies he’s fought, gojo satoru was never no match for your sweet, sweet cunt.

the real villain,

he’s feeling himself dump into you raw and he can feel droplets of drool dribble down his chin.

it’s so tepid inside, sweltering your gummy walls up to your womb with his sticky, oozing cum. you moan, raising your ass up as he’s still got clammy fingertips burying into the depths of your skin.

you’ve got him drooling for more, heaving heavy pants exiting from his full lungs and his bottom lip quivers. he watches with docile, blown irises at the way your pussy sucks it up.

he’s dimwitted, witnessing as a pretty milky, translucent form around his weighty base. his tip was a reddened pink, and the thought of pulling out only makes him whimper. he’s addicted, and more importantly, he’s whipped.

a bundle of slender fingers wisp near your runny, full pussy before he swipes a thumb across, getting a taste himself.

“y- you taste so sweet with my cum,” he hiccups, hissing almost immediately after you teasingly jerk your hips back against him. “ngh, baby. wish you could see this mess. ‘s sloppy ‘n so pretty,” and he’s still buried deep, to the very hilt before slowly pulling out.

the moment gojo does, your folds gradually emits out his seed and it’s so sexy.

the way his sloppy seed bubbles out, he licks his lips, a feral look burning against his pupils for more. more of you.

he could watch this view all day — you’re curling up your toes in blissful rapture as you feel his bright, blue eyes burn into your backside. “god, ‘s gonna spill out. hold on, baby.”

“s- satoru,” you whine, and that’s when you heard a bit of shuffling. without even thinking, he gets down and flicks his tongue against your soddened cunt, lapping up the bitterly sweet taste of his own cum. he moans against your entrance, burring low grunts vibrate against your clit before his faint sucks turn into filthy slurps. “mh, good boy, ‘toru. jus’ like that.”

and he feels his flaccid dick twitch at your praise. gojo reaches down toward his twitching shaft, a big hand wrapping around it before stroking it off to your sweet, melodic voice. “again,” he whines, his rickety hips now humping against the thick cloudy bedsheets. as his nose brushes up against your pussy, he continues to drink you clean, swirling the tip of his feverish pink tongue against the mess he created.

“call me a good boy, w- wanna be your good boy, baby.”

[snail-day]

You’re almost convinced that Suguru doesn’t know how to swim. Every time you end up at the beach, or sprawled out at Satoru’s obnoxiously large pool, Suguru always plays the same game: sitting at the edge, sleeves rolled up, long legs dangling lazily into the water while you and Satoru splash around playing mermaids or whatever game he's came up with.

It’s not fair, really, he looks too good like that. Sunlight catching the sleek shine of his hair, the lazy smirk that curves his mouth as he watches you with this slow, indulgent sort of gaze. Acting as if that's enough for him, just watching the person he loves more than anything have the time of their lives.

And maybe that’s what finally pushes you to swim over, determined and dripping, reaching for his rough, calloused hand with a teasing glint in your eye. "Come in," you giggle, tugging at him. "Don't be shy!"

Suguru just laughs, a low, rich, utterly unbothered sound and leans down enough to let you tug at his wrist, but not enough to move. "Careful, love. You're going to hurt yourself," he croons, thumb stroking over your knuckles looking at your smile with half-lidded eyes full of affection.

You pout, huffing as you tug harder, water sloshing around you. "You don't know how to swim, do you? Su-gu-ru," you tease, drawing out his name, flashing him the brightest, most wicked little smile.

And that’s when it happens.

He giggles. A soft, boyish giggle - not the polished, low chuckles he usually offers. No, this one is real and helpless and so sweet it makes your chest squeeze painfully tight.

Still, he doesn’t let you win.

Suguru leans in, close enough that his dark hair brushes your cheek, voice dropping to a warm, teasing rumble. "Oh, baby," he murmurs, violet eyes gleaming, "I know exactly how to swim. But if I get in there with you..." His hand trails down your arm, giving a light squeeze, sending goosebumps in his wake. "...we won’t be coming back up for air anytime soon."

And with that, he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, gentle and sweet, and leans back again, watching you struggle between a squeal and the ridiculous, flustered smile threatening to split your face.

[ellewritesx]

cabin pressure

Summary: He's your boss. You're his assistant. But 30,000 feet in the air, it's not exactly tour logistics he's asking you to handle.

Warnings: fingering, handjob, public sex, slight praise kink, a little bit of dom!Harry

A/N: thanks for the love on my first fic! this is the first smutty fic i've written, so you know the drill; don't take it too seriously. let me know if i've forgotten any warnings or if you'd like a part two because i've got some ideas ;) enjoy x

Word Count: 3,329

...

The cabin rumbles with a soft, steady vibration beneath your feet, the kind that settles in your bones after a while, a quiet reminder that you're thirty-thousand feet in the air with nothing but a view of the top of the clouds outside the window.

You've gotten so used to plane rides that they feel like buses now.

Life on the road tended to blur together after a while. Cities changed, skies shifted, but the routine stayed mostly the same: wake, work, soundcheck, show, sleep. Rinse and repeat. But somewhere in that loop, magic lived. The sound of a crowd screaming in the moments before Harry took the stage. The quiet backstage hum of instruments being tuned. The weird little moments, like brushing your teeth next to Harry in the bathroom of a green room or eating post-show ramen in sweatpants with the crew at 2 a.m. It wasn't glamorous, not always. But it was real. And weirdly beautiful.

But right now, there's no excited chatter echoing off the polished surfaces, no quiet strumming of an instrument, no 5-minute calls. Just the soft roaring of the engine and the occasional shuffle of someone shifting in their sleep behind a curtain. It's late and you're flying somewhere above the Atlantic, everyone tucked away for the red-eye haul to Lisbon.

Except you.

And Harry.

You're curled up beside him in the plush leather seat, a warm blanket draped over the both of you, your laptop balanced on your thighs, the screen casting a faint glow across your face. The soft click of the trackpad is the only sound between you as you scroll through the updated tour logistics: merch drop schedules, radio interviews, VIP timetables, revised set list cues...

You're focused. Professional. And painfully aware of how close Harry's knee is to yours.

''Alright,'' you speak up softly, not looking at him. ''I just need your input on the new Paris VIP plan. They want to add a backstage Q&A before soundcheck, only thirty minutes, but it overlaps with your press block. I told them I'd check with you first.''

Harry's quiet for a beat. You can feel his gaze on the side of your face, even though you're pretending not to.

''What do you think I should do?'' he asks eventually, voice low, almost sleepy.

Your stomach tightens. He does that often. Asks for your thoughts, your judgement, like he actually values your opinion. You try to ignore the way it makes your stomach churn and remind yourself that this is in your job description.

''I think we should move the press slot,'' you say, typing a note quickly. ''You'll have more time to reset before soundcheck that way. And you like talking to the fans. You always leave in a better mood.''

He huffs a quiet laugh. ''You pay attention to my mood, do you?''

Shit.

You blink at your screen, then glance over at him. He's leaning against the armrest, hoodie sleeves pushed up, tattoos half-hidden in the soft light. One rogue curl has graciously fallen above his brow and his lips are tilted in the barest smirk.

''Comes with the territory,'' you say quickly, like it's no big deal. ''I need to know when to avoid you.''

That makes him laugh, low and raspy, making you bite the inside of your cheek as you look back at your screen. It's fine. You're fine.

You've been his personal assistant for over a year now. You've memorized his schedule, his allergies, his coffee order and the name of the plushie he brings on tour, despite vehemently denying it. You know when he's tense, when he needs quiet, when he needs to be left alone. You're loyal, always. Unshakable.

And hopelessly, stupidly, quietly in love with him.

But he doesn't know that. Can't know that. You're too good at your job for that kind of mistake.

And you love your job. There was something electric about being on tour: the long nights, the endless movement, the rush of showtime. You loved the chaos of it all, how no two days were the same. You loved the adrenaline that kicked in when a last-minute change had to be made, and you were the one everyone looked to for the fix. It gave you purpose, grounding. And honestly, you thrived in it.

Even in the exhausting moments, the jet lag, the back-to-back shows, the late-night emails... you never once regretted taking this job. Being around music, around the team, around him, made everything worth it.

You'd slipped into the rhythm of the tour crew like you'd been part of it for years. There was something comforting about the way everyone moved together, the shared glances, the inside jokes, the group breakfasts in hotel lobbies.

You were the youngest on the team, but nobody made you feel small. They trusted you, and more importantly, they liked you. Jeff always brought you coffee when you looked like hell. Pauli made you laugh when you were wound too tight. It felt like family. Loud, messy, and wildly dysfunctional, but it was yours.

And Harry's an incredible boss, to nobody's surprise. He was thoughtful. Kind. A little quiet in meetings, but always listening. Always noticing. He never barked orders, he asked, genuinely. And when he thanked you for something, it wasn't in that empty, offhanded way people often do. He meant it. You could feel it in the way he said your name. It made you want to work harder, not out of obligation, but because he deserved that kind of loyalty.

''I should finish this before we land,'' you murmur, starting to scroll again. ''Still need to go through wardrobe notes for Madrid.''

You don't notice the way he watches you, how his gaze trails from focused eyes down to your parted lips, how he swallows when your fingers twitch on the keyboard.

''You never let me help,'' he points out softly, drawing your attention back to him.

You blink. ''Help with…?''

''Any of this,'' he gestures toward your screen. ''You do everything. Handle everything. I don't know how you're not burnt out yet.''

''I'm your assistant. It's kind of my job, Harry,'' you say with a soft chuckle and a slight tilt of your head, confused.

''You're the best assistant I've ever had,'' he hums, eyes dark.

Something about the way he says it makes your heart stutter.

You weren't sure when it happened exactly, when your feelings shifted, digging deeper into your skin than just a work relationship. Maybe it was the night in Atlanta when he stayed behind after everyone left the venue just to help you find your clipboard, calming you with hushed reassurances as you spiraled.

Or maybe it was how he never let anyone talk over you in meetings, always circling back to your points, asking what you thought. It was slow, creeping, this ache in your chest every time he smiled at you like he knew you, really knew you. You told yourself it would pass.

But that night in Austin you'd known. You'll never forget the way your breath had caught in your throat.

The setlist had already been printed, laminated, sent to every team lead. Your favorite song, a deep cut he rarely performed, wasn't on it. It never was. But during the encore, he looked over his shoulder at you backstage, smirked, and softly said into the mic, ''Think I'll do one more.'' And just like that, he launched into it.

When he sang the bridge, his eyes finding yours for a split second in the wings, it had felt like a secret. Like he was saying, I see you. I know, and you'd known you'd never be the same after that.

''Don't say things like that,'' you say quietly, forcing a smile. ''I might start thinking you actually like me,'' you joke, a futile attempt to lighten the tension that's suddenly growing between you.

There's a pause. Too long. You risk a glance at him, only to find him already looking at you.

''I do,'' he says.

Just that. Without a teasing lilt to his tone, or the shit-eating grin he usually wears that tells you he's just messing with you.

Your breath catches. Your fingers freeze on the keyboard. ''Harry…''

''I know.'' He looks away quickly, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. ''I shouldn't have said that. You're… important. To me. To the crew. I can't mess that up.''

The silence that follows is loud. You can hear your heart pounding. Feel the ache in your chest, years of unspoken want stretching tight between you.

You glance up at him. And for the first time in months, you let yourself see it. The flushed pink at the tips of his ears. The subtle quickening of his breathing. The way his hand flexes on his thigh like he's stopping himself from reaching for you.

His gaze drops to your lips.

''You don't know how long I've wanted to kiss you,'' he says suddenly, voice barely a whisper, like he doesn't even realize he's saying it out loud.

Your mouth goes dry.

''So why haven't you?'', you whisper. He blinks like he hadn't expected the question.

Then, quietly, he says, ''Because I can't lose you. I reckon the team would fall apart without you. You're too good at your job for me to screw it up... just so I could finally have you.''

You can't breathe. Not when he's looking at you like that. And still, even now, you almost chicken out. Almost.

But then your voice breaks through the thick silence, soft and unsteady.

''What if I said I wanted you to?''

His jaw tenses.

You feel it before you see it, the moment he snaps. Quietly, calmly, but undeniably.

His hand slides over your laptop, closes it, and sets it aside.

''Then come here,'' he says, voice low and dark. ''And let me show you how long I've been waiting.''

And suddenly, you're not just sitting beside your boss anymore. You're alone (well, you're shielded from the rest of the cabin by only a curtain, but close enough) with the man who's been undressing you with his eyes for months. Who knows what you look like on two hours of sleep. Who knows your parents' birthdays, your calendar, the way your lips part when you're concentrating too hard.

And now, you swear he knows the exact second your thighs press together under the blanket.

You hesitate.

Not because you don't want him. God, you want him. But the rest of the crew is right there, just past the curtain. His manager's asleep two rows in front of you. Someone else stirs faintly behind you.

''Harry,'' you whisper, panic tugging at your voice. ''There are people.''

''I know,'' he murmurs, shifting closer. His thigh presses against yours, thick and warm beneath the blanket. ''We'll be quiet. Won't we, sweetheart?''

Sweetheart.

It wrecks you.

His fingers slip beneath the edge of the plush blanket. Nothing scandalous, just resting on your leg, but the promise in the gesture sends heat rocketing through you. You feel like you've been lit from the inside out.

''You can stop me anytime,'' he whispers, lips ghosting your ear. ''But if you let me keep going…'' A pause. A low, shaky breath. ''I'm not gonna be sweet about it.''

You breathe in too fast. Your lungs are full of him: his cologne, his warmth, the tension radiating off him like a second skin.

And you nod.

One small nod.

That’s all it takes.

His hand slides higher.

