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buckysleftbicep · 20 days ago

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off limits 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x widow!fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, mirror sex, possessive!bucky, jealous!bucky, rough sex, choking, creampie, bathroom sex

summary: at a high profile mission gala, bucky snaps when he sees another man's hands on you, jealousy boils over and he shows you exactly who you belong to

word count: 3.4k

author's note: hi! so bucky in a suit gave me this amazing idea, and here we are! thank you for reading, love ya guys and stay safe out there! 💓

say it with me, daddy

The mission was clear, infiltrate the gala just as Val had instructed the team to, identify the arms dealer, and intercept the transfer. You had done it all before with Steve way back when the team needed classified HYDRA information, and with Natasha who you had trained in the red room with, she had taught you basically everything you needed to know.

You had slipped into a silk dress like it was your second skin, painting on seduction. Your job was easy, sort of, play the temptress, distract the target. Smile like you were enjoying every excruciating second of their hands on you, while Bucky monitored from the perimeter—dark, silent, and ready to kill if anything went wrong.

But this time, something was different.

From the moment you stepped out of the safehouse that evening, the dress clinging to your curves like a second skin and your lips painted crimson red, he hadn’t spoken a word.

Jaw tight. Hands flexing at his sides like he was resisting the urge to reach for something—anything. His eyes dragged over you, slow and sharp, like a blade drawn deliberately over bare skin. Heat rolled off him in thick, stifling waves, all of it coiled tight beneath the surface, barely held in check.

He didn’t look at you like a teammate. He looked at you like a threat. Like temptation in its most dangerous form, alive and breathing and standing right in front of him. A trap wrapped in silk and sin. And for a second, you swore he stopped breathing entirely, just standing there, jaw clenched, pulse ticking in his throat like a warning.

Like if you moved, if you so much as breathed, he would snap.

And some part of you wanted him to.

You weren’t sure if it was the slit running dangerously high up your thigh or the way the plunging neckline dipped low enough to make any man ache, but something in him shifted the second he looked at you. His gaze caught there, throat bobbing like he’d just swallowed a curse, a growl, a need too sharp to name.

Still, your boyfriend said nothing. Just clenched his fists and looked away.

Now, inside the ballroom that was glittering with chandeliers and crawling with sharp-dressed criminals, his silence followed you like a storm cloud.

You moved through the crowd like smoke, effortless. Laughter light as champagne spilled from your lips as you curled your fingers around the arm of Armand Liska, the smug weapons liaison you were specifically tasked to distract tonight.

He was handsome in that over-polished way men with too much money and too little substance often were. Sculpted jaw, tailored suit, expensive cologne, and a smirk that reeked of entitlement. The kind that believed every woman in the room was already his.

His money made him bold. His arrogance made him sloppy.

Perfect.

You laughed at something he said, some tired line about Geneva and cigars, and leaned in just enough for your perfume to reach him, just enough for Bucky to see. Your hand slipped casually to Armand’s sleeve, fingers resting there like you belonged.

You didn’t have to look. You could feel it.

Bucky’s gaze from across the room, it was cold, hard and burning a hole straight through you. Thirty feet away and you could still taste the tension on your tongue. He was watching. You knew that weight. Knew what it meant.

And maybe, just maybe, you leaned in a little closer.

His voice crackled through the earpiece once—tight, clipped. “You’re getting too close.”

You pressed your fingers to your comm. “He likes it close.”

Behind you, Armand chuckled, utterly oblivious to the tension stretching like wire across the ballroom. His hand slid lower, fingers brushing the curve of your hip… then lower still, settling on your ass with the kind of casual entitlement that made your skin crawl.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as blink. Just kept your smile painted on and tilted your chin, throwing a slow, deliberate glance over your shoulder, straight at Bucky.

And there he was.

Posted like a sentinel at the marble bar, a glass of whiskey cradled between his hands, the leather of his glove creaking against the metal plates of his prosthetic. His jaw clenched. His eyes, steel grey, dark, locked on you burned hotter than the liquor in his glass.

You held his gaze.

And then, as if to twist the knife, you let your smile grow just a fraction wider. Turned back to Armand, letting your fingers drift higher along his arm, nails just grazing fabric.

Across the room, the glass in Bucky’s hand groaned under the pressure of his grip.

One second more and it might’ve shattered.

“Jesus,” came Ava’s voice through the shared comms. “He’s going to explode.”

Yelena added with a smirk in her voice, “You okay over there, Barnes? Want us to send in another drink and a stress ball?”

John chimed in, full of smug amusement. “Or maybe just one of those ‘get well soon’ cards. ‘Sorry your girl had to flirt with some greasy asshole”.

“Back in my day,” Alexei added with a sigh “if man touch my woman, I break his finger and stir drink with it.”

Bucky wasn’t listening. He was too busy watching you run your fingers down the arm of a man who wasn’t him. Watching you laugh, lean in, play your part like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing.

Without a word, he shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the bar, the movement sharp, deliberate, like peeling back a layer just to keep from snapping.

The second Armand’s hand slid lower, squeezing your ass like he could get away with it, Bucky moved. No hesitation. No warning. He didn’t walk, god, he stalked, every step deliberate, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the weapons dealer like a kill order had just been given.

His eyes locked on you like a predator finally off the leash, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. The suit jacket strained across his shoulders as he pushed through the crowd, focused, seething, every step radiating barely restrained violence.

You saw him coming. And you didn’t flinch. You just stood there, a little breathless, lips parting in the faintest smile—knowing exactly what you done.

Bucky didn’t spare your mark a glance. His metal hand clamped around your wrist—tight enough to make your breath hitch as he yanked you into him, chest to chest. The grip wasn’t gentle and you knew it wasn’t meant to be.

“Let’s go,” he growled, low and rough against your ear, voice edged with something dangerous.

You blinked up at him, lashes fluttering like you hadn’t just been caught. “Excuse me?”

Armand let out a quiet laugh behind you, hand still gripping your ass like he owned it. “Hey man, I’m getting lucky here.”

Bucky stopped.

Slowly, he turned his head, eyes dragging down to where Armand’s hand still sat, bold and possessive. That smug fucking grip. Like you were something he could touch. Keep. Claim.

“You’re touching something that doesn’t belong to you,” Bucky said, voice quiet—too quiet. “Take your hand off her. Or I’ll take it off for you.”

Armand raised a brow, still grinning. “What are you, her boyfriend or something?”

Bucky didn’t blink. “I’m the reason you’re still breathing. Don’t make me change that.”

The smile dropped off Armand’s face.

There was a beat of silence before he stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender, muttering under his breath. Bucky didn’t look at him again.

“Bucky—” you started.

“Now.”

He moved without hesitation, his arm snapping around your waist as he pulled you into his side, possessive and unyielding. His pace was fast, controlled, but every line of his body screamed tension.

You could feel it in the way his fingers dug into your hip, in the rigid press of his frame against yours as he steered you through the crowd like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

The air around him felt charged—sharp, crackling with restraint barely holding. The team watched in silence, heads turning as you passed, no one daring to speak.

John’s voice finally crackled to life. “I owe Ava twenty bucks.”

“I told you she was pushing his buttons,” Ava said smugly.

“Seven minutes,” Yelena murmured. “They’ll be back. Probably looking freshly fucked.”

Bucky didn’t care.

He should’ve waited. He should’ve remembered protocol. He should’ve played the part of the calm soldier, the cool operative.

But he couldn't, not after watching another man put his hands on you. Not after seeing you lean in, smile, let that bastard touch your waist like he owned a piece of you. Like he had the right to stare at your body, to laugh into your ear, to treat you like something he could keep.

You weren’t his. And Bucky couldn’t stomach that for one more second.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, the heavy echo ricocheting off marble and tile like a gunshot. You barely had time to gasp before you felt it—Bucky’s body pressing into yours, pinning you flat against the door with the weight of everything he’d been holding back.

His hands slammed against the door on either side of your head, caging you in. His chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow breaths, the heat radiating off him in waves. He was too close, too still, like something barely leashed and seconds from snapping.

His scent hit you next, whiskey, leather, and clean sweat and it coiled through your senses like a drug, setting your nerves alight. It made you shiver, made your pulse jump in your throat.

Your eyes locked in the small sliver of space between you. He didn’t speak. Not right away. Just stared. Like he couldn’t decide whether to fuck you or punish you. Maybe both.

Then, low and gravel-rough, his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “You wore that fucking dress on purpose.”

Your lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. The kind that always made him twitch. The kind that always got you in trouble. “Maybe.”

His hand moved fast—fingers gripping your jaw, thumb pressing just below your chin. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it made a point. It claimed. Possessive and unmistakable. And you didn’t resist.

“You let him touch you,” he said, quieter now, the words sharp enough to cut, laced with heat and something darker.

You shrugged, as much as the door behind you would allow. “It was part of the mission,” you said, breathless and sweet.

His mouth dragged along your jaw, rough stubble scraping your skin. He bit down, just enough to make you whimper, then pulled back to snarl against your ear, voice low and dangerous.

“You let him touch your ass.”

Your mouth parted. “It was part of the job—”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you stop him?”

His voice dropped to a growl. Real, rough, and ragged with restraint—like it physically hurt him to keep his hands to himself.

You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown wide, dark and stormy with jealousy and need. And you told him. Soft. Honest.

“Because I knew you were watching.”

That broke the dam.

He groaned, low and feral, and then you were moving—spun around so fast your heels nearly slipped. His hands locked around your waist, gripping tight, shoving you forward until your palms caught the edge of the marble sink.

The counter was cold against your skin, grounding, even as your thighs trembled beneath the press of his body.

Bucky didn’t say a word. Just stared at you in the mirror. And you stared back. Your reflection was already wrecked, flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes glassy with lust.

You could feel the wild beat of your heart pounding against his chest behind you, every inch of your body mirroring the tension in his.

“Look at yourself,” he growled, mouth brushing your ear. “Look what you fuckin’ do to me.”

His hands slid over your hips, slow at first, rough palms tracing the dip of your waist as he pushed your dress higher with every pass.

There was no hesitation. No patience. Just raw, hungry need, burning through his touch like fire.

You arched into him with a soft gasp when you felt the hard press of his cock grinding through his slacks, pressed tight against your ass.

“This what you wanted?” he rasped. “Me watching you let some asshole touch what’s mine?”

A quiet moan slipped from your lips as you nodded, eyes fluttering toward the glass.

“Say it,” he snapped, his hand curling around your throat. “Say who you fuckin’ belong to.”

Your voice was breathless. Barely audible. “You.”

He made a low sound—half groan, half curse—and his lips grazed your shoulder, teeth dragging across your skin as he bunched the dress higher and exposed the thin scrap of lace you’d worn beneath. When he saw you weren’t wearing anything else, the breath hissed through his teeth.

“Fuck, princess. You only wore this tiny thing?"

You nodded again, trembling beneath the weight of his touch. His hand clenched on your hip.

“You knew what this would do to me,” he muttered. “Walking in like that. Letting him touch you—like you didn’t fucking know better.”

He didn’t finish the thought. Just yanked your panties aside with one sharp tug, his fingers sliding between your thighs—finding you already soaked.

“Jesus. Drippin’ for me already?”

Your forehead hit the mirror as you exhaled a shaky breath, palms braced against the cold countertop. Your reflection was a mess, cheeks burning, mouth open, eyes dark with arousal. You looked breathless, flushed, completely undone by him—and he hadn’t even taken his time yet.

“Please, Bucky,” you whispered.

He didn’t make you beg for long.

One smooth motion—his zipper down, cock out, the tip teasing through your folds, slick and slow. You pushed your hips back into him, desperate, but he held you firm.

“No,” he said, voice like broken gravel. “You wanted to tease me? Now you’re gonna feel every fuckin’ inch of what you did to me.”

And then he pushed in.

Agonisingly slow, inch by thick inch, until he bottomed out, stretching you wide. The breath caught in your lungs, and your nails bit into the edge of the countertop.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Watch yourself get fucked.”

You did. You watched the way your body trembled, watched the hunger in his eyes, watched the veins in his arm flex as he started to move.

His rhythm was rough, relentless and punishing, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure straight through your core, echoing between your thighs like fire.

“You feel that?” he growled against your neck. “That’s what you fuckin’ do to me. All night, hard as a rock, watching you let some asshole touch what’s mine.”

His hand slid up again, fingers wrapping around your throat, not choking, just holding, anchoring. You moaned as he fucked you harder, deeper, angling his hips just right.

Your eyes fluttered shut, but he tugged your chin back to the glass. “No, no. Eyes open princess,” he said, breath hot on your ear. “You wanted the attention? You get it. Watch what I do to you."

And you did.

You watched the way your body bounced with every thrust, his grip bruising into your hips, marking you. Watched the red flush crawl up your chest, watched his expression, jaw tight, lips parted, eyes black with lust as he dragged you toward the edge.

Your moans grew louder. Desperate. He slapped a hand over your mouth, smirking darkly.

“Can’t be too loud, sweetheart. People outside will hear how needy you are for me.”

That only made it hotter.

Your legs started to shake. The pressure builds fast, your orgasm coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

“You gonna cum for me?” he asked, his voice fraying at the edges.

You nodded, eyes wild, breath caught.

“Then say it,” he snarled. “Say who this fuckin’ pussy belongs to.”

You gasped against his hand, voice shaking.

“Y-You, Bucky. Fuck—yours.”

He groaned, loud and filthy, and slammed into you one last time just as you shattered around him. Your orgasm hit like a wave, body convulsing, breath gone, thighs trembling from the force of it. You clenched so hard around him he swore through gritted teeth, fucking you through it as he spilled inside with a broken growl.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, voice rough. “That’s my fuckin’ girl.”

Neither of you moved for a moment. Just panting, tangled together, your bodies buzzing from the crash. Outside, the party carried on—music drifting faintly under the door, as if the world hadn’t just come to a standstill inside that room.

Finally, Bucky leaned in and kissed your shoulder—softer now.

“Next time,” he whispered, still catching his breath, “you even smile at another man like that, I’ll bend you over in front of the whole damn party.”

You didn’t even try to hide your smile this time. You could still feel him inside you. His voice, his breath, his hands—etched into your body like a promise.

You swallowed hard, heels clicking sharply on the marble floor as you made your way back down the hallway. The air was cooler out here, but it didn’t help the burn still simmering between your thighs.

Your legs weren’t entirely steady, and you could feel the ache in every step. You didn’t dare look back at him. You didn’t need to. He was watching you. Always.

“Stop fixing your dress,” Bucky murmured low behind you, so close it ghosted against your ear. “Let ‘em see what’s mine.”

You bit your bottom lip, pulse fluttering. You weren’t sure if it was pride or arousal—but either way, you obeyed.

As the ballroom came into view, your stomach twisted. You knew the team would notice. They always did.

Sure enough, Ava was the first to clock you. Her eyes flicked over you once, then to Bucky, and then back again. The corner of her mouth twitched upward in a knowing smirk as she lifted her champagne flute like a toast.

“Huh. You two were gone a while,” she drawled, voice honeyed with sarcasm. “What’d you do, fall into the toilet?”

You tried to play it cool, brushing a hand along your necklace like you hadn’t just been fucked against a bathroom mirror by your boyfriend. Bucky said nothing, of course he didn’t, but the smug tilt of his jaw said everything.

John spotted you next and immediately barked out a laugh. “Oh no. Oh no. You didn’t—” He pointed vaguely toward the hall behind you. “You did.”

Yelena let out a long whistle and leaned in, hands clasped in mock prayer. “ Jesus. I thought the walls weren’t soundproof.”

Her gaze flicked to Bucky, and she grinned. “You’ve got lipstick on your jaw, Barnes.”

You blanched, immediately reaching up to fix it, but Bucky caught your wrist, stopping you with a firm grip. He didn’t even glance down. Just leaned into your ear with a quiet, gravelly murmur meant only for you.

“Leave it.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

And damn you, your body obeyed before your brain caught up.

“Okay, but really,” John said, his grin practically splitting his face in two. “Bathroom? Bold move.”

“Definitely mirror sex," Yelena added. “That’s his thing, right?”

“Yelena,” you hissed, cheeks burning.

She shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? It’s not a judgment. Just an observation.”

Bucky didn’t offer them the satisfaction of a reaction. His eyes were scanning the crowd again, narrowed and alert, but his grip on your waist told a different story. You weren’t getting away. Not yet.

