#and said “no... it could be Innocence.”

[buckyseternaldoll]

all mine, baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: You crossed a line to finish the mission. Bucky saw it. Now he’s going to remind you who that pussy belongs to—with his mouth, his cock, and his name on your lips.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v (doggy + missionary), oral (f receiving & m receiving), facial + cumplay, overstimulation, marking, possessive!bucky, jealousy sex, creampie, shower aftercare, dominance (non-degrading), soft switch tension

Word Count: 5.9k

Author's Note: Hope you'll love my take on Bucky's more dominant side too. Thanks for reading 💜

“Just get the intel,” Bucky muttered, catching your wrist before you could step out of the SUV.

His grip wasn’t hard—but it stopped you. That said everything.

You turned, your eyes dropping to the flesh fingers wrapped around your wrist, then rising to meet his face. His jaw flexed. Tension rolled off him, held back behind stubble and armor and a soldier’s discipline he wore like a second skin. But it was more than that.

He knew how this worked. You both did. Sometimes missions blurred into seduction. Sometimes flirtation was the weapon.

Still—he breathed out, voice dropping. “I know what this is. I know you’ve gotta flirt. Play the part. That’s fine.”

You held his gaze, silent.

“But I’m gonna be in that room too,” he added, quieter now, almost like it hurt to say. “Watching him look at you. Listening to every word you say in my goddamn ear. And I can take a lot, but I’m still a man, alright?”

His thumb brushed across your pulse—gentle now. “Just don’t overdo it. Don’t give him more than what’s needed. Don’t make me sit there and hear you moan in his ear like it doesn’t fucking ruin me.”

The last part nearly broke in his throat. It wasn’t anger. It was something else. Something hot and human, coated in restraint.

You softened.

“I know,” you said, quieter. “It’s just a means to an end, Bucky. You have my word. I’ll do just enough.”

His eyes searched yours like he needed to be sure. Needed it anchored.

You gave him a small nod.

But deep inside, you knew.

These missions never stuck to plan. Sometimes the target needed a little push. Sometimes—when the drug took too long, when the man was strong, when timing burned too fast—you had to exaggerate. Make it look real.

And maybe, just maybe…

tonight would cross that line.

—

The club slammed into your senses—bass pounding through the floor, lights slicing in deep violet and strobe white. The air smelled like sweat, spilled liquor, and desperate heat. You walked in wrapped in that second-skin black silk, your dress clinging to every curve like it had been poured on. Short. Low-cut. Slick with sin.

You didn’t head to the target right away. You let yourself exist first—moving through the room like your heels wrote every beat of the music. You knew the asset was watching. You felt his eyes from the second you crossed the threshold.

Two tables behind, you knew Bucky was watching, too. Close enough to cover you. Far enough to let you work. His voice echoed in your head even now: “Don’t make me sit there and hear you moan in his ear like it doesn’t fucking ruin me.”

You swallowed it down. Focused.

The asset looked exactly as briefed—ex-military bulk softened by money and whiskey. Sharp eyes. Thick hands. Smiling like he already owned the room.

His men came to you, one leaning in just enough to graze your hip. “He’d like to meet you.”

You smiled. Innocent. Deadly. “That’s sweet. But I like to make the first move.”

You crossed the space, hips swaying. His gaze never left your legs.

In your hand: a glass of vodka, clear as a lie. Laced. Fast-acting. Measured.

You slid into the booth beside him, placing the drink between you.

“Didn’t think a man like you would have to send others to flirt for him,” you said, voice like warm smoke.

He chuckled, slow. “I like efficiency.”

You stirred the vodka with your finger—smooth, teasing—then pulled it back and offered the glass with a smirk. “So do I.”

He took it. Drank. Eyes never leaving the curve of your mouth.

You leaned in, just close enough for your perfume to do the talking. “This kind of attention you always get, or am I just special?”

He let his gaze drop, soaking in the cleavage framed perfectly by the dress. “You’re not like the girls I usually see here.”

“I’m not a girl,” you murmured. “And you’re not just some guy, either.”

You let it linger in the air. Heavy. Coded.

He shifted closer. “You speak in riddles?”

“I speak in trades,” you said, voice low. “You look like a man who deals in things that shouldn’t be touched.”

He smiled, drunk on you—but not drunk enough. The serum should’ve hit harder by now. Should’ve softened his eyes, loosened his tongue. But he was sharp. Solid. The clock was ticking.

You glanced toward Bucky’s table.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But your skin burned under the weight of his stare.

You knew what you were about to do would hurt him.

But this wasn’t a game anymore.

So you swung a leg over the asset’s lap and settled down, smooth and slow. The hem of your dress barely covered your ass now, riding up just enough to reveal the snug stretch of your tactical shorts—black, skin-tight, regulation-issue but cut scandalously high for mobility. His eyes dipped lower, breath catching as the illusion unraveled.

Your shorts pressed flush against the bulge already forming beneath him, the fabric thin but secure—barrier, not invitation. His breath hitched. His hands landed at your waist, eager and clumsy, fingertips brushing the edge of nylon instead of skin. You let your hips roll once, slow, deliberate—not to tease, but to extract. Mechanical. Controlled. Just enough friction to fry his brain and loosen his tongue.

“What are you guarding so tight?” you whispered in his ear. “Where does it sleep? Who tucks it in?”

He groaned, breath hitching. “Red Hook… basement level… old biotech clinic—front’s shut down. Back entrance behind the deli. Third keypad to the left… code’s three-nine-alpha…”

You tilted your head to let him nibble your earlobe while he spoke, your hands running lazily over his chest. You hated it. Hated every second. But your face didn’t show it.

Not until his words slurred. His grip slackened. And his head dropped back.

Out cold.

The drink finally worked.

You climbed off slowly, fixing your dress with careful fingers.

And when you stood?

You didn’t need to look.

You felt Bucky’s stare drilling into your spine. Hot. Furious. Silent.

You’d done what you promised.

Just enough.

Barely.

But the line had been razor-thin.

And the aftermath?

It was coming for you.

—

Bucky didn’t say a word when you stepped away from the asset.

Didn’t look at you.

Didn’t nod.

Didn’t even breathe your direction.

He just turned. Shoulders drawn tight. Vibranium fist clenched. He moved fast, controlled, vanishing through the back exit of the club like he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you one second longer.

The comm in your ear clicked off.

That silence hit harder than any slap.

You stood there for a breath—dress still slightly hiked, heart hammering against your ribs—before forcing your legs to move. Every step down the hallway felt heavier. Guilt wrapped around your spine like ice. You hadn’t wanted to go that far. But you’d known the second the serum lagged that it was either that grind… or let the op slip through your fingers.

You pushed through the alley door into the night.

The air outside was sharp and sour—wet asphalt, exhaust, the dull hum of street noise. The black SUV waited by the curb, engine already running. Bucky sat behind the wheel, face cast in the glow of the dash lights. Vibranium hand flexed once on the wheel. Then again.

You approached carefully, like he might shatter if you spoke too soon.

You slid into the passenger seat. Closed the door softly.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak.

Just stared straight ahead, jaw locked, teeth clenched so tight it looked painful. The city passed in silence as he pulled out onto the road, hands steady, eyes burning holes in the traffic.

You glanced down at your lap, fingers fidgeting. “I had to get him talking before the serum kicked in,” you said quietly. “He was resisting it harder than expected.”

Still nothing.

“Bucky…”

He exhaled—through his nose. Sharp. Barely contained.

“I know why you did it.”

His voice came out flat. Controlled.

You turned toward him, catching the hard line of his jaw, the way that vein in his neck was still ticking.

“I just—he was slipping under, and I knew if I didn’t do something, I’d lose him. I wasn’t enjoying it—”

“But you fucking ground your hips on him,” Bucky snapped, eyes finally cutting to you. His voice didn’t rise, but it cracked, broken glass under velvet. “You pressed your body against another man’s cock like it wasn’t mine you’re supposed to be riding.”

Your breath hitched. Shame curled in your stomach like fire.

“I didn’t want to,” you said. “It was only ever for you.”

He looked away again, jaw flexing hard.

“I get it,” he said, after a moment. “I do.”

But it didn’t sound like understanding.

It sounded like restraint.

He said nothing else.

Just kept driving.

Until his right hand—the flesh one—left the gear shift and slid onto your thigh. Slowly. Hot.

You blinked, heart skipping. His palm moved up, lifting your dress inch by inch until the tactical shorts underneath came into view—thin, black, still dry against your skin. A reminder: that entire act, that entire grind? It meant nothing. No arousal. No pleasure. Just strategy.

But when his fingers slid under the waistband?

When his knuckles brushed your heat?

That’s when your breath hitched.

Because you started getting wet then—only then. Your body responding to him, and no one else.

He paused for half a second. Felt the shift. The slow bloom of warmth between your thighs.

A low growl rumbled from his chest.

“Look at that,” he muttered, voice low, dark, possessive. “You’re only getting wet now, sweetheart. Not for him. Not up there in his fucking lap.”

You whimpered, your thighs tensing, hips twitching toward his touch.

“This?” His fingers pushed deeper. “This is mine. No one gets this but me.”

“Only you,” you breathed, voice barely holding. “Only you, Buck.”

His fingers pumped slow at first—two… then three. His thumb flicked your clit in lazy circles while the pads of his fingers curled up, hitting that spot that made your mouth fall open in a gasp.

You moaned. Soft. Stifled.

But not enough.

“Say my name,” he growled. “Say it like it fucking means something.”

You tried. Choked on it.

He fucked his fingers in deeper.

“Say it.”

“Bucky,” you gasped, the sound breaking free as your head tipped back. “Bucky—please—”

He swerved hard into a side street. Then another. Pulled into an alley dark as sin, hidden behind crates and dumpsters and silence. He slammed the car into park. Killed the lights.

Turned toward you with that fire in his eyes.

—

“Back seat,” he ordered. “Shorts off. Now.”

You didn’t question it.

Didn’t ask.

You scrambled over the center console, breath caught in your chest, heat pooling between your thighs. The dress was already bunched around your waist, riding high. You leaned back against the cold window, knees bent on the seat, and finally hooked your fingers under the edge of your tactical shorts—still clinging to your thighs, still damp with your own guilt.

You peeled your shorts down, slow but shaky, skin prickling as you dragged them past your knees and tossed them aside. The leather was cold beneath you, but your body burned hot. You shifted, leaned back against the SUV window, legs parting instinctively in the tight space.

Through the tinted glass, you saw Bucky climb out of the front seat, jaw tight, eyes stormy.

He slammed the door behind him, hard enough to rattle the frame—then opened the rear passenger side.

And when he stepped in, he filled the entire space.

Broad shoulders ducked low, head nearly brushing the ceiling, body moving with purpose as he sank into the backseat with you. The air between you thickened instantly—hot, electric, inevitable.

He was everywhere. The space felt smaller with him inside it—broad shoulders brushing the roof, body folding awkwardly in the tight quarters, but he made it work. He always did. And now, he was on his knees between your thighs, crouched over you, arms braced on either side like a man caging what’s his.

“No more pretending,” he rasped, breath thick, eyes locked on your dripping heat.

He gripped your thighs, calloused fingers digging in, spreading you wide open.

“No more acting.”

Then his breath hit your folds. Hot. Possessive.

“And no one,” he growled, voice dark and deadly, “will ever make you come the way I do.”

Then he buried his face in your pussy like it was his fucking prize.

Not soft.

Not slow.

But god, not careless either.

He licked you like he needed it to breathe—tongue flat and strong, dragging up your slit and latching onto your clit like he was starving for it. He sucked hard. Claimed it. The sound of it—wet, lewd, hungry—filled the cramped SUV, echoing off the windows.

You moaned, legs already trembling, head thudding softly against the glass.

He groaned into you—tongue flicking, circling, devouring—like he knew exactly how your body worked and wanted to remind you who trained it. His nose brushed your mound, his chin soaked with you, his mouth relentless.

It wasn’t just need.

It was marking.

Like he was writing his name in your cunt with every lick, letting the whole damn city know whose you were.

You squirmed, overwhelmed, but he locked your hips in place.

“Stay still,” he warned, voice raw against your skin. “Take it. You owe me this.”

You gasped, back arching, nails digging into his scalp.

“James—fuck—”

“Say it louder,” he growled, licking harder now. “I want it echoing in your fucking skull the next time you let someone else touch what’s mine.”

“Bucky,” you choked out. “Bucky, please—I’m—”

Your voice shattered as the orgasm slammed through you—hot, fast, brutal. You came on his mouth with your thighs trembling and his name torn from your throat like it was ripped from the center of you.

But he didn’t stop.

Even as you cried out, shaking, spent—he kept going.

He licked you through it, slow and thorough. Cleaning you up. Tasting you like you were the only thing that could calm the fire still burning in his chest. His mouth dragged along your folds like he needed more. Like he’d never get enough.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, chin soaked, eyes burning.

He leaned up, voice rough and quiet.

“Mine.”

Then he backed out of the seat and got behind the wheel again—still hard, still silent, cock straining against his pants as he shifted back into drive.

He didn’t look at you.

Didn’t have to.

You were panting in the passenger seat, legs still spread, cunt still aching from his mouth.

And the safehouse?

Ten minutes away.

You weren’t going to walk out of that room.

You were going to crawl.

—

Bucky killed the engine like it had offended him. His hands were still tight on the wheel. His cock was straining, painful in his pants, his breath ragged from holding back ever since he licked you raw in the backseat.

He got out first—door slamming shut behind him—then moved to the rear.

The moment the back door opened, you blinked up at him, legs still parted slightly, the hem of your black dress bunched indecently high on your hips. Your tactical shorts were somewhere on the floorboard. Forgotten.

His jaw ticked hard.

Without a word, he reached in—gripped your waist, fingers biting into your skin—and pulled you out like you weighed nothing. You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

You could feel his cock through the rough fabric of his pants—thick, hot, pressed right between your thighs.

Your lips crashed into his before either of you could think.

It was rough. All tongue and teeth. No rhythm. Just claiming. His vibranium hand gripped your waist to keep you balanced, fingers pressing through the dress. His flesh hand slipped low—cupping your bare ass under the hem, gripping, kneading.

You moaned against his mouth, and he answered with a groan that rumbled from deep in his chest.

He carried you like that—mouth on yours, kissing like he was branding you—toward the front door of the safehouse. His back hit the wall as he fumbled for the keypad, keying in the code with fast, practiced taps. The lock clicked.

The door opened.

He stepped inside, still holding you up, the door swinging shut behind with a deep slam that vibrated through the floor.

You didn’t stop kissing.

You couldn’t stop.

He walked you deeper inside, mouth never leaving yours, breath hot, cock twitching against the heat of you. Each step toward the bedroom felt like another second he was barely keeping it together.

By the time he reached the doorway, you were gasping into his mouth—desperate, wrecked, clinging.

He broke the kiss with a heavy breath. Set you down slowly, like he was restraining the urge to throw you on the bed and rip the rest of your clothes off in one go.

His eyes dropped, dragging down your body.

Then he spoke—voice low, rough, possessive.

“Strip. All of it.”

You didn’t hesitate. Hands went to the hem of your dress, still clinging to your skin—wrinkled from the SUV, soaked with heat and sweat. The black silk slipped up your body in one smooth pull, dragging across your hips, your waist, your breasts.

The backless cut slid over your shoulders like a final sigh before you tossed it aside.

No bra. Just bare skin. Breasts flushed and rising with your breath. Nipples tight. Still sensitive from the way you’d been edged on the drive here.

Bucky’s jaw flexed. His eyes dropped—drank in everything.

He knew. He’d seen the way the fucker had looked at you. Had seen his eyes drop to your cleavage over and over again. Had heard the bastard groan when your pussy rubbed against his lap.

And now here you were—naked in front of him.

And he was the only one who got to touch.

As you stood there naked, his hands went to the buttons of his shirt. He popped them open one by one—quick, clean. Then peeled it off and let it drop to the floor behind him.

His pants?

He unbuttoned them. That was it. He met your gaze as he pushed the waistband down just an inch—enough to reveal the shadow of V-lines and the thick bulge still fighting for release.