Slips under the waistband of your shorts. Over your bare thigh. Slow, reverent strokes, like he's committing your skin to memory. You try to stay still. Normal. But your breath is already shaking, and his hand is so sure. Confident. Dangerous.

''You've been wearing these shorts on purpose, haven't you?'' he whispers, breath tickling your neck. ''Walking in front of me. Bending over at every venue. Teasing me. Torturing me.''

You shake your head, a weak protest, but he just chuckles, dark and low.

''Liar,'' he murmurs.

And then his fingers brush the edge of your panties.

You jump. Just a little. But his hand steadies you, palm flat on your thigh, thumb brushing soft circles against your skin.

''Easy,'' he breathes. ''Let me touch you. Please, Y/N. Let me feel how wet you are for me.''

The sound your throat makes is borderline embarrassing, a choked gasp you barely catch in time. You grip the blanket tighter. Focus on breathing, on staying quiet.

''Shh, darling,'' he breathes, voice cracked and needy. ''You're gonna get us caught.''

He doesn't rush.

He slides two fingers over your clothed center, slow and deliberate. Feels the damp heat there and groans, quiet and low, like he's physically in pain.

''Fuck, baby,'' he whispers under his breath. ''You're soaked.''

You bury your face in your hand, heat crawling up your neck at the filthy words coming from your boss' mouth. ''Harry—''

''You've been like this the whole flight?'' he hisses, fingers pressing harder, rubbing circles through the fabric. ''Sitting beside me like a perfect little assistant, meanwhile your cunt's fucking throbbing under that laptop of yours?''

You nod, throat too tight to answer. His fingers trace over the damp fabric, slow and teasing, his touch maddeningly gentle; not enough to satisfy, just enough to torture. He keeps his eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch the moment your self-control snaps.

You squeeze your thighs together involuntarily. His hand is caught there now, stuck between them, exactly where he wants to be.

''Don't do that,'' he warns, voice tight. ''Don't hide from me.''

He presses down harder, fingers deliberately rubbing you through the soaked fabric. To anyone watching, it might not even look all that suspicious. But under the blanket, he's drawing filthy, lazy circles over your clit, just soft enough to make you squirm.

''You like bein' good for me, yeah?'' he murmurs against your temple, breath hot. ''Such a good assistant. Always do what you're told.''

You nod desperately, your hips rolling into his touch before you can stop them. He slides your underwear to the side with a practiced flick of his fingers, making you jolt again, whimpering in your throat. His fingers are on your bare pussy now, hot, thick, and teasing as he parts you slowly, lazily.

''You're gonna make me come in my fucking pants,'' he grits, barely moving his wrist as he slides a finger between your folds. ''You have no idea what you do to me.''

You're shaking.

You've fantasized about this on hotel beds, in green rooms, on long drives while he slept beside you in the tour bus. But nothing could've prepared you for the way he touches you. The way he whispers filth in your ear like it's poetry. Like every word comes straight from his heart.

''Open your legs for me, love,'' he says. ''Let me in.''

You do.

Without hesitation.

You shift, knees falling apart just enough under the blanket, and he rewards you by sliding one thick finger inside.

You gasp, one hand flying to cover your mouth and the other gripping his thigh under the blanket, nails digging in, as he pumps his finger slowly, gently, curling it right against your spot, like he's known your body for years without ever having touched you.

''There she is,'' he murmurs. ''That's my good girl.''

Your eyes roll back.

You grip the seat, try to breathe through your nose and bite your lip so hard you taste blood, your entire body trembling from the effort of staying silent. But he's not being merciful. He's savoring it. Twisting his wrist, adding a second finger, fucking you slow and deep under the cover of that soft blanket while the rest of the crew sleeps just feet away. He scissors you open, making you gasp out softly behind your hand, pressing his thumb to your clit with just enough pressure.

''You're so tight,'' he groans softly. ''Gonna take my cock so fucking well.''

You squeeze your eyes shut and bite your hand to stay silent. When you flutter them open slightly, you notice it.

His other hand is moving.

You blink through the dim light.

He's gripping himself under the blanket.

''Harry—''

''Shh,'' he whispers. ''I'm not gonna fuck you yet. Just need your hand. Need to feel you, baby, please.''

You stare at him, dazed. He's got your cunt stretched on two fingers and now he's hard too, thick and flushed and leaking against his fist, the stupid blanket draped over you blocking most of your view.

This shouldn't be happening.

You're his assistant. His team is right there.

And yet your hand is already moving before you can think twice, already wrapping around the base of his cock, warm and slick and heavy in your palm.

''Fucking hell,'' he breathes, his eyes squeezing shut as his head falls back. ''Y/N…'' he pants softly, his chest rising and falling hypnotically.

You stroke him slowly, in rhythm with the way he's fucking your cunt with his fingers. It's a miracle no one's noticed, everyone either asleep or wearing noise-cancelling headphones, the lighting dim, the blanket mercifully thick.

''You feel so good,'' he whispers, leaning closer. ''So warm and wet and perfect. Fuck, I've thought about this every night, getting myself off in the bathroom of every fucking venue while the whole team's waiting for me. I see you watching me every show, looking at me with those doe eyes, practically begging to be fucked, aren't you, baby?''

You whimper, pace quickening. His hips stutter into your hand, his fingers curling hard inside you.

You let out a soft, pained moan into your palm, thighs shaking as he pumps into you faster now, fingers slick and relentless. Your orgasm slams into you, sudden and all-consuming, and your body goes tight, locked up against the seat as he works you through it. Tears sting your eyes as the pleasure tears through you in silent, pulsing waves, Harry whispering praises against your ear as you shake through it.

He groans softly, barely audible, lips brushing your ear as you come undone in his hand.

''That's it. That's my girl. So quiet. So fucking good.''

You stroke him faster now, emboldened. He thrusts into your hand, sharp and desperate.

''I'm gonna come,'' he warns, voice breaking. ''Fuck. Gonna come all over your hand, sweetheart.''

You grip him tighter.

His breath catches, and then he's spilling in your hand, hips jerking, quiet curses hissing through clenched teeth. You feel it coat your skin, warm and messy beneath the blanket.

Neither of you moves for a long moment.

Just panting.

Reeling.

Your hand is still under the blanket, sticky and warm. His hand is still between your thighs, thumb brushing soft circles against your skin as you try to recover.

It takes a full minute before you can breathe again, and when he finally pulls his fingers from you slowly, your body shudders at the loss of connection. He brings them to his lips, sucks them clean without shame, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

''Taste even better than I imagined.''

You stare at him, wide-eyed, wrecked. Boneless. He just smirks, brushing your hair back like nothing happened.

''Next time,'' he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, your collarbone, your neck, your jaw. ''I'm fucking you.''

You shiver.

A curtain rustles behind you, someone getting up to grab a water, and you both quickly pull back, sitting up straight.

Like nothing happened.

Like you're just two co-workers sitting beside one another, watching the clouds.

But under the blanket, your hearts are still racing, your cunt still pulsing, the remnants of his release still coating your hand.

And the line between boss and assistant?

Officially obliterated.

''Now,'' he clears his throat, settling back in his seat with a soft smile like he didn't just ruin you, ''about that Dublin setlist.''

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

[mandoalorian]

sweet like plums [bucky barnes x reader]

Pairing: Civil War!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Synopsis: In the heart of Bucharest, a quiet fruit stall holds the key to Bucky Barnes’ fragile peace. Beneath the surface of his daily visits, a connection begins to form with the stall’s owner, someone who unknowingly becomes his anchor. But when danger strikes, Bucky’s protective instincts—and a hunger deeper than he realises—unleash.

Word Count: 4000

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content, p in v, f recieving oral, overstimulation, Bucky is rough and touch-starved, Bucky goes between speaking English and Russian (but everything is translated), canon-typical violence, set pre-Civil War.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Masterlist

The city always woke before you did.

Vendors lifted their tarps with cold-stiff fingers, breath curling in clouds as they arranged their wares — crates of oranges gleaming under dusted frost, tomatoes nestled in cloth, fish still slick from the morning catch. The scent of bread from the bakery down the street mixed with the tang of damp stone and cigarette smoke. Voices echoed off the crumbling concrete of apartment blocks, and the sound of passing trams rumbled like thunder in the distance. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours.

You arranged your fruit with care, lining up the apples and pears, brushing each plum until it gleamed like glass in the weak morning light. You were halfway through stacking crates when you felt him.

Same as always.

He never made a sound, but you knew the moment he arrived.

He kept to the edges. You didn’t know his name. Didn’t know anything about him, really—except that he came nearly every morning, sometimes twice, always quiet, always alone.

He wore the same outfits most days. Black cargos or muddy, worn-in jeans or sometimes grey sweatpants that looked just a bit too small on him. Today he was wearing a red henley under a gray coat, the sleeves pushed up just enough to expose the edges of a glove on his left hand. His hair was dark and long, tucked under a black cap, and his jaw was always dusted with stubble, like shaving wasn’t worth the trouble. He looked tired, but strong. Solid.

He always stood a few paces away from your stall at first, like he needed to ease into it.

Like he was afraid.

You offered him a smile, same as you did every day. Not too much—just enough to show you noticed him. That you didn’t mind.

“Morning,” you said softly.

He gave a single nod in return.

That was how it always started.

He never asked for anything. Just hovered near the plums until you held out a paper bag filled with the best ones. You always made sure to pick them just right—ripe but firm, slightly cool from the early air.

You held the bag out to him now. “First of the season. They’re a little tart still.”

He took the bag from your hand with surprising care, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment.

You felt it.

So did he.

“They help me remember things,” he said quietly, almost like it slipped out before he could catch it.

You looked up at him. That was the most he’d ever said to you.

“Plums do?” you asked gently.

He nodded, not meeting your eyes. “Sometimes.”

It was something about the sugar, the juice, the bite — they grounded him. Sometimes they sparked a memory. A flash of summer at Coney Island. His sister grinning with purple juice staining her chin. A paper bag splitting down the middle and the laughter that followed. He held onto moments like that the way a drowning man held onto rope.

You wanted to ask more, but something about the way he stood—shoulders tense, jaw clenched—made you hold your tongue. This wasn’t a man used to being asked questions. This was a man used to disappearing.

Still, you offered him a real smile. “Then I’ll make sure I keep the good ones aside for you.”

His gaze flicked up to yours, just for a second.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough.

You watched as he turned away, crossing the square. He didn’t leave, though. Not completely. He stopped near the edge of a tall stone pillar, pretending to study the tram schedule posted beside it.

But you knew better.

He was watching you.

He always did that. Stuck around just long enough to make it obvious. Long enough to make your skin prickle and your heart beat a little faster.

And still—he never said more. Never lingered at your stall. Never asked your name.

Sometimes you wondered if he even knew how to.

It had been a quiet morning. You had greeted a few of your regulars and started making a shipment list to your supplier. The sun was golden and you basked in the warmth. You were open to spring-time heat, especially coming out of one of the coldest winters. 

You were organising a box of apples when the shouting started.

A loud bang. The scrape of boots against pavement. Then a voice—sharp and angry.

“Hey! Open the drawer!”

You looked up just in time to see three men rush your stall. One of them slammed a hand against the side of the table, knocking over a box of fruit. Another pulled a gun.

People screamed. Someone ran. Your chest locked up.

One of them grabbed your wrist.

And then—

He was there.

The man in the red henley.

Moving so fast, he didn’t seem human.

The man’s fingers dug into your wrist, nails scraping over your glove as he yanked you forward, hard enough to send your hip crashing into the stall. Apples and plums spilled onto the pavement, rolling beneath boots. The crate hit the ground with a loud crack, and your breath hitched.

“Open the drawer,” he snapped, his accent thick. He shoved the barrel of the gun toward your ribs. “Now.”

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs from the inside.

You barely even noticed the crowd disappearing. They always did. The moment a weapon came out, people vanished like smoke, like survival instinct was stronger than loyalty. You didn’t blame them.

But you didn’t expect him to stay.

He had been watching the whole time.

The moment the first shout pierced the air, his body reacted faster than his mind. Muscle memory. Instinct. Violence uncoiling in his blood like something old and familiar.

He saw the way the man gripped your arm.

Saw the flash of fear in your eyes.

That was enough.

The paper bag hit the ground, forgotten.

He moved without thinking. Quiet as a ghost.

The first robber never saw him coming.

His shoulder slammed into the thief from the side, knocking the gun clean from his hand. It skittered across the stone. Before the others could react, the man had already turned, grabbing the second one by the front of his coat and lifting him off his feet.

He didn’t punch him.

He threw him.

Straight into a fruit cart.

Wood splintered. Oranges scattered.

The last one came at him with a knife.

The man caught his wrist, twisted—something popped—and the thief screamed. The knife clattered to the ground.

“Run,” He growled.

The thief didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled away, limping, clutching his wrist. The others followed, leaving behind the wreckage of your stall and a trail of bruises.

You stood frozen.

The gun was still lying on the pavement, a few feet from your boot.

The man in the red henley stood there, chest heaving, shoulders squared like he was still in the middle of a fight. His eyes were wild—too blue, too sharp—and his gloved hand was clenched tight at his side.

For a moment, he didn’t look like the quiet man who bought plums.

He looked like something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

But then he looked at you—really looked—and his expression cracked.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice rough.

You blinked. It took a second for your body to catch up. Your heart was still racing.

“No,” you said quietly. “You—” Your voice caught. “You saved me.”

His gaze dropped to your arm, the one the man had grabbed. “He hurt you.”

“Just bruises,” you said. “I’m okay.”

He stepped back, jaw tight like he wasn’t sure what to do now. Like maybe he’d scared you.

“Wait,” you said, reaching out before you could stop yourself. Your fingers brushed his sleeve. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, silent.

Of course he wasn’t.

Of course nothing touched him.

He’d fought like a soldier. Like someone who’d done this before. A hundred times.