He pulled you closer with one strong arm, pressing a subtle kiss just below your ear—more threat than affection—and when he spoke, it was quiet, dangerous.

“If that asshole so much as looks at you again, I’ll put him through the goddamn table.”

And that? That was not a threat for public consumption.

But it made your thighs clench all over again.

You let your head tilt toward him just slightly, your voice low, teasing “Jealousy looks good on you, Sergeant.”

His answering smirk sent a shiver down your spine.

And as the team returned to their drinks, pretending not to watch, the heat between you and Bucky crackled just beneath the surface—undeniable, unresolved.

His touch on your waist lingered like a brand, his breath still warm against your skin. You didn’t need words to know what came next.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

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evilgwrl · 9 months ago

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I'll suck your dick for a long breeding kink Simon story (ily) 👉🏻👈🏻

i ❤️ breeding kinks and u anon

CW: BREEDING KINK, titty sucking, PIV (No protection, pls use this irl), oral sex (f receiving), praise, slight daddy kink?, cream pie, lactation kink kinda, orgasms yippee

There was something primal inside of Simon, an urge that simmered through him like magma, coiling into every vein and muscle with a need to be filled. It consumed him wholly, wracking his brain with images and thoughts.

Images and thoughts of you, full and round with his seed, his child.

Simon never knew he wanted a family, always content with the one he met on the field. That was until he met you. You were a ray of light, always cheery and smiling, so feminine and beautiful. He needed you, and that was enough, but he wanted more.

He had never approached it with you before, but he was always so careful in case it scared you away. It all began when you were waiting in line at the supermarket, a newborn straddled to his mother’s hips as it cooed at you, slobber dribbling down its mouth as its eyes crinkled with laughter. You were so quick to smile back, waving with glee as you pulled funny faces, a chorus of laughter soon following from the little one.

It only got worse when you were on your period, raving on about how you sometimes wanted to be pregnant just to get rid of it temporarily.

But Simon believes it really struck him when you were fresh out of the shower, pushing your belly out for fun to look as though you were expecting. You turned to him with cheery eyes and simply asked, “Do you think I would look good pregnant?”

Now, it was all the Lieutenant could think of.

You were a doll, always rushing around for him after he returned home, begging him to relax as you tended to his needs. You would be such a good mother.

“You want me to run you a bath? Give you a massage?” You murmured, rubbing his shoulders as you sat on his lap, thick hands rubbing at your thighs.

Simon groaned in a pleasured tone, nodding, “Only if you join me, sweet’art.”

The bathroom was thick with lavender, small rocks of decedent salts melting in the heated water, clouds of steam fogging up the mirrors as the fan overworked. Your body moulded to his as the bath swished around you, gently rocking against your upper back as your hands wrapped around his shoulders.

Calloused hands rubbed at your hips, kneading the flesh delicately as he rested his head into the crook of your neck, nuzzling into your scent with a deep sniff.

“Ain’ I the luckiest man alive to have someone like you, you’re always so good to me,” Simon mumbled, voice slightly muffled by his lips pressed against your skin.

Your hands found the back of his neck, pulling him away from you with a smile as you kissed him, “I missed you, Si.”

“I missed you too. And these,” he snorted, groping at your tits as you giggled, working your fingers through his hair.

His cock grazed against your pussy, nudging your slit as you adjusted on top of him, lifting yourself slightly as he brought a breast to his mouth. His teeth grazed against the fat enjoying the way your breath hicked as his tongue swiped your hardened nipple, your fingers gripping into his shoulder with a profound tightness.

Simon was quick to work his palm against the other, enjoying your subtle moans as he tugged at the nipple, drawing the other one into his mouth with a harsh suck. You were so complicit to him, rocking your hips as you ground against his aching cock.

The man was practically slurring against your tits, switching between nipples as he kneaded the flesh. His voice was quiet as he breathed against your skin, barely audible, “Need to fill these up with milk, makes me go crazy thinking about how sweet you would taste.”

Your ears were hazed over with arousal as you only grumbled out a ‘huh’ immediately melting as he began to lick at your chest again. Your breasts were covered in spit, nipples erect and sore as you whined into the steamy air.

Simon’s hands were heavy as he pulled away from you, tugging you into the air with ease as water dripped along the floor, leading a trail to your bed before you were plopped down, wet body squealing against the sheets. He was quick to spread your thighs, lapping in the way your pussy throbbed as he tickled you with kisses, peppering over stretch marks.

Two fingers were quick to spread you open, folds sticky with your slick before the hotness of his mouth sealed it with a layer of spit, suckling at your sensitive clit as Simon growled against your cunt. Your mouth was tingling with cries, prickles of pleasure settling against a sheer layer of sweat that soaked your skin.

Your body was entranced by his tongue, writhing every-time he focused on your nub, your own hands playing with your tits as you rocked against his wet muscle. “F-Fuck Si- just like that-“

You were so needy, so desperate for release as he worked against your movements, thighs closing around his head as he muffled sweet moans into your flesh.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he slurred, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he nestled in closer to your pussy. His cock was leaky with anticipation, moist with pre-cum, edging him closer and closer the more noise you made.

Your orgasm was fast, hitting you with ease as your back arched, thighs shaking as you came with a squeal. His tongue was rapid, licking at your juices like a madman as you moaned, attempting to push his relentless attack away.

Simon pulled away, chin drenched in both spit and arousal as he licked his lips, staring at you with unmistakable hunger. He was quick to work your legs open again, heavy cock hanging low as he tugged at it, pressing the angry tip against your clit.

“Need to fuck you, doll,” he spat, rubbing his pre into your squelching folds as you nodded. No matter how many times you took him, the burn always ached through you, working into your muscles as it coiled into a hot pit in your stomach.

His grunt was loud as he bottomed out, resting in the warmth of your pussy as you stared up at him with tear-streaked eyes, your mouth stuck in an ‘o’ shape. You were so full, cock rubbing against your gummy walls with every slight movement, already kissing your neglected cervix.

“Please move- please-“

He obeyed, pulling out before rocking back into you with a quick thrust. Simon moved your legs, holding them over his shoulder as he pounded into you with a relentless force, giddy on your fucked-out expressions, incoherent blurts leaving your pouty lips.

“Take me so fucking good baby, make me never want to leave. Need to cum in this fucking pussy.”

You clenched. Hard.

Simon paused slightly, staring down at your squinted eyes, hands rubbing at your pillowy tits before you relaxed again.

“You want me to cum in you? Fuck a baby into this pretty cunt, hm?”

You babbled out a yes, tugging at your tender nipples as he growled into the air. His pace was brutal now, desperate for release as you milked around his length, pants leaving your mouth in shallow breaths.

“Gonna look so fucking sexy pregnant- all full with my child. Gonna make me a Daddy? Gonna fuck you until it sticks. That’s it baby - keep sucking me in, just like that.”

Simon was feral, grunting into the air as he fucked his cock into your wailing mound, slick stringing down his full balls. Your screams were loud as your head tilted to the side, tongue lapping from your mouth as you mewled in the pleasure.

“You’re gonna be such a good mommy, aren’t you sweet’art? So fucking good- so fucking tight. Just need to breed this perfect pussy. All fucking mine.”

“Y-Yours, Simon. Please fill me up,” you said, voice cracking as you gripped onto his neck, pulling him flush against you into a mating press. Delicate fingers found your clit as you rubbed the wet bead, moaning against his mouth as he kissed you, an endless supply of adrenaline pumping through his body.

“You gonna give me as many kids as I want? Gonna keep you pregnant, so full and round with my babies. My perfect fucking girl.”

Your breath wedged in your throats as the coil grew in your stomach, sloppy motions rubbed against your clit as Simon fucked against your sweet spot.

“Milk my fucking cock, baby, that’s it- cum for Daddy.”

His words sent you into overdrive, your eyes rolling back as your noises halted, stuck in your oesophagus as your lungs jolted full of air. Simon was quick to follow, your clenches wrapping around his shaft as he came with a groan, hot spurts of come coating your walls as he gripped onto your neck.

The Lieutenant was reluctant to pull out, desperate to keep his seed inside of you, buried at the hilt. You whined at the loss of contact, thick cock leaving your aching mound with a huff as Simon rushed to the bathroom.

You melted into the sheets, gently stirring as he wiped your face and neck with a cool compress.

“Did so well for me,” he praised, rubbing at your cheek affectionately. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his wrist.

Thick loads leaked from your exposed cunt, a hiss leaving Simon’s throat before two fingers pushed his work back in.

This man meant what he said, he wasn’t stopping until it stuck. Until you were pregnant and forever his.

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writers-potion · 1 year ago

Text

Let's Talk About Pacing Our Fight Scenes.

For Fast-Paced Parts:

Short words with single syllables. Immediately > at once/ endeavour > try/ indicate > point at/ investigate > check out.

Short sentences, the shorter the better.

Partial sentences to blaze through multiple senses and actions within a few lines.

Short paragraphs

Lots of verbs.

Few adjectives and adverbs.

Cut down on -ing form of verbs, as it can make words longer

Use simple past tense

Avoid conjunctions and link words.

Avoid internal thought - your characters are irrational, ruthless and in the flow of pure action.

For Slow-Paced Parts:

Use medium/long sentences

the paragraphs are longer: three lines minimum

Include longer words with more syllables

Use adjectives and maybe a couple of adverbs.

Insert the thoughts of the PoV character.

Words for Action Scenes

act, alter, attack, avert, back, block, bang, bash, battle, beat, beg, belt, bend, best, bite, blacken, bleed, blind, blister, blow, blunt, boil, bolt, boot, bore, bow, box, brace, brag, brash, brawl, break, breathe, brush, buck, bulgde, burn, burst, cackle, call, can, carry, cart, carve, catch, check, chop, chuck, clack, clank, clap, clash, claw, clear, cleave, click, cliff, cling, clip, close, club, cock, coil, cold, collar, come, con, connect, corner, cost, count, counter, cover, cower, crack, crackle, cram, crash, crawl, creep, crinkle, cross, crouch, rush, cry, cuff, cull, cup, curl, curse, curve, cusp, cut, dart, dash, deepen, dig, deep, dip, ditch, drive, drop, duck, dump, ede, effect, erect, escape, exert, expect, feint, fight, fire fist, fit, flag, flare, flash, flick, fling, flip, flock, force, gash, gasp, get, gore, grab, grasp, grip, grope, group, hack, harden, heat, help, hit, hop, hurl, hurry, impale, jab, jar, jerk, join, jolt, jump, keep, kick, kill, knee, knock, knot, knuckle, leak, leap, let, lever, lick, lift, lock, loop, lop, plunge, mask, nick, nip, open, oppose, pace, pack, pain, pair, pale, palm, pan, pant, parry, part, pass, paste, pat, peak, peck, pelt, pick, pierce, pile, ping, piss, pit, pivot, plot, pluck, plug, plunge, ply, point, pool, pop, pose, pot, pound, pour, powder, pray, preen, prepare, prey, prick, prickle, print, probe, pry, pull, pulp, pulse, pump, punch, pursue, push, quarry, quarter, quest, race, raise, rake, ram, rap, rasp, rear, retreat, rip, riposte, rivert, roar, rock, roll, rope, round, rouse, run, rush, sap, scale, scalp, scan, score,scream, seek, seep, shake, shape, sharpen, shock, shoot, shop, slap, slap, slash, slice, slick, slip, slit, smash, snap, snare, snatch, snipe, sock, space, spar, spark, speed, spike, spill, spin, spit, splash, spoil, spring, spur, spurt, spy, squirm, stand, steert, step, stick, strap, strike, stuff, suck, support, swat, sweat, sweep, swingm tack, tag, take, target, taste, team, tear, tent, test, thrash, throw, thrust, thud, tick, tide, tilt, time, tire, top, toss, tower, toy, trap, trick, trigger, trip, triumph, trouble, trump, try, tuck, tug, twril, twitch, weaken, wet, whip, whirl, whirr, whoop, whoosh, whop, work, zap, zip.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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edenspoem · 6 months ago

Note

i wanna ride ellie’s little nose :((

hearing her soft whimpers as I fuck her nose up

note: alright, since this little post i made sparked up some conversation, i will tap some actual content out of it! mdni. college au. loser!ellie. join the discord! | kofi

𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬: 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐞

ellie isn't so practiced to being in this position; her heart is fucking pounding. not a lithe beat, or a pitter-pattering across the flesh—you can feel it through your thighs curled around her arms. you can see it in her blown eyes, trembling, and thickened with those pupils staring up at you. the indents of her fingertips sharpening into your legs, tattooed wrist constricted—restless. she hates this little interlude you subject her to. you're fondling her fragile trigger when you're sat a mere inch above her pretty lips, wet and glistening; who could blame her for getting so riled up?

impatience drags her fingers over your ass. it gets gripped gently. “thought you weren't being serious,” she states through a laugh—a breathless one. “but, i should know better, right?” her laughs hit that damned sweet spot in you that gets you going.

you tug a couple more out with a tip-tap on that precious nose. “mhm.” and then, those fingers end their frolic in her hair, forming a firm grip. it tugs a different sound out of her. a captured whimper. she is starving, and cannot mouth an actual word to soothe or substantiate it. ellie—two steps ahead of her motions—is already thinking about her lips on your cunt.

you position your slit on her available tongue, and she moans like she met heaven. a long, loose-lipped moan of satisfaction. something of a curving, “mmhhh..” and a brow-pull to go along with it; your scent, taste, and pushing of her face into your grinding hips hit all the right wires. now, she cannot let go. you shift your hip one route, and she follows with hungered licks. groping her breasts, you encourage that wanton behaviour.

“good fuckin girl, el.”

she gives your ass a delicate slap in admission. subconscious admission.

all that movement creates a cathedral of pornographics sounds. ellie, whoring her face out for you, lets nothing go to waste past her chin. she bobs her head, attempting to steal more laps of you, but ends up with the head of her nose prodding your clit each time. it sends a coiling through your pelvis, agreements up your throat, “fuck—such a pretty little nose your parents gave you..” and gives you the idea to continue. “you like it when i fuck it, huh?” fucking the tip of it, until it folds up and pre-cum begins to line it. inside, outside. it's perfect position is a practical beg for you to spread your legs and sit on it. ride it like she doesn't know what she's doing (which—contrary to what bigots in her college circulate online—she knows how to fuckin' eat pussy; don't get her wrong.) she knows now—she won't be able to rid it from her mind for weeks; the poor girl has to dangle from memories considering how little she sees you. what, with astrophysics and all? it's pitiful enough watching her touch herself to it—touch herself to the feeling of eating you out.

you chew your resting lip and almost draw blood noticing: the bulge of a free hand in her jeans, gentle touching below the seam. then, on it comes. the repeated whining—moaning like she's the one getting fucked. all it takes is for you to tilt her head, tug her eyes out from under you—and it blows out. the sight of her red, fucked-out, rubbed-against and wet face makes you cum.

how could it not?

“that was.. actually pretty hot,” ellie would blurt, after it had happened. after she had tugged herself enough to cum. regardless, she still had a couple laughs left in her system, and urged against her ribs to get them out while the patron of her affection was still in her presence—still on her doorstep. she would rather you be more than just a hookup. “i'm so fuckin' stupid about you, it's a little embarassing.” the door frame quietly settled with her leaning on it. “uh, you free tomorrow?”

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bowsandsturniolos · 5 months ago

Text

bricked.

warnings: smut, male masturbation, swearing, begging, getting caught.

-------------------------------------------------------------

chris can't take it anymore. he just filmed a video with his brothers. he was rock hard the entire time. he was stressing over the fact that this wasn't a car video, and the camera had a very clear view of his crotch.

throughout the filming process he was continuously tugging down the fabric that repeatedly bunched around his erection, praying that it'll flatten out on its own.

after he gave up on that, he began to lean forward more, his stomach covering his hard-on. desperate attempt after desperate attempt, he gave up. he pushed it down openly, not caring if it was obvious.

he lets out a shaky sigh of relief when the camera beeps, indicating that the video is finally over. he hurriedly chats with his brothers before beelining it to his room, shutting the door behind him.

his chest heaves, eyes shutting. his pants are fully tented. he sits down on his bed and runs a hand across his face. he knows it's not gonna go down.

he lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling, legs hanging off the bed, feet resting on the floor. his hand almost has a mind of its own as it runs down his tummy to the bulge in his pants, palming himself.

he moans breathily, his eyes fluttering shut. he bucks his hips into his own hand, desperate for any stimulation. images of you, his best friend, flashed through his mind.