He stepped closer, low voice sharp and steady:

“You started this.”

His gaze dropped to your still-wet cunt.

“Now you’re gonna take everything I’ve got.”

—

Bucky’s pants were already unbuttoned, low on his hips, the thick shape of him straining against black boxer briefs. He looked down at you, chest rising and falling, eyes dark and hungry.

“On your knees,” he rasped. “You wanna make it up to me, sweetheart? Start there.”

You dropped instantly—knees hitting the hardwood, palms sliding up his thighs.

He hissed through his teeth when you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and dragged them down just enough.

His cock sprang free.

Hard. Thick. Flushed deep red at the tip and already leaking. Your mouth watered.

He watched you watch him. Smirked like he was reading your mind.

“Like what you see?” he murmured. “Is this what you were thinking about while grinding on that fucker’s lap?”

You shook your head, breath shallow, voice barely a whisper. “Only ever think about yours.”

He stepped closer, cock inches from your lips. “Say it again.”

“Only want your cock,” you said, eyes locked on his. “Always.”

“Yeah?” He reached down, wrapped his metal hand around the base, gave it one slow stroke. “You want it in that pretty mouth?”

You didn’t answer. You just opened your mouth and took him.

The first inch made his hips stutter. The next made him groan.

“Fuuuck, baby…”

You slid your tongue along the underside, hollowing your cheeks as you sank lower—taking more, deeper, until your nose brushed his pelvis and spit started to drip down your chin. You bobbed your head with purpose, working him like you’d done this a hundred times—like his cock was the only thing you were meant to swallow.

He hissed, one hand gripping your hair, the other braced against the wall behind him.

“God damn—you look so fucking good with my cock in your mouth.” His voice was gravel now. “So fuckin’ perfect… every inch of it.”

You moaned around him—on purpose—tongue curling just right, letting the sound vibrate through his shaft.

His hips jerked forward and he groaned. Deep. Raw.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” he growled. “You like the taste of my cock? Like how it fills that needy little throat?”

You moaned again, this time louder, eyes fluttering shut as you sucked harder—lips tight around him, spit pooling at the corners.

“Look at you,” he panted. “So desperate to please me. All that shit back there, and now you’re here… gagging for it.”

You swallowed around him once. Then again.

He let out a broken, wrecked sound that made your thighs clench.

“My cock,” he muttered, voice gone low and fucked-out. “Always gonna be yours, baby. No one else gets it. No one else deserves it.”

—

Your throat was wrecked from the effort—slick with spit, lips swollen around his cock as you sucked him deeper, faster, like you couldn’t get enough of the taste of him.

Bucky’s hips twitched, breath hissing through his teeth, every muscle in his thighs taut.

“Fuck—don’t stop, baby. Don’t you fuckin’ stop—”

You moaned around him again, greedy and soft, and that was it.

His grip in your hair tightened—his thighs locked—and then his cock pulsed once, twice, and he let go with a deep, broken groan.

Hot, thick ropes of cum painted your face.

Across your cheek. Your lips. Your chin. A drip landed at the corner of your mouth, warm and heavy. He held your head still, letting it happen. Letting you take it.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he panted. “Just like that.”

You stayed there, kneeling, breath shallow and mouth parted—cum dripping down your skin, cooling in the air. Dazed. Ruined.

But he wasn’t done admiring you.

He reached down, cupped your jaw in both hands—flesh and vibranium—guiding you up, slow, until you were standing again, swaying slightly on your feet. His thumbs dragged through the mess he left, smearing it across your flushed cheeks, his eyes devouring every inch.

Then he leaned in.

And licked it off your skin.

His tongue dragged up your cheek—slow, filthy—then circled the corner of your mouth. He moaned low, like the taste of his own cum on your skin satisfied something animal in him.

“Mine,” he growled, voice dark and reverent. “You wear it so fuckin’ well.”

You whimpered, eyes half-lidded as his tongue lapped once more—this time over your bottom lip.

Then, without warning, his arms wrapped around your thighs and lifted you clean off the floor.

You gasped as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist again, arms clutching his shoulders. His cock, still hard and leaking, pressed between your soaked folds—barely touching, just there, heavy and teasing as he walked you across the room toward the bed.

You felt it—every step—the way your slick coated his length, the head of him bumping your clit, sliding through your folds as he carried you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, smirking against your neck. “You’re dripping for me only, aren’t you?”

His flesh hand gripped your ass tight, fingers spreading across the soft skin like he owned it.

“You dirty little slut,” he growled—voice smug, filthy, hungry. “All this mess, and you’re still so fucking wet for me.”

You moaned against his throat, clinging to him tighter.

“You think sucking me off makes it even?” he breathed. “Nah. You’re not off the hook, sweetheart. Not ‘til I’ve fucked that grind out of your memory.”

He reached the bed.

Dropped you onto the mattress with a low grunt, his chest heaving.

—

You looked up just in time to see him wrap one hand around his cock—thick, flushed, still slick with your spit and the mess between your thighs. He stroked himself once, slow, his jaw clenching tight as his hand glided over the length.

Your slick made every sound wetter, filthier. And he watched you like you were prey.

“Turn around,” he said—voice low, gravel-wrapped filth. “Back to me.”

You obeyed instantly.

Rolled over, lifted your hips, and grabbed the nearest pillow—propping yourself up just right. Your chest sank into the sheets as your ass rose high, knees spread wide to accommodate for his size, your folds glistening and parted, waiting for him.

You heard it. That sound. That moan he didn’t even try to hold back.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathed. “So perfect. So fucking obedient for me.”

You arched deeper, giving him more. Offering yourself the way he liked—completely. Without hesitation.

He stepped between your legs and ran the thick head of his cock through your folds—gathering slick, bumping your clit once, twice, making you whimper into the sheets.

“You’re soaked,” he muttered, voice low and tight. “Dripping all over me.”

Then he pushed in.

Slow.

Deep.

Thick.

The stretch made your mouth fall open, eyes squeezed shut as he filled you with one steady thrust—your cunt sucking him in, clenching around every inch.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips. “You were made for this cock.”

You whimpered, body tensing, back arching deeper.

“Yeah… that’s it, baby,” he murmured, rocking in just a little more. “Feel that? Feel how tight you are around me? Fuckin’ gripping me.”

He bottomed out, hips pressed against your ass, and let out a low, broken moan.

“Shit. So fucking good. This pussy—this cunt—was made to take me.”

Then he started moving.

Thrusting hard. Controlled. Not rough—but not gentle either. A rhythm built for branding, for claiming, every movement steady and deliberate. His cock slammed into you with that perfect drag—thick and hot, sliding through soaked walls that welcomed every inch like it belonged there.

You moaned into the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets, your thighs trembling as he fucked you deeper.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “Ass up, knees wide, taking every fucking inch like a good little slut.”

You whimpered—because it wrecked you when he said it like that. Not to degrade, but to own. To punish you in pleasure.

“My good girl,” he moaned. “You’re so fucking wet for me. Clenching like you need it.”

Each thrust slammed your hips forward, his grip unrelenting, cock buried in you over and over again, the sound of skin on skin filthy and perfect.

And he wasn’t even close to done.

—

You were moaning into the pillow, fingers clawing at the sheets, every thrust dragging you closer to the edge.

“Bucky—fuck—I’m gonna come,” you gasped, voice high and wrecked, thighs trembling under the force of him.

But his hands didn’t slow.

If anything, they tightened on your hips.

“Not yet,” he growled. “Not the fucking time, baby.”

His hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back—not too rough, just firm, in charge—until your spine arched and your mouth fell open in a cry.

Then he slammed into you harder. Deeper.

You could barely breathe. His cock pounded into you from behind, thick and relentless, dragging over every perfect spot inside you. Your slick made it loud, each thrust a wet slap that echoed through the room.

You sobbed, close, body twitching.

“Please, Bucky—I can’t—”

He yanked your hair again—harder this time—until you were upright, your back flush to his chest, ass pressed against his hips. You whimpered, the new angle hitting you even deeper, your cunt fluttering around him as your orgasm crashed through you with violent, blinding heat.

You squirted, soaking his cock, the sheets, everything.

And Bucky? Fucking smirked.

“Goddamn,” he grunted, cock twitching inside you. “Look at that mess, baby. Look at what you gave me. No one’s ever made you come like that.”

You were shaking, limp in his arms—but he didn’t let go.

Didn’t stop.

He kept going—fucking you through the aftershocks, through the overstimulation, through the trembling cries that spilled from your mouth as your pussy clenched again and again.

“Bucky—James please—too much—”

Your voice broke, hoarse, desperate, head falling back onto his shoulder.

But he just moaned into your ear, voice filthy and breathless.

“No, baby. You don’t get to tap out yet.”

His teeth grazed your jaw as he drove into you again, rougher now, cock dragging through your soaked walls like he was trying to ruin them.

“This’s what happens,” he growled, “when you grind your pretty little pussy on another man’s lap.”

You sobbed again, your cunt fluttering around him uncontrollably.

“You let him feel it,” he panted, hips slamming up into you. “Now I get to remind it who the fuck it belongs to.”

You whimpered, hands slipping off your thighs, too weak to hold yourself up.

He caught you, arm locked under your chest, still fucking into you like it was the only language he spoke.

“This pussy,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous, “is mine. Say it.”

—

Your voice broke again—“Bucky—too much—please—”

And this time, instead of pleading the word, you meant it.

You reached back, tapping his thigh gently, hips squirming away as your overstimulated cunt fluttered helplessly around him. Your hand slid to his, guiding it away, your body trembling in the cradle of his chest.

He got the message.

He slowed.

Breathed heavy against your back… and finally let you go.

He pulled out with a low, drawn-out groan—his cock slick, flushed, twitching from the effort not to come right there. He sat back on his knees, then dropped off the bed, standing at the foot now, watching you like something sacred.

You moved slow. Gently flipped onto your back, thighs still shaking. You folded your knees up, spread them apart, presenting yourself with your head tipped to the side, hair messy against the sheets. Your fingers slipped between your folds, teasing yourself—wet, messy, flushed from being pounded raw. You looked at him through heavy, lidded eyes.

“My pretty little pussy’s only for you, baby.”

His mouth parted.

His body twitched.

“Fuuucking Christ,” he muttered, voice half-broken, hand running down his face. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

He climbed back onto the bed—over you now—knees braced to either side of your hips, cock bobbing near your entrance but not touching yet. He leaned in and kissed you—really kissed you. Slow. Deep. Tongue sliding against yours with a reverence that made your chest ache.

He pulled back just enough to pant against your lips. “I fucking love you,” he moaned. “Every part of you. Every inch. You know that, right?”

You nodded, dazed, breathless. “I know. I love you too.”

He kissed you again—one hand cradling your face, the other made of vibranium, cold but careful as it slid down your chest. He cupped your breast, thumb teasing the peak, fingers squeezing gently. Your nipple twitched under the metal and he smirked against your mouth.

“So sensitive,” he whispered.

Then he slid down your body, vibranium fingers trailing from your breast to your slick heat. He circled your clit gently, slow and patient now—just enough pressure to make your hips jerk. You were so wet still. So open.

One vibranium finger slipped in.

You gasped.

He groaned.

“Still clenching,” he murmured. “Still so fucking tight for me.”

He thrust it slowly once, twice, and then pulled it out—watching your walls twitch around the loss.

Then he grabbed his cock—thick, veined, soaked—and lined himself up again. He braced one hand on the mattress, the other at your thigh, and pushed back inside—slow and deep, his moan shaking through your chest.

Not rough this time.

Not punishing.

But no less intense.

He fucked you with love now—hips rolling into yours, cock dragging over every sensitive spot like he knew the shape of you from the inside out.

Every thrust said: you’re mine. I love you. You’re safe.

And your pussy soaked it in like it never wanted anything else.

—

Bucky’s thrusts were slow and deep now, rolling through you like waves—his hands sliding under your thighs to press your legs higher, folding you up just the way he knew drove you wild.

“Hold them here,” he whispered, voice rough and reverent as he guided your knees up toward your chest. “Let me in deeper, baby.”

You obeyed, trembling slightly as your knees framed your chest, and he slid in all the way—his cock dragging through your dripping, overstimulated walls with a rhythm that felt like he was fucking straight into your soul.

He leaned down, pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, your collarbone—then sucked, just enough to leave hickeys blooming across your skin.

Marks.

Proof.

His.

“I love you,” he murmured between kisses. “Love your body. Love this pussy. Love you.”

His thrusts deepened, hips rocking harder now—controlled but urgent.

“You love me too, right?” he whispered near your ear, voice quieter now. “You only act like that with me, yeah? Only mine, baby?”

You nodded, breath catching, hands gripping his shoulders. “Only you, Bucky. Always you.”

That broke him.

“Fuck,” he groaned—just as your orgasm slammed through you again.

You clenched around him, crying out his name, and he came with you—cock pulsing deep inside as he filled you with heat, hips jerking forward in short, frantic bucks. His moans were wrecked, low and filthy against your neck.

Even after he emptied everything into you, he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull out.

He shifted, carefully—sliding one arm under your back, the other under your thigh—until he could lay beside you in that tight fit of tangled limbs. His cock still inside, your bodies joined. Your walls fluttered around him in soft, pulsing squeezes, but they were easing now, slowing. Content.

You exhaled, eyes closed, lips parted.

Done.

So full of him.

So full of love.

He left soft, fluttery kisses on your cheek. Then a plush one on your lips.

You smiled against his mouth.

“Baby,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “We gotta clean you up. We still need to shower.”

You hummed, too tired to lift your head. “You carry me. I can’t feel my legs.”

He chuckled. “I got you.”

—

The water was warm, steam curling around your bodies. Bucky stood behind you, gently massaging shampoo into your hair with careful fingers, rinsing you like you were made of something breakable. His cock had softened, finally, resting against your lower back.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into your wet shoulder. “If I was too rough. If I hurt you.”

You shook your head lightly, water cascading down your back. “I’d do the same if you were the one grinding on another woman.”

He stilled behind you.

You added, voice soft but dark, “Actually… I’d probably do worse. Maybe a little dick-chopping.”

Silence.

Then—“Jesus fuck,” Bucky muttered, stepping back half a step. “You’re not joking.”

You turned your head slightly, smirking. “I don’t joke about that kind of thing.”

He grabbed your shoulders gently to turn you around. The shampoo dripped down your temples, eyes squinted closed as you faced him.

He cradled your cheeks in his palms, kissed your nose once, then said with absolute sincerity:

“I swear on my long-ass life… I will never, ever test that.”

You both laughed—soft and tired—your foreheads resting against each other under the water.

Still full of heat.

Still full of love.

Still his.

[ryosbaby]

threatening plug!toji that you'll replace him since he wants to start charging you now.

toji let out a deep sigh as he stepped outta the car, door clicking shut behind him.

“you know you still owe me from last time, yeah?” he muttered, brows drawn. “ain’t givin’ you shit for free no more.”

his voice was low, rough around the edges. looked tired too—but more annoyed than anything else.

you shrugged innocently, “thought you let that slide already.”

he huffed a dry laugh, leaning back against the car, arms crossing over his chest. his shirt rode up just a bit, flashin’ a strip of muscle at his waist.

“angel, i been doin’ you favors left and right,” he said, head tilted. “‘m runnin’ a damn business here.”

“this ain’t no charity, alright?”

his eyes dragged over you, slow and a little amused, one brow quirking as he gave you that look—the one that always made your stomach twist a bit.

“can’t just be handin’ shit out ‘cause you bat your lashes.”

he reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it without breakin’ eye contact. took a long drag, then blew the smoke out to the side completely disregarding the 'no smoking sign' plastered on the wall of the parking lot.

“so,” he said, smoke curling past his lips, “what d’you need this time, sweetheart?”

“change my mind…” you muttered, already reaching for your phone. “’m just gonna call sukuna 'm sure he's gon—”

before you could even finish, toji rolls his eyes as he grabbed your arm, fingers wrapping tight as he yanked you back.