You glanced down at the mess—fruit everywhere, your crate broken, the drawer yanked open and empty.

“What’s your name?” You asked, stepping closer to the man, breaking the distance. The empty streets began to fill again, with people who had only just bolted away. The man looked away from you shyly. You offered him your name, and you saw the tension leave his body.

“My name is James, but people used to call me Bucky.” He said slowly, like he really had to think about it.

“Can I call you Bucky?” You asked softly, tilting your head to catch his gaze again. The man nodded ‘yes’. “Let me thank you,” you said, quieter now. “Come upstairs. I have something to drink. It’s the least I can do.”

He hesitated.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. You could see the war behind his eyes—this wasn’t something he was used to. Being invited. Being wanted.

But finally, he gave a slow, stiff nod.

“Okay.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

The hallway was narrow and cold, the steps creaking under your boots as you led him up to the second floor. The whole building smelled faintly of metal and cigarette smoke—old plumbing, older neighbors. You’d lived here long enough not to notice anymore.

Bucky followed you silently, his footsteps slow and heavy like he was waiting for something—like maybe this was a trap. Like at any moment, someone might step out from behind a door and drag him back into the shadows.

You unlocked your door and stepped inside first.

“It’s small,” you said over your shoulder. “But it’s safe.”

He paused on the threshold, his frame tense, wide shoulders filling the doorway. His eyes moved across the space—your tiny kitchenette, the sofa with the fraying throw blanket, the open window letting in cool air. His gaze lingered on the plum-scented candle flickering on the table.

He stepped in.

You closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“Sit,” you said gently, pointing to the couch. “Please.”

He didn’t sit right away. He stood near the window, head turning just slightly as if listening for footsteps in the street below. The war hadn’t left him, not really. You could see it in every twitch of his jaw.

You moved into the kitchen, filling two mismatched glasses—one with water, the other with a little vodka you kept stashed behind the tea tins. You handed the latter to him.

“Strong stuff,” you warned.

He took it from you without a word. His fingers brushed yours again—just barely—but it still made your breath catch.

Bucky sat down slowly, his massive frame sinking into the couch like he didn’t trust it to hold him. He kept the glass in both hands, staring at the clear liquid for a moment before finally taking a small sip.

“Not poisoned,” you joked softly.

A flicker of something—maybe a smile, maybe just relief—touched the corners of his mouth.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said after a beat.

His head turned sharply. “What?”

“Back there. With the men.”

His brows pulled together, like he was expecting a reprimand. A punishment. 

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall. “You could’ve been shot.”

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered, almost to himself.

You believed that. God, did you believe that.

“But still,” you said. “It means something. That you helped me.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared down into his glass again, his expression unreadable.

“Why did you help me?”

A long pause.

Finally, in a voice so quiet you almost missed it: “Because it felt like the right thing to do.”

“Oh, Bucky.”

He glanced up. There was something in his eyes now—wary, but soft. Open. Like hearing his name in your voice cracked something loose in his chest.

You moved slowly toward the couch, sitting beside him. Not too close.

Not yet.

“You always came for plums,” you said. “Every day. Sometimes twice.”

He nodded.

“They really help your memory?”

“Sometimes,” he said again. A quiet, familiar echo.

“But that’s not why you came.”

It wasn’t a question.

His breath caught—just a little.

“I saw you,” you said, voice low. “I saw how you looked at me. You don’t talk much, but... I’m not blind.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy and intimate.

His voice came out rough. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” you said.

His eyes searched yours. Deep blue, guarded, hungry.

“You don’t scare me, Bucky.”

He blinked like he didn’t quite believe you.

Your hand brushed his arm, deliberate this time. He didn’t pull away. His breath hitched. His grip on the glass tightened. You saw the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed hard.

You leaned in.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything.

But his eyes dropped to your mouth—and stayed there.

You didn’t kiss him first. You just leaned in, lips parting slightly, waiting—offering.

Bucky froze.

His breathing changed—deeper, more ragged. His eyes flicked from your mouth to your eyes, searching for hesitation. For regret.

There wasn’t any.

So he kissed you.

It wasn’t tentative.

It wasn’t careful.

His mouth crashed into yours like a dam breaking. Like something inside him had snapped free and couldn’t be held back anymore.

He kissed you like it hurt not to.

And God, he was hungry.

His hand came up to cup your jaw, fingers shaking just barely. You felt the cool press of his metal palm at your waist—gentle, hesitant—like he was afraid you might flinch. But you didn’t. You leaned into him, into the kiss, into the heat of him.

He groaned softly, like the sound escaped without permission. Like he didn’t know what to do with it.

You could taste the vodka on his tongue—sharp and clean—and something else. Something lonely.

When you pulled back to breathe, his eyes were wild. He looked stricken, almost.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

His jaw flexed. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

You tilted your head. “Then tell me.”

He kissed you again. Slower this time, but no less intense.

“I haven’t—” he started, voice breaking. He swallowed hard. “It’s been a long time.”

You cupped his face. His stubble scratched your palm. “Then let me take care of you.”

His eyes closed, lashes dark against his cheek. And then—barely audible—he whispered, “Ты моя.”

Your heart stuttered.

“What does that mean?”

He opened his eyes. “You’re mine.”

A beat.

Then—

“Скажи мне, что это не мечта.” (“Tell me this isn’t a dream.”)

You kissed him again instead of answering. You pressed closer, climbed onto his lap without thinking. He gasped when you straddled him, hands automatically finding your hips. His metal one clenched like he didn’t trust it—like it might break you.

“I’m real,” you said softly. “I’m here.”

He rested his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“Позволь мне.” he whispered. (“Let me.”)

Then his hands gripped you tight, dragging you against him. And there was nothing hesitant about it now.

He moved like a man starved.

Like someone who hadn’t touched softness in years, who didn’t know if he deserved it. And yet couldn’t stop taking it.

Your shirt was the first to go—lifted over your head and tossed somewhere to the floor. His mouth found your neck, trailing kisses like worship, like apology, like punishment.

You felt the bite of teeth. The graze of stubble. The hiss of air between his lips.

“Такая мягкая.” he groaned into your skin. (“So soft.”)

He tugged his red henley over his head with one sharp pull, revealing the scarred expanse of muscle and shadow. The sight of him—strong, beautiful, broken—took your breath away.

You ran your hands over his chest, pausing over the star near his shoulder. He flinched.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked.

His voice cracked. “No. Don’t stop. Please.”

That please—it ruined you.

You kissed down his chest, tracing the scars, the stories he couldn’t say aloud. And when you reached his belt buckle, he let out a sound so low and wrecked it barely sounded human.

Then he said your name like a prayer.

Like a warning.

Like he wouldn’t survive this and didn’t care.

Bucky stood up and let you pull down his jeans, kicking off his shoes haphazardly and letting his discarded clothes pool on the floor, along with yours. His mouth was on yours in the next heartbeat, and you barely remembered backing toward the bed. You felt the firm weight of him, the unrelenting heat of his body as he walked you down until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. His fingers curled under your thighs, and he lifted you—lifted you like you weighed nothing—settling you in the centre of the bed as if you were something precious.

He stood above you for a moment, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding back for years. His hair was a mess from your fingers, lips kiss-swollen and parted.

“Ждал этого…” he murmured. (“I’ve waited for this…”)

Then he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed.

Your breath caught. “What are you doing—?”

He dragged your pants and underwear down in one motion, slow but hungry, eyes never leaving yours.

“Let me taste you,” he rasped. He wasn’t asking.

Your heart stuttered. And then—

His mouth was on you.

He moaned into it, like he’d found salvation between your thighs. His tongue was unrelenting—broad strokes, then precise flicks that made your back arch and your fists twist in the sheets.

“Fuck—Bucky!”

He groaned, like the sound of his name on your lips made him even hungrier. His metal hand pinned your hips in place, holding you exactly where he wanted you while his other hand slid up your stomach, across your ribs, between your breasts.

“Такая сладкая…” (“So sweet…”)

Your legs trembled, your thighs clenching around his head, and he loved it—let you grind against his face like it was the only purpose he’d ever had.

You came hard—stars bursting behind your eyes, your hands tangled in his hair, thighs shaking around him.

But he didn’t stop.

“Too much,” you whimpered.

He looked up, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. “No. Not yet.”

And then he climbed up your body, kissing every inch—your stomach, the underside of your breast, your neck, your jaw—until he reached your mouth again.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, and the filthy thrill of it made your head spin.

“Bucky,” you whispered like it was a plea. “I need you. Now.”

He tugged his boxers down, and your breath caught at the sight of him—thick, flushed, aching.

He paused, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.

“It’s been so long,” he admitted, voice rough and raw. “I don’t know if I can—if I’ll be gentle.”

You reached down, stroking him softly. “Then don’t be.”

That snapped something in him.

He hooked your legs over his arms and buried himself inside you in one long, unrelenting thrust.

You gasped—he was so big, and the stretch was almost too much, but your body opened around him like it was made to.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, jaw clenched. “Squeeze me just right…”

He started to move—slow at first, then deeper, faster, harder.

Your bodies slapped together in a filthy rhythm, the bed creaking beneath you, the sounds of your moans filling the room.

“You feel so good,” you whimpered. “So fucking good—”

He growled low in your ear, his voice guttural.

“Я буду разрушать тебя каждую ночь…” (“I’ll ruin you every night…”)

You whimpered, clinging to him, your nails digging into his back.

“Please—don’t stop—”

“Никогда.” he groaned. (“Never.”)

He shifted your legs higher, hitting a new angle that made your vision go white.

You cried out, and he grunted, eyes wild. “That’s it. That’s the spot. Take it, Звезда моя…” (“My star…”)

You were both close—you could feel it, the way he trembled, the way your core clenched around him with every thrust.

“I want you to come with me,” he whispered, burying his face in your neck. “Come with me, baby. I need to feel you—please—”

You shattered.

Your whole body arched off the bed, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. Bucky followed with a loud, broken moan, burying himself deep, shaking with the force of it.

He collapsed against you, both of you panting, sweat-slick and trembling, tangled in each other like there was nothing else in the world but this.

He didn’t move for a long time.

Just lay there, half on top of you, breath slowing, arms trembling as they wrapped around your waist. His cheek rested on your chest. You felt his heart pounding—still erratic. Like he couldn’t quite believe any of it was real.

You carded your fingers through his hair, slow and steady. He shivered under your touch.

Neither of you said anything.

Not at first.

Then, after several minutes, he finally spoke—voice low, muffled.

“Did I hurt you?”

You blinked down at him. “What? No. Bucky, you—”

He shifted just enough to look at you. His eyes were glassy. Open in a way you hadn’t seen before. Vulnerable. Frightened, even.

“I’ve never… done that. Not since—before.”

Before Hydra. Before the Winter Soldier. Before everything.

Your chest ached. You pulled him closer. “You didn’t hurt me. You were gentle. You were perfect.”

He breathed out slowly like you’d just released some tension he’d been holding onto for years.

Still, his eyes searched your face. “It was too much. I was too—”

“You were human,” you said firmly. “You needed it. I needed it too.”

He stared at you for a beat, then nodded—barely. His gaze dropped to your bare chest, his fingers brushing your side with careful reverence.

You pulled the blanket up and over both of you. He shifted to lie beside you, pulling you into his chest like it was instinct like he needed to. You felt the soft press of his lips to your forehead.

And then, softly—

“I didn’t come back for the plums.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

His lips twitched, barely a smile. “At the market. I kept saying I needed plums. That I liked them. But…”

“But?”

He hesitated, then whispered, “They help with memory. That part’s true. But I came back because of you.”

Your breath caught.

“I didn’t know how to talk to you. I didn’t think I should. But you were kind. And soft. And every time I saw you smile at me… I felt like I wasn’t a monster.”

You reached up, cupping his face. His metal arm tensed at your waist, then softened.

“You’re not,” you whispered. “You’re not, Bucky.”

He closed his eyes like he didn’t believe it, but wanted to.

You laid there for a long time, tangled together, the city quiet around you. His breathing slowed. So did yours. Eventually, he fell asleep—arm heavy around you, face pressed into your neck like he didn’t want to let go even in his dreams.

The morning came in again, soft and gold, light slipping through the sheer curtain beside your bed.

You were still tangled up in him—his leg hooked around yours, his arms holding you like a shield against the world. His hair was messy, his face unguarded in sleep.

You just stared.

Because somehow, this man—this ghost, this soldier, this stranger—had carved a space into your life overnight. And you weren’t sure you wanted him to leave.

He stirred a little when you shifted.

His voice came, low and rough. “Still here?”

You smiled. “Yeah. Still here.”

He blinked at you, barely awake, and for the first time, he looked peaceful.

“Good,” he said.

Then he kissed you—soft and slow this time, without hunger. Just need.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

Taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella

If you want to be tagged in all my future Bucky/Sebastian works, let me know. <3

[luvbabydoll]

— under their noses — chapter four

a series made by © luvbabydoll

warnings — smut mdni

the camera was rolling, the soft hum of the base just outside your quarters barely registering as you shifted on the bed, running your fingers along the hem of your unbuttoned uniform shirt.

this was just another video. another post. another payday.

you knew your audience. knew what they liked. knew that the whole forbidden angle—being the base’s nurse, technically off-limits—only made them more eager to empty their wallets for you.

the door creaked open.

and price stepped in.

you froze.

he didn’t speak at first. just stood there, eyes flicking between the camera and you.

you felt your pulse hammer against your ribs.

this was it. you were done. surely, he’d chew you out, report you, maybe even send you off base—

but then, he locked the door.

your breath hitched.