"fuck.." he whispers, untying the drawstrings of his black sweats. he lifts his hips as he tugs down his pants, leaving him in his cream colored boxers.

he palms himself harder, chest rising and falling increasingly quick. he whimpers as he glances at the damp patch formed right above his tip, giving in.

he tugs down his boxers, his veiny and thick length springing free. precum drools from his slit as he wraps his hand around his base, a thick bead of it rolling down the side of his shaft.

he slowly begins to fist his cock, picking up the pace as he goes. the pad of his thumb presses against his slit before rubbing circles over it, rolling his hips.

he lets out quiet and breathy moans, careful to stay quiet. this doesn't last for long, though. his moans get slightly louder the closer he gets. "please mama i-" he begs.

he continues begging to your ghost in his imagination, picturing that it's you fisting his cock instead. his eyes roll back in his head.

"please let me cum i need- i need to." he begs, as if there's anyone stopping him. suddenly, he bucks his hips, the coils in his abdomen snapping abruptly.

he whimpers and chews his bottom lip as bands of white paint his fist and stomach. he runs his thumb across his tip one last time before taking his hand off, lying there, breathless on his bed.

just then, there's a pounding on his door. matt's voice erupts from the other side. "quit beatin your shit, dude! i'm not deaf!" his eyes widen, a flush appearing on his cheeks as he hears matt's soft footsteps direct back to his own room.

-------------------------------------------------------------

author's note: hi! i'm sorry i've been so inactive but ive been soo busy recently so just bear with me! when i have time and good ideas i write, but those two don't line up often. anyways, ill try to be more active if yall wanna see more from me. with love, bows, and sturniolos. 💗🎀

@whore4mattsturniolo @evie-sturns @ryleescomet @sweetshuga @chrissbbydoll

#sturniolo triplets #bows and sturniolos #chris sturniolo #sturniolo smut #the sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader

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jesuistrestriste · 2 months ago

Note

I know we love Dilf!Art… but what about Milf!Reader…

art who meets milf!reader at a stanford tennis mixer, her being one of the team’s sponsors. he shakes her hand and goes red like a ripe strawberry when she looks him up and down and praises his athletic prowess.

“i hear that you’re one of the best new players,” she murmurs, her thumb brushing over his knuckle as their palms break contact, “i’m excited to see you play some more throughout the season.”

he can’t muster more than a choked, nervous laugh at first, fumbling with his words after to properly thank her for the compliment. sweet sentiments always get his head swimming, and he wonders if she notices his pupils dilating into eclipsing saucers. his lower stomach feels warm.

they part ways at the mixer, and art goes back to his dorm.

it’s late—past eleven—but he can’t sleep. despite the alcohol, and the sore muscles from training, and all of the social activity from the evening, he can’t seem to shake the mental image of her. her body wrapped in that tight dress; bouncy, full tits and faint smile lines and soft skin. she was older than him by at least a decade, but he didn’t give a shit. he liked older women, anyways. the way they had their lives figured out, the way they approached situations with such composure and tact, the way they looked down upon younger men..

his hand is down his sweatpants before he can stop it. his warm shaft pulses in his grasp as he closes his eyes and lets himself fall into her. he feels precome spill from his slit involuntarily, causing his hips to buck up into his sticky fist—little moans beginning to fill his room.

“aah,” he gasps, his brows pinching up as his hips kick up against his curled fingers, “oh fuck, oh fuck..”

he imagines that his hand is hers. he thinks about how she’d probably know exactly how to touch him, and that she’d probably whisper all sorts of dirty things in his ear that’d make him lose it in just a couple of minutes.

he flips over onto his stomach and begins writhing around on his sheets, his feet digging down into the mattress below as he drools into his pillow and humps his hand. shaky, desperate, sweaty thrusts that spread goosebumps up his own spine and leave him whimpering into the fabric caught between his teeth.

“… ‘s gonna make me come, ‘s gonna make me— gonna—fuck! FUCK— mommy—!”

the lewd term suddenly erupting from his chest is a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. his eyes fly open at the realization of his perversion, only to roll back into his skull as he wails into his bedding and slams thrice into his grip. the coil of warmth in his core springing loose and causing waves of pleasure to spread through his entire nervous system. he clutches whatever he can grab with his free hand and whines the whole way through his orgasm, feeling his milky ropes coat his touch and froth between his digits. his entire body trembles as he jolts against the overstimulation. he imagines her sucking his come off of his softened cock, telling him how good he tastes and how pretty he looks all messed-up for her. it’s nearly enough to send him into a second spiral of arousal.

no way he can look her in the eye now. he’s such a little creep.

#happy mother’s day #milf!reader #i missed writing for art with a mommy kink so here’s a little something #also hi sorry i’ve been so absent i am still sick arghhh #sage’s asks #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #🌸 - ask prompts

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fhopepackcom · 2 years ago

Text

The steel coil is an heavy load that is not easy to handling by manually. For safety and more efficiency coil packing, many factory looking for a solution to resolve the problems caused by coil status. FHOPE provides coil packing system that designs according user's packing requirement . There are different types packing line to connect the silting line with coil downender, crane, fork-man...We provide hot mill coil packing system too for achieving the highest efficiency. No matter coil information scanning or strapping, packing, our system are able to reduce huge amount of labor cost by flexible system for handing and stacking.

#slitting coil packing line

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nirmaltexim · 2 years ago

Text

Cut to Length Line Machine Manufacturer

Title: Enhancing Precision and Efficiency: The Role of Cut to Length Line Machine Manufacturers

Introduction: In the dynamic world of manufacturing, precision and efficiency are paramount to meet the demands of modern industries. Cut to length (CTL) line machines play a crucial role in producing accurately sized and shaped metal sheets, catering to diverse applications across sectors. This blog explores the significance of Cut to Length Line Machine Manufacturers, their contributions to the manufacturing industry, and the key features that make these machines indispensable.

Understanding Cut to Length Line Machines:A Cut to Length Line Machine is an advanced industrial equipment designed to process coilsof various metals, including steel, aluminum, and stainless steel. These machines can uncoil the metal coil, level it, and cut it into precise lengths and widths as per the required specifications. They are widely used in industries such as automotive, construction, appliance manufacturing, and metal fabrication.

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Conclusion: Cut to Length Line Machine Manufacturers play a vital role in enhancing the precision, efficiency, and overall productivity of modern manufacturing industries. Their dedication to quality, innovation, and customization empowers businesses to meet the ever-changing demands of the market. As manufacturing technologies continue to evolve, these machines will remain a cornerstone of efficient metal sheet processing, shaping industries and driving progress across the globe.

#coil slitting line #cr slitting line #steel coil slitting line #coil slitting machine #steel coil slitting machine #manufaturinginindia #manufaturing

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odileeclipse · 3 months ago

Note

Oh myyy, stars sure burn up, huh? 👀

I should preface THIS IS NOT CANON just for funsies this artowrk had me with my jaw dropped it inspired me his expression is just FWIEJDCOIJLKJW WOOOOW incredible

The spire of Knowledge shuddered. Cold, suffocating magic coiled through the once-sacred halls, twisting the very air, warping the stone, bleeding reality into something other. The Moonstone’s glow dimmed, its once-pure radiance swallowed by inky tendrils of void, the hungry whispers of the Dark Moon pressing against the veil of the world. And at the center of it all, Shadow Milk Cookie stood before the bodies of his beloved and their friends, his ritual complete. Their forms remained untouched, preserved, frozen in an eternal moment between life and death. No decay, no rot, just stillness. Waiting. But the world demanded a price. A sudden, piercing agony erupted behind his right eye. His breath hitched. His vision blurred, splitting apart and fracturing. His heartbeat staggered as unseen claws scraped at his thoughts, prying apart the pieces of his mind. A warning flashed in his memories of ancient words etched into forbidden texts "The Dark Moon grants, but it does not give. The Dark Moon preserves, but it does not save. Its gifts must be paid for in kind." And it was taking him. A golden light, the last remnant of his truth, burned in his right eye but it was fading. Shadow Milk Cookie let out a choked gasp, his hands clawing at his face as the pain consumed him. The spire walls trembled as the Dark Moon’s power funneled into his very being, twisting his soul, unraveling him thread by thread. His right eye, his golden, illuminated eye began to burn away, replaced by something colder, something fractured. Where once there was the unwavering glow of wisdom, there was now a black slit pupil piercing through blue depths, rimmed with claw-like marks, as if something had gouged the truth from him.

His form twisted under the weight of the spell, his once-pristine white robes dissolving into obsidian and harlequin blues, shifting like living shadows. His sleeves billowed, two-toned and curling, their wide cuffs resembling whipped cream but wrong, unnatural, as if the fabric itself was alive. His hair stretched and curled, slick and jagged, dual-toned in midnight and lapis. And from within those shadows Eyes. Ghastly, whispering eyes blinked and twitched, watching from the void within his hair. They changed to match his emotions, shifting between amusement, wrath, sorrow. The shadows twisted further, forming into a curling, ghostly collar, draped over the coattails that now extended from his frame. The lining shimmered with the same unnatural eyes, watching, watching, forever searching. A new weight settled at his throat his Soul Jam, but not the one he once carried. No longer a beacon of truth, but one of deceit. The Soul Jam of Deceit gleamed from his collar, reflecting the dying light of knowledge, its singular gaze unblinking, unwavering. And then His laughter broke the silence. Cold, fractured, bitter twisting between mirth and madness. His sapphire blue mouth curled into a sly, sharp-toothed grin, jagged and shifting, his teeth flickering between straight and razor-sharp. Something had gone terribly wrong. Or perhaps, terribly right. Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head, his long, spindly fingers curling around the staff that had appeared in his grasp. A thin black rod, crowned with an eye-like blueberry, its pupil shifting in reflection of his own. The once-noble Sage of Truth was gone, his knowledge no longer bound to what was right or real. He turned to where you lay his beloved, his reason, his purpose. And he smiled. "The stars have burned away," he mused, his voice a silken thread of something between grief and amusement. "But we don’t need them anymore, do we?" The shadows around him writhed, the echoes of the Dark Moon’s gift whispering in endless riddles.

"You are safe now."

"You are mine to keep. I did this for you."

"And I will make sure you never leave me again."

His free hand reached toward you, fingers brushing against your cheek. Cold. Too cold. But it didn’t matter. Because no matter the cost, no matter the price, no matter the fate he had abandoned You would never be taken from him again. If he, like stars, had to burn away for that to happen…Then so be it.

I saw this the moment it entered my inbox and it's just incredible the facial expression really got to me...impeccable ♾️/10

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killerplink · 4 months ago

Text

ANNIVERSARY

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Female Reader

Plot: Your three year anniversary with Dick turns into a night of teasing and tension, with you tying him up and keeping him on edge ✨ ( @angeleyes1376 , finally posting this one, sorry for the delay )

Words: 12k

Dinner had been perfect—romantic, intimate, and everything you could have hoped for on your three year anniversary. The dim candlelight, the hushed murmur of other patrons, the rich aroma of wine and decadent dishes, it all set the stage for a night neither of you would forget.

Dick looked absolutely sinful in a dark suit, the fabric perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and trim waist, the crisp white dress shirt underneath only adding to the polished elegance of it all. You barely ever saw him in something this refined, and God, it made you want to rip it off of him the second you got the chance.

You weren't exactly subtle about it, either. The way your eyes lingered on him, the way your fingers traced the lapel of his jacket, the way you let your foot brush against his leg under the table. And he wasn't any better—his hand stayed on your thigh for most of the evening, squeezing whenever you leaned in too close, whispering things in his ear that had his jaw tightening.

But it was the dress that truly undid him. A deep, dark burgundy that clung to your curves like it was made for you, long and elegant but with a slit up your right leg that had his gaze flicking down every time you shifted. He loved your legs, and you knew that. You wore this dress for that exact reaction, and judging by the way he kept shifting in his seat, it was working.

The wine helped loosen you up even more, warmth buzzing through your veins as the two of you finally made your way back home. He expected you to be tipsy, maybe a little giggly, a little clingy. What he didn't expect was for you to be this hungry, this desperate.

The door barely shuts before you're on him, your lips crashing into his, your hands tugging at his suit jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. He barely gets the chance to let it fall to the floor before you're kissing him again, hot and messy, your tongue slipping past his lips as you suck on his tongue, dragging a low, helpless groan from him. You taste like wine, like heat, like pure desire, and fuck, he's already hard, his cock straining against his boxers, already leaking just from the way you kiss him.

You're insatiable tonight. Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging, pulling him closer, your body pressed flush against his. You can feel him—every hard line of him, every bit of tension coiling in his muscles as you kiss him like you'll die if you don't. And then, before he can get a grip on the situation, before he can take control like he always does, you push him.

He stumbles back onto the bed, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide as you climb over him, straddling his hips, grinding against his cock through the thin fabric of your lace panties. He groans, hands flying to your ass, gripping you tight as he pushes up against you, seeking more, needing more.

You look fucking wrecked already. Your face is flushed, your lips swollen from kissing, your hair a little messy from where he ran his fingers through it. Your eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and you grin as you tug at his tie, loosening it, slipping it from around his neck with slow, deliberate movements.

"Let me tie you up, baby," you purr, your voice low and teasing.

His breath hitches, his body going still beneath you. His lips part slightly, his chest rising and falling faster now, and you can see the gears turning in his head. He's never let you do this before. He's always been the one in control, always been the one to take the lead.

You lean down, brushing your lips over his jaw, then lower, down his neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin as you whisper, "What do you say, my love?"

His eyes flutter shut for a brief second, like he's weighing the idea, but then you grind down on him again, and whatever argument he might have had dies in his throat.

He nods, his voice coming out rough, needy. "Yeah."

That's all you need. With a pleased hum, you slide the silk tie around his wrists, tying them together with practiced ease before securing them to the cool metal bars of the bed frame. He shifts, testing the restraint, and you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard, his cock twitching beneath you.

You take your time with the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, dragging your fingers over his firm chest, his sculpted abs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. He's breathing heavily, watching you, his blue eyes dark and hooded, half lidded with need. His lips are parted, and you know he's already wrecked, already desperate, but he's trying to be patient. Trying to let you take your time.

And fuck, he looks so good like this—tied up, shirt open, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. Yours. Completely at your mercy.

You press your lips to his collarbone, soft, lingering, and then you work your way down. Slow, wet kisses across his chest, your tongue flicking over his skin, over the hard muscle of his stomach, down, down, until you're kneeling between his thighs. You can feel him shudder, his muscles tightening beneath your lips as you press kisses lower, right above his belt, your breath hot against his skin.

His cock twitches beneath the fabric of his slacks, straining against the material, and you grin, nipping softly at his skin before finally unbuckling his belt. You undo his button, drag his zipper down with aching slowness, teasing him, making him wait. And when you finally tug his slacks down, freeing him from the fabric, your breath catches because fuck.

You've seen him like this a million times before, hard and leaking, thick and heavy, but it never gets old. Never stops making your mouth water, your cunt throb.

You lean in, pressing a lingering kiss to the flushed head of his cock through his boxers, and he groans—low and needy, his hips jerking up, desperate for more. You hum, dragging your tongue over the damp fabric, tasting the precum seeping through, and his head drops back against the pillow.

When you finally pull his boxers down, his cock slaps against his stomach, thick and heavy, flushed so dark it almost looks painful. Your pussy clenches at the sight, at the way it twitches when you breathe over it, at the way his thighs tense like he's trying so hard not to beg.

And then you lean closer, tongue flicking over his slit, licking up the warm precum that beads at the tip, and his whole body shudders. His breath catches, a deep, broken moan spilling from his lips as his hands flex uselessly against the tie restraining him.

He needs you. Needs to feel more, to bury himself in your mouth, to grip your hair and thrust deep, but he can't. And the realization—being completely at your mercy, unable to do anything but feel—only makes his cock throb harder.

And when you press soft, teasing kisses along the thick vein running down his length, he groans again, his hips shifting, straining toward you, toward the heat of your mouth. But you're not done teasing him yet.