“fuckin’ ungrateful,” his voice dropped, rough and low in your ear. “i give you whatever the hell you want most times—you don't pay for shit—don’t even charge you full price when you do bother payin’.”

“toji—"

the smoke from his cigarette hit your face a second later cutting you off, sharp and deliberate, as he leaned in close. too close.

“yet you run to him?” his grip tightened just a little more, not enough to hurt—but damn near close. “that what we doin’ now?”

then you felt it—his body pushing you back ‘til your spine hit the side of the car with a soft thud, heat radiating off him. he was solid, sweat clinging to his skin, his scent mixing with the smoke and whatever cologne he threw on in.

“was just playin’,” you said quickly, lips twitching into a pout. “you get mad at me so quickly."

his fingers hooked under your chin, tilting your face toward his with zero patience.

“do i look like i’m in a playful fuckin’ mood, baby?”

you rolled your eyes just a little. “no… but you never are.”

he let out a low chuckle, but there was no real humor behind it.

“i said i was sorry,” you muttered, softer this time.

he watched you for a second too long, like he was deciding whether to let it go. then his hand slid down to your waist, gripping it firm.

“don’t say sorry. just don’t go actin’ like i’m not the one who fuckin’ takes care of you, yeah?”

“i know that,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “i wasn’t actually gonna call him. was just tryna piss you off.”

“oh, i know,” he said, dragging his gaze over you slow. “my angel’s a good girl.”

he leaned in again, smoke curling past your face, his lips ghosting close.

“c’mere.”

he leans in and presses his lips against yours, his hand on your hip gripping it harder, his body completely trapping you against his car and himself. his tongue runs over your bottom lip, demanding entry into your mouth. he's always too fast.

he moves his other hand to your thigh, grabbing it before lifting you and pinning you against the car. his massive body pressed tightly against you, you can feel his muscles flex under his shirt against you. His lips moved against yours more hungrily, his tongue exploring your mouth now.

he let out a small groan against your lips, his tongue exploring your mouth with more need. his grip on your hip and thigh tightened as he pushed his body against yours, pinning you tightly against the car. he broke the kiss for a moment to let you breathe before diving back in, his lips attacking your neck now. his head moved down slightly to your nape, his hot breath and lips on your skin.

he began to trail kisses down your neck, his lips and tongue sucking on a few spots. He started to bite and nibble on the skin of your neck, leaving a few marks. his hand that held your hip started to travel under your top, his large hand grabbing onto your waist.

"whaddya need again?” toji muttered, eyes dragging over you. “don't gotta pay cash no more. i got a cheaper option.”

you gave him a look. “cheaper?” toji never offers fair deals .

“mhm, way cheaper," he hummed against your neck, his tongue licking one of the marks he left on your skin. one of his legs slipped between your thighs, pushing against you softly.

"you'll like it baby don't worry, so...ya up for it?"

you looked at him, not really thinking about it just appreciating how your plug look, “whatever you want, toji."

he completely got you.

he bit slightly on your neck at those words.

"such a good girl.." he mumbled against your skin, his hand on your waist moving up your top, his palm touching your bare skin

"c'mon get inside the car and fucking delete sukuna's number."

extra. messages with plug!toji

[mooningningg]

notes, this was a lovely request from a anon.

★ Roommate!Sukuna brings another girl home.

You barely got past the first bite of your noodles when the front door opened with a loud creak.

Then: a giggle. Shrill. Bubbly. Way too excited for a weeknight.

You didn’t even have to look. You knew.

Sukuna’s voice followed, deep and amused, laced with that fake charm he only ever used when he wanted something easy.

“Yeah, yeah. Shoes off,” he muttered, and you could already picture the way he was barely holding the door open for her, head tilted with boredom. “Unless you wanna wipe out on my floor.”

Another laugh. You rolled your eyes.

Of course.

Of fucking course he’d bring a girl home tonight. Not even two days after he ruined your date. The guy didn’t even make it to the couch before Sukuna opened the door shirtless and said, “Nah.”

And now this?

You stayed quiet, eyes on the TV, bowl in your lap. You didn’t even flinch when they walked in, but you could feel it — that low, smug heat on the side of your face as Sukuna made sure you saw him.

He was shirtless. Naturally. Sweatpants slung low. One arm slung lazily across her waist like she was some prize he barely cared to carry.

You glanced up.

His eyes were already on you.

And when your gaze met his — narrowed, unimpressed — he didn’t look away. He just smirked.

“Don’t wait up, princess,” he said, voice smooth and low, tugging the girl toward the hallway.

That did it.

You watched them disappear around the corner, listened to the click of his bedroom door shutting, and then very calmly stood up.

You grabbed your phone.

Connected to the Bluetooth speaker in his room.

And you played the most annoying thing you could think of.

“Baby Shark.”

At full volume.

The walls shook.

It took five seconds. Maybe ten.

Then—

SLAM.

The door burst open so hard it rattled the hallway mirror.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Sukuna growled, appearing shirtless and already pissed, his hair half-tousled and chest rising with visible irritation.

You didn’t even pretend to look innocent. You were already leaning against the counter, sipping from a juice box like it was wine.

“I’m sorry,” you said flatly, “do you hear music? That’s weird.”

He stormed toward you, jaw tight, hands flexing. “You’re really doing this shit again?”

You shrugged, nonchalant. “Just trying to enjoy my night. Hope I’m not interrupting.”

He stopped right in front of you. Close. Annoyingly so. Your face tilted up slightly to meet his glare.

“You’re jealous,” he accused, voice low and dangerous.

You scoffed. “Of that girl? With the spray tan and two brain cells between her and her crop top?”

“She’s hot.”

“She’s a walking vape ad.”

He leaned in, teeth gritting. “You’ve got five seconds to stop acting like a brat—”

“Or what?” you shot back. “You’ll throw me out too?”

He stared at you. His mouth twitched. His hand curled at his side.

Then, without warning, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked back down the hallway.

You blinked.

Then froze.

Inside his room, muffled but still clear, you heard it:

“Put your shoes on.”

There was a pause. You could hear the girl rustling around, confused.

“Wait—what? Why?”

“I’m taking you home.”

Another pause. “Did I do something?”

“No,” Sukuna snapped. “She did.”

A beat of silence.

And then hurried steps.

You were still standing near the counter when the girl reappeared, awkwardly pulling on one boot while holding her purse under her arm. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at you. Just kept her eyes down, humiliated.

Sukuna followed behind her, casually cracking his neck, jaw still tight like he was clenching back everything he wanted to say.

He opened the door.

She slipped out without a goodbye.

He didn’t wait for her to reach the steps. Just slammed the door shut behind her, hard enough to make the walls shake.

Then silence.

He didn’t look at you right away. Just stood there, back to you, hands still balled at his sides.

You stared. Heat crawled down your spine. You swallowed.

He turned slowly.

And when his eyes met yours — low, heavy, still sharp — he finally said it:

“You knew she wasn’t staying.”

His voice was calm. Way too calm. That calm that came before the storm with him — tight control stretched thin.

You didn’t reply.

He walked toward you. No rush. Just long, heavy steps across the wooden floor. You stayed where you were, back against the counter, arms crossed over your chest.

“You think I didn’t know what you were doing?” he asked, voice thick. “Cutting the Wi-Fi? Blasting that shit through my speaker? Dropping a whole-ass jar outside my door like a raccoon broke in?”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe next time, don’t bring someone home like you didn’t ruin my date two nights ago.”

He stopped right in front of you again. Closer now.

“You think that little accountant was gonna survive five minutes with you?”

You blinked. “What the hell does that mean?”

He didn’t answer. His chest was rising and falling. Eyes flicking between yours like he wanted to say something, but didn’t trust himself to say it out loud.

Then, low and rough:

“You don’t bring guys home anymore.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. A territorial claim dressed in jealousy.

“And you don’t get to bring girls here and act like I won’t say shit about it,” you shot back.

He tilted his head.

“I didn’t fuck her.”

You blinked. “I didn’t ask—”

“She sat on my bed and I felt sick.”

You froze.

“She touched your hoodie,” he muttered, voice quiet, like it burned his throat to admit it. “It’s still on my bed.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned in, close enough to feel the warmth off his bare skin.

“She’s not you,” he said.

Then he walked away.

And left you speechless.

Taglist, @humeysaga.

[dollgxtz]

Can you write a short somno fic for Sylus but he’s already been doing it for awhile? And he feels so damn guilty about it but genuinely can’t stop because it’s like an addiction to him now? :)

In Somno

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, nonconsensual somnophilia, noncon, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, facials

Summary: Sylus just can't help himself when it comes to your sleeping body <33

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

AN: Sorry anon, I know you said "short" but I got really excited and got carried away. So lets just say this is my version of a short fic LOL. Also thank you thank you thank youuuu for requesting this, I've been itching to write another somno fic hehehe. Btw the title means “In slumber” in Latin!!! :33

He hadn't intended for things to escalate to this point.

Normally, Sylus was a master of self-control, able to reign in his desires with ease. But on that particular day, something had been stirred within him, something that he couldn't quite explain. It had started when he saw you lying in his bed, fast asleep and naked, after a long and exhausting mission. You'd taken a shower and had passed right out. Your fatigue had been palpable, and he had gone to cover you with a blanket, his hand accidentally brushing against the side of your breast.

Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn't meant for this to happen, hadn't meant to touch you like...that. His hand lingered for a moment, a mere whisper of contact, before he moved it away as if it burned. He stared at you, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the turmoil his innocent touch had ignited within him. He had always prided himself on his ability to control himself. Yet here he was, his heart pounding, his body betraying him.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It was just a touch, he told himself. A harmless, accidental touch. But his body refused to listen, his mind refusing to let go of the softness of your skin, the warmth that had radiated from you. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to touch you again, to trace the curve of your breast, to feel more of your warmth.

He knew he should leave, let you rest, should respect your sleep. But he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He had seen you naked before, had seen you sleep countless times. But this was different. This time, he felt something stirring within his groin as he watched your naked chest rise with each breath. Your beautiful, peaceful face was messing with his senses. He tried to dismiss it, to attribute it to the fatigue of the long day, the heat of the room, anything but the truth.

The truth was, you two hadn't had much time for each other lately, and even less for anything intimate. The lack of physical connection had left him pent up, achingly so. He couldn't remember the last time you'd both had a moment to yourselves, a moment to explore each other's desires and needs.

As he sat there, looking at you, he couldn't help but feel a surge of longing. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to calm himself down, but it was no use. Better to quell the urge to touch you now, and then forget about this, he figured. He reached back over, his hand gently touching the soft roundness of your breast, giving it a light squeeze. The touch sent a spark of electricity through his body, and he felt his cock harden in his pants.

Shit. He had definitely just made it worse.

You stirred, letting out a soft whine, and he felt his heart skip a beat. The sound of your voice was like music to his ears, a sweet melody that only added to his arousal. He quickly withdrew his hand, however, as you began to shift and turn your body away from him in your sleep.

Your butt was now completely visible to him. His heart dropped into his stomach. You had always been the only one to undo his calm, to make him feel this way. He ran his fingers through his hair, now having an internal battle within himself. It felt wrong...undeniably wrong...and yet…

One thing had led to another, and he found himself carefully pushing his fingers inside your wet folds. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he was breathless as your cunt sucked in his fingers bit by bit. The feeling of your inner walls clamping down on his fingers sent his mind into a frenzy, and he couldn't help but think about how much he wanted to be inside you.

How wet you'd be.

How tight you'd be.

His cock was rock hard and throbbing in his boxers, pressing against the back of your leg. He pressed himself against your butt lightly, trying to relieve some of the ache that had been building up inside him.

It wasn't enough.

You began to squirm, your body shifting slightly in your sleep, and he froze. He didn't remove his fingers, but ceased his motions...as if pausing could erase what he’d just done. He watched you closely, heart pounding, waiting to see if your eyes would open. If they did, he told himself, he’d just say you two had dozed off like that. Just a sleepy accident.

The lie formed easily in his mind, but the weight of it hit hard. He had never lied to you before...and now, standing on the edge of it, he felt something bitter twist in his gut. Shame crept up his spine, hot and sharp, settling in his face until his skin burned. But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. He smothered the guilt with silence, burying it under the oldest excuse in the book: what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.

As you pressed your backside against him, unknowingly in your sleep, he felt a surge of desire wash over him, replacing all guilt and shame with a primal, aching need. The pain in his groin became almost unbearable, and he couldn't bring himself to care about anything else except satisfying his craving for you.

Within the next few minutes he had rid himself of his underwear, lifted your leg and slowly began to sink his aching, throbbing cock inside you, only a little bit at first. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he felt himself plunging into you over and over, his hips moving in a slow, rhythmic motion. His hand gripped the roundness of your ass, holding you in place as he thrust into you, his fingers digging slightly into your skin.

"Ah...fuck. Kitten, Im sorry..."

He bit his lip, trying to suppress a groan as he sunk himself deeper, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. The room filled with the sound of your bodies meeting, the creaking of the bed, and his ragged breaths. He could feel every inch of you, tight and warm around him. He wanted to savor this moment, to imprint it on his memory forever. He reached around, finding your clit with his fingers, rubbing in time with his thrusts. You moaned softly, still deeply asleep, arching your back to meet him.

"Mghn...S-sylus..."

He froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He was worried that you had woken up, that you would discover him inside you, and that everything would be ruined. He lay there, holding his breath, as he frantically thought of excuses, of ways to explain what was happening.

But as the seconds passed in silence, and you didn’t move, he began to ease—just slightly. He glanced over, searching your face for any sign that you were awake, that you knew. But your eyes stayed shut, your expression calm, untouched. Still lost in sleep.

You looked so docile, so innocent and soft with your mouth agape, small snores escaping your lips. He hates that he feels a rush of arousal looking at you in such a vulnerable state, peacefully sleeping in his bed.

He wondered if you were thinking you were having a dream, if your subconscious was responding to his presence inside you. The thought sent a thrill through him, and his cock twitched in your inner walls. Maybe you wanted him too? Even in your dreams?

As he began to thrust again, this time with a bit more force, he could feel the pressure building up inside him. The ache in his groin was becoming almost unbearable, and he knew he was on the verge of cumming. He groaned, the sound choked out of him as he struggled to maintain control.

But as he looked down at you, still asleep and unaware of what was happening, he knew he had to pull out. As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't risk finishing inside you. Surely you'd put two and two together when you woke up and he'd be caught.

With a strangled groan, he forced himself to pull out, his cock throbbing with the effort. He gripped the sides of your hip, holding himself up as he shot a hefty, sticky load of his cum all over your inner thighs. The sensation was intense, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he finally released the pent-up tension.

As he looked down at the mess he had made, he felt a pang of guilt and anxiety. What would you think if you woke up and found out what had happened? Would you be angry, would you be scared? He didn't know, and the uncertainty was eating away at him.

So he simply cleaned you up as best as he could, and when you awoke the next morning you were none the wiser. You did question the ache between your legs, but fortunately for him you simply chalked it up to pushing yourself too hard during the mission. Besides, your entire body hurt already. What was one more area?

He swore that would be the last time.

Except it wasn't.

You didn’t always spend the night, but when you did, it was usually because you were too tired to head home after a long day. Sylus would swing by and bring you back to Onychinus’s base without complaint. You’d shower, get comfortable, and eat whatever dinner he’d ordered the chef to make you—just like always.

Then the two of you would settle in. Maybe you’d watch a movie, maybe listen to one of his new records. It was an easy routine. Comfortable. Soothing.

Eventually, you’d get too tired to keep your eyes open, and drift off beside him on the couch.

Then he’d carry you to the bedroom—slow, careful, as if you might break in his arms. On the surface, it was about comfort. He wanted you to sleep well. To feel safe.

But underneath that was something more selfish. He wanted to test the limits. To see how close he could get, how much movement he could do before you would stir, how long his hands could linger on your skin.

Most nights, you didn’t even move. You stayed limp and warm in his arms, face tucked against his neck, breath slow and even. It should have calmed him.

Instead, it made things worse.