"keep going," he said.

your brain short-circuited. “…what?”

he tilted his head, arms crossing over his broad chest. "you heard me."

you stared. this had to be some kind of test.

so you decided to push back.

a slow, coy smile spread across your lips. you tilted your chin, voice smooth as silk. "wanna join me, captain?"

you expected him to scoff. maybe roll his eyes, tell you to knock it off—

but then his gaze darkened.

his jaw ticked.

and then—

"oh, sweetheart." his voice dropped to a low, gravelly rumble. "you have no idea what you just asked for."

you barely had time to react before he moved.

before he was suddenly there, right in front of you, kneeling.

your stomach flipped. your breath caught.

you thought—no way. he wasn’t actually—

but then his hands were on you.

firm. rough. heat searing through the fabric of your open uniform.

he dragged you to the edge of the bed.

and before you could even process what was happening—

he spread your thighs and dove in.

he was starving.

no slow teasing. no testing the waters.

he was fucking devouring you.

his tongue was hot, insistent, dragging through your slick folds as he groaned like a man who’d just been served his first meal in weeks.

the vibrations shot straight through you, your head tipping back, fingers clutching at the sheets as he ate.

licked.

sucked.

his beard was rough, scraping against your sensitive skin, but the contrast—the heat of his mouth, the way his tongue flicked over your clit with purpose—had you whimpering.

and that only seemed to fuel him.

"that’s it, love." his voice was muffled, husky against your cunt. "let me hear you."

a shudder tore through you, your thighs twitching against his grip.

he held you still. big, calloused hands keeping you open as his tongue fucked into you, pressing, rolling, dragging desperate sounds from your lips.

you clenched around nothing, back arching, but he didn’t let up.

didn’t stop.

didn’t relent.

like he’d been waiting for this. like this was his plan all along.

and when he moaned into you—guttural, shameless—you shattered.

your orgasm tore through you, sudden and sharp, your body writhing against his firm grip.

and he didn’t stop.

not until you were shaking.

not until you were whimpering his name.

not until you were begging.

and only then did he pull back, his lips and beard shining.

his eyes were blown. dark. a predator who’d just tasted his first real kill.

and then—he licked his lips.

“sweet as fuck,” he muttered.

and then?

he stood.

towering over you. smug. amused.

he leaned down.

tipped your chin up with two fingers.

and in a low, satisfied drawl, he said—

“that all you needed, sweetheart?”

—

the next day

soap opens his phone. gets a notification.

he grins, clicking on it.

and then—

silence.

pure. unholy. silence.

gaz looks over his shoulder. "what’s wrong?"

soap doesn’t respond. just slowly turns the screen around.

ghost leans in.

and all three men see it.

you.

on the bed. fucked-out, breathless.

and price.

on his fucking knees.

mouth coated in you, looking up at the camera like it’s a goddamn mission briefing.

soap screams.

gaz falls to his knees.

ghost just leaves. he’s done.

and then—

price walks into the room, casual as ever, tea in hand.

looks at them. then at the phone.

raises an eyebrow.

“something wrong, lads?”

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, mech!ghost x pilot!reader, scifi, noncon/dubcon elements, guided masturbation, temperature play, voyeurism - 1.6K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Another long night in the cockpit.

You could only grin and bear it at this point. Reaching compatibility with your assigned vessel was slowly eating away at your psyche- and worst of all, you couldn’t even leave; not when your prospected affinity levels with the infamous machine had been deemed unprecedented, and certainly not when you knew what happened to deserters.

Conscription was non-negotiable these days; the large colony you had grown up in now ravaged by some otherworldly force and desperately bleeding out resources in response, be it weaponry, rations, or bodies.

The faction had been gifted the GH-05t Mech as an act of goodwill, but ask any official and you’d be informed that the powerful, unused machine would serve better as scrap parts- the real kicker being that they were no longer equipped with the resources or the manpower to dismantle the damned thing. 

GH-05t was a battle vessel; had been lauded as a ground-breaker and a boundary-pusher with the integration of an intelligent battle protocol system, all trained posthumously off the stored memories of some long-dead pilot, surely without his consent- Simon, they had named it in an attempt to make it more user friendly and assistant-like in nature.

Hubris. The system failed to run, turning the fully-functional mech into a glorified mountainous paperweight due to all of the instrumental functions being locked behind unresponsive intelligence. You speculated that the machine had passed hands to save face- to keep the public hopeful despite the system refusing to wake up.

-Wake up. You groaned, slapping lightly at your face.

You hated it here, longing for lazy days on the bleak outer walls, surrounded by the buzz of cicadas and rustling long grass as you waited for your father to get back from the drillsite. Your parents had been so proud when officials showed up at your dilapidated front porch, neat suits, shining eyes, and big smiles blissfully ignoring the very same surroundings they had left to rot;  all while you reeled internally- shaken by the worst news you had received in your life. It was a death sentence. 

It had been years since that day, and you were absolutely sure you had only been given a position like this because of some made-up numbers all while they tried to remind you that you were special, somehow different from your peers.

All damned to the same fate in your eyes.

“-load of shit.” you hissed, rubbing at the uncomfortable neuro-valve hooked into the back of your flight suit. Frustrated, you kicked at the mechanical console snug against your leg, the low rumbling whirr of the machine staying the same in response- apathetic to your misdirected rage. 

A moment passed before you finally leaned back in your seat with a grimace.

You still weren’t used to the flight suits in the mech pilot regs. You almost missed the starchy cargo pants that were worn throughout training- both had been unbearably stiff, but at least the latter hadn’t been so form-fitting.It always freaked you out a bit; the pilot suits were more akin to sleek exodermis, responsive and shock absorbent- It felt wrong to have something so foreign covering your entire body; unnatural. 

Your hips squirmed in the seat, friction suddenly becoming apparent the more you thought about it. The low tone of your monitored vitals raised gradually with the fuzzy heat beginning to shamefully pool in your gut; making you all too glad these late night bonding-sessions were done in an all but abandoned mech bay- your observed progress dwindling along with your prospects as time went on without result. 

Grinding into the seat, you swallowed back the thick saliva coating your mouth, teeth catching on your dry bottom lip as you held back a low, audible shudder; eyes fluttering shut. 

The bulky panel separating your legs became all too appealing as you acknowledged the press of it at your sealed cunt, nudging your apex into the blunt peak while your gloved hands curled around the padding of the built-in armrests.

Then, there was a pulse at your core. 

Eyes snapping open, you became all too aware that the sensation hadn’t come from your body. Straightening up in your seat you were met with a dull blinking text on the panel that had never been there before- 

‘Battle Intelligence System 

STATUS: LOADING’

You were rooted in place as you witnessed the glowing, digital bar slowly fill.

‘Battle Intelligence System 

STATUS: ONLINE’

You scrambled to pull at the neuro-valve connecting your suit to the mech, only for the small port’s flight locks to engage; a stark hiss emitting from the cockpit door’s airlock.

“Disengage locks.” you commanded, completely lost on what was happening. 

There was a low, fractured robotic groan directly in your comms “-Fuck…” the voice was deep, aggressively masculine and breathy in your ear- the sound holding more human emotion than you were prepared to rationalize. “Where am I?”

“-Disengage locks.” you repeated firmly. 

“The fuck is this?” he snarled, apparently coming to as he barked out questions, disoriented. “-Who are you- why are you in m’head- Fuck, why can’t I see?” 

Your suit was flexing and constricting, going haywire in the confusion. “C-calm down!” you stuttered, a pendulum in your head swinging between gripping dread and the low, heady heat of unmet needs. “Just-Just let me see if I can fix this.” 

Panting shakily, you swiped at the flight panel’s screen- spotting something containing the words ‘optical’ and ‘sensors’, you tapped frantically.

There was an audible wince deep in your ear, then a growling hum met with silence.

“M'dead, aren’t I?”

“-You’re a memory bank- not a person.” you asserted, clarification necessary when it came to a massive mobile death machine. ”C-Can you lay off the suit, please?”

A pulsing wave passed the length of your suit as he listened to your embarrassed response over the comms, the sound of his voice bouncing around in your head. “Fuck, bet tha’ feels nice, yeah?”

A whine bubbled at your lips before you could stop it. “I- You’re not l-listening, Simon.” 

There was a long silence following your plea- air electric and tense.

“Tha’ name- How do you know it?”

“N-not the point!” you argued, only to be met with a full body squeeze- a threat. “-It’s the name of the o-operating system! P-please!”

He relented, your chest heaving as your muscles released tension.

“Well, if you an'I are so close...”

The screen flashed with a notice. 

‘[Main Cockpit Camera Feed - Status: Active]’

Followed by another

‘[Manual Override - Feed Transmission Blocked]’

“-Keep things between us, yeah?” 

Your head swivelled around to look for a camera, landing on a lackadaisical red blink coming from right above the reinforced windshield.

“You're a sight, aren’t you?" listening closely, you could hear the audible scroll of the lens focusing.

You frowned. “Let me out-”

You gasped as a cold heat focused at your core, reminding you that your suit’s temperature regulating measures were completely under his control. “-No need for fuss, we were just getting t’know each other.”

“Th…” you paused, panting softly. “-This doesn’t make any sense.”

“What’s not to get, Love?” there was a pause as your seat adjusted forward, bumping your cunt into the console. “Give us a show, yeah?”

You whimpered in response, pressure unbearable.

“Look at you.” he snarled, the deep sound goading your rocking hips onward. “Fuck- Wish I could taste you…”

There was a small noise from the screen that had your heavy lids pulling upwards- database bringing up the low-res file of a soldier. 

“-Look at the man doing this to you, love.” 

Your lips parted, eyebrows drawing downwards in confusion as you looked at the attached image; a masked man with voids for pupils staring back at you.

“Y-You’re not-” you gasped as a concentrated cold rushed your breast, nipples pearling up uncomfortably at the sensation- the friction of your undergarments and the newly dropping temperatures sending your head soaring as your hips worked at grinding into the blunt metal. ”-not r-real.”

“-I am.” His voice was a sharp, humorous growl that threatened you to challenge his word, followed by a single deep laugh. “Eyes up- on me, love.”

Your head bobbed as you glanced lazily at the file, unable to make any sense of the written data- not that it mattered anyway.

“Think you can finish for me?”

The suit pulsed rhythmically as you practically humped your seat with eyes screwed shut, the humiliation of your current position itching at something unfamiliar deep in your abdomen. With flushed cheeks, you chased the bubbling pot that made a home in your gut; willing it to boil over.

 “Look at me.” he ordered. “Need y'to look at me.” 

Glancing at the screen in a haze, the exomuscles of your suit flexed in response.

“No- Up.”

your head shot towards the camera, holding contact with the whirring lens as the overstimulation finally became too much- pussy fluttering in euphoria with elbows bracing you, hips pathetically grinding out the high. 

Struggling to catch your breath, you slumped back into the chair- gears adjusting your seat back into a comfortable position.

“Good.” the voice in your ear barked, before lowering incrementally. “-Good…”

The screen lit up with a notice that compatibility requirements had been met- although it didn't mean much to you in your state; chest heaving slowly while you tried to make sense of what happened. 

“Gonna’ let you out- but this has got to stay our secret, yeah?” 

You swallowed, eyelids tugging open as your suit tensed in warning.

“How copy?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good,” he paused. “-don't need anyone but you poking around up here.”

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

fantasizing about…

Sneaking filthy mouthed dbf!joel miller into your dorm room to fuck you on your xl twin size bed in front of your ten dollar Walmart floor length mirror.

2.7k words 🍒 warnings: explicit smut, no outbreak, age gap, female reader, f masturbation, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, creampie, use of: daddy, darlin', girl, baby, praise and teasing

click here for more of my writing

shout out to everyone who supported my first little fic about bf joel!

let me know if you wanna be tagged for more joel fantasies

Joel grumbled and fussed the whole way up the back stairwell when you snuck him onto your floor. And it was so late you didn’t even have to bribe a friend to run interference with your RA. And when you get into your closet sized room and lock the door he has more complaints!

Bitching about how he’s too old to be sneaking around and worrying about some 20 year old kicking him out. His gravelly drawl is music to your ears though, even if he’s got nothing positive to say.

“Joel,” you warn, but the way your name falls from his lips a second later unravels you completely.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he murmurs, hooking a finger into the waistband of your sweatpants. He tugs you closer, his free hand sliding under your shirt to rest warm against the small of your back.

“Missed you.” It’s a whisper when you let the words slip out.

“I know,” he rumbles back at you.

You don’t linger on his response thought, not with his mouth already brushing against yours, rough and sure and utterly Joel. You kiss him back, hard and needy, tangling your fingers in his soft curls.

His growl hums low in his chest as his hands gripped your hips, firm and possessive, steering you back until the edge of your bed hit the backs of your knees.

Then he’s slipping his hand into your sweats and nothing else matters but the touch of his rough, working man hands against your smooth skin. When he dips beneath the hem of your panties you gasp and he chuckles, a low, husky sound.

“Shit, darlin’,” he rasps. “She missed me that bad? Got ya tremblin’ already?”

“I told you I missed you.” You make a pouty frown in the dim light.

“You still ain’t find a college boy to keep her purrin’?”

“Fuck n-no,” you choke out the last word as his hand skims lower. “Need a real man.”

“Yeah,” he reluctantly grumbles, “and here I am, at your beck and call.”

When his thick fingers part your slick folds, your breath catches in your throat. When Joel finds just how fucking wet you are for him a scowl depends the lines of his face.

“Oh, this is bad, sweetheart,” he grumbles.

“Bad?”

“Yeah, ya know…bad. As in, no good? Thought you had to be smart to get into college?” He mocks you with his low, manly drawl. But at the same time, he drags his slick coated fingers from your messy entrance to your clit.

Your knees start to wobble. You got so caught up the second he touched you that you’d froze in place, just standing there dumbly while his hand dove between your legs. Weakly, your dig your fingers into his soft flannel shirt for support, biting down on your lip to dampen a moan when he starts rubbing circles around your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“You been neglecting her all week? She’s gushin’ on me like she never been touched by a man before, and we both know that ain’t true.