Your fingers wrap around the base of his dick, stroking him slow, teasing, watching the way his breath stutters, the way his abs tense, the way his wrists flex against the tie holding him in place. He's so fucking hard, leaking all over himself, all over you, and it's delicious—the way he's at your mercy, the way his whole body is reacting to every little thing you do.

You hum, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the thick head, swirling your tongue over his slit, tasting the salt of his precum again. His moan is deep, raw, his hips jerking, but you pull back just enough to keep him from getting what he wants.

"Fuck, baby—"

His voice is wrecked already, strained and breathless, and he groans when you drag your tongue down the length of him, tracing that thick, pulsing vein, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath the head.

His whole body shudders beneath you. He's so fucking gone for you, for your mouth, for the way you're touching him like you own him. And you do because he's yours.

You hum against his skin, your fingers stroking him slow, teasing, and he's moaning again, deep and broken, his thighs trembling, his head thrown back against the pillow. He's already losing it, already unraveling, and you love it.

"So fucking pretty," you murmur, kissing along the underside of his cock, sucking softly at the base before licking your way back up. "So perfect for me."

His breath catches, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven pants, and fuck, he's never been this turned on in his life. Never been this desperate. His hands flex against the tie, his muscles tight, straining like he wants to touch you, to fist your hair and guide you deeper, but he can't. He has to take it. Take whatever you give him.

And then your lips wrap around his cock, sinking down, slow, wet, deep, and he moans, his back arching, his hips trying to thrust, but he can't, he fucking can't, and it's fucking killing him.

"Jesus—fuck, baby—"

His moan cracks when you hollow your cheeks, sucking him in, your tongue flicking over the slit, dragging along the underside as you bob your head, slow and steady. His thighs shake, his fingers twitch, his whole body tense with pleasure, with need.

And when you take him deeper—fuck, so deep he can feel the tight clench of your throat around him, so deep you're swallowing him—he whimpers, his head dropping back, his jaw clenching so fucking tight it aches.

He's losing his fucking mind. He knows it. He can feel it. And it's so fucking good.

Your throat flutters around him, holding him there, swallowing around his cock, and he swears he's about to fucking die. His stomach tightens, his abs clenching, his breath coming out in sharp, ragged moans.

And fuck, you love this. Love the weight of him on your tongue, love the way he sounds, the way he's falling apart just from your mouth, just from your touch. Your pussy clenches, aching, dripping, needy, but this isn't about you. Not yet.

This is about making him beg.

Your lips wrap around the head of his cock again, sucking just right, stroking him slow and tight, and he moans, hips twitching, stomach tensing. He's close, so fucking close, his whole body wound up so tight he can feel his orgasm building, that sweet, hot pressure coiling deep in his gut, in his spine, in his balls, ready to snap.

And then you stop.

You pull off him completely, letting his cock slip from your lips, throbbing, slick, so fucking hard it twitches against his stomach, leaking all over himself. His breath comes out in a broken, desperate moan, his head dropping back against the pillow as he whimpers.

"Fuck—baby, please—"

You just smirk, licking the taste of him from your lips, watching the way his chest rises and falls in uneven pants, the way his arms flex against the tie holding him down. He's suffering, and it's so fucking beautiful.

So you do it again.

You take him back in your mouth, sucking slow, deep, pumping the base with your fingers, feeling him throb, hearing the way he groans, deep and wrecked, his whole body trembling beneath you. And just when you know he's about to cum—just when you feel him tense, his moans getting higher, his cock pulsing, ready to spill—

You stop again. And again. And again.

By the fourth time, he's gone. A complete, desperate fucking mess. His skin is damp with sweat, his stomach tight, his thighs trembling, his cock so red and swollen it looks like it hurts. His abs flex with every ragged breath, his jaw clenched so tight it aches, and his voice is a wrecked, broken plea when he gasps.

"Baby... please. I'm so close."

You hum, crawling up his body, straddling him again, teasing him with the slow, deliberate roll of your hips. His dick is hot, aching, trapped between your soaked panties and his stomach, every little grind making his breath stutter, making his moans crack, his hips jerking desperately for more.

And then—slowly, torturously—you peel your dress off.

The straps slip down your shoulders first, and his breath catches, his eyes glued to the way your tits spill free, soft, perfect, bouncing slightly as you move. And then you tug it down, down, until it pools at your waist, and you lift yourself up just enough to push it off completely, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

You're left in nothing but your panties. Your soaked, slick panties that are currently pressed right against his throbbing, neglected dick.

"Fuck—"

His head falls back against the pillow, his abs tightening, his whole body shuddering when you grind down on him, teasing him with the wet heat of your pussy. The lace is soaked, clinging to your cunt, barely there, and every roll of your hips makes his cock throb, makes his breath stutter, makes his muscles strain against the tie holding him down.

And he can't fucking take it anymore.

He lifts his head, mouth latching onto one of your nipples, sucking hard, desperate, his tongue flicking over the peak, his teeth nipping gently, just enough to make you gasp, to make your hips jerk, to make your pussy throb against him.

"Yeah, like that," you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair, holding him there, arching into his mouth as he groans against your skin.

And he doesn't stop. Doesn't hesitate.

His tongue swirls, slow and teasing, before he sucks again, harder, his lips wrapping around you, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shudder. And then he moves to the other, giving it the same treatment, licking, sucking, worshiping you with his mouth, all while your hips keep moving, keep grinding, keep rubbing your soaked panties over his throbbing, desperate cock.

And he's losing his fucking mind.

Your moans spill into the room, soft and breathless, melting into the wet sounds of his mouth on your tits. Every suck, every flick of his tongue sends a sharp pulse of pleasure straight to your clit, making your hips stutter against him, making you grind down harder, needier.

And then, slowly, you reach between your legs, fingers slipping past the damp lace of your panties, tugging them to the side. The second your bare cunt presses against his cock, his whole body shudders. A ragged, desperate moan rips from his throat as his dick twitches against you, slicking up between your folds, smearing precum and arousal all over your slit.

"Fuck," he groans, head dropping back, his fingers curling into fists where they're tied above him. "Baby—"

You roll your hips, dragging your pussy up the length of his cock, coating him in your slick, letting the head nudge right against your clit. And it feels so fucking good, the thick, heavy heat of him slipping against you, the way he throbs under you, the way he aches for you.

"Shit—"

He jerks his hips up, trying to slide inside, desperate, needy, fucking gone. But you just chuckle, pulling back just enough to stop him, smirking when he whimpers.

"You're so cute, baby," you murmur, leaning down, brushing your lips against his, teasing him, keeping just out of reach.

"Please," he gasps, voice raw, ruined. "Doll, I need to cum, please—"

You coo, tilting your head, swiping your thumb over his flushed, swollen lips. "Oh? You need it, huh?"

But you don't let him. You keep grinding, keep rubbing your soaked, needy cunt all over his cock, keep rolling your hips just right so the swollen head nudges your clit over and over again, making your breath hitch, making your stomach tighten, making the pleasure build so fast, so fucking intense.

It's so slippery, so fucking messy.

His cock is drenched in you, soaked, slick with how wet you are, and it only makes you hotter, only makes you grind harder, makes you chase that tight, burning pleasure curling low in your belly, makes you moan into his mouth when you kiss him, wet and slow, filthy, licking into him as he whimpers beneath you.

"God— baby, you're so wet," he gasps against your lips, his cock throbbing against your pussy, twitching every time your clit rubs against the thick, swollen head. "Fuck—let me feel you, please—"

And then it hits you.

So hard, so sudden, it makes your whole body jerk. You cry out, gasping against his lips, nails dragging down his chest as your orgasm slams into you. Your cunt clenches, pulses, gushing all over his dick, soaking him, dripping down his shaft, coating his stomach.

"Oh— fuck—" you whimper, hips stuttering, rolling through it, grinding against him even as you shake.

Even as your legs go weak, even as the pleasure leaves you breathless, your pussy convulsing, fluttering, rubbing slick and soaked and so fucking messy all over his dick. And he feels it. He feels the way your cunt clenches, how you drip for him, how fucking wet you are, how you're making a mess of him.

"Shit," he groans, head falling back, his biceps flexing against the tie, his breath ragged, desperate, his whole body trembling under you. "Baby, please—"

But you're still cumming, still gasping, still grinding slow and deep, dragging it out, making sure he feels every second of it.

Your breath stutters as the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, leaving you flushed, panting, still grinding on his soaked, aching cock. You can feel how hard he is, how swollen, how his whole body trembles beneath you, desperate, wrecked.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his, murmuring breathlessly, "You look so hot right now, baby."

And then you kiss him—deep, slow, so filthy.

Your lips part against his, your tongue teasing, licking into his mouth, tasting the whimpers he lets out as you keep rolling your hips, dragging your slick pussy up and down his throbbing dick. Your tits brush against his chest, soft against the heat of his skin, making him shiver, making his fingers flex.

He groans into your mouth, tilting his head, trying to chase your lips, kissing you back just as deep, just as messy, moaning when you suck on his tongue, when you nip at his bottom lip, when you pull away just enough to breathe against him, teasing, cruel.

"Please, baby," he gasps, his voice shaking, his whole body tightening beneath you. "I need to cum, I can't—"

But then you lift yourself up, and his breath stutters, his whole body tensing, his cock twitching, aching, desperate for you, for your heat, for anything.

And then your hand dips down, your thumb brushing over the swollen, leaking head of his dick, smearing his precum, teasing him, making him jerk beneath you, a strangled moan ripping from his throat.

"God, baby," you whisper, smirking, your voice full of heat, full of control. "You have no idea how good you look like this. Tied, begging to cum..."

His head drops back against the pillows, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, his mind spiraling. Because, fuck, you do something to him. It's not just the way you touch him, not just the way you tease him, not just the way you keep him on the edge, ruining him, making him ache for you, making him need you like this.

It's you. It's how beautiful you are, even when you're making him suffer, even when you're playing with him, toying with him, making him beg. It's the way your lips shine from kissing him, the way your hair is messy, wild, like you've been thoroughly fucked already, the way your flushed skin glows under the low bedroom light. It's the way you look down at him, amusement and heat flickering in your eyes, so confident, so in control, like you know he's yours, like you know he'd do anything for you.

Because he would. And when you finally line him up with your soaked, throbbing cunt—when you sink down, taking his dick inch by inch, stretching your tight, sensitive walls around him—he swears he could die like this.

"Oh—fuck," you moan, head tilting back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting as he fills you, as your walls clench around him, fluttering, gripping him so tight he almost loses it right there.

"Shit—baby—"

His voice is wrecked, strained, his hands twitching in the restraints, aching to touch you, to grab your hips, to hold you down, to thrust up into you, to fuck you senseless.

But all he can do is watch.

Watch the way your body moves, the way you take him so fucking slow, dragging it out, making him feel every inch as you sink down again, taking him deep, all the way, until your soaked pussy is flush against his base, until your clit rubs against his skin, until his cock nudges against your end.

"Ohhh—"

Your moan is sweet, drawn out, full of pleasure as you start to ride him, rolling your hips, taking him all the way, over and over again, grinding down so he presses right where you need him.

And he's losing his mind.

Because you feel so good, so tight, so hot, so fucking perfect wrapped around him, squeezing him, milking him, using him exactly how you want, fucking owning him.

And he can't do anything but moan for you.

Your hips move in a slow, steady rhythm, rolling, grinding, taking every inch of him, stretching your pussy wide around his thick, aching cock. He's so hard, throbbing inside you, and you can feel how desperate he is—his whole body tense, muscles straining.

The way he shudders when you squeeze around him, when your slick, ruined panties rub against the base of his dick, adding to the friction, making him groan, making him suffer in the best way.

"God, baby," you moan, your lips parting as you take him deep again, dragging your soaked cunt down his cock, making him feel you. "You feel so good. So hard for me."

He whimpers, his head tilting back, his throat exposed, his arms pulling at the tie holding them to the bed frame, his fingers twitching, aching to touch you. But all he can do is take it.

Take the way you ride him, the way you move, slow and filthy, teasing, rolling your hips just right so your clit drags against his skin, so your cunt squeezes tight, so your ruined panties make everything messier, wetter, hotter.

"Fuck—please," he gasps, his hips jerking up, chasing you, desperate to cum, desperate to fill you.

And just when he's close—just when his cock throbs, when his breath stutters, when his whole body tenses beneath you—you stop.

Lifting yourself up, letting his swollen, leaking tip slip from your fluttering walls, leaving him aching, leaving him empty.

"No—no, please—"

His voice is wrecked, his eyes blown wide, desperate, staring up at you as if you've just ruined him.

You moan softly, rubbing his sensitive tip against your slick lips, teasing him, making him ache, making him need. "Just a bit longer, baby. Please. You're so fucking hot."

And he trembles, his whole body shaking, every muscle in his body drawn tight as he fights the urge to beg, to plead. But then, after just a few agonizing seconds, you sink down again, taking him all in one slow, deep movement, making him moan as your hot, dripping pussy wraps around him again, squeezing him, clenching around him so fucking tight.

"Ohhh—fuck," you gasp, your head tilting back, your mouth parting as you start to move again, rolling your hips, grinding down on him, making his cock throb against your slick walls, making him suffer in the most delicious way.

And then, one of your hands trails up your body, cupping your tits, teasing, playing, rolling your nipples between your fingers, making you shudder, making your walls flutter around him.

The other dips between your legs. Pressing to your clit, slick and swollen, rubbing tight, slow circles that send sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making your whole body tingle, making your pussy clamp down around him, milking him.

"Fuck—fuck, baby," he groans, his head spinning, his breath ragged, his arms pulling at the restraints, his whole body fighting to stay still, to let you take your pleasure, to let you use him.

And you do.

You keep rolling your hips, keep riding him, fucking him, moaning as you play with yourself, teasing your tits, rubbing your clit, sending pleasure crashing through you, building higher, higher, higher.

"Oh, God..."

You cum. Your body tenses, your walls spasming around him, milking his cock, squeezing so fucking tight as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, making you shake, making your breath stutter, making you moan, high pitched and wrecked.

And you don't stop. You keep rubbing your clit, keep teasing your sensitive tits, keep grinding down on his cock, overstimulating yourself. Making your whole body shudder, making your cunt gush around him, soaking him, making a mess, making him feel every pulse, every spasm, every fucking throb.

His breath is ragged, his cock is twitching, his whole body is on fire as he watches you, as he feels you, as he suffers through every second of your pleasure, knowing that he can't cum, that you won't let him. And it's killing him. Because you're so fucking beautiful like this. So wet, so needy, so desperate, so perfect. And you're his.

You fuck him harder, faster, chasing that high, needing him to fill you up, needing to feel his hot cum spilling deep inside you. The bed rocks beneath you, the slap of your hips meeting his echoing through the room, wet, obscene, so fucking filthy. And he's falling apart beneath you, his moans breaking, his thighs tensing, his hands still bound, fingers twitching, desperate to grab at you, to pull you down, to feel your body against his.

He's gasping, his chest rising and falling, his cock twitching inside you, your slick making it so easy, so slippery, each thrust sending heat licking up your spine.

And when he finally chokes out, "I'm gonna cum, baby," you fucking shiver.

Leaning down, licking the words from his tongue as you murmur, "Yes, cum for me, my love. Fill me up."

And fuck, he does. His whole body goes taut beneath you, his hips snapping up, burying himself as deep as he can go before he spills, thick ropes of cum flooding your pussy, coating your walls, painting your insides in that delicious warmth. You moan at the feeling, at how fucking full you are, how your cunt clenches down, milking him, sucking him in, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

But there's too much, and you feel it spill, thick and messy, leaking out around his cock, dripping down between your thighs. And you love it—you fucking love it—the way it makes everything even more slippery, the way it drips onto his slacks, the way he whimpers when you keep fucking him through it, even though he's so overstimulated, even though his dick keeps twitching, throbbing, spilling the last few weak spurts of cum inside you.

He whines beneath you, body trembling, head lolling back, but you're relentless, rolling your hips, grinding down, desperate for just one more orgasm. And fuck, you can feel it, so close, so fucking close, your fingers slipping between your thighs, rubbing your swollen clit, gasping as slick gushes out of you, mixing with his cum, coating your fingers, making everything so wet, so filthy.