Guilt curled in his chest like smoke. You trusted him. Implicitly. You let yourself go completely in his care. And he hated how that trust made something coil low in his groin, thick with heat and desire to strip you down and plunge himself in your wet walls.

And that's exactly what he did. Night after night, he'd start carefully moving your underwear to the side, swiftly inserting the head of his hardened cock inside you, and fucking you until a creamy white ring of your juices formed around the base of his shaft. Touching your breasts, butt, and pussy in ways you'd never let him before. And just as he felt himself about to release, he'd quickly pull out, covering your soft skin in his cum. Sometimes it was your thighs, sometimes your back. He'd even gotten bold enough to do your face at one point.

To compensate for the guilt that gnawed at him every time he let himself fall into his dark cravings, Sylus had started buying you more gifts.

At first, it was subtle—a snack you liked, a book you’d mentioned in passing. But it escalated quickly. If you so much as glanced at something in a store window while the two of you were out, or paused a moment too long while scrolling on your phone, it would show up in your hands within days. Sometimes hours.

You noticed, of course. It was hard not to.

“Another one?” you’d ask, brow arched in amused suspicion as you unwrapped a new plushie, or a piece of jewelry that matched your favorite dress, or a gadget you’d casually mentioned needing just once.

When you asked him why he was suddenly giving you so much, he’d just shrug—casual, like it meant nothing.

“You've always been spoiled, why question it now?” he’d chuckle.

As if that explained everything.

And maybe it did. At least, enough to keep you from pressing further.

Because to him, each gift was a way to say I’m sorry I touched you too long, I’m sorry I wanted more than I should, I’m sorry I’m not being honest. I love you so much.

It was his way of trying to be good for you.

Even as the craving got harder to ignore.

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

He found himself unable to stop. Would you really blame him if you found out? You must clearly want it too...the way your body greedily sucked in his cock, squeezing around it like a warm, wet vice. It was as if your body was begging him not to pull out, to keep going, to keep giving you more. Every time he thrust into you, your muscles would contract, holding him in place, and then release, allowing him to slide back out, only to repeat the process again. It was a sensual, intoxicating rhythm, one that threatened to consume him whole.

And the soft little whines you made when he was stretching you out or when he pumped into you a little harder than he meant to drove him absolutely crazy...

He'd promptly cease his movements, gently shushing your little noises while he waited for you to calm.

"Im sorry, baby. I didn't mean it, stay asleep for me," he would coo, his voice a soft, gentle whisper, as he gazed down at your sleeping face. He would pause for a moment, his chest heaving with desire, as he struggled to control his own needs. But then, with a quiet sigh, he would resume his movements, his hips slowly rocking back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of you with a smooth, gentle rhythm.

As he moved, he would continue to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, his words a soothing balm to your sleeping form. "Just need to see you covered in my cum one more time..." His voice was a gentle hum, a vibration that seemed to resonate deep within your body, as he continued to pump into you.

He did this for several weeks, reassuring you whenever you began to grow concerned at the continued ache between your legs. Of course, you'd trust him. Relax after. He'd feel terrible but he'd tell himself it was for your own good. You just felt too good. Too soft, so warm.

Tonight was no different. You both were watching a new movie in his home theater this time, when you promptly yawned. Immediately he felt his breath get shallow, and his pants get tighter.

“Tired, kitten?” Sylus asked, his voice lower than usual—rough around the edges, like he was holding something back. He reached for the remote and shut off the screen, the soft click echoing in the quiet space between you.

You nodded through a sleepy stretch, arms lifting lazily above your head before collapsing into your lap.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, eyes already heavy. “We never finish these movies. I just…I don’t know. I’m always so tired now.”

There was a faint furrow in your brow as you said it—genuine regret, like falling asleep beside him was some kind of failure.

He leaned in without hesitation and kissed your forehead, slow and deliberate. His lips lingered there a moment longer than they needed to, soaking in the warmth of your skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for being sleepy,” he said softly, slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “You’re welcome to come back and finish it any time.”

You didn’t respond.

He was rock hard now.

As he rose to his feet with you cradled in his arms, your body melted into him completely. Your head dropped to rest against his collarbone, lips parted in the beginnings of sleep. He felt the small puff of your breath against his neck—warm, steady.

Halfway down the hallway, he glanced down at you.

Out cold.

He smiled. There was something in your face when you slept—unguarded and soft. Your lashes fluttered faintly, cheek pressed against the curve of his chest like you belonged there.

“They must be working you to the bone,” he muttered to no one, voice barely audible.

Unfortunate for you.

But for him…

You felt incredibly wet and tighter tonight. He'd boldly set you on your back this time, not wanting to miss a single facial expression or noise. Even if it meant being more gentle than usual. He watched greedily as your breasts bounced up and down with his movements. He leaned down, hands on either side of your head, trying with strained effort to quiet his groans.

"How am I ever going to stop doing this to you? You feel so good," he hissed through his teeth, his voice a low, tortured whisper, as he struggled to keep his gentle rhythm. His cock was buried deep inside you, and with each thrust, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge. The sensation of his tip grazing your cervix was almost unbearable, threatening to overwhelm him.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched in a fierce effort to hold back, but it was no use. The feeling of being inside you, of being surrounded by your warm, wet flesh, was too intense, too addictive. He couldn't get enough of it, couldn't get enough of you. And as he looked down at your sleeping face, he knew that he was doomed, trapped in a cycle of desire and pleasure that he couldn't escape.

His hips moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, as he chased the sensation, as he sought to prolong the pleasure. And with each stroke, he felt himself getting closer, closer to the point of no return, closer to the moment when he would finally succumb to his desires and let go. "Hah...gonna cum...," he growled, his voice a low, animalistic snarl as he felt his orgasm building.

"Mmmm..."

As you began to squirm under him, your eyes peering open just a bit, but still not enough to be considered awake, he felt a surge of panic mixed with excitement. Were you waking up? He should stop, he knew he should, but he couldn't. He was too close, too caught up in the moment, too desperate to cum inside you.

He leaned in closer, his large body encasing yours, his warm breath whispering against your ear. "Shh...I'm almost there baby...don't wake up..." He pleaded, his voice a low, husky whisper, as he tried to calm you down, to keep you from waking up and discovering what was happening.

But you whine, sleepily grabbing onto his arms, your hands wrapping around his biceps like a vice. You clearly aren't aware enough to even realize what's happening, and he takes advantage of that, using it to his benefit. He continues to thrust into you, his hips moving faster, his cock pounding into your wet flesh with a relentless rhythm.

As he looks down at your face, he can see the faintest glimmer of awareness in your eyes, but it's not enough to stop him. He's too far gone, and he knows that he's going to cum inside you, no matter what. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Fuck..."

As he pushes as far as he can go, his hips stuttered, jerking forward with a mind of their own, as his cock pulsed, throbbing with the intense force of his release. As he came, he felt his cock unleash a torrent of cum, wave after wave of it flooding into your body, filling you to the brim.  A wave of relief crashed over him, drowning out the relentless hunger that had been gnawing at him all night.

As he looked down at you, Sylus noticed you were starting to squirm again, your body shifting slightly under the covers. You were clearly on the verge of waking up. Your brows twitched, your breathing changed, and your fingers gave a small, unconscious twitch.

Thinking quickly, he moved to wrap himself around you, encasing your body in his arms in a way that was both protective and possessive. His chest pressed against your back, one arm curling securely around your waist, hand resting just beneath your ribs.

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering open for a brief moment—glazed, unfocused—before slowly slipping shut again. He felt your body melt against his, the subtle tension in your shoulders and spine easing as sleep reclaimed you. Your breathing evened out. You relaxed fully in his grasp.

Relieved, Sylus allowed himself a quiet breath of his own, feeling the tension in his body begin to dissipate as he gazed down at you. He looked down to see the remnants of his cum slipping down the trails of your thighs, a warm, sticky liquid that glistened in the dim light. 

He would definitely have some explaining to do when you woke up...guess it was time to buy that cart full of items you'd been begging for...

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi, I love your writing, anyway I have a request: could you maybe write something like reader (teen daughter) is the passenger princess and like even though she has a drivers license and want to practise, maybe she drove once carefully but the turns at the max. speed of the speed limit were like race worthy (or not) he won’t let her drive or give up her seat as passenger princess, or just being overly overprotective, of course only if your comfortable and want to write this. I would like Max Verstappen/Charles Leclere/Oscar Piastri (but it’s your choice Ofc, write with whom your comfortable or want). No pressure to write it it’s just a thought.

Thanks xoxo

-🦋

Passenger Princess

It started with one drive. Just one.

The moment Yn got her driver's license, she thought it was her ticket to a new kind of freedom. She’d imagined herself behind the wheel, windows down, hair whipping in the wind like she was in a movie, her dad in the passenger seat for once. She hadn’t counted on the fact that her dad, Max, wasn’t just any dad. He was a Formula 1 driver. And that came with... complications.

"Dad, I'm sixteen. I have my license. Let me drive. Please?" Yn pouted from the doorway as Max jingled his car keys.

He didn’t even look up. "You also once took a roundabout at full throttle and made that poor French bulldog on the sidewalk almost faint."

Yn gasped, half offended, half laughing. "That was one time! And the dog was dramatic. He was wearing a sweater."

Max finally looked up, smile tugging at his lips. He walked over and gently took her backpack off her shoulder, swinging it over his own.

"You’ve driven once. Once. And you went full Monza into a residential left turn."

"It was slightly over the speed limit. I slowed down after."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Slightly? You took it like it was a qualifying lap."

She crossed her arms, defiant. "I was being careful. You didn’t even say anything during the drive."

"Because I was trying not to traumatize you with my fear," he said simply. "Now come on, princess. I have the blanket waiting for you."

And just like that, her resolve began to crack.

Max always had a blanket waiting in the passenger seat. A soft, ridiculously fluffy one she’d once jokingly said made her feel like royalty. Ever since, Max never let it leave the car. Passenger Princess treatment was serious business.

“I also got your Starbucks order,” he added, shaking the iced drink gently in front of her like a shiny toy. “With extra caramel. The way you like it. And a cheese danish.”

Yn blinked. “You’re bribing me.”

“I’m protecting you,” he replied smoothly. “Big difference.”

She gave him a look.

“Okay, and I’m bribing you. But lovingly.”

With a grumble, she let herself be ushered toward the car.

---

Once they were on the road, Max glanced over at her. She was curled into the seat, wrapped in the blanket, sipping her Starbucks, tapping away at her phone as she DJ’d the ride.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

“About how you gaslighted me out of driving with a danish?”

“I prefer to call it strategic redirection,” he replied innocently.

She snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

---

A week later, she tried again.

“Dad, please. It’s a Sunday. No one’s on the road. I need practice or I’ll forget how to parallel park."

He looked at her, then at the keys in his hand.

“Did you even parallel park during the test?”

She hesitated. “Well�� no. The instructor didn’t make me. But I YouTubed it after!”

Max chuckled. “That’s not reassuring.”

“Come on,” she pleaded. “Just from here to the café.”

He walked toward the car slowly, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. You know what?”

Her face lit up. “Really?”

He swung open the passenger side door, pulled out the blanket and fluffed it dramatically.

“Not a chance.”

Yn groaned loudly, stomping toward the car. “You can’t do this forever!”

“I can try,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat and passing her the aux cable. “Wanna play the playlist you made yesterday? The sad girl autumn one?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re manipulating me again.”

“I call it… excellent parenting.”

---

The more she protested, the more elaborate Max became. The blanket evolved. One day it was heated. Another time, she got in and found a whole mini pillow setup, her favorite candy in the cupholder, and a note that said "Passenger Princess Boarding Pass: One-way trip to VVIP Comfort."

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” she said, holding up the card.

Max winked. “Only the best for my favorite girl.”

“I should be driving. You know that.”

He nodded. “I do. And when you stop taking corners like you're chasing pole, we’ll revisit it.”

“But—”

“Danish?” he offered.

She grabbed it, muttering. “This is emotional sabotage.”

“Yep.”

---

Eventually, she stopped arguing every time. Not because she gave up, but because she started to love it too.

Late-night drives when she was tired and didn’t want to think. Music blasting. Her feet on the dash (only when they weren’t near cops). Max telling stories from old race weekends, things he’d never told the media. Stories about how scared he’d been when she was born. How nothing—not even a starting grid at Spa—ever made his heart race like seeing her fall off her bike for the first time.

“I get nervous because I love you too much,” he’d said quietly once, after she’d fallen asleep mid-drive. She’d pretended to stay asleep, but her heart had never forgotten those words.

---

Then came the day she really did need to drive.

They were at a beach house in Spain, rented for a few days of privacy and family time. Max had pulled a muscle being dramatic on a jet ski (he swore it was the waves), and couldn’t sit up properly.

“Okay,” she said, standing over him with her arms crossed. “This is my chance.”

“You’re enjoying this,” he mumbled, wincing as he adjusted the ice pack on his side.

“Immensely.”

He sighed. “Fine. But slow. Safe. Cautious. I want you to brake like there’s a baby deer at every stop sign.”

Yn nodded seriously. “Deer braking. Got it.”

She drove slowly, carefully, every move cautious. Max still white-knuckled the door, but he didn’t say a word.

When they got home, she parked perfectly, turned off the car, and turned to him with a proud smile.

“Well?”

He smiled back, full of pride and relief.

“You’re getting there.”

---

But the next day, when he could sit up again, she found the blanket laid out in the passenger seat. A fresh Starbucks waiting.

“Really?” she asked, amused.

He shrugged. “Princess treatment. It’s forever. Driving was a fun little experiment. Let’s go back to our roots.”

She laughed and climbed in. “You’re impossible.”

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “You’re my whole heart. Of course I’m impossible.”

And with that, they drove off—music up, windows down, father and daughter in perfect sync.

Passenger Princess: forever status confirmed.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you!

-♡○♡

[marsdql]

Omg I loved the Heeseung boner fic 😭😭😭 can you pls write one where he actually cvms in his pants bc of his innocent bestie like she just wants to be close to him and he can’t control himself AT ALL

Heheheh anon anon hehehehehe smirk smirk idk if I should continue this tho lmk cuz it’s kinda short and not very detailed

You didn’t think twice when you plopped down next to Heeseung on his bed, blanket in tow and eyes still sleepy. Movie night turned into half-whispered conversations and now this—your head on his shoulder, legs tucked under you, fingers absentmindedly tracing the seams of his hoodie.

Heeseung swallowed hard.

You weren’t doing anything wrong. Not really. You were just… close. Sweet. Warm. So damn innocent it was driving him crazy.

“Your hoodie smells nice,” you mumbled, nose brushing the collar near his throat.

His breath hitched.

“Yeah?” he said, voice lower than usual. “It’s yours if you want it.”

You smiled up at him. “Really? You’d give it to me?”

He nodded, jaw clenched. “You can have anything, baby.”

You blinked, not catching the weight behind his words or the name he’s been constantly using on you.

Then you moved, curled closer to him, hand slipping under the blanket to wrap around his waist. Your cheek rested over his chest now, soft breaths brushing through the fabric. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Heeseung felt his body react instantly.

Shit.

His hand twitched on his knee, fighting the urge to touch. To grab. To pull you right into his lap and grind out the need that had been gnawing at him all night.

You let out a little hum, nestling closer. “You always make me feel safe.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn’t deserve that. Not with the way his cock was pressing up against his boxers, hot and needy, already leaking. From just this. Just you.

“Baby,” he whispered, tight and breathless.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t move.”

You stilled. “Why?”

He let out a broken chuckle, half a moan, half regret. “Because if you keep doing that, I’m gonna—”

But then you shifted again, just slightly, your leg brushing over his. it was too much. He gasped — low, strangled, as a sharp wave of pleasure crashed through him. His hips jerked before he could stop them, and then—

“Oh—shit—” Heeseung groaned, hand flying to his thigh as his release hit, sudden and overwhelming.

You froze. “Hee?”

He dropped his forehead to your shoulder, panting. Embarrassed. Shaken.

“Don’t look,” he mumbled, voice thick and hoarse. “Just… stay here a second. Please.”