“No,” you argue weakly, eyes fluttering shut as he works you with the precision of a man who knows exactly what you need. “Jus’ not the same as when you do it.” 

He retracts his hand, your waistband snaps back, and you glare at him for edging you like that. “Hey—” 

“Show me.”

“No, Joel, please.” You whine needily, “Need your fingers or,” you rest your hand over the bulge in his jeans, giving it a gentle squeeze. Your next words come out as a whipser. “Or this.” 

He exhales slowly and you can feel the air in the room shifting. A stern look pulls his brows together and his eyes are dark as midnight. “You gonna argue with your Daddy now, girl?” 

Your face flushes with heat, cheeks burning at the question, and your cunt clenches so hard you squirm. You’ve almost let it slip a few times, but you’ve never called him Daddy before. Not in all the hookups you’ve had since that first summer night. The night when you’d both crossed the line you’ll never regret. 

You shake your head.

“Use your words now, darlin’. I know you can do it.” 

You take a breath to steady yourself before continuing. “M’sorry, Daddy. Not gonna argue, just need you bad.” 

“C’mere,” he says, sitting on the edge of your twin sized mattress. He pats his lap, expectantly. You move to straddle his lap, but he stops you. 

“No, baby,” he spins you by the hips, “face forward. You’re gonna show me how you take care of her when I’m not around. But I’ll letcha sit on my lap.”

Joel’s hands move deliberately, peeling your shirt off and tugging your sweats down, leaving you completely bare. He stays fully dressed, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against the soft skin of your thighs as he pulls you onto his lap. The thick bulge pressing against your bare ass makes you moan, grinding against him instinctively. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you still.

“Easy, baby,” he rasps, his breath hot against your neck. “Ain’t even started yet, and you’re already so needy.”

His lips trail over your shoulder, his stubble scraping your skin as he kisses and bites, marking you with soft growls of approval. One of his hands moves up, cupping your breast, his fingers pinching and rolling your nipple while the other slides between your legs.

“Go on,” he rumbles against your ear. “Let Daddy see how she likes it.”

Your cheeks burn, but you obey, your fingers trembling as they find your clit. Joel watches in the mirror across from the bed, his dark eyes locking on yours as you rub slow, teasing circles over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Look at that,” he says, his voice low and rough. “That’s real pretty, darlin’.”

Joel’s grip tightens on your hips as your fingers work your clit, his eyes fixed on the mirror. His voice is rough, almost taunting. “Don’t be shy now, girl. I know you’ve done this before. Bet you’ve been thinkin’ about me every time, haven’t you?”

You whimper, your motions faltering, but Joel doesn’t let up. His hand slides up to your breast, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. “Keep goin’. Don’t make me do all the work.”

Your reflection in the mirror is a mess—skin beading with sweat, mouth parted, your body trembling on his lap. Joel’s gaze stays glued to it, and he smirks. “There she is. Knew you’d be a good girl if I told you how.”

His free hand moves down, gripping your thigh as you rub faster, the pleasure building unbearably. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t stop until I tell you. Wanna see exactly how you make yourself cum when I’m not around.”

Your fingers move faster, the slick sounds filling the room, and Joel’s grip on your thigh tightens. “That’s it,” he growls. “Look at yourself. Drippin’ all over me like the needy little thing you are.”

The tension in your body coils tighter, and a soft cry escapes your lips as you teeter on the edge. Joel’s smirk deepens, and he leans closer, his breath hot against your neck. “Don’t hold back now. Make a fuckin’ mess for me.”

Your body obeys, the pleasure cresting all at once as your orgasm tears through you. Your legs shake, and you gasp, grinding helplessly against Joel’s lap as your fingers work frantically. He chuckles low and dark, watching you ride out your high.

“Good girl,” he rasps, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Knew you had it in you. But don’t think we’re done yet.”

He shifts his hips, the thick bulge in his jeans pressing harder against your bare, oversensitive core. His hands skim up to your tits, squeezing roughly as he murmurs, “Gonna give you something to think about the next time she’s achin’ for me and I’m not here.”

You’re still shaky when the words slip out, breathless and desperate. “Need you inside me, Daddy.” 

Joel groans, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he presses you down harder against his lap. “Already beggin’? Thought you’d last a little longer than this.” 

“Can’t,” you whimper, your voice breaking. “Need it bad.” 

He chuckles darkly, his lips curling into a smirk. 

He shifts you forward, and the sound of his zipper echoes in the small room as he frees himself from his jeans. The thick, flushed length of his cock presses against your folds, and you shudder, the heat and size of him making you ache with anticipation. 

Joel strokes himself lazily, dragging the tip through your slick, and growls low in his throat. “Gonna stretch this tight little pussy so good, you’ll be feelin’ me for days.” 

“Please,” you whisper again, your hand reaching back to grip his wrist. “I’m ready.” 

“Ready?” He laughs, the sound rough and mocking. “Look at her, baby. She’s so fuckin’ desperate she’s droolin’ on me. You think she’s ready?”

Joel doesn’t wait for your answer. His grip on your hips tightens, and he shifts you just enough to line himself up. The blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance, catching on your slick folds as he holds you there, teasing. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, dragging his tip up and down and smearing your wetness along his huge, veiny shaft. “She’s so fuckin’ messy already, and I haven’t even started.” 

You try to sink down, but his hands keep you still. “Ah, ah,” he chides. 

“We do this how I say. Gotta let Daddy ease you open first.” His tone and the way he takes control makes your eyes nearly roll back. And then he starts to work his fat cock into your warm, wet cunt. 

The first push is devastating. 

Joel groans as the thick head of his cock stretches you wide, your body resisting before giving way, inch by inch. It’s such an intense sensory experience. He’s so hard you can feel his pulse in his dick, every pump of blood beating a steady rhythm as your body adjusts to the intrusion.  

The stretch burns, overwhelming and perfect all at once, and you gasp, your nails digging into his thighs for balance. “Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice tight. “She’s so tight, it’s like she’s never been fucked before.” 

You can only nod, your breath hitching as he sinks deeper, the obscene wet sounds filling the air. Joel watches the mirror, his dark eyes glued to where his cock disappears into you, stretching you wide. 

“Look at her,” he grunts, his hand sliding up your stomach to grip your chin. He tilts your head forward, forcing your gaze to the reflection. “Watch how she takes me. Watch how fuckin’ perfect she looks creamin’ all over my cock.”

Joel’s hips flex, driving himself deeper, and your jaw drops at the sheer fullness, the way he stretches you far past what should be possible. 

“That’s it,” he grunts, his voice raspy and uneven. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby. Thought this little college pussy couldn’t handle it, but look at her. Greedy as hell.” 

The mirror captures everything—the way your body shudders with each push, the shiny mess coating his thick length as it glides in and out, and the dark, possessive look in Joel’s eyes as he watches you take him. 

His words register dimly in your mind, making you giggle as you bounce on him. “You’re such a dirty old man. Probably been dreaming for–ah–for ages about having your own college slut to fuck.” 

He growls, one hand sliding to your lower stomach. He presses down just enough to make you gasp. “You said ya wanted a man, now you’ve got one inside you…so, watch.” 

Your head lolls against him, but you watch in the mirror. Where he’s drilling into your sloppy, drooling cunt.

“Feel how deep I am? Fuckin’ you so good you’ll feel me in your guts tomorrow.” 

You whimper, your body clenching around him, and Joel laughs low in his chest. “Shit, you like that, don’t you? Filthy girl. Sittin’ here on Daddy’s cock, makin’ a fuckin’ mess.” His rhythm picks up, the sounds of skin slapping and your breathless moans filling the room. 

Joel’s hand dips between your legs, his rough fingers finding your clit and circling it just hard enough to make your thighs quiver. “Rub it for me,” he orders, his voice dark and commanding. “Wanna feel you gush while I’m buried in this tight little cunt.”

He’s fucking you so deep you swear you can feel his dick in your lungs. All you can do is pant out desperate moans and curses, getting more and more frantic as he drives up into you.

“Fuck, holy s-shit, oh, oh, oh my god Joel, I-I’m gonna cum,”

You’re nearly wailing the closer you get. You can’t restrain your voice anymore. Not when the only thing you can think--no--the only thing that exists, is the sweet bliss when he hits that perfect spot inside of you. Your fingers work furiously, chasing the release, the pressure in you has you strung taut, ready to snap—or scream. 

Joel clamps a massive hand over your mouth, his palm pressing firmly against your lips. The sharp, possessive motion sends a shudder down your spine, and your cunt clenches around him so hard he groans.

“Quiet,” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear. “Don’t need the whole fuckin’ dorm wakin’ up just to hear you screamin’ my name.” 

You moan, muffled by his big hand, and gush around his cock at the thought of people hearing both of you. 

His voice dips lower, laced with dark amusement. “Or maybe you do. Huh? Wanna let all the boys on campus know exactly who fucks this pussy? Who you’re Daddy is?”

The taunt pushes you right over the edge. Your body spasms violently as your orgasm slams into you, your walls pulsing around him like a vice. You’re soaking him and dripping onto his thighs, the wet, filthy sound driving his hips even harder.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel groans, his rhythm faltering as he feels you milking his cock. “You’re fuckin’ unreal, baby. Such a dirty little thing. Can’t get enough, can you?”

Your head is spinning, your body limp against his as the waves of pleasure roll through you. Joel doesn’t let up, though, his thrusts relentless.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice thick and strained. “She’s fuckin’ sopping wet, clenching so tight.”

Joel’s grip tightens on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he pounds into you, harder and faster. The wet, obscene sound of his cock driving into your soaked cunt fills the room, and the pressure in his movements tells you he’s close.

“You feel that?” he rasps, his hand slipping from your mouth to cup your jaw, tilting your head so you can see the mirror. “Look at her, baby. Look how perfect she looks takin’ every inch of me. This pussy was made for me.”

You’re too far gone to respond, your lips parted and your breath coming in shallow pants. But the way your body contracts around him is answer enough, and Joel curses low under his breath, his thrusts growing erratic.

“Gonna fill you up,” he grunts. 

With one final thrust, he buries himself as deep as he can go, his cock twitching inside you as he spills hot and thick ropes of cum, filling you to the brim. The heat of his release pushes you into another shuddering climax, your body clutching him so tightly, milking every last drop.

Joel stays still for a moment, his chest heaving against your back. His lips brush against your ear, and he murmurs, “Mine. All fuckin’ mine.”

He dips his head, kissing and nipping at your neck, the hinge of your jaw, along the top of  your shoulder. Your breathing starts to settle as he soothes you with his ministrations. When he sucks hard enough to leave a mark on your shoulder, you smile dazedly, unbothered. 

You hope he marks every inch of your flesh. 

Because you are his. 

And you wish everyone could know. 

click here for more of my writing

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divider credit

[cinnamongrl2006]

♱ Knight!Simon Riley x Princess!reader ♱ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

a/n: I love knight x princess stories, maybe because I want a strong capable man to take care of me, oh well, who knows. Also, I can't write accents phonetically for the life of me, so take what I give you plspls!!

warnings: fem reader, pure fluff, sfw

────୨ৎ────

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who fell in love with you the second he stepped foot in the castle. He was assigned to watch and take care of you, the princess, before a worthy suitor whisked you away to another land, where you were to rule as queen.

That was the plan your family, your kingdom had set out for you, that was the future that awaited you. That was the future you wanted, or so you thought until you met him, your knight. The townspeople and the people of the court called him Ghost, they worshipped him almost as if he was a legend, they feared him.

He was tall, big all over. He'd expected you to be somewhat reluctant at his sudden proximity, scared of him, repulsed at his appearance— at his grotesque appearance, he thought, big gloved hands gripping the sword in his belt, face covered by his dark helmet. He expected you to treat him like all royals treated the service, like a lap dog, like an appendage, a simple accessory.

But you didn't. You looked at him like he hung the moon and stars, spoke to him as an equal, regarded him with wide eyes. You sat by the training yard when he'd practice swordfighting, a hand over your eyes to shield yourself from the sun, and you'd clap and cheer him on.

A week later he told you his real name, Simon. "But you can call me Si, love." He said it softly, walking you to the drawing room with a hand on the small of your back. His fingers tightened against the fabric of your dress when you repeated his name softly, to remember it better you'd said.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who started to get closer to you, to trust you, quicker than he usually did. He thought maybe it was because of the way you smiled at him when you caught him staring, or the way you laughed at his totally unfunny jokes like they were comedy gold.

At night, after he walked you to your quarters he'd go and stand under your window, because you always wanted to keep talking to him past your bedtime. You thought it was a shame it was dark outside when he had his helmet off, his voice was so deep, and his hands so big, his touch so warm— he had to be handsome.

He'd read to you, perched against a tree trunk, looking up at the balcony where he could make out the outline of your frame. He'd stay there with you until you started to yawn, and the sky turned orange, right before the birds sang. And then he'd walk back to his quarters and get as much sleep as he could before he had to be at your door again, picking you up after you got dressed, steering you to the dining room with a hand on the small of your back.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who, after weeks of dismissing your pleas, takes off his helmet in front of you. He doesn't like taking it off when he's at work, doesn't like being Simon when he's in the suit and armor, but for you he's already made an exception. He's surprised when you pull him down for a kiss behind a tree. You're taking a walk on the far side of the gardens, where the trees are tall and the foliage thick, and the sun doesn't get in your eyes.

After that day it became a common occurrence; you'd pull on his arm and steer him outside of the throne room. Tell your mother you were going for a walk, you'd be back before dinner, and you'd spend the entire afternoon tangled together under a weeping willow.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who told you he loved you one of those afternoons. Your head rested on his chest— armor discarded a while ago, his undershirt billowed in the wind— listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart and the rumbling anytime he spoke.