It crashes over you like a fucking tidal wave, your whole body going tight, thighs shaking as you moan his name, as your pussy pulses, clenches, convulses around him, soaking his cock in even more of your slick. Your head tilts back, lips parted, breathless, overwhelmed, your entire body trembling as the pleasure ripples through you, dragging you under, leaving you spent, sated, ruined.

And still, even as you finally slow, as your muscles go lax, as you collapse onto his chest, you can still feel it—the heat of him inside you, the way his cum still trickles out, messy, sticky, perfect.

Your whole body trembles, gasping against his skin, still shuddering from the intensity of it all. His chest rises and falls beneath you, his breath unsteady, wrecked.

"Untie me, baby, please."

His voice is hoarse, pleading, his wrists flexing against the restraints.

But you just hum, lips curling into a lazy smirk as you murmur against his neck, "I'm not done with you, love."

And then you start kissing him again, soft at first, teasing, before dragging your tongue along his pulse, tasting the heat of his skin, the faint salt of sweat. You feel his body react instantly—his dick twitching inside you, still so hard, still so needy—and fuck, it makes you dizzy, knowing he's still aching for you, knowing you have him like this.

Your lips move lower, your teeth grazing his throat before sucking a deep, dark bruise into his skin, marking him, claiming him, yours. He groans, his hips shifting just slightly, desperate for friction, and you chuckle against his neck, breath warm, teasing.

Finally, you lift yourself up, slow, making sure he feels every single inch of it as his cock slips free, slapping wetly against his abdomen, still sticky and messy, still drenched in your slick and his cum. A thick trail follows, trickling out of your swollen pussy, dripping down onto him, onto his stomach, his thighs, but neither of you fucking care.

You just watch him for a second, still panting, taking him in. The way he looks beneath you—flushed, fucked out, so goddamn beautiful—makes your chest ache. He's yours. This sweet, perfect, good man is yours, and it still fucking stuns you sometimes.

But then, his cock twitches again, still so hard, still so ready, and your lips curl into something wicked. You shift, moving to straddle him again, but this time in reverse cowgirl. His breath hitches, and you know why—your ass.

He can't fucking take his eyes off it, his fingers flexing against his palms like he's aching to grab you, hold you, squeeze you. But he can't. And the realization makes him whimper softly, needy, desperate.

Fuck.

The sound sends a hot pulse straight between your legs, your cunt clenching around nothing, so eager to be filled again. You glance over your shoulder, watching his face as you wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him a few times, smearing the mix of both of you all over his length. His hips jerk, just barely, and he exhales a shaky breath, eyes locked on you.

And then, finally, you guide him back inside.

Your slick makes it so easy, his cock sliding in so smoothly, but the angle—fuck, the angle. You feel him in a whole different way, his length rubbing right against that sweet spot inside you, making your toes curl, your thighs tense. A gasp catches in your throat, and he groans behind you, hands still uselessly bound, forced to just watch as you start to move.

Slow at first, just getting used to the stretch again, to the way he fills you so deep. But then, as the pleasure builds, your pace quickens, your ass bouncing with every roll of your hips, every downward thrust that takes him to the hilt.

And he watches, fucking mesmerized.

Your moans spill out unchecked, desperate and breathless, your body moving—no, fucking yourself—on his cock like you can't get enough. And fuck, you really can't.

"Oh my God, baby, you feel so fucking good," you gasp, head tilting back, mouth parted, pleasure wrecking you. "So deep—fuck, so hard—"

And you keep going, babbling, mindless words falling from your lips between moans, between the slick, obscene sounds of your soaked pussy taking his dick again and again. He's so big, so thick, and every time you drop down, he hits it—that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake, makes your walls flutter, makes you see stars.

Under you, Dick is struggling. You don't even notice at first. You're too focused on how fucking good this feels, how he stretches you so perfectly, how your clit throbs every time your hips grind against him just right. But he's desperate. His fingers flex, his arms pull as hard as he can. He needs to touch you. And then—rip. The tie snaps.

You don't hear it, don't even feel it, too lost in the rhythm, too drunk on pleasure, but then, you feel his hands. Big, warm, rough hands gripping your ass.

You freeze for a second, a shuddering gasp escaping your lips, your walls clenching hard around his cock. And when you turn your head to look back, eyes half lidded, breathless, the only thing you manage to moan is—

"Dick..."

He just groans, his grip tightening, fingers sinking into the plush of your ass as he spreads you open. "Just keep going, baby," he rasps, voice thick, raw, wrecked. "Take what you need."

And fuck—fuck. That does something to you. So you do. You keep fucking him, moaning louder, rolling your hips harder, pushing back onto his cock like you're trying to take him deeper.

And Dick is losing his fucking mind. His grip is firm, desperate, greedy, his thumbs spreading your cheeks so he can see better, watch the way your soaked cunt swallows his cock, clinging to every inch of him. You're dripping.

Every bounce, every grind leaves a slick, wet sheen along his cock, your swollen lips stretched around him so tight, so perfect. It's a fucking mess, your arousal shining on his length, coating his pelvis, dripping down onto his thighs.

And your ass, God.

Bouncing, shaking, soft and so fucking beautiful. He grabs at it, kneads it, his fingers digging into your flesh, spreading you open wider, watching the way his cock disappears into you with every downward thrust.

And the sounds you make—fuck. The way you moan for him, the way your voice breaks when you take him deep, the breathy, wrecked little gasps you let out every time his cock nudges against your sweet spot—it's too much, too good.

His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight. He's close. And he knows you're gonna ruin him. Your body is a live wire, every nerve buzzing, every muscle trembling as you grind down on him, taking his cock so deep, so perfectly.

You can feel it—feel everything. How thick he is inside you, how the head of his dick presses into that sweet, aching spot with every bounce of your hips, how your slick makes each movement so smooth, so messy.

You're close. So fucking close, you can taste it, can feel the coil in your belly winding tighter, burning hot, unbearable. You're whimpering, babbling, barely aware of the words spilling from your lips.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, baby—"

And then it hits. Your climax crashes through you like a wave, violent and all-consuming, and you sob as you cum, your entire body shuddering, your cunt clamping down so tight around his cock that you feel every throb, every pulse of his length.

You gush around him, drenching his cock, your slick dripping down onto his balls, onto the sheets, making a complete fucking mess, but you don't care, can't care, not when it feels this good, this deep, this intense. Your walls flutter, spasming uncontrollably, and the pleasure is so much, so overwhelming, that your arms nearly give out.

And then you feel it. The way he shudders beneath you. The way his hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh so hard that you know you'll feel it tomorrow.

The way his cock twitches, throbbing as he groans, deep and wrecked, "Fuuuck, baby—"

And then he's cumming. His cock pulses hard, and you moan as you feel it—the warmth of it, the thickness, the way his cum floods you deep, so deep, pumping against your cervix, coating your walls, filling you to the brim.

Dick moans, a breathless, needy sound, his grip on you tightening as his body jerks beneath you. His abs tense, his thighs flex, his fingers dig into your ass, squeezing as he rides it out, as he gives you everything.

Your body thrums, your chest heaving, your mind dazed with pleasure, but before you can even catch your breath, before you can even whisper his name, he moves. In one swift, fluid motion, he lifts you off of him, and you gasp, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. His cum leaks out immediately, dripping down your thighs, pooling between your legs, making a mess on the sheets.

"Baby—" you barely manage to say.

But he's already moving you, already positioning you. Ass up, face down. And then, he's inside you again, burying himself deep. You moan into the sheets, your entire body jerking forward, your walls clamping down around him as he fills you again in one smooth thrust.

"Okay," he growls, his voice low, wrecked, dangerous as his hands settle on your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants you. "You had your fun, doll. My turn."

And then he fucks you. Hard. Deep. Your pussy is still so sensitive, still aching from your orgasm, but you don't tell him to stop—you don't want him to. You want more. You need more. And he knows it.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, obscene, wet, loud, mixing with the desperate, wrecked little moans spilling from your lips. His balls slap against your pussy every time he thrusts in, slick and messy from how much you've cum.

He's so sensitive, but he doesn't care. Not when you feel this good. Not when your tight little cunt is still gripping him perfectly, still soaking him, still taking every inch of him so beautifully. His perfect fucking girl. And he tells you as much.

"Fuck, baby. Look at you."

His voice is low, rough with arousal as he watches the way his cock sinks into your swollen cunt. The way you're creaming around him, leaving a messy little ring at the base of his dick.

"Taking it so fucking well, huh?"

Your moans are high pitched, needy, desperate, muffled against the sheets as you tremble beneath him. He chuckles, dark and wrecked, before slapping your ass. You cry out, shuddering, walls clenching around him.

"Yeah? You like that, baby?"

He does it again, harder, watching the way your soft flesh jiggles beneath his palm. Watching the way your pussy tightens up around him in response.

"God, you're so fucking good for me. My perfect girl."

You sob, grinding your hips back into him as he pounds into you, deep, shallow thrusts that have you moaning into the sheets, completely fucked out, completely ruined. And you love it.

Because you're his. And he's gonna make sure you remember it. Everything is too much, too sensitive, too raw, too fucking good.

Your body is a mess of pleasure, every nerve lit up, every touch electric, your cunt so swollen, so overstimulated from how many times he's fucked you through your orgasms. But he doesn't stop—he won't stop.

Not when you're still so tight around him.

Not when your walls are hot, puffy, gripping him like you never want to let him go. Not when you're still pushing back against him, still desperate for more. And God, you are. You need it.

Even as your thighs tremble, even as you moan and whimper into the sheets, begging, pleading, "Baby, please, I can't—"

But you still arch your back, still spread your legs wider, still take it. And fuck, he loves it.

His hands tighten on your hips, pulling you back onto his cock, forcing you to take every deep, obscene thrust as he fucks into you again, again, again.

The bed creaks beneath you, the frame knocking against the wall. The wet, filthy sound of your slick and his cum squelching with every thrust makes his stomach tighten, makes his cock throb inside you, makes him groan.

His hips slap against your ass, sharp, deep, every thrust forcing more of his mess out of your wrecked cunt, more wetness dripping down your thighs, onto the sheets, onto his balls. And fuck, you're so full. So full of him, full of his cum, full of everything he gives you.

He groans, voice wrecked, low and deep, fingers flexing on your hips. "God, you're so fucking good for me, baby."

You sob at his words, whimpering, because you are. You're his good girl. You take it so well, take him so perfectly, so deep, so tight. And then, his hand slides lower.

His fingers skim down your stomach, and you whine, already knowing what he's about to do, already dreading it, already needing it. And then, he rubs your clit. Your body jerks, and you gasp, shuddering, because fuck, it's too much, it's too much, it's too fucking much.

Your clit is puffy, swollen, throbbing, so fucking sensitive, so messy, slick and sticky from his cum, and his touch is a shock, making you feel like you're going to fucking break apart. You try to pull away, try to close your thighs, but he doesn't let you. He keeps you spread open, his fingers circling your clit, pressing, teasing, forcing you to take it.

And you sob, your body shaking, your walls fluttering around him as you whimper, "No, baby, please, I can't—I can't—"

But he knows you can. And he tells you.

"Oh, doll, I know you can take it." His voice is low, teasing, but his fingers don't slow, his hips don't stop, and he leans over you, lips at your ear as he fucks you deeper, harder. "Be a good girl for me, yeah? Let me feel you."

And you do. You can't stop it. Your orgasm hits you like a fucking shockwave, violent, unbearable, earth fucking shattering.

You choke a moan, your whole body convulsing, your cunt milking his cock, gushing around him, soaking his length, drenching his balls, making the mess between your thighs filthier, hotter. And he can't stop fucking you.

Not when you're creaming around him like this. Not when your pussy is pulsing, sucking him in, refusing to let him go. Your body is wrecked, trembling, your thighs quivering as another aftershock ripples through your cunt, your walls still clenching down around him, still squeezing him so tight he can barely fucking breathe. And he watches it all.

He spreads your ass, forces you open, and the sight knocks the breath out of his lungs. You're a mess. His cum is dripping out of you, slick and white, coating your folds, smeared on your thighs, sticky and wet and filthy.

Your walls cling to him every time he pulls back, stretched around his cock, slick and messy, gripping him like you never want him to leave.

And fuck, he never wants to.

Not when you look this good, not when you feel this good, this warm, this wet, this tight. He groans, low and deep, hips rocking into you slow, deep, dragging out every second of it, savoring the way you pulse and throb around him.

And you take it. Of course you do.

There is nothing this man could give you that you wouldn't take—nothing. If he wants to fill you up again, you'll let him. If he wants to fuck you until you can't move, you'll take it. If he wants to ruin you, make you his perfect, fucked out, dripping mess, you'll fucking let him.

Because you belong to him, and he belongs to you.

A whimper slips from your lips, and he leans over you, pressing his chest against your sweaty, overheated back, mouth hot against your shoulder.

"Shhh, baby," he murmurs, voice wrecked, deep, tinged with so much hunger, so much adoration.

His lips press to your damp skin, soft kisses, slow kisses, trailing over your shoulder, your spine, your neck, as he fucks you. His thrusts slow, deepen, rolling into you instead of pounding, giving you a moment to catch your breath, come back to yourself.

But he doesn't stop. Because he's not done with you. His voice is low, husky, a breathless plea against your sweat slicked skin.

"Can you take more, love?"

You barely lift your head from the sheets, your body trembling, already raw and wrecked. But you still nod, sucking in a shaky breath.

"Y-yeah," you whisper, voice cracking, "I can take it."

A groan rips from his throat. "That's my girl."

His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he keeps fucking you, dragging his cock in and out of your swollen, overstimulated pussy. Every thrust is deep, slow, but firm, making sure you feel every thick inch stretching you, making a mess of your insides.

The slick, obscene sound of him pumping into you fills the room, mixing with your soft sobs of pleasure, the way your pussy clenches down on him greedily, milking him with every deep stroke.

He fills you up so completely, so perfectly, and he knows it. He can feel it in the way your body trembles under him, the way you still push back, desperate for more even when you're whimpering, even when you're so fucking sensitive.

And he can't stop watching you.

Your body is glowing with sweat, flushed, gorgeous, every inch of you made for him, made to take him. His eyes drop to where his cock is splitting you open, to the way your swollen, slick folds suck him in hungrily, coated in a creamy mix of his cum and your arousal. It drips down, so messy, so fucking perfect.

"God, baby," he groans, fingers spreading you wider, just to see more, just to watch the way your tight little cunt clings to him every time he pulls back. "You're so fucking beautiful. Look at the way you take me. You were made for this, weren't you?"

You sob into the sheets, but you nod again, arching your back, pushing your hips higher, giving him more.

"Yes," you gasp, "God, yes, baby, I—oh fuck, I love it. I love you."

His thrusts stutter, something breaking in his chest at how wrecked and desperate you sound, how much you want him. How much you need him. He leans over you, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your shoulders, your spine, his dick still stretching you, filling you, keeping you pinned in place.

"I love you too, doll," he murmurs, voice raw. "So fucking much. So good for me. My perfect girl."

Your body shudders under his, but he doesn't stop fucking you, stretching you, pushing you higher, deeper into the heat of it. You can barely breathe, your body wrecked, your mind swimming, but you can't stop, you don't want to stop. The pressure builds again, faster this time, so intense it leaves you shaking, gasping, so close you can barely think.

And then you snap.

A loud, broken sob leaves your lips as your orgasm crashes over you, drenching his cock, your walls pulsing, gripping him so tight he chokes out a moan.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers digging into your hips as your tight little pussy milks him, sucks him in, makes him lose control.

He can't hold back. Not when you feel this good. His thrusts turn desperate, sloppy, pounding into you as he chases his own release, needing to fill you up again, needing to claim you completely.

"Oh my God," you babble, still shuddering, still moaning. "Baby, you feel so fucking good. More, please, give me more."

He groans at your words, at how fucked-out and wrecked you sound. And then he feels it—the heat coiling in his spine, the unbearable pressure, the way your slick pussy is sucking him deeper, milking him, begging him to let go.

"Gonna cum, baby," he pants, hips snapping against your ass, fucking you faster, harder, needier.

"Yes, yes," you moan, pushing back against him, drunk on the way he fucks you, on the way his cock throbs inside you, so close, so fucking close. "Fill me up, give me everything, please."

His head drops forward, a ragged groan escaping his lips as he finally breaks. A shudder racks through him as he slams deep, holding you tight, burying himself as far as he can go.