“…Did you just—?”

He nodded against you, not daring to meet your eyes.

You blinked, stunned. “From cuddling?”

He let out a soft, wrecked laugh, unable to even answer you.

[amusedbird]

I'm so tired of seeing all of these fucking yanks in the tages saying that 'this is what we could have gotten' and that she was brilliant, amazing, but ignoring what she said about Iran ('the greatest adversary of the US') and her extreme Zionistic outlook. Yes, she may have been an 'ally ' for the cisgender bisexual white man from some 'red state', and is certainly far better than trump on the matter, you neglect what she said about people 'willing to make that treacherous journey to the border, don't come' (paraphrased, I'm sure you can find the exact quote). Queer lives in the US matter, yes, of course, as a queer person, I know that, but she is still an imperialist tool. Queer people have not been bombed to death every single day under trump's regime, and yet Palestinians, and everyone else isnt'rael considers a threat, have. And they would have been bombed under her too. Yes, queer people have been injusticed under the presidency, and I would not be surprised if it led to the deaths of a handful of innocent people. And for them, my highest respect and dignity goes towards. Yet it is utterly incomparable to what is going on with isnt'rael's genocide. To think that it is, therefore, is a zionist, imperialist belief. To think that kamala harris is in any way 'good' is a zionist and imperialist belief. She is very much a racist, just not to the extent of trump.

it does not take a genius to figure that out.

Link

[cyanide-siren]

that's your ex?

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You're working on a case and interrogate one of the eye witnesses with the Winchesters, who just happens to be your ex-boyfriend.

☆☆

You were working on a case with the Winchesters and were about to interrogate one of the eye witnesses to get more information on what had exactly happened. You didn't know who it was just yet but as you were standing at the doorstep and the door opened, your stomach dropped and eyes widened.

"Y/N?" a familiar voice with an even more familiar face said, surprised as well.

Oh, hell no. No no no no no no.

"What are you doing here? God, it's been such a long time. How are you?" the guy asked. The guy who had been your first boyfriend and first everything. Date, kiss, sex... And after all these years, there he was again.

"I'm... fine, thanks," you said quietly, awkwardly shifting your weight from one leg to another and wrapping your arms around your body as if to protect yourself from something.

"You guys know each other?" Sam asked with furrowed eyebrows.

"Yeah, we used to date in high school. You know, high school sweethearts," he explained, letting out a chuckle. He was much more relaxed in this situation than you were. Maybe just the presence of Sam and Dean made you unease. Maybe. But why?

You hadn't seen him since you departed ways after high school, him going to a college in a different state and you deciding to stay in your hometown and work.

"Uh, why don't we just get to the case and get this over with," you quickly said and started walking towards the couch in the living room.

The three guys followed you, and Dean made sure to sit next to you, his thigh brushing yours.

When you were done with getting the information you needed, you headed towards the door with Dean and Sam but didn't manage to exit the apartment when a voice stopped you.

"Hey, Y/N," your ex said and grabbed your arm, making you turn towards him. "Can i talk to you for a minute?"

"Um, i, uh..." you stuttered, not wanting to stay here any longer because of Dean and Sam but a part of you knew that there was still unfinished business with you that you needed to talk through.

"We'll wait in the car," Sam said and led Dean out of the apartment.

When the door was closed and you were left alone with your ex, he continued, "I was wondering... since we're more grown up now, would you like to give us another go?"

"You want to get back together?" you asked, lifting your eyebrows.

"Let me take you to just one date and we'll go from there, okay?" he pleaded and took your hand in his, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. "I've missed you, Y/N. You have no idea how much and now that you're here, i..."

You hesitated. Sure, he had been your first love and the one who you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with when you were teenagers, sure that you'd stay together forever. Get married, have kids, buy a house... It had been years since you last saw him and whatever feelings you had had for him had now faded. Not entirely, some part of you would always love him, but you didn't need to have him in your life anymore. You had moved on, as you thought he had done as well.

Dean was sitting in the car behind the wheel, looking at the two of you talking in the apartment, he could see you through the window. He examined every reaction you got from his words, every slight smile you gave him. He took your hands in his, brushing your knuckles. You didn't pull your hands away as Dean had hoped. Step away from him, push him away to tell him it was all over. What was he saying to you?

Dean turned his head away from you, clenching his jaw and gritting his teeth.

"She's not gonna get back with him," Sam reassured him, able to read his brother's mind just by examining the expressions on his face.

"Why would i care anyway if she did," Dean mumbled.

Sam was aware that Dean fallen in love with you, it was clear to anyone around him. It had first started as just a small, innocent crush and a little bit of flirting but as time went by, his feelings grew and grew, starting to be too large for him to handle. Dean wasn't able to confess his feelings to you, though he knew he should if he didn't want to look at you in someone else's arms. See someone else holding your hands.

One thing what also bothered Dean was that your ex was totally different compared to Dean, at least by the looks. Was he your type or would you be attracted to other types too? Shut up, Dean thought, almost wanting to slap himself on the face to get control of his mind.

Then, as Dean turned to look at you again, you were hugging your dear old ex-boyfriend, arms wrapped around his neck, his arms around your waist. Dean's heart dropped at the sight, chest tightening and both anger and sadness starting to take over his body. Dean had no right to be mad at you, of course he knew that, but his body didn't.

Sam witnessed the sight too: you with your ex and Dean losing his mind.

Eventually, you returned to the car, opening the impala's backseat door and hopping inside. Dean pretended like he hadn't paid any attention on your absence.

"Ready to go?" Dean asked. You didn't pay attention to the slight cranky tone in his voice but Sam could hear it loud and clear.

"Yeah, let's go grab something to eat. I'm starving," you groaned and slumped back against the seat.

Didn't want to go get dinner with that lover boy of yours, Dean thought. He had to bit his tongue not to let the words accidentally out loud. He wasn't jealous, you'd definitely catch up on it. If you didn't, Sam would and wouldn't stop teasing him about it. He was not jealous.

Fine, maybe he was a little jealous. Maybe he was the one who wanted to hug and hold you. Maybe he was the one who wanted to –

"Dean?" Sam said, startling Dean from his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"I asked if we could go to the diner where we ate at last time," you repeated.

"Oh, right. Yeah sure," Dean said, shortly glancing at you from the rearview mirror until turning his head to look back at the road.

☆☆

The three of you sat at a diner eating burgers and fries. It felt like several hours since you'd last gotten anything to eat.

You couldn't help but notice that Dean was much more quiet than usual, avoiding eye contact with you and just concentrating on his own meal.

Dean's mind and thoughts were wandering to several different directions all at once. How many times had your ex taken you out to eat burgers? How many times had he done this and that what Dean had done with you but in a romantic way?

"So," Sam broke the silence, quickly glancing at Dean before aiming his gaze on you on the other side of the table. "Are you going to see him again?"

"What?" you asked. "Oh, right. No, i've moved on from him. I wished him all the best in life but i'm not going back to him anymore."

"Really? You just... looked awfully close over there," Dean mumbled, and you weren't sure if you even heard him correctly.

"Were you watching us?" you asked, narrowing your eyes and a teasing smile lingering on your lips.

"Me, i, no," Dean stuttered, quickly turning back to his food and taking another bite from his burger, now slightly larger so he wouldn't need to reply to anything for a moment.

Dean wondered how many exes you actually had, you had never talked about any of them. Why would you? It was none of his, or Sam's, business and in the past. But how many were there? How many men had been with you and –

"Dean?" you said. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, of course," Dean replied and pulled on a smile which might have managed to convince you but not Sam.

Why did you have to look so pretty even when you had mayonnaise sliding down from the corner of your mouth and a piece of lettuce stuck between your teeth? So pretty when you had dark bags under your eyes for not having slept in the past 32 hours? Hair greasy for not having washed it in the past three days? None of those things could take away your beauty.

Dean wanted to tell you how much he cared about you. How much it hurt him when he saw you hugging and holding hands with a guy who wasn't him. But every time he would have had a chance to do so, the words were stuck in his throat and he couldn't get a single word out. Not when you were looking at him like that with those pretty eyes of yours. God, your eyes were pretty.

Maybe some day he'd be able to tell you how damn deep in love with you he was.

☆☆

On the drive back to the motel, it was getting dark outside and you were growing more and more tired, eyes feeling heavy and closing themselves. You tried to stay awake, it wouldn't take more than 20 minutes to get to the motel, if even that much.

However, you soon gave up and fell asleep, head against the cold window.

When Dean had parked the car in the parking lot, he turned to look at you over his shoulder just to see you peacefully asleep, forehead against the glass. Great. Dean didn't want to wake you up, this wasn't the first time he'd had to carry you out of the car, but now if he opened the door, you'd fall on the ground.

With Sam's help, Dean managed to get you out of the car without waking you up – Dean had learned quickly since he had met you that you were a heavy sleeper. He carried you into the motel room, your head resting against his chest, ear right against his beating heart. You were a heavy sleeper, sure, but Dean was afraid that his rapid heart beat alone was enough to wake you up.

Dean carefully laid you on the mattress, placing your head comfortably on a pillow and pulled your shoes off. He covered you with a thick blanket, tucking it all the way to your jaw to keep you warm and safe while you were asleep.

He couldn't reveal his feelings to you, no. What if you didn't feel the same? Saw him just as a friend? He didn't even want to imagine how awkward things would become between the two of you.

Also, if others, such as demons or other creatures who wanted Sam and Dean dead, found out about the person Dean was in love with, they would definitely turn it against him.

But the image of you hugging your ex was still bugging his mind, glued there. He wanted to be the one to do that. To hold you, to kiss you – to tell you how much he loved you. For fuck's sake, he was a coward but he wasn't someone to have good things stay in his life longer than for a short moment.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," Dean whispered, taking one last look at you and walked to the door, silently closing it behind him.

☆☆

[crazziforazzi]

Red Jersey

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

One shot

Warning: MDNI, Possessive!P, Mild dom/sub dynamics

A/N: This started out as a cute little post-game one-shot I drafted after the match… then I went to work, came back, and rewrote it into whatever this is now. I will now be closing my laptop and pretending this never happened, okay? We don’t talk about it.

But in my defense, I did promise to deliver something if P dropped 20. Next time I’m betting on 25+

Word Count: 4k words

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble.

Not the catastrophic, relationship-on-the-line kind of trouble. More the you knew what you were doing and now you’re dealing with the consequences kind. The kind of trouble where your girlfriend doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t throw a fit, she just misses three open layups in the first half of a game she should be dominating and avoids eye contact the whole time.

That kind of trouble stung, because it meant Paige was actually upset. And Azzi couldn’t even say she hadn’t earned it.

It had started with the post. Their hard launch, yesterday. Paige had known it was coming, they’d even laughed about the case together when it arrived in the mail. She’d said Azzi could post it whenever she felt ready. Azzi had felt ready. Paige, apparently, had felt… too busy to react.

Sure, they had agreed Azzi would be the one to go public first, to slowly place the signs for their fans. But she hadn’t expected complete silence from her girlfriend. No like, no repost, not even their pink heart emoji. Just…nothing.

And that silence? It annoyed the hell out of her.

And she knew it was stupid. She knew Paige was barely online these days. She knew that one like didn’t matter when her girlfriend made sure she woke up to a good morning text every single day, and treated her like a princess whenever they were together. But still, Azzi liked to be claimed. In every way possible.

So yeah, maybe Azzi was feeling a little petty when she showed up to the Wings-Mystics game today. 

Her hair was still perfect from the event she’d been at the day before. Her natural makeup hit just right. She even pulled on the jeans Paige loved and decided on a cropped white UConn shirt that left just enough abs and her piercing peeking out. She looked good. Hot, even. First official WAG game and she was showing up for it.

But when she was greeted by Georgia Amoore instead of her own girlfriend first, with a cheeky grin and a "You want this?" Azzi caught the jersey, smiled, and pulled it on right over her tank top without missing a beat.

Okay, maybe she paused for a second. But only because she knew Paige would be annoyed. Her girlfriend was way too possessive for this kind of shit.

Which made her do it anyway.

She’d barely been sitting for a few minutes, casually chatting with the girl next to her, when she saw them. Or more accurately, felt it first. The stare.

When she looked up, Paige and Arike were jogging toward the sideline for warmups. Paige wasn’t even trying to hide the glare. Azzi met her eyes across the court and raised her brows, all faux innocence, like what? Someone else gave it to me.

She didn’t expect Paige to actually come over to her side of the court. But she did.

With Arike flanking her, both of them bouncing the balls casually as they strolled toward Azzi’s section like they had no other place to be. Paige didn’t say anything right away. She just gave her that look. The one that said 

You think you are funny, huh?

"Interesting jersey choice," Arike said with a sly grin, clearly enjoying the drama way too much.

"Georgia said she didn’t want it getting wrinkled on the bench," Azzi shot back smoothly. "I’m just doing her a favor."

"Mhm," Paige murmured, eyes flicking up and down slowly. "Bet she appreciated that."

Azzi tilted her head, playful. "Bet you noticed."

That earned her a look. Paige didn’t respond though,—just turned back to warm up again with Arike, glancing over at Azzi every once in a while before shaking her head. Each time, Azzi just smiled back sweetly, all charm and no remorse.

Now it was halftime, and Azzi sat very still in her seat, Georgia’s red jersey still on, and maybe regretting everything, just a little.

Paige had gone 1-for-6 in the second quarter alone. She’d gotten beat on defense twice, once by Citron, and passed up an open three just to dish to Smith, who wasn’t even ready for it. It was a turnover.

It was bad, like noticeably bad. The kind of bad that made sports Twitter start asking if something was wrong.

Azzi chewed the inside of her cheek, eyes fixed on the Wings bench. Paige was pacing in front of the seats, towel draped over her shoulders, head down. She wasn’t even pretending to be composed anymore. Nalyssa tried to say something to her. Paige just nodded and looked up, directly at Azzi. And Azzi… flinched.

Shit.

This wasn’t what she meant to do. This was supposed to be fun. 

Azzi thought she’d fire Paige up. That it’d get her locked in. She thought Paige would come out swinging, torch the Mystics for daring to even flirt with the idea of taking what was hers. She thought Paige would have the kind of game where she dropped 25 just to spite the Mystics, the kind of night that ended with her backing Azzi against the door as soon as they got to the hotel room and saying mine in every possible way.

That was what Azzi had expected. A little fuel. A little bite. 

Not throwing off her game. Not making her doubt everything.

Azzi tugged at the collar of the jersey, suddenly very aware of how obvious it was. Bright red. Amoore #8. 

Cute… if you weren’t Paige Bueckers watching your girlfriend flaunt someone else’s name across her chest less than 24 hours after hard launching your relationship.

She chewed her lip as the players made their way into the tunnel. Paige didn’t look up once. Not toward the bench. Not toward the crowd. Certainly not toward Azzi.

Azzi had wanted a reaction. Just… not this one.

This wasn’t the fun kind of jealousy. This wasn’t Paige rising to the moment and proving a point. This was Paige shutting down, overthinking, spiraling, playing like she was stuck in her own head.

And Azzi, still stubborn, still too proud to admit it out loud, was starting to realize that maybe she’d misjudged the line between teasing and testing.

She slouched lower in her seat, elbow on the armrest, chin buried in her palm. 

She decided to open the group chat. UConn Huskies 💙💍. 

It had been buzzing with activity all game, mostly with playful jabs and updates. A few GIFs. Some exaggerated "OOPS" messages after Paige’s third turnover. Classic KK.

Azzi didn’t even want to scroll down to see the vote percentages. She knew what option was winning. Judging by Jana’s flame emojis and Sarah’s unhelpful "👀👀👀," her teammates were thriving off this chaos.

And then there it was:

KK: "New poll: What should Azzi do to fix being a dick and wearing the enemy’s jersey?"

Option 1: Beg for forgiveness after the game.

Option 2: Buy new shoes for lil Paigey.

Option 3: Put on that lingerie she packed and wait in the hotel room for Big Daddy Bueckers.

She exhaled, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Do I defend myself? 

The silence lasted maybe thirty seconds. Then the floodgates opened.