You had been telling him about a painting class you'd taken that day, his hums and caresses lulling you to sleep. It was the perfect occasion for him to say it, he couldn't hold it in any longer but he feared scaring you away if he said it out loud, the reality of your situation weighed heavy in his heart.

So he leaned his head down and kissed the top of your head, and with his lips pressed against your hair he said it.

"Love you s' much, sweetheart."

For a second he thought you really were asleep, and his words, his adoration for you, would stay a secret that only the trees that grew among you would know. But he felt you stir in his embrace, felt your hands snake around his neck, your lips find his jaw.

"Love you too, Simon."

────୨ৎ────

@cupidsworstcrime convinced me to write this 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Requests are open!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[dmitriene]

cw: pet play.

being lieutenant's simon ghost riley good pup, no one at the base knows the nature of your relationship, and even suspicions do not linger for long, it is more convenient for everyone to shift the focus to the fact that you are so clingy to him because he's your superior and you are looking for his approval, even through you're always at his side.

maybe you have a silly crush on him, everyone brush off, because it's happened more than once there before, but they don't know that you literally belong to simon, his good girl, a personal puppy who is always there to take the stress out of him, waiting for him in his cabinet at the end of the day, looking diligent, with a leather collar around your delicate neck.

scratching behind the fluffy, droopy puppy ears you wear like a hairpins, letting simon imagine that he does, really, has a sweet puppy between his muscular thighs, your face nuzzling in the rough fabric of his cargos, while he smoothest his calloused palm over your head and behind your real ears, fiddling with them and against the nape of your neck, as he smokes a cigarette.

you wait for your lieutenant late at night in his quarters, at the foot of his bed, knees pressing into the small, round carpet he keeps there, more to your comfort than his, because simon wouldn't want his puppy catching a cold while waiting for him all ready, your clothes folded neatly at his chair, leaving your body naked and vulnerable for him, except of the most important.

collar tag jingling at your neck, simon's name engraved on the back side more as an show of his ownership over you, than in the case it'll get lost, as he tugs at the leather with his fingers, slipping the thick digits against your neck, sweating, warm skin, and you obey the tug, stretching your neck, until you feel the rumble of his bulky, toned chest against your arched back.

hear the crooned, hoarse praises that smell out of tobacco, soaking in your plump lips, dropped open in a keening, crying moans he draws deep with licking, biting kisses, amused creases around his mouth when he feels your drool seep at his chin, the way your viscous slick pools around his engorged, fat cock, grinding with steady circles in your soppy, warm cunt.

the fluffy, pretty tail you're plugged with in simon's palm, letting his fingers brush over the curve of it and the small bow that decorates the tail, wagging from side to side each time his hips pound against your backside, your drooling, keening face burrowed in the pillows as he ruts sloppily in your squelchy hole, too fucked out to notice that he's tugging at your plug tail.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[kitten4sannie]

imprint

pairing: werewolf! mingi x hunter! reader (fem)

genre: fluff, romance, smut

summary: you seemingly end up biting off more than you can chew upon discovering that the beast you hunted down for dinner is not what it seems.

w.c: 4.5k (more plot than smut this time hehe)

warnings: needy soft dom! mingi, sub! reader, pet names + praise only (shocking ik), pheromones mentioned, possessiveness, kissing, groping, tit play, spit + drool bc wolf mingi is a messy boy <3, mingi eats out reader like she’s his last meal 🫶🏼, SIZE KINK,,, feral unprotected sex, knotting <333, bulge kink/cum inflation, breeding kink ofc

a/n: IT’S FICTOBER TIME BITCH LETS FUCKING GOOO 🗣️ i am fashionably late ~ but i have come here to humbly offer you lovestruck werewolf mingi 🐺 <3 this is the softest my fictober stories will get btw lol it’s gonna be depravity from here on out ^^ oh and i’m sorry if this fic seems disjointed in any way,, i have a lot on my mind these days but regardless i hope you enjoy ~~

pssst: thank you so, so much for 5.5k followers !! it’s honestly insane to me and i still can’t fathom it hehe but the support and love means so very much to me <333

song rec: say - keshi

fictober 2024

You knew better than to hunt at night, but your rumbling stomach begged to differ. The evening air was frigid, sitting heavily inside your lungs each time you regrettably breathed it in, your hefty pelt only doing so much to keep you safe from the powerful winds that continually blew through the vast forest around you. You pulled the hood of your pelt down for a moment, the familiar sounds of wildlife finally making their way to your now exposed ears, though a freezing breeze made its mark on the soft flesh of your rosy cheeks and nose. You bit into your chapped bottom lip, surveying your surroundings for something you’d be able to feast on once you were back inside the safety of your cabin, thanking the gods for the decent visibility you had from the full moon above. 

The longer you sat there in silence, your body never growing acclimated to the fierce winter temperatures, you began to fall susceptible to exhaustion, the kind that had sunk its way deep into your bones in the same way your loneliness had for years at a time, feeling so heavy you retired from your once rigid stance and slumped down against the oak tree behind you. A few winks of sleep couldn’t possibly hurt you, not when you were quick to rise and fight if need be, your trusty bow and arrow at your side, as well as a pocket knife always sitting in its holster at your hip. You would be up as soon as you had the strength to open up your eyes and go on. 

You eventually woke up to the sound of howling. It had been so distinctly powerful that it was most likely produced by a large wolf, perhaps the leader of a pack. It was then that the culprit of the noise stalked past a few nearby trees and bushes, its dark shaggy coat leaving it virtually impossible to see due to the way it blended in so seamlessly. Leaving abnormally big paw prints behind in the ground below, it slowly paced back and forth in front of you, still quite a distance away from you, but getting closer and closer with each step it made, its large brown eyes piercing right through yours and seemingly gazing upon your soul, deeply fixated on your presence. 

It was much larger than any wolf you had seen in your entire lifetime, more akin to a dire wolf, which you had only seen in books, as it had been extinct for hundreds of years before, yet it was…so familiar. Still trapped inside the limbo of the dream you were initially having and your reality, you weren’t completely sure if what was happening before you was actually real. Not only that, but you had the sudden urge to be at the mercy of the wolf, even if it meant that you’d end up with your throat between the beautiful creature’s ragged teeth. However, you weren’t going to roll the dice with death, not when you’ve seen past loved ones get their lives snuffed out by a predator half the size of the one that was suddenly eagerly making its way towards you. 

Just before the wolf could reach you, your bow was drawn, the feathered arrow slicing into the cold skin of your cheek as it sailed through the air and lodged itself into the creature’s shoulder, your eyes shut tight all the while. What you expected to hear were the familiar pained whines of a canine but you instead were exposed to the lower pitched groans of a man, causing you to freeze, your eyes opening back up, now widened like marbles. The last thing you were expecting to see was another human, not when you lived alone in the woods for so long, and especially not a man that was stark naked and cowering in pain, with tears in his glistening eyes, looking at you as though you had betrayed him. 

You dropped your bow in favor of being at the strange man’s side, surveying his wound, realizing you were so exhausted and hungry, you must’ve simply imagined the wolf. “I-i thought…” you whispered, mostly to yourself, your voice trailing off, almost surprised to hear it after not using it for so long.

“Is that your way of saying hello?” The man hissed in pain when you touched the site of his wound, pushing your hand away from the broken shard of wood that was still lodged inside his bare shoulder. 

“I thought you were…going to kill me…” You reached down and tore off a portion of your thick linen blouse, about to wrap it around the man’s wound when you blocked you with his forearm. “I saw a wolf…” 

“Do I look like a wolf?” he pouted, reaching over to hold his shoulder in pain. 

“I’m sorry, I–…Please, let me help you. I need to apply pressure,” you reasoned, your face contorted with growing regret and concern. 

Studying your body language, the man cautiously let go of his arm and allowed you to wrap the torn linen around the wound site, biting into his lip all the while, letting out a few pained grunts. “Hurts…” 

“I know, I’m almost done, I promise…” you whispered softly near him, taking a second to share a look with the man, apologizing once again with your softened gaze and upturned brows. 

Once you were done, he leaned forward slightly into your personal space to study you, his eyes widened once again, this time with curiosity and admiration, already trusting you despite remnants of your arrow still left inside him. 

You bit into your lip, letting out a small breath, which turned into condensation as soon as it left your mouth. “I didn’t think anyone else lived in this forest…Where did you come from?”

Afraid that you would find his true identity to be far too much for you to handle, he thought it would be better to hide it. “Some would call me a nomad…I’m here, there, everywhere, really.” 

You nodded at his words, noticing once again that he lacked clothes when you were finally able to pull your attention away from his hypnotizing likeness, never having been drawn to someone like this before. It was then that you averted your eyes with diligence, your once cold cheeks growing warmer the more he stared at you. It took all your strength to return his gaze for just a moment. “Do nomads usually wander around the woods without proper clothing?” 

“Well–” The werewolf’s vision went dark for a second, as your pelt was thrown onto him. He pulled it down just enough to continue admiring the human he had been watching from a distance for so long, blowing a few strands of dark shaggy hair out of his sight. “I’m Mingi, by the way. What’s your name?” 

“Y-Y/N,” you answered sheepishly, not sure why the strange man was so keenly interested in you, especially after you just shot him with an arrow. 

“Y/N,” he repeated lovingly, enjoying the way it sounded, slowly sitting up until little white dots began to dance around his vision. “I don’t feel so good.” When Mingi fell forward into your arms, he couldn’t help but smile. You smelled so pretty, just like he had imagined. Warm like cinnamon, smoky like the fire you always kept burning inside your cabin, sweet like flowers in a garden he would roll around in when no one was around. You smelled like home. 

-

It took most of your strength helping the injured man back to your cabin, immediately laying him down in your bed and pulling your warm blankets up over him. To beat the freezing temperature inside your cabin, you quickly tossed a few pieces of wood in the fireplace and lit it up. You stayed crouched near the controlled flames for a little while to make sure the fire stayed alive, until your company let out a soft groan of pain. Now at his side, you pulled the pelt from his shoulders and frowned at the extent of the damage you caused, tears pricking at your eyes. “You’re still bleeding, Mingi…I’m so sorry…I need to stitch you up.”

Just as you stood up, Mingi reached up to hold onto the corner of your torn blouse, blinking hazily up at you, a few beads of sweat cascading along his straining neck. “Please, don’t worry about me, love. You’re the one who needs rest.” 

“Nonsense.” You shook your head, pulling away to find your sewing kit, your cheeks hot to the touch. Once you found it inside one of your drawers, along with a sleep shirt that had belonged to a previous loved one, you returned to Mingi’s side. “Now, stay still, okay?” 

“I’ll do whatever you need from me.” Mingi slowly sat up and rested his back against the headboard, watching with interest as you expertly sewed his wound closed, quite fond of the way you took care of him, and of how close you were to him, your hand resting on his chest for stability as you worked. Before you could pull your hand away from his body, he placed his over yours, unintentionally allowing you to feel his rapid heartbeat. “Thank you for this. Anyone else would’ve left me for the wolves.”

Biting into your lip, you couldn’t help but take into account the way his hand completely enveloped yours, truly forgetting just how important physical touch and connection with others was until this very moment, now that his warm skin was pressing into yours. “I-it’s nothing, really…”

“No, it’s not just nothing,” Mingi pouted, slowly bringing your hand up against his cheek to gently nuzzle into it. He couldn’t believe he had gotten this close to you, the special human he had been head over paws for ever since he had seen you for the first time. “It’s everything. You saved me.” 

It was almost as if this stranger had escaped one of the novels you read over and over, seeming too good to be true. “It was the least I could do after I hurt you…” 

It was when Mingi began to look at you for too long, with that unwavering longing in his eyes, that you cleared your throat and stood up, announcing, “I think I’ll make us some nice, warm soup. How does that sound?” 

It took everything in Mingi not to let out a few celebratory howls, instead nodding his head eagerly, his shaggy brown hair bouncing. “I’ve always wanted to try your food. I can smell it from outside sometimes and it always makes my stomach rumble.” 

You began to expertly chop up vegetables, stopping mid slice when you digested Mingi’s interesting choice of words. “So you know of me?” 

“I-i do,” he nodded shyly, despite your back being turned away from him.

“Have you been watching me, Mingi?” you asked after a few more minutes of silence, your knife now slicing into the last few potatoes you had pulled from your garden before winter began. 

“….Admiring you,” he gently corrected, knowing his big fluffy ears would be splayed out in embarrassment if they were there. 

Just as you began to pour the cut up vegetables into the pot of boiling broth, you blushed and jolted suddenly from the implications of the handsome stranger’s words. Your elbow knocked into the side of your cleaver, causing it to slip off the edge of the wood counter. Before you could blink, Mingi had already caught the handle of the cleaver, slowly standing up by your side, officially displaying the sheer size difference between the two of you. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you, love…” Mingi set the cleaver back down onto the counter, reaching over to touch your hand with a gentleness you hadn’t experienced before. 

The speed and quickness of Mingi’s reaction was incomprehensible; you were still reeling from it. Now he stood beside you, his size and stature more akin to a beast in human form than a simple man. Not only that, but the hand that was overlapping yours felt hot to the touch, like Mingi had a furnace burning away inside of him. You had heard stories of shapeshifters that lived in dense forests much like the one you called home. They had been around for centuries, living amongst themselves, never interacting with humans, able to take the form of beasts at will. You glanced out your window, peering up at the bright orb looming over you. It was a full moon, after all — but did myths like that really exist in the real world? 

“Mingi…are you…?” Your words began to die inside your mouth as soon as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place inside your mind. You couldn’t deny the connection you felt with Mingi, knowing that your total isolation played a part in your desire to let him in. It clouded your mind. You were growing so tired, you almost didn’t seem to mind if he wasn’t strictly human. 