And then he cums. Thick, hot ropes of his seed flood your womb, spilling deep, painting your insides as his cock throbs, twitching against your cervix.

"Fuck," he groans, voice cracking, hips jerking, fucking it deeper, even as it leaks out around him, even as your walls keep clenching down, milking every last drop.

Your body trembles beneath him, and then, before you can even catch your breath, you shudder and moan, your pussy fluttering as another orgasm rolls through you. Just from feeling him cum inside you.

"Oh my God," you sob, your slick gushing out, mixing with his, soaking his thighs, making a mess of both of you.

Your walls squeeze around him in relentless, fluttering pulses, greedily milking every bit of warmth he pours into you. The overstimulation hits you like a tidal wave—sharp, hot, and all consuming—each pulse of his cock sending sparks of pleasure crackling through your nerves.

It's too much and not enough, leaving you breathless and squirming, your body caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to keep him buried inside you.

He groans again, deeper this time, hips giving another shallow thrust as if he can't help himself. The movement makes his cum spill out even more, thick and sticky as it drips down to the mess pooling beneath you.

Your cunt flutters around him, still contracting, still hungry for him. It's filthy—the way you're both soaked in it, the way you're trembling, overstimulated and wrecked—but God, it feels so good.

His breath stutters against your neck. "Fuck, baby," he pants, voice wrecked, "you're squeezing me so tight... can feel you milking my dick."

His words send a fresh shiver down your spine, another weak moan slipping from your lips.

"Look at that," he murmurs, voice rough but so fucking tender underneath. "So full of me... making such a mess, pretty girl."

And you can't even answer, you're too far gone, too lost in the aftershocks rippling through you. Your thighs twitch as another small, involuntary pulse grips him, your slick gushing out in a sticky rush. It mixes with his cum, dripping down your skin, leaving you both soaked.

Your cunt clenches so tight he whimpers, digging his nails into your hips, panting, groaning as you keep trembling around him. Even when he's empty, even when he's so fucking sensitive he could cry, he still keeps thrusting, still keeps fucking his cum deeper, because he just can't stop.

His arms tighten around you, holding you close as his hips still, breath hot against your skin. The air is thick with heat and the sound of your ragged breathing, bodies pressed together, sticky and warm and completely spent.

You're a mess. He's a mess. And God, you've never felt so good, his body heavy and warm over yours, chest heaving, heartbeat hammering against your back.

And then, slowly, he moves, pressing soft, breathless kisses to your back, your shoulders, your spine. He doesn't pull out.

Just stays there, inside you, still throbbing, still leaking, one hand soft on your hip, the other smoothing over your spine, grounding you, keeping you there with him.

When he finally pulls out, you whimper, a broken, needy sound, your cunt clenching instinctively at the loss. And then you feel it—his cum trickling out of your swollen, stretched pussy, thick and warm as it spills down your folds.

It drips in slow, lazy streams, pooling between your thighs before seeping onto the sheets beneath you, sticky and messy. You twitch at the sensation, oversensitive and spent, body shuddering with every pulse of aftershock still lingering in your core.

"Fuck," he breathes, eyes locked on the way you leak all over the bed.

His gaze darkens, jaw clenching, and there's something filthy about how proud he looks, like he loves seeing you ruined like this, fucked open and dripping with him. But then his expression softens, guilt creeping in as he notices the way you flinch with every tiny movement.

His thumb ghosts over your slick-coated folds, watching how more of his cum spills out with the slightest touch. "Didn't mean to be so rough," he adds, though there's still that lingering heat in his tone.

You whimper again, thighs instinctively trying to close, but he gently keeps them apart, soothing circles drawn into your skin. "I've got you," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your lower back.

Your head spins, body thrumming with a mix of exhaustion, overstimulation, and the lingering warmth of his touch. You're a wreck—leaking, stretched, and completely undone. And God, it feels so good.

He presses a soothing kiss between your shoulder blades, murmuring softly, "Shhh, baby, I've got you. I've got you."

And his hands are already on you, grounding you, smoothing over your hips and up your back, tracing light, gentle circles into your overheated skin. His touch is warm, reverent, pulling you back to him even as he shifts to settle beside you.

As soon as he's on his back, he guides you against him, gathering you in his arms, and you go so easily, pressing yourself into him, your body melting against his warmth, skin against skin. Your legs tangle with his, your breath uneven, chest still heaving as you cling to him. He can feel the way you're shaking, small aftershocks rolling through you, and his hold tightens, protective, reassuring.

"Hey, baby," he whispers, tucking his nose into your damp hair, kissing your temple. "Breathe, pretty girl. You're okay. You did so good for me."

You let out a soft sniffle, your fingers gripping his bicep, and he shushes you gently, stroking your back, slow and steady, coaxing you into calmer breaths. His lips trail down, brushing over your cheek, down to your jaw, his touch featherlight, affectionate.

His hand finds your face, cradling it so delicately, his thumb swiping over your cheekbone before he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze softens as he takes you in—your flushed cheeks, your swollen lips, the dazed, exhausted look in your eyes, still glossy, still lost in the intensity of it all.

"You with me, baby?" he murmurs, his voice low, coaxing, full of love.

You nod, barely, your breath shuddering, and he tilts your chin up just enough to brush a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"That's my girl," he whispers. "Come back to me."

He watches you, patient, letting you settle in his arms, letting you come back down from it at your own pace. His fingers keep moving, tracing over your spine, your ribs, brushing over the swell of your hip, never stopping, never letting you feel anything but the warmth of him, the love in his touch.

"You were perfect," he murmurs. "So perfect for me."

And the way he says it—so soft, so full of everything he feels for you—it makes your chest ache, makes your body curl even closer to his, like you want to mold yourself into him completely.

He smiles against your temple, kissing you again, his arm tightening around you. "That's it, baby," he breathes. "I've got you."

You blink up at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion, your lashes clumped together from sweat and whatever was left of your ruined makeup.

He chuckles softly, brushing a thumb beneath one of your eyes. "You look so cute."

You groan, rolling your face into his chest, voice muffled when you mumble, "I look like a fucking raccoon."

His laugh is warm, full of affection, and he tilts your chin up so you have to look at him. "No, baby. You're beautiful."

You let out a small, tired huff and slap his chest weakly, pouting up at him. "Don't lie to me."

He grins, shaking his head. "You know I never lie to you, my love."

You narrow your eyes, lips still in a soft pout before you give up, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He lets you, wrapping his arms around you, his palm rubbing soothing circles against your back.

His lips press gentle kisses into your damp hair, and for a while, the two of you just stay like that—warm, tangled up in each other, the steady sound of his heartbeat beneath your cheek lulling you into something dangerously close to sleep.

Then, you shiver softly, a little tremor running through you, and he frowns. He can feel your body sinking into his like dead weight, your breaths coming out slower, deeper. You're so close to dozing off, and he almost lets you, but he knows you can't sleep like this.

Not with how sensitive your skin is, not with the way sweat and smudged makeup still cling to your face. You'd be miserable in the morning, and he's not about to let that happen.

So he shifts.

You whimper, clinging to him instantly, your hands fisting at his back, and he hushes you softly, stroking your side. "Let's get you cleaned up, baby."

You shake your head, nose still buried in his neck. "Don't wanna move," you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

He chuckles, pressing another kiss to your temple. "I know, pretty girl. But we can't sleep like this."

You groan, shifting just enough to pout up at him. "Why not?" Your voice is so small, so tired, like a sleepy little kitten, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

He cups your cheek, thumb stroking your warm skin. "Because the sheets are a mess, your makeup is still on," he murmurs. "And I know you hate sleeping like this."

You make a soft, grumpy sound, and even though you can't argue with that, you still murmur, "Can't move, baby."

He smiles, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "No problem," he reassures, voice as gentle as the hands holding you. "I'll carry you to the bathroom, yeah? Slowly, my love."

You whine softly, clinging tighter to him, but when he shifts again, lifting you into his arms with ease, you don't resist. Your head lolls against his shoulder, and he cradles you close as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Once he sets you down, you immediately reach for him again, arms wrapping around his waist as you press yourself against his warmth, looking up at him with big, pouty eyes.

"Can we take a bath?"

And how the fuck is he supposed to say no to that?

"Yeah, we can," he says, voice impossibly soft.

His arm stays wrapped around you as he moves to the tub, only pulling back slightly to turn the faucet on. Warm water starts to fill the basin, and he keeps you close, holding you against him as he reaches for the oils and bubbles he knows you love.

He pours them in carefully, swirling the water with his fingers as delicate foam forms on the surface, the scent of soft florals and vanilla filling the air. His other hand remains steady on you, rubbing soothing circles against your back, keeping you close, keeping you grounded.

"You okay, baby?" he murmurs, looking down at you.

You nod sleepily, your cheek pressed to his chest. "Mhmm. 'M just tired."

He smiles, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "I know, my love. We'll get you all clean and cozy, and then we can sleep, yeah?"

You hum, nodding again, and he tightens his hold on you, just for a moment, before reaching to shut off the water. You whine softly when he pulls away, even just an inch, your fingers instinctively curling into his skin, not wanting to let go. He chuckles, the sound deep and warm as he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby," he murmurs, reaching for your makeup remover and a stack of cotton pads.

You blink sleepily as he soaks a few, then hands them to you. You take them with clumsy fingers, swiping them over your face in slow, lazy motions, barely putting in the effort, but it's enough. He watches you, his lips twitching when you pause, your hand growing still against your cheek, clearly too tired to finish.

He huffs out a soft laugh, plucking the used cotton pads from your fingers before guiding you to the sink. "Come on, pretty girl. Let's wash the rest off, yeah?"

You hum in agreement, letting him help you as he always does. His palm rests against your lower back as you reach for your cleanser, and when you start rubbing it over your face, he strokes slow circles over your skin, grounding you, making sure you don't drift too far.

You rinse away the remnants of your makeup, patting your face dry with a fluffy towel, and by the time you look back at him, he's already kneeling in front of you, those strong hands of his hooking into your panties.

He tugs them down slowly, his fingers brushing against your thighs, and you shiver under his touch, even though it's barely anything. His gaze flickers up to yours, checking on you, and when you nod sleepily, he slips them off the rest of the way, tossing them into the laundry basket.

"Good girl," he murmurs, voice soft as he helps you into the tub.

The water is warm, the bubbles thick, and as soon as you sink in, you let out a tiny, contented sigh. He smiles, watching you for a second before quickly shedding his own clothes.

Then, he's stepping in behind you, settling in the water before pulling you against his chest. His arms wrap around you easily, like it's second nature, like he was made to hold you.

You rest your head on his shoulder, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to his skin before murmuring, "Are you mad that I teased you like that?"

He exhales a quiet laugh, lips grazing your temple as he says, "No, baby. I kind of liked it."

You giggle, the sound so sweet, so sleepy, and his heart clenches.

Then, your gaze flickers up to him, those big, drowsy eyes locking onto his. "I ruined your tie," you pout.

His brows lift slightly, then he lets out a soft chuckle. "That's okay," he murmurs. "It's just a tie. I'll buy another one, sweet girl."

You hum, satisfied with that answer, sinking further into the warm water, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. For a moment, it's just the two of you, breathing each other in, warm and comfortable, the quiet sound of water lapping against the tub filling the air.

Then, you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, "Can you believe it's been three years?"

His chest rises and falls beneath you as he exhales slowly. "Honestly? No." His voice is softer now, thoughtful. "I can't believe you put up with my ass for so long."

You scoff, a small smirk tugging at your lips. "Who else is gonna do that?"

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "I don't know," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. "But I don't care. I just want you."

You tilt your head up, gazing at him with tired, affectionate eyes, your lips parting as you murmur, "I love you so much."

His expression softens instantly, those warm eyes of his locking onto yours like you're the only thing that matters. "I know, baby," he whispers, leaning down. "I love you too."

Then, he kisses you. Soft. Slow. Sweet. His lips press against yours with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten, makes your breath catch in your throat. His hand cradle your face, thumb stroking over your damp skin as he kisses you deeper, his tongue slipping past your lips to brush against yours. A tiny, breathy moan escapes you, muffled between his lips, and he swallows it down, pulling you closer, pressing into you like he can't get enough.

You melt against him, fingers gripping his forearm as the kiss lingers, warm and lazy, unhurried. He hums against your mouth, savoring the way you taste, the way your lips move with his, so soft, so familiar.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are pink, glistening, and he lets his forehead rest against yours, his breath fanning over your skin.

For a while, you just lay there, wrapped in him, your body relaxed, your mind quiet. Your eyelids grow heavier, and before you know it, you're on the verge of sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you lulling you closer and closer.

But then, his voice rumbles through you, gentle and warm. "Let's clean you up, okay?"

You nod sleepily, making a small, clumsy move to sit up, but your limbs are too heavy, your body too lax. He catches you easily, chuckling as he steadies you.

"Let me, baby," he murmurs, reaching for the body wash on the side of the tub.

You hum in agreement, letting yourself relax again as he takes care of you. His hands are slow, deliberate, so gentle as he runs them over your body, washing away the remnants of sweat and slick and him. He murmurs sweet praises between soft kisses, his lips pressing against your shoulder, your temple, your cheek.

"You did so good for me, doll," he breathes, sliding his hand over your arm.

You shiver, letting out a tiny, contented sigh as you sink further into his embrace.

"My pretty girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair, his voice filled with nothing but love. "So perfect for me."

Once he's finished washing you, he moves on to himself, making quick work of rinsing off before reaching over to drain the tub. Then, with ease, he stands, stepping out before offering you his hand.

You take it without hesitation, letting him help you up, and the second you're on your feet, he's wrapping you in a thick, fluffy towel, tucking you against his chest.

You sigh into him, pressing your face against his skin, savoring his warmth, his scent. He rubs his hands up and down your back, drying you off gently before leading you to the sink.

You don't bother with your full skincare routine—too sleepy, too relaxed—but you do swipe on some moisturizer and dab a bit of under-eye cream beneath your tired eyes while he steps out, making quick work of changing the sheets.

He returns a few minutes later, already dressed in a pair of soft gray shorts that hang low on his hips, hair still damp from the bath, and in his hands, he's holding a pair of your panties and one of his t-shirts. He smiles as he approaches, eyes warm and gentle.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs. "Let's get you out of that wet towel."

You lift your arms without protest, letting him peel the towel away from your body. His gaze softens even more at the sight of you—freshly cleaned, skin dewy, hair damp and tousled, cheeks flushed with lingering warmth. God, you're beautiful.

He kneels in front of you, holding the panties open. "Step in for me," he coaxes.

You place your hands on his shoulders for balance, and he steadies you as you step into them one foot at a time. He begins sliding them up your legs, slow and careful—until, just before he pulls them over your hips, he leans in and presses a kiss right to your pussy.

"Dick!" you squeak, cheeks burning.

He grins up at you, completely unrepentant. "What?" he teases, laughter dancing in his eyes, and finally tugs the panties up properly.

You huff, playfully swatting at his shoulder, but he just chuckles, standing back up. He reaches for the t-shirt next, pulling it over your head and gently guiding your arms through the sleeves.

It's big and soft, smelling like him—clean laundry mixed with the faint trace of his cologne and something inherently him. Comforting. Warm. Home.

Just as he starts to turn away, you reach out and grab his wrist. "Come here," you murmur.

He groans softly, head tilting back with exaggerated exasperation. "Baby," he pouts, "I thought you were tired."

But he already knows what's coming. You grin, half-asleep and utterly sweet as you grab your moisturizer and dab a bit onto your fingertips. "You have such nice skin," you mumble, dotting some onto his face. "It'd be even nicer if you took care of it from time to time."

He pulls a face, pretending to be annoyed—but still leans down so you can reach better. His nose wrinkles at the cool sensation, and you giggle, smoothing the cream into his skin with gentle fingers. His eyes flutter shut under your touch, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries not to smile at your concentration.

"Stop making faces," you laugh.

"I can't help it," he mutters, lips curving upward despite himself. "Feels weird."

"But good for you," you counter, tapping his cheek once you're done.

Once that's over, you both reach for your toothbrushes, standing side by side at the sink. He keeps nudging you with his hip, playful as ever, making you shoot him exasperated glances between mouthfuls of toothpaste. He just grins around his toothbrush, utterly unbothered.