Finally, she typed:

Azzi: Okay but… do you guys actually think she’s mad at me?

The words hit her like a slap. And suddenly, all the teasing and jersey-stunting didn’t feel worth it. Not if Paige was hurt. Not if she was second-guessing herself. Not if Azzi did that.

Sarh: Girl.

Morgan: She is mad.

KK: I’d be mad. I am mad. You look like you are repping Georgia like y’all go way back 😭

Caroline: Azzi, you literally hard launched yesterday and then pulled the most passive aggressive side chick stunt of all time 💀

Sarah: Also. She missed a layup which she almost never does. What do you think?"

She stared at her phone, jaw tight. No more playing it cool. She had to fix this.

She opened Paige’s contact, stared at the empty message window, hen finally typed:

Babe, are you ok?

Read, almost Immediately. 

But nothing else. No bubble. Just that quiet little confirmation that Paige saw it, and still wasn’t ready to say anything back.

Azzi’s chest tightened. She glanced to make sure her dad wasn’t watching, took a breath, and typed the kind of message that might break through. The kind that usually worked when normal words weren’t enough. The kind that brought Possessive Paige out of hiding.

It was her asking for a second chance in Paige’s language.

Can you please come out and show them why, even if I wear someone else’s name on my back right now, I only ever moan yours when we get home?

Remind me who I belong to. I’ll be good for you when you do. Promise.

She hit send and was ready to see the effect.

Azzi sat on edge the entire second half—barely blinking, barely breathing—silently praying Paige would settle in. The arena was loud, tense, alive with every possession, but all Azzi could hear was her pulse hammering in her ears. Her hands were clenched in her lap, fingers curled tight in the hem of Georgia’s jersey. She hadn’t sent another message after that last one—but she didn’t need to.

Because Paige had read it. And now Paige was responding.

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t pretty. She was getting double-teamed off the inbound, blitzed every time she touched the ball, and still not getting much help. But she was fighting. Hard. Every floater came with a shoulder dipped through contact. Every pass was threaded like a dare. Every drive ended with her hitting the floor and popping back up like it just fueled her.

Azzi didn’t move. She just watched.

By the final stretch, Paige had clawed her way to 13 points. And then, with just seconds left in regulation, she pulled off a screen and hit a cold-blooded three to tie the game and send it to overtime.

Azzi shot up before the ball even dropped through the net, hands in the air, mouth wide, screaming without thinking. Pride surged through her like a flood. She was full of relief and awe and love. This was her girl.

And then Paige turned. She didn’t look at her teammates. She didn’t even glance at the bench. She looked straight at Azzi.

Their eyes locked across the chaos, and Azzi’s whole body went still. Paige didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. She just stared, held her there, then lifted her hand and pointed. One deliberate motion, right at her chest. Right at the red jersey.

You are mine.

Azzi’s heart stuttered so violently it nearly made her dizzy. Paige’s eyes burned into her with a promise so sharp it almost hurt. It said, You wanted a reaction? You got it. Now get ready for what’s coming.

Azzi looked down and suddenly couldn’t stand the feel of the jersey she was wearing. The red. The number 8. The smug little game she thought she’d been playing. It felt like wearing someone else’s skin. 

Her fingers flew to the hem and yanked it over her head, not caring who saw, not thinking about the cameras or Georgia or anyone else. She folded it once, maybe out of guilt, maybe just habit, and set it down behind her on the seat like it was something she no longer had permission to wear.

Azzi froze in place, heart stuttering. She didn’t even realize she was still wearing the red jersey until she looked down and suddenly hated it all over again. Her fingers yanked at the hem and she pulled it over her head like it was on fire, not caring if the arena cameras caught it or if Georgia saw. She couldn’t keep it on anymore.

When she looked up again, Paige was mid-huddle, sweat slick on her skin, hair damp, jaw tight but her eyes were still on Azzi. She’d seen the jersey come off. Of course she had. She was waiting for it.

And now she looked at Azzi like she was taking inventory. Her eyes dragged over Azzi’s now-bare shoulders, her fitted white UConn crop top, the deep rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath. And then, so subtle it almost didn’t register, Paige nodded.

It wasn’t a "thank-you" or a "you’re off the hook" nod.

No.

It was more of a a good girl nod. A that’s more like it nod. A you’re-in-so-much-trouble-later-and-I-hope-you-know-it nod.

Azzi sank back into her seat, suddenly hyper aware of every part of her body. Her pulse raced, her throat dry, her skin flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the arena lights. It was anticipation, pure want. The dizzy, sweet ache of having poked the wrong version of the bear and realizing, too late, that the bear liked being poked.

She tried to steady her breathing, tried to look composed, but she already knew.

She was in trouble. The kind of trouble that would show up in slow drips of sweat down the back of her thighs later, with Paige hovering over her until Azzi was begging for release.

And god, she deserved every second of it.

Overtime didn’t go how Azzi had hoped.

It started well enough. Paige hit a tough two right off the jump, then James came up with a steal and fed her for another clean finish at the rim. The Wings had momentum, briefly. But as always, without structure, without support, it crumbled fast. Missed switches, bad spacing, no real plan. And even Paige, locked in and pushing through, couldn’t hold the whole team together on her own.

Still, she fought. She always did. And she still finished with 20 points. Came damn close to a triple-double  through sheer willpower alone. She didn’t quit. She just ran out of hands.

The crowd emptied quickly after the final buzzer. People were already halfway to the parking lot by the time Azzi stood from her seat. Paige stayed behind, as always. She signed every poster, took every selfie with the kids pressed against the railing, even as her body sagged a little under the weight of the loss. Her smile was tired, but it was still there. Her shoulders tense, but still straight. That was Paige. Win or lose, she showed up.

Azzi watched all of it from courtside, the red jersey balled up in her hand now. It didn’t feel like a statement anymore, just a mistake she was ready to be rid of.

She made her way across the court toward Georgia, who was still near the bench, smirking like she’d just watched a live drama unfold and maybe enjoyed it a little too much.

"Thanks for the loan," Azzi said lightly, holding it out.

Georgia accepted it with a grin and a quick once-over that lingered a beat too long. "Anytime," she said, flicking her gaze over Azzi’s shoulder, straight toward Paige, who was still watching. Still tracking. "Though I gotta say... it looked better on you than it ever did on me."

Azzi didn’t dignify that with anything more than a tight smile, already turning away.

She lingered by the baseline with Lili and Amari, pretending to laugh, letting the noise of the court fade around her. She didn’t check her phone. She didn’t need to. She knew Paige would come to her.

And she did.

Azzi felt it before she saw it and then an arm wrapped around her from behind, firm and familiar, dragging her a step off balance.

Azzi didn’t resist. Her body fell into Paige’s without hesitation, like it had been waiting for permission. Her shoulder pressed under Paige’s jaw, her back tucked tight against her chest, and for a second, she just stood there. Breathing, absorbing. 

Paige smelled like heat and sweat and the same damn perfume Azzi had been sleeping in when she missed her too much. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this, Paige’s weight on her, the sense of being held intentionally, not just lovingly but fully possessed.

And Paige? She didn’t say hello. She didn’t ask. She just held her there, one hand gripping her waist, the other resting low on her hip, fingers splayed like a warning sign to anyone watching.

Mine.

Then Paige looked down at her with that maddeningly smug smile. "You really think you can wear someone else’s name on your back and not answer for it?"

Azzi blinked up at her, breath stuttering. "I thought it would get you fired up," she admitted. "That you’d…y’know, prove a point. On the court."

"Oh, I did," Paige murmured, eyes unblinking. "And now I’m going to prove the rest of it. Not here. Not in front of all these people. But you are going to pay for it."

Azzi swallowed. Her entire body responded to that tone, it was low and clipped. The kind of tone that promised she’d be lucky to walk straight tomorrow.

"I mean," she tried to deflect, voice lighter, "you’ve definitely made your point already…"

Paige didn’t even blink. "No. That was the warm-up."

Before Azzi could say another word, a voice behind them groaned dramatically.

"Oh my god. You two still lookl disgustingly obsessed with each other. Nothing’s changed."

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look away.

"Disgusting and exclusive," she said coolly, her voice dropping to a murmur as she leaned down, close enough that only Azzi could hear the rest. "And territorial as hell. Keep that in mind when I have you face-down tonight."

Azzi’s breath caught. Her heart forgot how to beat. Paige straightened like nothing had happened, throwing a casual wave toward a passing staffer.

Azzi just stood there, blinking like she'd been hit by a truck. One that smelled like sweat and victory and consequences.

She’d pushed. Paige had pulled.

And now she was in so much trouble. And she loved every second of it.

By the time they finally started heading out, the arena was almost entirely empty besides the staff cleaning up. Azzi had Paige’s gym bag slung over one shoulder, ignoring the way Paige kept glancing down at it with an expression that practically screamed give it to me. But Azzi just shook her head.

"No," Azzi said firmly, swatting her hand away. "Absolutely not. You carried the team tonight. You played forty minutes and got a bruised knee. The least I can do is carry your bag."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Azzi—"

"Babe," Azzi cut in sweetly. "Let me be a good girlfriend and carry your stuff for once. You always carry mine."

Still, she muttered under her breath the entire walk to the parking lot, and Azzi caught enough of it to know that "good girlfriend" was going to be revisited. Thoroughly. Later.

When they reached the car, Azzi popped the trunk and turned to grab the keys from her back pocket, but Paige was already standing there, palm extended. Silent and Expectant. 

Azzi met her eyes and couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips. She dropped the keys into Paige’s hand like she was surrendering something more than just a fob.

"I may carry your stuff," she said, saccharine sweet, "but I’m not giving up passenger princess treatment."

Paige cocked her head, that sharp smile slowly spreading. "You are really pushing your luck and my limits tonight, princess."

"Pushing," Azzi echoed, already sliding into the passenger seat. "Not over it."

"Yet," Paige murmured.

They shut the doors almost in sync, the cabin falling into soft darkness. The air shifted, quiet and charged. No noise, no lights, no crowd. Just them. Paige’s hands on the wheel. Azzi practically vibrating beside her.

And Possessive Paige finally alone with her girl.

Paige turned toward her without a word, eyes sharp in the shadows, and reached out slowly, like she’d been holding back for too long and was finally ready to take. Her fingers found Azzi’s jaw, curling under it, her thumb brushing up the line of her cheekbone, firm and unhurried. She guided her in like gravity, lips brushing once, soft and purposeful, then again, deeper, hungrier, heat blooming between them.

"I missed you, baby," Paige murmured against her mouth, voice low and possessive, the baby nearly swallowed by how close they were.

Azzi let out a whimper, high and helpless, her fingers already clawing at the back of Paige’s neck, tangling into the damp curls stuck to her nape. She pulled her in again, harder this time—mouths crashing, breath catching, her legs shifting to pull Paige closer over the console. Their kisses turned messy fast. All tongue, teeth, gasps. Azzi made a small, broken sound every time Paige tugged at her bottom lip. 

It had only been two days, but with the month before that hollowed out by travel and tension and late-night missed calls, it felt like she was kissing life back into her lungs.

Paige leaned in harder, pinning Azzi into the seat. Azzi folded under her without resistance, knees parting, one thigh pressing up against the console. Paige's hand slid from her jaw down to her throat, thumb pressing right beneath her jawline. Azzi’s breath stuttered, eyes fluttering shut. Her whole body pulsed under Paige’s touch.

She was already shaking.

Paige didn’t stop kissing her until she felt it, felt how gone Azzi was. Then she pulled back just slightly, hovering above her, lips swollen, eyes black with promise. Her hand never left Azzi’s throat. She didn’t squeeze. She didn’t have to. The weight of it was enough.

Her smirk was slow, calculated, absolutely devastating.

"I haven’t forgotten about your little stunt," she said, voice low and deliciously cruel. "You think just because you handed the jersey back, you’re off the hook that you are a good girl again?"

Azzi’s pupils blew wide. Her breath hitched so sharp it was almost a gasp. She swallowed, her whole body taut with anticipation, thighs squeezing together without permission.

Paige leaned in closer, lips grazing her jawline, her voice dropping into something even darker. She was all breath and threat, velvet and warning.

"You’re not getting off easy tonight. You want to play games in public? You want to wear someone else’s name on your back and act like you don’t know who you belong to?"

Azzi whimpered, hips twitching upward like she could grind against the air. She was panting now, eyes dazed, hands tightening into Paige’s hoodie like an anchor.

"You’re mine," Paige growled against her ear. "And you’re gonna remember that for days."

Azzi couldn’t speak. She just nodded, desperate and shaking.

Paige kissed her once more, harsh and claiming, then pulled back, just far enough to look her in the eye.

"First I’m going to hold you down and make you scream my name over and over again until it’s the only one left in your head. And then I’m going to make sure your thighs are too sore to pull another stunt like that for a long time."

Azzi made a sound that was half-moan, half-plea. Her head fell back against the headrest, lips parted, eyes dazed.

"I’m serious," Paige said, softer now, but no less threatening. "I’m not going to rush it. You’re going to feel every second of it. And you’re going to thank me when it’s over."

Azzi’s voice finally broke through, wrecked and trembling. "Yes. Please."

Paige smiled, dark, satisfied, cruel in the way only someone who loved you could be before pulling away and starting the car.

Azzi Fudd was in big fucking trouble. She was about to pay for every second she spent in that red jersey. And god, she couldn’t wait.

[kissingraine]

Forwards Beckon Rebound — TF One Megop (drabble)

He's not sure he can look at him the same now, the wound inflicted constantly reminding him of what he did, what he decided his role was in this war, and what he killed to start it. The Matrix had brought him back, but not whole. Megatron isn't sure if he should be pissed off that he wasn't chosen or that Orion Optimus didn't resent him for everything he inflicted on him. Of something that was already done with no way to reverse it.

Optimus’ plating still bore the scorch-mark from the fusion cannon—the exact same one that tore through his spark chamber and almost made the thrum of it permanently silent. The weld-lines glowed faintly when the light hit just right, like the Matrix had stitched him up in a hurry. And it isn't like he was showing it off or anything by not covering it. It just... felt suffocating to hide something that was clearly his fault. That he knew something was going on and yet, he merely watched as the only mech he held closest to his spark was slowly consumed by hatred when he could've stopped it.

He didn't know how or what exactly. Just that he should have been able to. Help him like how D’s helped him escape trouble countless times before.

They're somewhere deep. Can't recognize where, though. D, err... Megatron must have followed after him.

At least he hopes he did.

Megatron watched from the doorway, guilty and longing etched into every silhouette of his frame. The anger's still there, the embers of it flickering beneath his new and polished plating but so is his best friend. He hadn't spoken since he rose again. What could he even say at this point after crossing so many lines? Sorry for killing you, Prime? Sorry I hesitated, but fired anyway? Sorry you still look like a corpse I made because I was too self-absorbed at the time I lost sight of what actually mattered?

But Optimus looks up from the console, bright and bejeweled blue optics tired yet soft.

“You gonna keep standing there like a statue, D,” he murmured, “or are you coming to help?”

Flinching at the nickname, his ped takes him a step forward. “...You shouldn't call me that,” said Megatron, voice rough. “Not after what I did.”

Optimus shrugs, “Eh. You win some, you lose your entire arm.”

Still joking at a time like this. “It's not funny, Pax—” Megatron growls, shuttering when he realizes what's come out of his intake.

The Prime only gives him a faint smile—fragile, painful, but real.

“I'm glad you're still here with me, D.”

Primus, Megatron thought. How easy was it for him to earn that trust back?

And how would it look then when he finds out that Megatron wasn't here for him but to finish the job?

How do you keep looking at me like I didn't just snuff out your spark? Why don't you look at me with disgust instead of that... that stupid look on your face? Like I'm not a monster?

Villain and violent...

Infant and innocent.

(look at his stupid face omg😭)

That one au where OP damage stays after hes revived

[sebsxphia]

shoving your soaked panties in robert reynolds’s mouth to keep him quiet ! 🤭🤭🤭🤭

stay quiet.

robert reynolds x reader.