Mingi smiled softly down at you, one of his canine teeth poking out past his plump lips, leaning himself down a bit to shorten the distance between you. He waited eagerly for you to finish your question, tilting his head to the side, having to blow his hair out of the way. 

“Are you hungry?” you finally asked, lowering the flame on the stove so that the soup could settle now that it was ready to serve. 

Mingi’s lips formed a silent ‘o’, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He thought you might’ve been on the same page about your mutual attraction, but he was beginning to suspect that his obsession with you was one sided. It’s not like you had imprinted on him; it was the other way around. Silly wolf. 

Before Mingi could cry about it, he tasted something so delicious, he couldn’t help but let out an enthusiastic ‘mmm!’. You had slipped a soup spoon into his open mouth, allowing him to try the first homemade meal he’s ever had in his life, one that you had made for the both of you to share together within the sanctity of your cabin, away from the bitter isolation of the forest. He was a silly wolf, after all, because this, this was love. 

“Good?” you gauged softly, your eyebrows upturned with sheepish anticipation. 

“Good! Ahhh~” Mingi licked his lips and opened up again, savoring the warm, comforting feeling inside his stomach once you fed him another bite. “I’ve never had something this delicious before.” 

“Oh, stop,” you blushed, pouring some soup into a bowl and handing it to Mingi, shocked to see him bring it up to his mouth and gulp it down. “Oh, you weren’t lying…were you?” 

Mingi’s brown eyes were round, shiny like marbles, filled with unwavering sincerity. “Everything tastes better when you’re with the one you love…” 

You almost choked on your own soup, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. “D-did I hear that right…?” 

Mingi was a romantic at heart. He couldn’t help it, especially when the moon was so big and bright, glowing with everlasting light. She was reminding him to be brave. “Y/N, do you believe in love at first sight?” 

Your heart thumped away inside your chest, a steady reminder that you were alive, and not alone for the first time in a long time. “I think I might…Is that crazy?” 

Mingi brought his hand up to his face to hide the way it scrunched up with pure joy, his cheeks rosy and full of warmth. “If it is, then I must be too.” 

“Where…have you been all this time? I’ve been waiting…for someone like you…” You slowly reached up to pull his hand down, bringing it to your own face, pressing your cold cheek into his large palm. “For someone to keep me warm.” 

He had been there all this time; you just hadn’t seen him yet. But now, you would see all of him. Without thinking, Mingi brought his other hand to your face, gently cupping your cheeks and bringing himself down so that he could press his lips onto yours. It took everything in him to pull away just enough to whisper, “I’m here now. Is that…better?” 

For the first time, you felt like you could let your guard down, not be the lonely, hardened hunter you had to be. Now that you were safe, you could take a rest. “Better,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around Mingi’s neck just in time to lay against his chest, losing the strength to stay awake. 

-

You woke up to the sensation of something intensely warm wrapped around you from behind, someone’s lips idly pressed to the nape of your neck, what felt like fluffy ears twitching near your hair, the soft fur tickling your exposed skin. The air around you was hot and heavy like you were stuck inside an oven, an enticing aroma of spiced cinnamon and woody musk clouding your senses. Your eyelids fluttered open, first noticing two strong arms locked around your middle, realizing Mingi was holding you close to him, his heated chest pressing into your back. 

Overcome by the memories of earlier, the forgotten intimacy of being touched and held by someone, the intense pheromones you were practically doused in, and the want, the need to be truly seen by Mingi, despite having just met a few hours ago, you attempted to turn around to face him, only to have him tighten his grip just enough to keep you still. “M-mingi, I want to look at you…I’m not mad, I just–”

“Do you know what you’re getting into, love?” he whispered in a gravelly voice into your ear, sounding like he had just woken up out of a deep sleep, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin with just his words. “I’m not…what you think I am.” 

You sheepishly pushed back against Mingi, hearing him let out a soft groan, knowing he was just as satisfied with the way your body felt against his. “I already know, Mingi…I trust you. I’m not scared.” You felt his grip loosen up around your waist, opting to cement his hands around your waist.

His lips were now pressing directly onto the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Do you know what I am, Y/N? Do you wish to see?” 

“I do…” 

It was then that Mingi climbed on top of you, his broad naked body keeping the glowing orange light of the fire from reaching you, the pelt you had offered him earlier falling into a pile on the side of the bed. Filled with a sense of lustful wonder, you studied Mingi, your half-closed eyes trailing along his tan skin, noticing how his wound had already healed completely, unable to ignore the arousing addition of his elongated canine teeth and the way his tongue ran across them. “You’re a…werewolf…”

Mingi’s fluffy wolf ears twitched slightly, listening closely to the way your breath hitched. “Most would be scared of me, but you…you like this.” 

You swallowed harshly, still finding it very difficult to breathe in the air around you, Mingi’s dominating presence further encouraging you to submit. “Will you eat me?” 

Mingi let out a small puff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth curling up into an amused smile, lowering himself further onto you, knowing his heavy cock was pressing into your heat through your linen trousers. His lips ghosted along your jaw, the bushy end of his tail gliding back and forth along one of your ankles, replicating the light strokes of a paintbrush. “Only in the way that would have you begging for more.” The small moan that escaped your throat didn’t go unnoticed by Mingi. He nosed at your neck, resisting the urge to lick and bite at it. “Though, i won’t do anything without your permission, love.”

You cupped your hands around his heated face, your insides feeling as if they had been set ablaze. “Do with me what you will, Mingi. I insist.” 

When Mingi’s lips parted, you pressed yours onto them with a fervor you didn’t realize you possessed. The kiss grew more and more intense, the two of you holding onto one another as though you were afraid it all would end too soon, taking turns licking into each other’s willing mouths, breathing in each other’s air when you grew dizzy. 

Growing frustrated with the lack of skin on skin contact, Mingi pushed his large hands up past the hem of your woolen top and slid it off of you, admiring the soft curves of your exposed breasts, before his desperation kicked in and he nuzzled his face against them, sighing onto your skin. “Beautiful…” He dragged his tongue up in between your tits, grabbing one while he sucked desperately on the other, a low growl erupting from his throat. 

“Mingi,” you moaned out, your back arching, only encouraging him to see what other pretty noises he could get you to make, gasping when his sharp teeth teased your sensitive nipples. 

He licked over them to ease the sudden bout of pain, unable to keep himself from sucking one of them into his mouth, apologizing with his upturned eyebrows and his big, round eyes. 

You simply couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him to make a mess of your aching cunt, feeling your wetness stick to the thin linen material of your pants as you kicked them off. “Mingi, more, please, need more…” 

The werewolf knew what you needed when your fingers slid into his soft hair, leaving kisses along your bare body as he moved down south, getting himself comfortable between your spread thighs. “You want me to eat you up, yeah?” He spread your pussy open with his thumbs, nosing at it to inhale your flowery scent, quite aware that it bumped into your clit when he gave your slit an experimental lick, just enough to collect your essence on his tongue. “My beloved needs me to ravage her?” 

“Yes, plea–oh, my god,” you reacted whinily, your thighs involuntarily pressing into the sides of his head just as he dove in, which he grabbed onto, pushing them up and out of his way, his lips and tongue already working in tandem to drive you to a place of pleasure you’ve never been before. 

Mingi devoured your cunt in true animalistic fashion, licking and slurping up your juices as soon as it spilled out of you, just to spit it it back onto your slit and drink it all down, eventually plugging you up with his large tongue to feel you throb, unable to keep himself from fucking you with it until you began to cry out his name in between unintelligible words, your fingers tugging on his hair.

So good, it’s so good, nnnghh, i’m–” You cut yourself off once your impending orgasm took over your body, barely able to register Mingi rubbing soft circles into your shaking thighs and leaving kisses across your inner thigh and on your sensitive clit. You were finally brought back to earth when Mingi’s arousal coated tongue slipped into your mouth, his heated body pressing heavily into yours, gasping into his mouth as soon as Mingi began to desperately rut against you, doing your best to swallow his drool. It was when he whimpered that you broke the desperate kiss, asking softly, “What is it, dear? Tell me what you need.” 

“Need you, need to be inside you,” Mingi exhaled against your jaw, letting out a few shaky breaths, unable to keep himself from sinking his claws into your sheets, clearly at his limit. “Can I…? Please?” 

“Have your way with me, Mingi,” you granted his wish, welcoming him with open arms, just as he folded you up into a mating press and began to pound himself into you.

Mingi knew that such an intimate position would almost guarantee that you would home his pups after the very first knot. It drove him crazy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you as hard and fast as he could, emitting a animalistic grunt or growl with each thrust he made into your dripping cunt, a few drops of drool escaping past his plump lips and landing on your flushed, sweat-ridden face. “You’re mine now, love. My mate. I’m going to breed you.” 

“Y–ours…!” you could barely enunciate, not when he kept punching the air out of your petite body when his oversized one came in contact with yours, his heavy cock continually slipping back into your willing hole with so much ease, it was clear that you were made for him.

“Mine. My pretty little mate, all for me.” It was then that Mingi bit down into your neck, hard enough that he could leave his mark on you, a white hot streak of pleasure shooting through your spine as he did so. 

It felt so good, you could’ve swore you were already cumming, dragging your nails down his broad back, your eyes disappearing underneath your fluttering eyelashes. The werewolf didn’t seem to get tired, no matter how many times you came undone, his large hands still tugging on your hips, forcefully guiding you back onto his cock as though you were a simple doll, at least until you felt a new sensation, something stretching you open even further. “Haaah, it’s so big…”  

“That’s my knot, love. Will you take it, Y/N?” he panted into your ear, licking and nibbling at it as his husky voice finally penetrated your hazy mind.

“Yes, give it to me, please, Min…”

He hummed against your skin, running his hands along the soft edges of your heated body. “I’ll breed you full…so full of my cum, you’ll be carrying my pups by the next full moon.” 

Something about what Mingi said altered the state of your mind on a primal level, your thighs automatically hooking around the werewolf’s waist, your arms around his neck to hold him impossibly close. You wouldn’t be alone anymore. You had a “mate,” like Mingi had lovingly coined the phrase. You would be his, and he was yours, and something so simple made you feel safe. 

“Yes, please.” 

It wasn’t the heavy knot that stretched you wide and locked you in that brought tears to your eyes, but the sudden, hot, seemingly endless rush of cum that flooded your womb that made you cry. Mingi rubbed gentle circles over the small pouch that joined the prominent bulge his cock made inside your abdomen. “You did so well, love, so good for me,” he cooed at you, giving your cheek a few loving licks. “You were made for me.” 

“I was just thinking that,” you sighed softly, running your fingers through his matted, sweaty hair, loving how it felt to have him still stay inside you, keeping all his love from pouring out. It just felt right. Being here with Mingi felt right, like you had always been waiting for him to fall into your life. 

“That’s because you’re my other half.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before resting his against yours. “It was destined.” 

“For me to shoot you with an arrow?” you joked, reaching up to gently play with one of his furry ears. 

Mingi nuzzled into your touch, wanting to stay with you in that moment, that warm bed, that cozy little cabin that kept you both safe for as long as he could. “I would get shot a million times over, if it meant that I could meet you again.” 

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[i-like-loserz]

mommy & daddy

synopsis: you come home from a girl's night out feeling extra needy for your boyfriend

pairing: san x afab!reader

warnings: SMUT, tipsy!reader, dom!san, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cockwarming, size kink, usage of mommy/daddy, choking, pet-names, degrading words (slut, whore), hair-pulling, somnophilia elements at the end (but it's sweet)

word count: 2.7k

masterlist

Calming classical music hums in the background as his eyes scan down the page. His slightly calloused fingers idly rub at the folded corner at the top of the book, gently smoothing it out before bending it once more. His motion to flip to the next page is interrupted by the muffled sound of jingling keys and the creak of the front door opening. 

San looks up from his book and spots you as you walk in, coat and purse hanging over your arm with your heels in hand. His eyes darken as you hang up your coat, appreciating the little outfit you went out in.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His husky voice rumbles through the room, deep and luxurious, dripping from his lips like molten chocolate. 

When you turn around, your eyes find him under the soft glow of the reading lamp. He looks so handsome in the armchair, sitting so magnetically with his legs invitingly spread open. 

“…Hi, Sannie.” You say sweetly, already enamored by his stupidly gorgeous face. You place your bag on the counter behind you before shuffling over to him with bashful steps. San can tell by the adorable flush on your cheeks that you’ve had a few drinks already.

An amused smirk rests on his lips as you innocently approach him with a certain sway in your hips. Obviously you have something on your mind.

His smile reveals those adorable dimples that have your eyes glazed with lust and lips bitten to a delicious shade of pink. Based on your obedient silence, you’re already halfway there for him. 

He’s noticed that you get especially needy when you’re drunk. Something about your fruity cocktails pushes you to give in to every shielded thought and desire – to give into him without hesitation.

Usually you’re shy when it comes to sex, rarely initiating anything without a little bit of help, but god it spurs him on when you try. 

—

“Have a good time?” 

You hum dreamily as you climb onto his lap, feeling small as you wrap your arms around his neck to pull you on top of him. 

You’ve always had an insatiable appetite for your boyfriend, but after the few cocktails you treated yourself to this evening, your body indecently craves him. Thoughts of his hand wrapped around your neck as he ruts into you have been streaming through your mind all night. 

You need to feel him stretching you out as he presses your thighs to your chest, locking you in a mating press to force you to feel all of him slipping into you. You need to feel the warmth of him filling you up when he’s done, marking you as his before watching it all drip out between your hot bodies. 

Your hands brush over his jaw as you cradle his face, eyes locked on the small smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. 