When you finally finish, spitting out the minty foam and rinsing your mouth, he wraps an arm around your waist and guides you back to the bedroom. The sheets are fresh, soft, and he's already picked up the clothes you both left strewn across the floor earlier.

He pulls the covers back for you. "Come on, pretty girl," he murmurs, coaxing.

You don't need to be told twice—you plop down onto the mattress with a happy squeal, limbs sprawling out as you sink into the warmth.

His heart clenches at how adorable you are—eyes sleepy, hair a mess, but smiling like that, so content, so soft. God, he loves you. Loves how easily you make his world feel right. He slides in beside you, reaching to pull the covers over you both.

You immediately cling to him, nuzzling into his chest as the warmth of his skin wraps around you like a cocoon. His arms instinctively tighten, pulling you closer, and he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple.

"Mmm..." you hum sleepily, fingers curling into his side.

He shifts just enough to tuck you under his chin, resting his cheek against the top of your head. You're already half-asleep, breaths evening out against his skin, your body melting into his like you were made to fit there. And God, he thinks you were.

His thumb strokes slow circles against your lower back as you drift off, and for a moment, he just... lets himself be still. Lets himself feel the quiet weight of you in his arms. The way you trust him enough to fall asleep like this—safe, warm, loved.

Three years.

His chest tightens. Has it really been that long? It feels like just yesterday he was meeting you for the first time—those eyes, that smile that hooked him from the start. And yet, it also feels like he's known you forever, like you've been stitched into the fabric of his life from the beginning.

He thinks about everything you've been through together—the laughter, the fights, the quiet nights, the chaotic mornings. The way you hold him when he's had a rough day. The way you light up when you talk about things you love. The way you look at him like he's the only thing in the world that matters.

He's so fucking lucky.

The best three years of his life. And God, he wants more. More lazy mornings, more nights tangled up in fresh sheets like this, more soft kisses, more sleepy grins, more of you. Always you.

His fingers drift along your back, tracing slow, absentminded patterns as his thoughts wander. There are nights—plenty of them—when he comes home to you bruised and beaten, body aching from patrol.

And God, he hates that. Hates how you worry, how your eyes soften with concern the moment you see him limping through the door. But you always take care of him. Always.

You patch him up with the gentlest hands, tending to every scrape and cut with that same unwavering tenderness. And it's not just the care—it's the way you press soft kisses to his bruises like you can kiss the pain away.

The way you murmur praises against his skin—Thank you for keeping me safe, for making Blüdhaven better, for always coming back to me. It's enough to make his heart clench every damn time.

And when he first told you—really told you—that he was Nightwing, you didn't even flinch. Just looked at him with those knowing eyes, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you said you figured.

Like you always knew. Like it didn't scare you away. If anything, you just pulled him into your arms and held him tighter. No judgement. No fear. Just love. Just you.

God—he doesn't know what he did to deserve that. To deserve you.

His lips brush your hair again. "I love you," he whispers, voice barely audible in the quiet room.

You murmur something incoherent in response—half a hum, half a sleepy sigh—but it makes him smile anyway. Because you're here. In his arms. Safe. Loved. His.

And as you breathe slow and steady against him, warmth blooming in his chest, he thinks—yeah. This is it. This is home.

#nightwing x you #nightwing x reader #nightwing #dick grayson is a menace #dick grayson x reader #smut fanfiction #smutty smut smut #dc comics #dcu #dc universe #dick grayson x you #dick grayson #bludhaven #smutty fanfiction #i love him #he deserves the world #nightwing x reader smut #nightwing smut #dick grayson smut

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the-flaneur · 7 months ago

Text

scarlet fury (cl16)

pairing: dark!charles leclerc x sainz!reader

summary: following his explosive outburst on the radio, what better way to relieve his anger than by getting back at his teammate?

warnings: 18+, MDNI, NSFW -> smut ft. rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), hate sex, a little bit dubcon (but reader is still consenting), possessive!charles, charles using you (literally and figuratively) to fuck over carlos

wc: 2178

[masterlist] [requests]

as you nervously awaited the end of the race in the garage, you knew this weekend had not been good for your brother, or his teammate. practice had been all over the place, with the mercedes surprisingly looking as the fastest car so far this weekend (although lewis had told you in confidence that he was very concerned about the race pace and the tires) and the greatest attention was on max’s potential championship winning race.

however, as the race actually progressed through the garage screens, your heart sank.

your ferrari boys had somehow dropped behind max, and both mercedes, and when carlos’ mechanics refused to let him pit, you rolled your eyes at the camera which you knew had been panned towards you that very second. it was frankly frustrating at the very least, you thought, glaring daggers at the back of ricky’s head.

but when your brother’s pit lane shenanigans were being called out by sky sports, you sighed internally, watching him cut across the line before darting back out. and it only got worse when charles had gotten on the radio to berate your brother about fighting him on track. the battle for constructors was vital right now, and your brother was not making it any easier for them to stay in contention. eventually, as the ferraris rounded the last corner together, you let out a small grimace at the camera.

charles’ furious outburst had left a trail of expletives echoing through the cockpit, he gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white. his face was twisted in anger, eyes narrowed to slits as he focused intently on the rear of carlos' ferrari ahead. the tension radiated off him like heat, every muscle coiled and ready to spring into action. meanwhile, carlos apparently to him, seemed oblivious to the commotion, his concentration solely on maintaining his position and crossing the finish line in third, securing a mercedes 1-2 and a ferrari for the podium.

as brian tried to calm charles down over the radio, his anger simmered dangerously beneath the surface, barely contained. when charles finally spoke, his voice was low and aggressive, each word dripping with venom. "tell carlos if he wants to play dirty, i'll show him what his face on the track looks like," charles growled, his gaze never leaving the road ahead. "i'll fuck him over." the threat hung heavy in the air, unspoken but unmistakable. charles' hands tightened further on the wheel, his knuckles cracking with the force.

as soon charles slammed his car into parc ferme, he stormed out of the cockpit, his racing boots pounding the asphalt as he marched straight towards the garage area, pushing angrily passed ferrari personnel who were cheering and celebrating carlos. oh just how pissed off was he, you thought, his face was still flushed with anger. but when he glanced over towards you, there was an undeniable hunger burning in his eyes as they locked onto yours.

you were no stranger to charles’ passion, healthy or not. as carlos’ younger sister, you had attracted the attention of many young men and women, most of all being his very own teammate. although you had rebuffed charles’ advances at first, you were not immune to the monegasque's charm and had soon found yourself sneaking behind carlos’ back to meet with him in hotels across the world.

without a word, he charged over to you silently, grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you into his driver’s room, locking the door shut behind you. in the dim light, charles pinned you against the table, his body pressed hard against yours as he claimed your mouth in a rough, demanding kiss. his tongue invaded your mouth, tasting you deeply as his hands roamed over your curves, grabbing and squeezing roughly.

now, consumed by fury and humiliation, charles was about to unleash his pent-up aggression upon you. his muscular frame loomed over yours as he stripped off his racing suit, revealing a chiseled torso glistening with sweat. he grabbed you from your thighs before seating you on the table, like a sacrifice ready for her god.

“charlie…” you whispered, nervously, watching him roughly push down his boxers, freeing his massive, throbbing erection. pre-cum drooled from the tip, glistening in the dim light. charles grabbed your ankles and pulled your legs apart, spreading you wide open for him.

"you think you're so smart, don't you?" charles hissed, his breath hot against your ear as he yanked your panties down your legs. "playing both sides, i’m fucking my teammate’s little sister... you're just a dirty little slut, aren't you?"

"you think you can handle this, princess?" he taunted, rubbing the swollen head against your slick entrance. "or are you just another pathetic little tease who can't take what she dishes out?"

with no warning, he thrust deep inside you, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. a guttural moan escaped his lips as he savored the tight, scorching heat of your pussy gripping him like a vice. he began to pound into you mercilessly, each savage thrust jolting your body against the cold metal table.

"you think your precious brother deserved that podium?" charles growled, his voice low and menacing. without waiting for a response, he grabbed your thighs and yanked them apart, exposing your soaked pussy to the cool air. "i'm going to teach him a lesson he'll never forget."

charles roughly thrust his rigid cock deep inside your quivering cunt, not bothering with foreplay or gentleness. he gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he began pounding into you with savage intensity, each brutal stroke punctuated by a grunt of exertion and rage. the table creaked ominously beneath you, its metal legs scraping against the floor with every powerful impact. your back arched, pressing your breasts against the unforgiving surface as charles relentlessly fucked you, his thick shaft stretching your tight walls to their limits.

"d-do you like this, you little slut?" charles snarled, his breath hot against your ear. "did you think i would let your brother get away with this? ruining my chances in the wdc?" he reached down to roughly pinch and twist your nipples, sending jolts of pain through your body that only heightened your arousal.

"nnngh... no, please..." you managed to gasp out, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and desperate need. you knew you were at his mercy, completely powerless under his dominant grasp. charles continued to ruthlessly pound into your dripping wet pussy, his aggressive thrusts causing the table to shake violently.

"no? then why are you so fucking wet, huh?" he sneered, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he held you in place for his relentless fucking. despite your protests, your body betrayed you, responding eagerly to the brutal pounding from charles.

"shut up and take it," charles barked, his grip on your hips tightening as he increased his pace. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the small room, mingling with your muffled moans and whimpers. "this is what happens when people cross me."

“but i didn’t,” you whined as charles fingers sank deeper into your ass, gripping hard enough to leave bruises as he continued to rut into you mercilessly. his thick cock stretched your tight pussy to its limits, the forceful thrusts causing you to cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

"you're damn right you didn't!" he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "but you're going to pay for your brother's sins nonetheless." with each brutal stroke, he punctuated his words, driving home the lesson he intended to teach.

despite your feeble protests, your body responded shamefully to the treatment, your inner walls clenching around him as if begging for more. the lewd sounds of your sex filled the air, a symphony of grunts, slaps, and muffled moans that seemed to spur charles on.he stepped back, his massive erection bobbing angrily before him. with a cruel smirk, charles grasped your ankles and flipped you onto your stomach, your face pressed against the cold metal of the table. "so i get to use you however i want, since your precious brother screwed me over."

without further warning, charles drove his thick cock back into your dripping folds from behind, slamming into you with unbridled ferocity. his heavy balls slapped against your clit with each merciless thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through your sensitive body. charles' relentless pounding sent waves of intense pleasure coursing through your battered body, each brutal thrust pushing you closer to the brink of ecstasy. despite the harsh treatment, your cunt clung greedily to his pistoning cock, desperate for more of the rough, punishing friction.

as charles continued to rail you from behind, his meaty hands slid up your sides to roughly palm your small tits, pinching and twisting your sensitive nipples until they throbbed in time with your racing heartbeat. "you love this, don't you, you filthy little cumslut?" he taunted, his hot breath washing over the back of your neck.

"ahhhn... oh god, yes! i-i love it!" you panted out, voice strained with a mix of pleasure and humiliation. each brutal thrust of charles' thick cock sent shockwaves of ecstasy through you quivering body. your hips bucked involuntarily, meeting his punishing strokes as you surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. moan after moan spilled from your lips, a litany of wanton pleasure that only fueled charles' dominance.

"mmmph... harder, please! fuck me harder, charles!" you begged, pussy clenching greedily around him, milking his cock for every drop of seed as you teetered on the brink of a mind-shattering orgasm.

"that's it, scream for me," he growled, his voice a dark rumble in your ear, "let everyone hear you scream my name, you dirty little slut!" charles commanded, his voice low and menacing as he gripped your hips tighter. "i want carlos and the whole motorhome to know who's dominating your needy and pathetic cunt right now."

your cries of pleasure rang out, echoing off the garage walls as charles pounded into you relentlessly. "yes, yes, fuck! ahh, i'm yours, charles! only yours!" you wailed, the shameless declarations spilling from your lips as you lost yourself to the intense sensation of being thoroughly claimed.

as your body tensed and trembled, charles buried himself to the hilt one final time, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he unleashed a torrent of hot seed deep within your spasming depths. "take it all, you dirty whore,"

he spat the words out in a guttural snarl, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied his balls into your willing pussy. the sensation of charles' thick cum flooding your insides triggered a powerful climax, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his spurting cock as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed over you.

as the aftershocks subsided, charles slowly pulled out, his softening member leaving a trail of sticky fluid dripping down your thighs. he stepped back, admiring his handiwork – your ravaged body, marked by the signs of his brutal possession.

"well, that should teach your brother a lesson," charles said with a satisfied smirk, tucking his spent cock back into his racing suit. "now get dressed and get out of here before i decide to punish you some more."

as the overwhelming sensations of charles’ battering against your swollen pussy finally caught up with you, your vision blurred and you felt yourself slipping into unconsciousness. the last thing you registered was charles' strong arms scooping you up and carrying you out of his cramped driver's room.

some time later, you found yourself lying on a plush bed in an darkened room, your head throbbing and your body aching in all the right places. groggily, you opened your eyes to see charles standing beside the bed, a smug expression on his face.

"i brought you here because i thought your brother might appreciate the... gift," he said, holding out a piece of paper. it was a handwritten note, scrawled in bold letters: "for carlos sainz jr., signed charles leclerc. consider this a taste of what your sister can dish out. next time, keep your hands to yourself on track."

charles dropped the note on the bedside table with a smirk, clearly pleased with himself. "i figured he'd get the message loud and clear," he said, leaning against the dresser with a casual air. "maybe next time he'll think twice before trying to steal my glory again."

he glanced down at your disheveled form, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "you look like you could use a rest after our little encounter. just remember, what happens on track, stays on track... unless i decide to bring it back to the pits, of course."

with that parting jab, charles turned and sauntered out of the room, leaving you to ponder the arousing turn of events and the lingering ache between your thighs. the note seemed to burn a hole in the tabletop, a tangible reminder of the stormy passion that had erupted between two teammates in las vegas.

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societyfolklore · 2 months ago

Text

The Cost of Access

Title: The Cost of Access

Pairing: Congressman! Bucky Barnes x Entrepreneur!Female Reader

Summary: At a high-stakes D.C. fundraiser. You’re there to protect your start-up from political threats, not to play the donor game but Bucky surprises you. He sees past the surface, speaks your language, and for one charged night, the two of you find something raw, reckless, and unexpectedly sincere behind closed doors.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, SMUT, Unprotected sex, mirror sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), light dominance, light choking (hand on throat), champagne-fueled decisions, emotional tension, slight political themes, post-sex awkwardness

A/N: Not a Thunderbolts* fic… I will be making sure this space stays spoiler free for a few weeks since I don’t want to spoil for anyone until they get the chance.

You weren't lobbying. Not really.

You were there to make sure your startup, barely past Series B funding and already on the radar of corporate predators, didn’t get chewed up and swallowed whole under the guise of 'infrastructure reform.' D.C. had a way of wrapping its greed in clean bills and smiling handshakes. You weren’t about to watch your work get buried under a competitor’s line item, or worse, co-opted by a conglomerate that didn’t understand the first thing about what you’d built.

Your company was scrappy, efficient, and bold, everything the legacy players hated. And you had no intention of letting a single careless vote collapse the years of sweat equity and innovation you’d bled for. You didn’t want favours. You wanted protection. An understanding. Leverage, if you were lucky.

But the fundraiser was unbearable.

Everyone either talked at you like you were some high-yield asset ripe for exploitation, or worse, like a walking checkbook with tits. You’d worn a sharp dress, tailored, matte black, the neckline modest, the slit at your thigh anything but, and still you felt like a prize pig at auction, trotted out for admiration, smiled at by men who never once asked the name of your company.

You played the part. Sipped the champagne. Nodded politely. It was exhausting, watching the glittering masks slip when they thought you weren’t worth the effort. And still, you stayed. Because someone had to protect what you’d built, and tonight that someone was you.

You were just deciding how quickly you could leave without burning too many bridges when you saw him.

Congressman Barnes.

Polished shoes. Classic black tuxedo. Crisp white shirt. Bowtie slightly askew, like he wanted to appear relaxed without actually letting his guard down. His posture was clean but coiled, all quiet control and unreadable calm. He gave you a small, acknowledging nod across the room, like he recognized the same bored exhaustion on your face that he felt in his bones.

He looked about as bored as you did.