￫ summary: trying to keep bob quiet is difficult. but you’ve found a solution.

￫ word count: 700.

￫ warnings: handjobs, semi public, nearly getting caught and smut.

￫ authors notes: i didn’t know how to end this. i’m sorry 🥹 my brain can only do so much atm. my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

It was never wildly convenient that the living room space ran parallel to the kitchen area. You had been lying around with Bob all morning on the sofa. It wasn’t different from your shared bed, but you both weren’t quite ready to get up yet, and the couch seemed the next logical move. 

Multiple throws snuggly covered you as you lay beside him on the large sofa. You were curled into his toned chest, and the soft cotton on his sweatshirt provided a comfortable place to rest your head. 

Your leg was hooked around his waist, and without even honestly acknowledging it, you were shifting your hips to grind against him slowly.

“Sweetheart…” Bob croaked out, breaking the comfortable silence between you both.

You cocked your head upwards and blinked at him. “Wha’?”

“You’ve made me hard.” He guided your hand from where it was placed on his chest, down his abdomen and to palm at his sweatpants.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck and stifled out a giggle. 

“Sorry, I was just so cozy.” You gave his hardening cock a light squeeze and bob let out a choked groan. “Do you want me to help?” 

You squeezed again and his eyes fluttered shut. He nodded vigorously and shifted his hips as you slid your hand under the waistband of his underwear.

“So warm, baby. So hard.” You hummed against his neck. You began running your hand in rhythmic motions, up and down his shaft. 

Bob gasped out sweet moans. They were silent enough that they wouldn’t be heard by anyone who came to the kitchen. 

Your pace quickened beneath the pile of blankets, and as you ran your thumb over his tip in teasing circles, a louder moan got caught in his throat.

“Bob!” You giggled against his cheek, kissing his flushed skin softly. 

“I‘m sorry, I can’t help it,” He whimpered. 

You were instinctively moving your hips to grind against him as you matched his pace, and a wicked idea came to your head as his moans were becoming undeniably louder.

“Hold on…” Your hand left his aching cock momentarily and he let out a whine at the loss of contact. You manoeuvred under the blankets to slip off your underwear and bunch them together in your hand. 

“Will this keep you quiet, pretty boy?” Bob’s lips parted as he took your panties into his mouth. 

He let out a groan, which would’ve been loud enough for all to hear, but it came out muffled against your underwear. He could taste your arousal on the material, and his hips were instinctively bucking to feel your touch again. 

Your hand found his cock again and as you ran your hand over the slick shaft, he rolled his head back against the sofa arm, his eyelashes fluttering against his hot cheeks. Muffled whines vibrated against your underwear as they were stuffed into his mouth.

You were caught off guard as Bucky came into the kitchen area, a towel draped around his shoulders from his shower. 

You popped your head up from behind the sofa and smiled innocently.

“Oh, hey, Bucky.”

“Hey.” He murmured back. 

You glanced back down at Bob, whose eyes went wide. He was safely tucked away behind the back of the sofa, but if anyone came closer, they would surely see the sight. Your hand stayed on Bob’s cock, teasingly stroking him. 

“Have you seen Bob? I need to ask him something.” Bucky said, leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee.

“Yeah! He’s snuggling here with me.” You nonchalantly smiled back at Bucky. 

A quiet squeal vibrated through your underwear from Bob. You felt his cock twitch in your hand. 

He wasn’t getting softer. He was enjoying nearly being caught like this. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed into the sofa. “Okay… I’ll find him later…” He slinked out of the room, not looking back.

You directed your gaze back to Bob, a knowing smile pulling on your lips. 

Bob’s eyes were gazing up at you, pleading and desperate. “You wanted to get caught, didn’t you?”

He nodded and moaned softly against your underwear. 

“My pretty boy,” You cooed. “So pretty like this.”

taglist: @floydsmuse @beachbabey @tallrock35 @unmistakablyunknown @kmc1989

[athenalvss]

THE BAT'S WIFE ( Bruce wayne! )

summary: Some members of the league are still surprised by the way the Dark Knight's wife looks.

pairing: Bruce wayne x wife!reader

open request - Bruce masterlist

Given Bruce Wayne's past likes, everyone would know that in the future he would have a more than wonderful wife, not just anyone could occupy such an important place, and so it was.

You became the only woman capable of accompanying him in his life without losing your light, giving him the happiness he hadn't had in years. They had chosen each other time and again to walk side by side for the rest of their lives.

Bruce Wayne's wife was by no means an average woman. You had a beauty that was hard to describe in words, because it wasn't merely physical; you were magnetic. Whether you were in a room full of ambassadors or on a covert field operative, there was always something about you that made one's eyes linger. A lethal blend of grace, intelligence, and poise.

You didn't possess metahuman abilities, but that didn't diminish your influence. Your ability to read a situation, anticipate, intervene discreetly, and know when to stay back made you a natural ally, even for a team full of gods and soldiers.

Your relationship with Bruce had been solidified for a while, but he remained reserved and overprotective of you. The League had seen you on several occasions. At gala events, diplomatic meetings, or even at League IT meetings, contributing your work from a more administrative perspective, always alongside Bruce. Always elegant, calm, almost untouchable, but this was one of the few times you showed up at the Watchtower without your husband by your side.

For the first time, you stepped into the Watchtower without your husband or any of your children by your side.

You walked with your head held high, a folder under your arm, your heels clicking firmly on the metal floor. Each step you took had the same precision with which you used to handle high level negotiations at Wayne Enterprises or assist Bruce in matters that went beyond Gotham.

The League common room wasn't a solemn place at that moment. Barry, Hal, and Oliver were talking animatedly about who among them had completed the most missions in the last month. Diana sat reading, with that imperturbable stillness. Arthur was nowhere to be seen, and Clark, who was always the first to greet you, was also nowhere to be seen.

The conversation was interrupted as soon as you walked through the door.

Hal was the first to notice. His laughter died in midair, frozen mid air by his astonishment at finding you there. Completely flawless. Your bearing was subtle yet striking, with that gaze of yours that, though gentle and even innocent at first glance, carried with it a quiet confidence that didn't need to be imposed. It was natural. Inevitable.

Oliver looked down from his cup as if he'd sensed a change in the pressure in the air. Your presence alone disrupted the rhythm, but he was observant, and he simply studied the reactions of the others.

Barry turned his head with his trademark reflex and froze completely. He blinked once, swallowed, and put down the donut he was holding halfway.

Diana, on the other hand, wasn't startled. She barely raised her eyes from the book she was reading and smiled a friendly smile as she greeted you. She had always had a lot of respect for you; you were a powerful figure, a woman accustomed to walking among men who thought themselves superior and letting them know, without a word, that they weren't.

You had the grace of someone younger, with a restrained energy that contrasted with the severity of the man you shared your life with. Not because of a lack of maturity, but because of that innate brilliance you possessed; and when everyone had the chance to see you together, they understood why the bat cared so much for you.

“Wow…” Hal whispered, not realizing he had said it out loud.

You were dressed in a fitted black jacket, a white silk blouse that elegantly caressed your figure, and high boots that enhanced the natural firmness of your gait. Your hair was pulled back with perfect carelessness. A soft shine on your lips, and that barely perceptible perfume that, unintentionally, lingered.

Barry was the first to find his voice. "Is everything okay?" he asked awkwardly, as if unsure why he was talking. "I mean, uh, can I help you with something?"

You stopped a few steps away from them, and with the folder under your arm, you smiled at them politely.

"I'm looking for J'onn. I brought the reports he asked me for on the satellite infrastructure," you reply casually, as if you didn't notice the weight of their gaze on you. As if you didn't know you'd left them speechless.

"he's in hallway three, communications room," Hal said quickly, rising from his seat. "I can walk you there, if you like."

"Thank you," you said politely, without altering your tone. "But it's not necessary. I already know how to get there. I just wanted to stop by and say hello first." Before you left, you gave them a friendly, naturally charming smile.

Hal followed you with his eyes when you turned around, with that slow, elegant gesture that came naturally to you, And Barry…

Barry had run out of air.

Oliver watched the scene with an amused eyebrow raised. He didn't say anything, but the smile that spread across his lips spoke volumes.

The footsteps of your boots faded into the distance, but the effect of your presence still lingered like a thick perfume, impossible to ignore. For a moment, no one in the common room spoke. It was as if everyone was digesting what had just happened… and no one knew how.

Hal was the first to break the silence. "My God," he exhaled, sinking back into his seat. "How does Bruce manage to concentrate on anything with that woman in the same room?"

Oliver gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Who tells you he does? Maybe he can't concentrate at all, and all these years we've had him on a pedestal of self control just because we didn't see it when she was around."

Barry, still somewhat dazed, kept looking down the hallway you'd left, as if he expected to see you reappear at any moment.

"I say this with all due respect" Hal added, pointing down the hall as if he could still see you, "if she weren't married to him, I'd make my move in a heartbeat."

The comment hung in the air. No one responded immediately. Oliver snorted through his teeth, as if unwilling to interfere, and Barry barely looked away, uncomfortable but not contradicting him. For a moment, all that could be heard was the distant hum of the ventilation system… until the silence became too heavy. As if something had suddenly occupied it.

No one heard him coming, it was almost impossible to do so.

No one heard him coming, it was almost impossible to do so.

"Who would you make your move with, Hal?"

The voice was deep, raspy, and flat. But each word cut like a freshly sharpened blade.

Batman.

They all turned at once. Bruce was standing a few feet away from them, his hands clasped in front of his chest, his face completely expressionless. He had arrived as silently as a thought.

Hal swallowed. “Bruce… I…”

"What are you talking about? "

The question fell like a rock in the center of a tense surface. Without raising his voice, without changing his expression. Just a simple question.

And at that moment the men at the table were able to breathe an internal sigh of relief. Batman wasn't going to kill them; he hadn't heard anything. And when they were about to answer to save their own life.

Diana got there first, looking up from the book she'd been holding the whole time. She gently closed the cover, raised an eyebrow with absolute calm, and fixed her eyes on the millionaire. "They're talking about how hot your wife is"

[kunawned]

★ . . streamer!choso .ᐟ

streamer!choso is your typical gamer guy — eyes glued to the screen for hours while playing his games, rarely getting up to take a break. his diet consists mainly of ramen and soda. it's a wonder he's even got a good physique to begin with.

streamer!choso decided to start streaming on twitch on a whim, never expecting much from it and just something to do for fun. he just thought it could be a way to make a quick buck and he's really good at gaming so what could be the harm?

streamer!choso gained an absurd amount of followers relatively quickly, making him both overwhelmed and grateful from the sudden attention.

streamer!choso who's known for his quiet and cool demeanour. he doesn't scream or yell, unlike other streamers out there which made him different from the rest. the most he's ever done is string out a line of curses under his breath.

streamer!choso is known as that 'hot streamer dude with the face tat.' he does get rather flustered when his viewers point out how sexy and attractive he is, since he doesn't think he is so himself. his deep voice only makes people swoon over him even more and it's almost alluring how he speaks.

streamer!choso who met you in university during one of your shared classes. you had come up to him and said that you watched his streams, and despite his indifferent expression, his heart swelled with pride and thanks — you were the first person to have ever said anything about it. there was a twinge of bashfulness too because... my, he thought you were so cute.

streamer!choso who would see your username pop up during his streams and he couldn't help the light pink that dusted his cheeks. he'd try and keep himself composed but whenever you made comments as he played, the tips of his ears would turn red. you'd say such sweet and cute things — 'eee my fave streamer >_<' ; 'you play so well <3' ; 'congrats on 20k, cho ♡!'. he loved when you called him cho!

streamer!choso who had finally plucked up the courage to talk to you outside of his streams. he was a bumbling and babbling mess, having never done something like this before. he usually kept to himself but he just wanted to — had to — talk to you.

streamer!choso wanted to bury himself into a hole for having embarrassed himself so much when speaking to you for the first time. he thought you must see him as an absolute weirdo now but to his surprise, you just giggled softly and said to him, "you don't do this often, do you?".

streamer!choso started to spend more and more time with you and found himself falling for you. you were pretty, cute, sweet, fun, caring. how couldn't he like you? the only thing that bothered him was that you two didn't spend time outside of lessons and studying together.

streamer!choso took a while to finally ask you out. you were both sat at the library, finishing up on an assignment when he just blurted out, "you free this week?". you didn't register at first what he meant so you asked innocently, "to study together?". he shook his head and said if you were free to hang out — to go on a date.

streamer!choso who started dating you and was so much more of a gentleman than you would've thought. sure, he was a nervous wreck the first few times you went out but he never skimped out on anything and treated you like a doll — holding the door open for you, giving you flowers every time you met, walking you back to yours.

streamer!choso who's been dating you for the last two years and is still the sweetest guy ever. he still does everything he did when you first began going out and with the money he's amassed, he just spoils you even more.

streamer!choso who will always make time for you. at the start of your relationship, it was something he struggled with, playing games for hours on end having become habitual to him. but soon he realised how much quality time means to him and so he drops his game the second you're with him.

streamer!choso who loves when you show interest in the games he plays. he loves teaching you and playing with you. he finds it so adorable how serious you can get when playing.

streamer!choso loves to have you seated in his lap while he games. he adores how you watch him intently and squirm with joy whenever he wins. sometimes you don't really understand what's going on but you're content with just watching him play.

streamer!choso who has mentioned to his viewers that he is seeing someone. they're all incredibly curious as to who he's seeing but he just wants to keep it private.

streamer!choso who can't help but randomly talk about you during his streams. his viewers find it so sweet how he talks about you and it just makes them wonder who this 'mystery girl' is!

"she put this sticker on my headset. cute huh?" "my girlfriend finds this character really hot." "my girlfriend bought me a new keyboard. she's just the best." "she decorated my mic. i really like it."

[potato-skins]

[Image ID: A set of four screenshots. Text under the cut]

"It's hopeless, Bertie. She won't even look at me since I said that... word, on my podcast."

"Ah yes, the infamous slur incident."

"I had no intention of using a slur, Bertie!" Bingo snapped. "Claude and Eustace put me up to it. They told me it was an innocent term for the sort of sickly, unmotivated chap who hasn't yet had a dose of the testosterone supplement my sponsor was hawking. It was a rag."

"Ah!" said I. "That explanation certainly passes the sniff-test. I fear my cousins are disposed to conduct themselves, when the inclination strikes them, like a couple of top-drawer edgelords."

"They should be canceled, Bertie. Not me."

"Indeed, Bingo. To upright citizens such as you and I, gleefully disbursing hate-speech is an unthinkable offense. If Claude and Eustace think otherwise, well, I'm jolly well pipped. Still, what's done is done. Best to move on. Valar morghulis, eh, Bingo?"

"I wish you wouldn't take this predicament so lightly," growled Bingo. "I've been thinking, Bertie. If someone could just snag a guest spot on her podcast, and put in a good word for me, perhaps she could be persuaded to see reason. Do you suppose your man Jeeves could orchestrate something like that?"

======

"I suspect, sir, that Miss Bellinger was compelled to depart hastily when she saw the contents of the link that was sent to her from Mr. Glossop's telephone."

"Jeeves, you didn't rickroll her, did you?"

"Indeed, sir, while the principle was similar; I thought it prudent to substitute another composition for Rick Astley's magnum opus."

"Dear lord, Jeeves, not Sonny Boy!"

======

"Here it is, Jeeves, I said, bunging off an email with the goods attached. "I've whipped up just the adventure we need to restore young Gussie's spirits. Let's tuck into it tonight, without delay."

Jeeves skimmed the PDF skeptically, as if I'd told him I wanted it converted to MP3.

"Well, out with it, Jeeves, I demanded, wounded. "What could you possibly object to? This scenario is dripping with juicy encounters. I've packed it with the sort of monster Gussie most enjoys!"

Jeeves disregarded my battered pride with a villainous coldness. "One has apprehensions that this may not be entirely the case, sir," he replied. "The salamanders featured in Dungeons and Dragons are based on the mythical beast, not the reclusive amphibian. As an enthusiast, I suspect that Mr Fink-Nottle may find the depiction to be lacking in scientific rigor, and respond to the monster with aggravation and pedantry rather than joyous recognition.”