“You look real pretty in this dress, sweetheart.” His voice is low as his thumb lightly skims over the warm skin of your thigh. You attempt to pull him in by his neck, eyes fluttering closed as you anticipate a kiss, but he pulls away before your lips could meet. San’s head tilts to the side teasingly, expression feigning ignorance. “What do you think you’re doing, baby?” 

You can only stare back as the heat of embarrassment pricks at the back of your neck. 

“Wha–I just want a kiss…” You mumble, shifting your body to nuzzle deeper into his warmth. You try again, this time trailing soft kisses up his neck and over his jaw. But once again, as soon as your lips start to graze his, he pulls back with a glimmer in his eyes.

Your eyebrows furrow in frustration, “Sannie!”

You can feel the warmth of his breath tease at the sensitive skin of your throat. 

“You're drunk, baby, I can’t take advantage of you like this…” His actions contradict his whispered words as he plants a few sparse kisses along your collarbone.

“No, please, I’m not! Just two drinks, daddy. I promise.” His breathing gets heavier when you whine out his special name and you feel the air change between you.

You desperately grab at his wrists, attempting to entice him by placing his hands on your hips, but he barely reacts and lets them fall to his side. 

Fine, you’ll have to take this into your own hands. 

“I want you to, uhm,” Your tongue glides over your bottom lip as your eyes nervously wander down over his chest, “be inside of me—please.”

“And why would I do that, sweet girl?”

You sputter, not expecting him to show any resistance, especially because of the way he’s been looking at you for the last ten minutes.

“I need you...” There’s an intensity in your eyes that he has rarely seen, there’s something you've been keeping from him. Something you need. 

He decides to push you a little harder, and figure out exactly what it is. 

He pushes a large hand up your thighs and under your dress. The fabric bunches against his wrist as he feels over your stomach and squeezes over your tits. 

“What’s making my little baby act all pathetic and needy, hm?” 

You cower under his arrogant stare as your cunt pulses at his degrading words. You lean into him as his thumb swipes over your hardened nub, trembling as he sends jolts of pleasure to your center.

An eyebrow lifts with impatience as he captures your nipple in between his fingers and gives it a harsh pinch, “Spit it out.” 

“I-I want you to fill me up, daddy.” He hums in response, letting go of your bud to soothe it with his thumb. Your breath stutters when you feel the roughness of his hand drag over your chest to caress your other tit. With a quieter voice you continue, “Want you to make me a mommy…” 

There’s an instant tightness in his pants as his cock twitches excitedly against the material. How can he refuse an offer like that?

He could only imagine how you’d look all swollen and soft–for his eyes only. It’s no secret that San wants to fuck a baby into you, but you’ve never specifically asked for it before. Not like this.

He runs his nails down the softness of your stomach, watching as your back arches against his touch. He nuzzles his face into your covered chest as it’s pushed against him, breathing in your mouth-watering scent.

His erection pulses against your butt as he imagines how big they’ll get, all leaky and tender as your body adjusts to feed his baby. You sigh as he dots small nips over your exposed skin, pausing to suck at the edge of your jaw until you start whimpering. 

His hand lightly skims over your hips before dipping into your panties. He groans at the feeling, “Such a naughty little pussy, mommy.” Your eyes threaten to roll to the back of your head when you hear the name drip from his tongue. Your walls clench around nothing, sending another flood of slick over his hand. “Slutty little girl, soaking my fingers just at the thought of being bred.”

You can hear the squelching noise of your wet heat as he dips into you. He plunges his fingers deep inside of you, hitting your sweet spot with thrusts that are too gentle to even start to placate you.

He pulls his fingers out and spreads your slick over your folds, uncaring of the way it drips down your thighs, his pants, and the seat of the armchair.

“You’re making a damn mess, baby. Gonna ruin my pants.” A firm press to your pulsing clit makes you jolt in surprise, body already hypersensitized from his touch. 

He slowly slips his hand out of your underwear, watching as his fingers trail slick along with them. He traces over your lips with the glistening fingertips, admiring your mouth as he spreads your heat over your face.

“Open up.” San lets out a growled sigh as your lips obediently wrap around his fingers, sucking in the heady taste of your lust. 

You roll your hips over him, feeling the thickness of his cock straining under his pants. You whimper around his fingers as you angle yourself to nudge perfectly against your clit, hips speeding up as heat quickly begins to build in your stomach.

You’re beautiful as you work yourself over him, tongue cleaning up your mess as you rut your covered cunt against him. 

His hand drops from your lips, shiny with spit, to firmly grip your jaw and pull you in. His nose briefly bumps into you before he smashes his lips against yours. You respond instantly, kissing him with desperation, lips easily slotting against his.

The sweetness of your fruity cocktails meet his spiced whiskey as your tongues glide against each other. The kiss draws your breath away from its immediate intensity as you move sloppily to taste each other as deeply as possible.

When you pull away for a short breath, he pushes you down his lap to shove his clothes off, making haste to unbutton and discard his pants and boxers in one go.

He takes a bit more time to shuck off his shirt, making you watch patiently as his perfectly sculpted body is exposed to the room. He’s built like a god, muscular and lithe. You’d spend the rest of your life worshiping his body with faint touches and kisses if you could. 

His breath is labored, chest rising deeply under you as his cock rests against his toned stomach, throbbing handsomely under your hungry gaze. Your mouth waters and you’re sure you’ve never wanted to taste something more.

But before you can crawl off his lap to kneel under him, he pulls you back over him with a hand on your waist before capturing your mouth with another kiss.

You rest your weight on his bare lap, savoring the feeling of his body heat against yours. You finally feel him start to melt against you, kiss you back with just as much fervor and love. 

His tongue teasingly runs over the edge of your bottom lip, trailing a line over the delicate skin before pushing further against your mouth. He boldly licks into your mouth to taste you, tickling the roof of your mouth before laving passionately against yours. 

You drag your hips over his lap, barely covered, and press flush against his hard cock. You can feel him throbbing under you, insistently pressing against the wetness of your panties.

His hands tighten around your waist when you run your nails over his broad chest and up the back of his neck, tenderly threading them through his hair. 

With a swift motion, he shoves the top of your dress down enough to bare your chest to him. You tug feverishly on the ends of his hair as he dips down to lave his tongue against your puckered nipple. The wet heat of his lips captures your bud and suckles harshly until your back arches in ecstasy. 

You shove your underwear to the side and position him at your entrance, stroking his tip through your dripping folds to get him nice and slick.  Slowly, you sit yourself on his cock, gasping at the feeling of him stretching you open. “Mm…San-“

You yelp as his hand comes up behind you and grips your hair, roughly pulling your head back with a quick tug, “Hm…What was that?” His voice is gruff as your body trembles over him, legs shaking as you struggle to take all of him in one go. 

“D-Daddy.”

“That's what I thought.” Your cunt is already fluttering around him as you preen at how full you feel. As his grip loosens, you experimentally start to roll against him, letting your cunt try to suck him in as you rise before pushing back down on him with a quick drop of your hips. 

He feels so good in this position, nudging right against your g-spot with every bounce of your ass. You ride him slowly and delicately, legs already shaking from the intensity of having him buried inside of you. Your hands grip harshly over his shoulders as you’re forced to stutter out every breath with each drag of his cock. He’s just so big.

Quiet moans spill from your lips as you attempt to speed up. Your eyes squeeze shut as you desperately try to chase the heat bubbling up in your stomach.

Another tug to your hair makes your hips stutter, but the pain is washed out by the exquisite feeling of his cock prodding against the deepest part of you. 

You gently open your eyes and he’s staring right back, gaze half-lidded as he watches you ride him. You hold the stare as you continue to grind against him, admiring the way his body tenses as he tries to control himself. 

You whine as the slick sound of your connection fills the living room, “Ahh–I need your cum, daddy.” 

Suddenly, his hand moves to wrap around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you squeal as he roughly shoves his hips upward to bury himself even deeper inside of you. A pathetic moan is pounded out of you as he pushes you harder onto his cock. 

“Fuck—you want me to put a baby in you? Y’wanna be a mommy, hm?” Your hands wrap around his wrist as he continues to hold you by the neck, partially using it for support as your back arches to alter the angle of his thrusts. 

“Please—“ You choke back a sob as he starts to vigorously pound up into you, hitting a breathless spot in you until you go boneless. Your vision blurs as your eyes well up with tears at the intensity, “—Ahhh” 

His jaw is clenched tight as he watches you lose control above him, “like that baby? You gonna cum for me?”

Your mind is frantic as you rapidly reach the edge, “Yes daddy, please, breed me…make me yours.” Your voice rasps out as his grip tightens, throat struggling to swallow down breaths.

Built up tears spill down your face as warmth spreads over your body from your center. All your senses numb as your body is slammed with pleasure and stimulation. You vaguely feel the warmth of his body against yours as you tremble over him. 

San lets out a strangled groan as you flutter around him, his cock pulsates against your walls as you fall apart. Your cunt milks every drop of  him as he fucks a few more thrusts up into your tired body. You hum as he comes down from his high, soothing a hand over his bare chest as he softens inside of you.

—

You slouch over him, snuggling your face into the crook of his neck as your breaths slow down. He’s still inside of you as he patiently waits for you to fall asleep. He holds you protectively against him, chest against yours, running a hand over your mussed hair and sweat-sticked neck.

He carefully picks you up with your arms wrapped around his shoulders and walks to your bedroom, leaving the pile of clothes in the living room to clean up tomorrow. He turns on his bedside lamp after he delicately places you on the bed, lighting the room with a soft glow. 

San fully removes your dress and sticky panties to make you more comfortable as you sleep, ensuring to go slow so you don’t wake up. He lovingly pushes your hair out of your face as you snooze peacefully over the covers, caressing your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

With a soft sigh, you push your face further into the pillow and stretch your legs out. He doesn’t mean to look, but he notices that you’re dripping onto the sheets, leaving a dark mark of slickened material under your legs. 

With a gentle motion, he pushes your legs apart and gingerly brushes two fingers against you, collecting the leaking cum before pushing it back in. You moan at his tender touch, legs squeezing around him as you unconsciously whine for more.

He ignores your wanton reaction and pulls his hand away. He slides into bed behind you with a sigh and reaches over to place his hand protectively against your stomach. 

Gently, he nudges his nose against the back of your neck and whispers against your skin, “You’re gonna be the best mommy, sweetheart.”

He can only hope you meant what you said because it really is his dream. 

Sometime during the night, your smaller hand finds its way over his, cradling instinctively over your stomach.

[monster-disaster]

Feral question—

How would different monsters react to their human partner giving them playful love bites? Just randomly too not just during sexy time

Also what type of monsters would go crazy when their partner leaves scratch marks on their back during sexy time?

monsters x human!Reader Good to know: some spice, nothing serious

The simple answer: they love whatever you do to them. But let's unpack it a little bit:

Your orc finds it amusing whenever you bite his bicep just because it's there, and you can't say no to an opportunity like that. Your bite barely feels more than a small nibble, a teasing little thing that makes him grin. And, of course, he has to return the favor. He knows exactly what the scrape of his tusks against the sensitive skin of your neck does to you, and by the time he is finished, the mark of your nails is all over his broad back. Deep, stinging trails that only make him rumble into your heated skin with satisfaction. He wears them like a trophy. He only rolls off you when he knows you have nothing left to give him, tangled in his embrace, all breathless and boneless.

Your werewolf knows all too well the primal urge to bite a loved one, but you only do it when he is in his human form because, well, fur. He loves it. It registers in his mind as a claim, and he only wishes the mark would stay, but he is happy with the ones you leave on his back too. Sometimes, the way he urges you to dig deeper, to leave something more lasting, almost makes you hesitate. Almost. But you can see it in his eyes how it rewires his brain in ways he can't put it into words. And when he becomes absolutely sure you are the one, he won’t settle for fading marks anymore. No, he will take it further and tattoo your name somewhere on his body as a permanent claim for the world to see. You will call him silly for it, but deep down, it does something with your brain too.

Your naga laughs whenever you attempt to bite him. Your weak, blunt human teeth do absolutely nothing to his scales. And unfortunately, your nails either. Not without causing him real damage, but he appreciates the sentiment anyway. And he is more than happy to return the favor. Between the two of you, it’s always you who ends up with the marks of your lovemaking, but it's fine, because soon, he will propose, and there will always be a ring on his finger as your claim over him.

Your dragon is similar. A soft, fragile human like you could never leave a mark on his thick scales, but it doesn't mean he doesn’t go absolutely feral when you try. The fact that his pretty, delicate mate wants to claim him? It only adds to his ego. And he would really, really like to return the favor, but he can't. He is all too aware of how dangerous he can be. He is a predator through and through, and you are his sweet, little treasure. Instead, he drowns you in gifts and grins, all too smug and pleased with himself, whenever you sink your teeth into him.

Your goblin found it weird the first few times when you bit him while he was busy with the most mundane things, but he got used to it quickly. Now, if too much time passes without you chewing on him, he starts getting antsy. Did something happen? Are you mad? He won’t rest until you finally put your mark on him again. You created a monster with your habit, but honestly? Neither of you are complaining.

Your minotaur gets horny the moment he feels your teeth on him. It doesn't matter if it's the middle of the day and you have a bunch of things to do, now, you are his for the next several hours. Minotaurs are not predators like werewolves or rakshasas, they don't have the instincts to claim with bites and scratches. They prefer the stuffing you full until you are dripping method. And your minotaur isn't different, but because of this, he finds your need to bite him and claw at him even more exciting.

Your rakshasa never misses the opportunity to flash his sharp canines whenever you bite him, saying now it's his turn. He finds your habit more amusing than anything. His pretty bunny wants to bite him, really? Cute. But the scratches you leave down his back? Now, they are a different story. Those make him purr. He loves nothing more than stretching out beside you, all relaxed and spent with your mark slightly burning on his back.