"Scientific rigor? What rot! A salamander's a salamander, Jeeves! You don't see me tossing my monster manual in the recycling bin because my familiarity with my aunt Agatha has convinced me that they've got the hags wrong!"

"I fear, sir, that this may be too neurotypical a perspective on Mr. Fink-Nottle's interests."

======

I had sworn to allow Jeeves an uninterrupted evening of "introvert time," which, as I understand, is a resource for which quiet souls silently pine while the rest of us enjoy a ripping evening at the boat race. Jeeves had explained more than once that these sojourns were the tabasco he required to keep the old nut in top form. On this occasion, he had outlined a scheme to keep solitary vigil with a favorite vinyl by Neutral Milk Hotel.

I was uneager to jostle Jeeves's reverie, but crisis had descended. When Arkham Asylum is breached, one cannot afford to sit on the bat-signal. I telephoned at once.

"What ho, Jeeves," I said cheerfully.

"Good evening," replied Jeeves, with a delicately ruffled intonation. "I wonder, sir, have you ever perceived a small speech-balloon shaped icon on your iPhone? It should emerge immediately after you have dismissed the lock-screen. I am given to understand that it is widely used to exchange short messages."

I attempted to deflect the dagger with an olive branch.

"Neutral Milk Hotel still delivering the goods?"

"Indeed, sir. I have been able to verify that In an Aeroplane Over the Sea retains its appeal.”

"Still plenty of neutral milk lined up for a warm bed and free HBO?"

"As you say, sir."

[/end ID]

More Millennial Wooster and Jeeves

My co-authors whipped this up

[saturns-smut]

Spotted In The Crowd (Miyeon, i-dle)

Pairing: Miyeon x Male reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: The princess of K-pop spots you in the concert crowd and immediately knows she has to have you.  

Tags: Idol x Fan, Lingerie, Boob Play, Penetration, Oral Sex, Deep Throating, Daddy Kink, Fingering, Hair Pulling, Begging & Squirting.

Word Count: 1.2k

Notes: I don’t really like this if I’m being honest. So please tell me any feedback or advice you may have, I’d really appreciate it. This was a request by anon, so I hope you like it! If you liked reading this, please like, comment, reblog or follow to help a small writer!

———

Miyeon and her group performed their latest songs with energy and dedication. The corners of her mouth moved into a flirty smirk and her hips persuaded all fans in the audience to stare at her shamelessly.

Miyeon has been your bias ever since (G)I-DLE debuted. You loved her. Her eyes. Her nose. Her lips. Her reactions. Her waist. Her tits. Her ass. 

At the end of the concert, you stayed back a bit to soak it all in. But a short woman approached you. 

“Excuse me? You need to come with me.” She said, showing you her staff wristband.

“What? Did I do something?” You asked worriedly. “No, you didn’t. Miss Cho Miyeon wants to see you.” 

This could not be real. The Miyeon? Your ultimate Miyeon? It has to a joke.

“I’m not joking. We should hurry, she doesn't like waiting.” She said, grabbing your arm and taking you to the staff reserved area. Scanning her wristband and walking in, receiving some weird looks from her coworkers, to which she just responded by mouthing ‘For Miyeon’ to them. That seemed to make it. 

She guided you to a room, unlocking the door and handing you the keys. “Miss Miyeon is waiting for you inside. Lock the door once you get in so nobody walks in. Oh and a piece of advice, Miss doesn’t get tired easily.” She informed you and you nodded. This was really happening. Like those stories you read.

You opened the door carefully, locking the door behind you without even looking at the room properly. When you turned around, there was Miyeon. Laying in the small bed wearing only a baby pink lingerie set that barely covered anything.

Its form was made by tiny, thin straps and only had lace to cover her nipples and her pussy. The lace gave an innocent illusion, though nothing there was innocent at all. 

“Are you gonna say anything or just stare?” Her voice, giggling, broke your train of thoughts and you didn’t know what to say. “Um… hi?” You tried.

More of her cute giggles echoed through the room. “Hi, baby boy. You like what you see?” 

“Uh… Fuck— Um, yes.” You said, taking a moment to scan the room. The small bed Miyeon was laying at, a table which you thought was for make-up, considering the beauty items and the led mirror. Also a clothing rack that included her stage outfits, a black lingerie set, and casual clothes. Next to the bed, a small nightstand with its drawer opened, which let you see the variety of sex toys in it. You widened your eyes. 

Miyeon smiled at your reaction. “Come on, come sit with me.” She pat the space beside her and you walked over sitting down.

The woman climbed quickly into your lap, her tits right in front of you while she hadn’t settled yet. Your hand instantly went to her waist, squeezing out of instinct. She wrapped her arms around your neck.

“So… You caught my eye at the crowd… And I saw you couldn’t stop staring at me. So I figured you should be the lucky one I invited backstage tonight.”

“You do this every concert?” You asked curious.

“Not exactly. It depends. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is right now.” She said, leaning in so her chest was closer to you. One wrong move and the fabric could slip off and show you everything. “Take it off me, please.”

And you did. Unclasped the bra teasingly slow. “Play with my tits, please, daddy.” 

And you did. Sucked her left nipple while fondling her right breast. Then switched while taking off her panties.

Miyeon had met a few guys that were this confident with her. And when she saw you enter the one? She thought you would be one of the shy, sweet innocent ones. She regrets thinking that.

Your free hand slipped between her legs, feeling the wetness and spreading all over her pussy and inner thighs. She loved it.

“You’re gross.” You whispered while pinching her clit. “Bringing random guys here just to let them fuck you. Gross.” 

“Yes! Yes I am, daddy! Your nasty girl!” She cried out.

Miyeon’s breaths were uneven, even if you hadn’t even gotten yourself inside her yet. She was sensitive. For some reason, especially with you.

You entered her welcoming hole with two fingers, speedily moving them, making the woman moan out loud. 

“Your cock! Need your cock inside me!” She begged. I mean, you’re just a man. Miyeon begged and she had what she asked for.

Hurriedly, you took off your pants and boxers, fondling with the zipper and having her help you.

You flipped her in the bed, laying her down. You held yourself up with one hand on the bed next to her hair, while the other hand lined up your member with her entrance, bottoming out her inside her clenching pussy.

“Oh gosh! Oh my God! Daddy! You’re so big!”

“Yeah? Daddy’s deep inside you?” You groaned into her ear, never slowing down your thrusts into her cunt.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum, daddy! Daddy! Gonna cum!” Miyeon screamed, her back arching off the mattress. 

“Daddy’s gonna cum too, baby. You’re so tight. Been fucked so much and you’re still tight. Cum for me, Miyeon. Come on.” 

The idol in front of you followed your directions and reached her peak with a loud, very porn-like moan. You quickly pulled out, also cumming but in her stomach, painting her beautiful body with your own release.

“Come on, pretty girl. How ‘bout you get on your knees and make me feel even better? Get me deep in that throat?” You suggested.

Miyeon was quick to get into her knees on the floor, looking at you with those eyes. A need to obey and satisfy her daddy.

The woman wet her lips before leaning in to lick your whole length, pressing a small kiss to the tip. She wasted no time to completely dive in, taking all of your cock in her mouth and throat. 

You pulled her hair, controlling her head. Miyeon bobbed her head up and down, taking you deep in her throat just as requested. 

She pulled out briefly, just to have her sweet, faux-innocent voice ask you if you were close. You nodded, letting out a groan and pushing her head to continue sucking you off. 

After a few more thrusts, you came once again, this time in her mouth. Miyeon swallowed all of it, opening her mouth at the end to show you. “Was I good, daddy?” She asked, words so sweet and innocent considering the not-so-sweet-and-innocent act she had just finished. 

“So good, baby. Deserve a reward, okay? Lay back on your back for daddy.” You instructed.

Miyeon followed obediently and you made yourself comfortable between her spread open legs. 

You leaned in, placing a kiss to her inner thigh, which was wet from your combined juices. She breathed harder at the sensation of your warm breath against her.

Your flattened tongue licking her cunt from her used hole to her clit made her moan out. Oh, such pretty moans. You could get used to them. Waking up to them. Living with them.

“Daddy!! Don’t stop!! Just like that!! Cumming!!! Ah, ah, ah! Gonna cum!” She screamed out.

Then she came, juices wetting your chest and her whole body. “You squirt, baby?” 

“I— I didn’t know I could do that.” She said.

“Well, now you do.” You said, kissing her lips and laying down with Miyeon.

[dollyfiles]

Hello! Would you be open to writing a fic with stepbrother!Rafe x reader where he finds out that she’s still a virgin and teases her for it but then offers to “help” her out and she’s hesitant but eventually decides to give in? And this doesn’t have to be included if you do write this but maybe have them get like super close to getting caught/getting caught? -🐇

a/n: oh yess, keep ‘em coming 😋 i love this !! hope u like it <33

cw: literal stepcest (scroll if uncomfortable), teasing, virgin!reader, kissing, fingering, almost getting caught

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

it started the way a lot of things did between you two. with too much proximity and not enough boundaries. rafe was leaning against your bedroom doorway, fresh out of the shower, towel still slung low on his hips, water dripping down his chest like he didn’t exactly know what it did to you.

you sat cross-legged on your bed in an oversized shirt, trying to act like you weren’t watching him through the corner of your eye. “your laptop’s still in my room,” he said, smirking. you shrugged, full of innocence. “you’re the one who keeps stealing my charger, so it kinda has to stay there to charge.”

“and you’re the one who keeps stealing my hoodies.” you both paused. then you finally looked at him, the air between you two suddenly thicker than it had any right to be. he stepped into the room slowly without invitation, closing the door behind himself.

“well, actually now that im here… there’s something i’ve been wondering.” you arched a brow, wary. “this already sounds like something i don’t want to hear.” he leaned back against the door, grinning. “you ever done it?” you blinked. “done what?”

“you know,” he said, stepping further into the room with that slow, cocky walk. “sex. or are you still saving yourself for someone worthy?” your cheeks went hot instantly. “wow. subtle.” he grinned, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. “just curious.”

you hesitated. why would he even want to know? and why did you actually want him to know? peeking around the room as if someone might hear, you admitted, “no. i haven’t.” rafe raised an eyebrow, but his smile softened. “seriously?”

you glared at him, defensive. “why do you sound so surprised?” crossing your arms now. “i’m not judging,” he said quickly, “i’ts just… i don’t know. i figured someone would’ve tried by now,” lifting a hand in surrender. “they have,” you muttered. “they just weren’t… you know. worth it i guess.”

his smile turned wicked then. “so you are waiting for someone special.” you didn’t respond. but you didn’t look away, either. “wanna know something?” he said, brushing your knee gently with the back of his hand. “i could make it really special for you, y/n.” your breath caught. “rafe…what?..”

“well, you’re not saying no.” he smirked, inching closer. you looked at him then, really looked at him. the guy you lived with. your mother’s boyfriend’s son. the only person in the world you absolutely shouldn’t want. but you did. your eyes were practically glued to him at this point, heart thudding against your ribs like a warning you were too far past to hear.

“tell me something,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. you swallowed, breath shaky. “what?” he dipped his head closer, his nose brushing along your jaw as his lips hovered near your ear. “you can’t pretend that you’ve never imagined it.”

your breath hitched and he felt it. the little stutter in your chest. he smiled against your skin. “me and you. touching each other.” his fingers teased the edge of your underwear, making your whole body tense. “i—”, your voice cracked.

rafe pulled back just enough to see your face. your eyes were wide, lips parted, flushed and clearly guilty. he smirked, “you have.” you looked away, but he gently turned your chin back to face him. “don’t lie,” he whispered. “i’ve seen the way you look at me when you think i’m not watching.”

“i don’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth. “you do,” he murmured. “and now i’m here. you’re here. no one else around. so if you want me to stop—say it.”

you didn’t.

instead, your hands slid up his muscular back, fingers curling into his skin. your silence spoke volumes, making rafe grin, “that’s what i thought.” and then he just kissed you. no warning. nothing. it was gentle at first, soft and warm and way too good.

his hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your skin, and you melted into it like you’d been waiting for this exact kiss. his mouth moved with yours, patient but hungry, holding back just enough to let you catch up.

your fingers found his bare chest, tracing the water still clinging to him. he groaned softly at your touch, deepening the kiss just slightly, easing you back against the pillows, your bodies flush. the soft fabric of your shirt bunched under his hands as he slid them beneath it, finding bare skin, warm and soft under his touch.

“you’re shaking,” he whispered against your mouth. “i’m not scared,” you breathed. “i know,” he murmured. his hand moved lower, trailing slow paths along your ribs, and down your stomach. you gasped softly when his thumb brushed over the thin fabric of your panties.

his lips were attached to your skin, moving with the kind of focus that made you ache. you arched into him, nerves giving way to something electric. a slow, burning hunger that made you feel drunk on nothing but your stepbrother.

he kissed his way down your neck and across your collarbone while his rough fingers began cricling your clit through the material, making you jolt. “such a good girl.” he whispered, voice strained. “please ray-“ you hiccuped, hips grinding desperately against his digits as you craved more of him. “please what?” he grinned, licking his lips.

“want more..” you whimpered, eyes glassy as you blinked up at him. rafe could feel himself unravel just then. he didn’t waste any time slipping his hand inside your panties, letting his fingers slip through your slick folds.

“shit, so fucking wet from just kissing your big brother, hm?” all you could do was nod frantically, too embarrassed to say anything else. this was already bad, but his words? they were even worse.

“i’m gonna give it to you so good, y/n. i promise.” he hushed, his lips finding your jaw before connecting your lips again as he knew you weren’t about to stay quiet once he started. before you knew it he slipped a finger inside your aching cunt, making you gasp into the kiss and dig your nails into his biceps.

“shhh..it’s okay, let ray take care of you.” you couldn’t really think straight. this was all so new and more than you’d ever imagined before. letting him fill you up like this was beyond dreadful, but it also felt so fucking good.

rafe was already struggling to keep his composure, your little yelps and gasps were just too much. he was about to free himself from the towel, his cock already leaking, when suddenly.

knock knock.

you stopped immediately. “y/n?” you heard your mom’s voice, muffled through the door. “you left your laundry in the dryer.” you were both frozen, half-naked, pressed against eachother, rafe’s hand very much where it shouldn’t be.

your breath caught in your throat as your eyes went wide, panic shooting through you. “oh my god,” you mouthed. then another knock. “can i come in?” your mom called sweetly, rattling on the doorknob already. “no!” you squeaked in panic. “i mean—just a sec!”

rafe practically dove off the bed, holding onto the towel and wrapping it around his waist again, trying to look remotely normal. while you scrambled for the blanket, heart pounding like it was trying to break out of your chest.

“everything okay in there?” your mom asked after some time, sounding suspicious. “yeah! just, uh… getting changed!” outside the door, silence. then your mom’s footsteps receding. you both exhaled, half in relief, half in disbelief. you collapsed onto the pillow, heart pounding.

“you okay?” rafe whispered, breathless. “no,” you hissed, eyes wide, cheeks burning. “i- we- you were literally about to—” you exhaled, long and shaky. both of you stayed silent after that. but you knew you couldn’t just go back to how things were before.

not after the way he’d touched you. not after the way you’d let him. not after how natural, how right, it had felt, even when everything about it should have been wrong.

you watched him for a long moment, memorizing the look in his eyes, which wasn’t smug or teasing like usual. just real. raw. almost wrecked. you whispered, “what are we doing, rafe?” to which he just sighed heavily, “fuck.. i don’t know, okay?”

your heart thudded painfully. not from panic, but from the undeniable truth of it. because no matter how wrong it was, or how close you’d come to being caught, or how dangerous this thing between you two had become… you both knew you’d do it all over again.

and when next time came around, you wouldn’t stop.

tags: @inbred-eater @dearapril @beausling @littlelamy @cherrygirlfriend @bluemerakis @lacyydollette @nemesyaaa @deansbeer @ditzyrafe @sweeethrt @rotapathetic @raahosh