Then his campaign manager leaned in, whispered something in his ear, you saw the shift in his shoulders, the faint sigh. You felt yourself groan inwardly. Another political animal sending their candidate your way, sniffing around to see what you were willing to pay to keep yourself ahead of the pack.

You’d seen the type. Hell, you’d dated the type. They smiled like wolves, hands warm and eyes calculating.

But Barnes didn’t start with a smile. He didn’t lead with a pitch, or some tired attempt at charm. Instead:

“You run that adaptive interface platform, right? For small logistics firms?”

You blinked, thrown slightly off balance. “That’s… oddly specific. Most people just call it ‘some tech thing.’”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Genuine. Quietly pleased with himself.

““My campaign manager said I should try being more charming. I figured knowing what you actually do was a decent start.”

That earned him a raised brow and a small sip of your drink. “So this is you charming me?”

“I’m trying,” he admitted, voice low as he stepped in just enough to share your air, but not enough to crowd. “I don’t like asking for money. I’d rather earn what I get.”

You let out a soft huff of a laugh, the corner of your mouth tugging up. “That makes two of us. Everyone here’s just charming enough to take your money, none of them want to hear why you felt the need to offer it in the first place.”

His brow arched with quiet interest. “And why do you?”

You hesitated, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Because I’ve watched too many people like me, too many sharp, brilliant startups, get crushed under policy written by people who’ve never actually built anything. I have money now, sure. But the world’s... complicated. One bill, one amendment, one line in the wrong place, and everything collapses.”

He nodded slowly, expression shifting from polite to something more real. “Yeah,” he said. “Feels like it’s all turning into some elaborate game lately. Everyone pointing fingers, selling favors, whoring themselves out for donations. It’s about who you shake hands with, not who you help. And that’s not what I signed up for.”

You tilted your head. “So what did you sign up for?”

Bucky looked at you then, really looked. Blue eyes steady and piercing, the kind of gaze that cut through all your practiced armour and found the person underneath. There was no sales pitch in that look, no calculation. Just something honest. Something that made your throat tighten. “Just trying to make sure life’s better for people who don’t have the time or power to fight for it themselves.”

For the first time that evening, you felt your defences slip.

You stayed put.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~

It wasn’t supposed to happen. But the elevator ride had been quiet and charged, a weight of unspoken tension thick in the air between you. The kind that buzzed in the bones and made your fingers twitch with anticipation. He’d asked if you wanted to see the view from the top floor. Just the skyline, he'd said. Just five minutes. You'd known the invitation carried more than one meaning, and you'd said yes anyway.

The elevator climbed too slowly and too fast all at once. Neither of you said much, just sidelong glances, soft exhales, the space between you alive with heat. When the doors opened, he stepped aside to let you pass, hand brushing your lower back with a quiet confidence that sent a bolt of want through your spine.

The skyline passed in a blur. You vaguely remembered the glittering lights of the Capitol, the outline of the Washington Monument, but mostly, you remembered the click of his keycard, the soft whoosh of the suite door, and the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

He didn’t say a word as you stepped inside. Just followed, silent and watchful. You felt the warmth of him behind you, the weight of his gaze tracing the bare skin of your shoulders. The brush of his knuckles down your spine made you shiver, and then you turned, and he looked at you like a man starving.

Like he'd wanted to taste you since the moment he saw you across the room.

"You still want to see the view?" he murmured, voice deeper now, rougher around the edges. You didn’t answer with words. Just stepped toward him, fingers tugging the lapel of his tux with a boldness that surprised even you.

He kissed you like he meant to burn the memory into your skin. Like he was starving and you were the only thing that would satisfy. Champagne lingered on your tongue, on his lips, between the clink of teeth and the soft drag of breath.

And when he backed you toward the table, fingers already skimming the edge of your thigh, you knew, this wasn’t politics anymore. This was something reckless. Something raw. Something that had nothing to do with influence or strategy.

Just the way he needed you. And in that moment, you let yourself want him right back- recklessly, breathlessly, without second-guessing the consequences.

The taste of champagne still lingered on your tongue as his lips brushed the sensitive skin at your throat, sending a fresh shiver down your spine and pulling you back into the heat between you. The click of your heels echoing against marble as he backed you toward the suite’s glossy dining table,. Your breath hitched when he slid your dress up your thighs with practiced ease.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to soak through your panties just from a little political banter,” he murmured, crouching as he tugged your panties down your thighs, eyes flicking up with that same smirk. “You gonna let me see what all that sharp talk was hiding?”

You rolled your eyes at the line, but the breath caught in your throat when his fingers slid through your folds, spreading you open with reverent, maddening patience. The pads of his fingers were calloused, warm, utterly unhurried. They moved like he’d done this before, but never quite like this. Like you were different. Like he wanted to learn you, not just make you moan.

“Oh, fuck, ” you gasped, hips twitching at the contact, thighs trying and failing to stay still as that first spark of sensation bled into a full-body ache.

He watched intently, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, focused like you were a puzzle he already knew the solution to but wanted to work through anyway, piece by trembling piece. One finger traced your entrance, then two pressed inside you, slow and deep, curling just right. The stretch was maddening and perfect, your walls clenching around him in a greedy flutter.

You whimpered, grinding down on his hand, shameless in the way you chased his touch. The heel of your shoe slipped a little on the polished floor, but he didn’t let you go, just steadied you with his free hand, palm flat on your thigh.

“Look at you,” he murmured, half to himself. “Could ruin me on the floor of a damn hotel suite and not even break a sweat.”

He brought the slick digits to his mouth, sucked them clean with a groan that went straight to your core, his tongue slow and deliberate like he was savoring the taste.

“Sweetest thing I’ve had in weeks,” he said, voice low, lazy, wicked, before picking you up and placing you gently on the edge of the table like you belonged there. Then he sank to his knees between your legs with deliberate care, hands sliding under your thighs to spread you open wider.

He looked up once, gaze molten with hunger and reverence, then lowered his head between your legs.

His tongue flicked through your folds with slow, luxurious precision. Lips sealed around your clit like a man on a mission, like the night didn’t end until you were wrecked and trembling, laid bare for him in every way.

You gripped the table edge hard enough to bruise, head tilted back as a moan slipped from your lips, loud and unashamed. Champagne warmth buzzed through your bloodstream, lowering every inhibition, making you shameless. His mouth was hot and relentless, tongue circling your clit with infuriating expertise, teasing and coaxing until your thighs were shaking.

"Bucky, oh my god- " you gasped, voice catching when he sealed his mouth tighter around you and sucked. The sound that left you was raw, desperate, the kind of noise that filled a luxury suite and made your face flush with heat.

He moaned into you like your taste was heaven, hands tightening under your thighs as he buried his face deeper. His nose bumped your mound, tongue flattening and stroking in long, slow passes. When he shifted the angle, dragging the tip against that spot, just right- your body jolted.

"There," you breathed, grinding into his face. "Fuck, right there, don't stop."

He didn’t. If anything, he doubled down. He groaned, one hand releasing your thigh only to slip between your legs again. Two fingers pressed in, firm and slow, curling in rhythm with his tongue until your whole body was a tight coil of want.

Your legs tried to close around him, thighs locking reflexively, but he held you open with a rough, growled "Let me have it. Let go for me, sweetheart. Come on."

You shattered.

Pleasure built like a storm inside you, cresting fast and hard until it snapped, tearing through you with a raw, blistering heat that left your legs shaking and your breath stuttering. Your body locked for one suspended moment, every nerve on fire, before the aftershocks rippled through you- deep, pulsing waves that made you moan, helpless and high on the intensity. Your hips jerked, your back arched, a high whine leaving your lips as his mouth stayed on you through every pulse. You heard your name tumble from your mouth in a breathless, broken cry.

Even then, he didn’t stop. He licked you through it, gentle now, tongue tracing soft, lazy patterns until you were squirming from overstimulation, a laugh-sob catching in your throat.

He finally pulled back, lips glistening, breathing hard like he was the one who’d just come.

"Told you," he said, voice wrecked and low, kissing your inner thigh. "Sweetest thing I've had in weeks."

He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes heavy-lidded as he looked down at you. Then he reached for your dress, the fabric bunching under his fingers as he eased it over your hips and up your body. You lifted your arms, dazed and pliant, letting him strip it away and drop it to the floor with quiet finality. He stepped back just long enough to shrug out of his shirt, fingers popping buttons open one by one before he pulled it free of his shoulders and let it fall.

You watched him, heart racing. His tie came off next. Then his belt. His slacks hit the floor with a soft rustle, and you caught your breath as he stepped out of them, bare and beautiful and hard for you.

He circled behind you, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your back. His hands slid over your waist, up your ribs, fingers splaying across your stomach. He kissed your shoulder, then your neck, slow, reverent, greedy. You tilted your head to the side, gave him space to devour the skin there. His cock nudged the curve of your ass, thick and hot and insistent.

"Come here," he rasped, walking you forward until the bed met your thighs. He turned you slightly, guiding you to the center of the mattress, facing the mirror across from it.

You leaned forward slightly, bracing yourself on your palms as he settled behind you. One hand slid between your thighs to guide himself as the other spread across your hip, grounding you. You felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance, and then, with one deep, slow thrust, he pushed into you.

Your mouth fell open, a moan tearing free as your walls stretched to accommodate him. Your eyes fluttered shut at the fullness, the thick, perfect pressure making your knees tremble. Behind you, Bucky groaned low and broken, hands tightening on your hips.

"Fuck, baby… you're so tight," he hissed through his teeth, voice strained with restraint.

You couldn’t find words. Just the burn, the ache, the pulse of pleasure radiating outward as he began to move, slow, dragging thrusts that had your eyes rolling back with every stroke. You heard the slick sound of your bodies meeting, felt the heat of his chest as he leaned in closer, his breath warm on your shoulder.

Then he pulled you upright, chest flush against your back, his hand sliding up to grip your throat with just enough pressure to hold you steady. The angle shifted, his cock spearing deeper as your spine arched and your legs widened in instinct. Your head fell back against his shoulder with a broken moan.

"Look," he rasped, turning your chin so your eyes met the mirror. "Look at me fucking you."

Your mouth parted as you watched the obscene beauty of it, his body pressed to yours, hips rolling up into you with power and purpose, your breasts moving with every thrust, that delicate chain swinging at your collarbone. His arm banded across your waist, anchoring you in place.

He rocked into you again, slow but deliberate, his breath ragged as he muttered, "God, you feel good, so fucking good."

You could only whimper in reply, eyelids fluttering, hips pushing back to meet him as slick pleasure gathered low in your belly again, tighter with every perfect stroke. Your eyes closed, breathing hard.

“Come on, open your eyes. Watch how good you look taking me,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “How perfect you look falling apart.”

You couldn’t look away.

Your gaze met your reflection, flushed skin, parted lips, the look of raw pleasure on your face as his cock filled you with slow, deliberate precision, each thrust deep and controlled, wringing gasps from your throat and arching your back with every stroke. Your fingers scrabbled behind you, finding purchase on his metal arm, nails digging into the vibranium plating as you gasped.

"Harder," you whispered, breath fogging the mirror. "Please, Bucky, "

He growled, the sound low and rough in your ear, and lost the last of his composure. Letting a go of the hold on you neck.

Bucky bent you over the bed, hand gripping your waist like he meant to leave fingerprints, thrusting rougher now, deeper. Each stroke punched a moan from your lips, loud and wrecked. The slap of skin meeting skin echoed through the suite.

Your name fell from his mouth in a strained, reverent groan as your walls clenched around him and you came with a sob, body jerking under the weight of it. The pleasure was blinding, your muscles trembling, your thighs shaking as you cried out, caught somewhere between ecstasy and surrender.

Bucky's grip tightened on your hips, a guttural noise tearing from his throat. "Fuck, fuck, doll, that's it, " he gasped, hips stuttering.

He snapped forward with one last deep, punishing thrust and came with a harsh grunt, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you. You could feelTitle: The Cost of Access the heat of it, the fullness, and it only made your body tighten again in response. His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, breath hot and ragged against your spine.

Neither of you moved for a long, suspended moment, just the sound of breathing, the lingering echo of skin on skin, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the room. His hands softened on your hips, thumbs brushing soothingly across the skin he'd just gripped so fiercely. He leaned in, kissed the slope of your back, slow and reverent.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. The silence said everything.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~

You woke before he did.

The suite was too quiet. Just the hush of morning traffic filtering up from the city streets, the hum of the minibar fridge, and the rhythmic, steady sound of his breathing. You lay still for a moment, letting the soft warmth of his body behind you linger before reality crept in through the gauzy light.

Sunlight spilled across the hotel floor in perfect rectangles. The room still carried the humid trace of last night- skin-warmed sheets, the musky whisper of sex clinging to the air, and the soft, fading note of his cologne drifting lazily through the quiet. You slid out from beneath the sheet slowly, quietly, careful not to disturb him. But before you moved too far, you glanced back over your shoulder.

His hair was a mess, dark strands falling over his forehead in soft, unruly waves. One arm was flung lazily over the pillow, the other tucked beneath it, his vibranium arm, glinting faintly in the morning light. His face was relaxed, softened in sleep in a way you hadn’t seen the night before. Vulnerable. Real.

You stared for a beat longer than you meant to, throat tight. Then you turned away and stepped lightly onto the floor.

You found your dress crumpled near the foot of the bed. Your shoes tucked half under a chair. Your phone facedown on the nightstand. No panties. You searched briefly, under the bed, beneath a cushion, and came up empty. Of course.

You didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t leave a note. Just smoothed your dress down, slipped your heels back on, and left with your hair a mess and your thighs sticky with the night before.

You didn’t want to be seen as the kind of woman who bought access with sex, who traded power and control for one night of heat and champagne-clouded recklessness. That wasn’t who you were.

And he… well, you weren’t sure if he’d think he sold it. If he’d wake and think you were just another wealthy donor slipping out before the illusion shattered.

You’d hovered for a moment near the minibar, fingertips grazing the notepad left beside the phone. You’d even picked up the pen. A part of you had thought about leaving a check, not for the good time, not for the sex, but because, for one brief, dangerous moment, you’d hoped he was the kind of man worth investing in. Someone who meant what he said, who could actually hold the line when others bent. Someone who might fight for the things that mattered.

But your hand had stilled.

What would he think if he found that? That you’d paid him for it? That he was just like the rest of them, bought and fucked and forgotten?

He wasn’t a whore. No matter what people thought of politicians.

You set the pen down.

Better to leave. You could make a donation later. Quietly. Through the proper channels. When it wouldn’t feel like an apology.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~

You were halfway through your third coffee of the morning, hunched over a stack of budgets and investor notes when the intern knocked twice on your office door before pushing it open.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” she said, holding out a slim envelope. “This came by courier earlier. It didn’t look like it was office mail.”

You frowned, setting your mug down and brushing your hair back. The envelope was plain, unmarked. Heavy cardstock. Your name printed neatly in the center. No return address.

You waited until the door closed again before sliding your thumb beneath the seal.

Inside: a familiar scrap of lace. Your panties, folded neatly, still carrying the faintest trace of his cologne and something unmistakably you. Your breath hitched when your fingers brushed the fabric, your cheeks flushing hot.

And a note. Typed. Crisp cardstock. No letterhead, no signature, but the message was clear. Unmistakably him.

‘We’ll finish what we started.’

Just beneath the line, in faint pen ink, scrawled as if added last second, in a hand you didn’t quite expect to look so neat, was one more sentence:

‘Next time, stay for breakfast.’

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky smut #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #x female reader #smut #marvel smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #buckybarnes #james bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader

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sky-is-the-limit · 3 days ago

Text

«Dear Diary,»

Part 1.

P: Luffy x F!Reader x Zoro

Summary: When the Captain’s crush is crushing on someone else, things can get messy...

CW: Jealous Luffy, Angsty Luffy, Pervert Luffy, Stalker Luffy, (my boy's going through it, okay?) M!Masturbation, non-consensual voyeurism, primal play undertones, NSFW content.

WC: 2411 words.

Notes: this is only the first part, like an introduction to the main thing from Luffy's POV. Who knows what might happen in the second.. or who might join the fun, wink wink.

He remembered the first morning you stumbled aboard the Going Merry, the salt breeze catching your hair while a satchel hung from your shoulder, your eyes wide as you took in the brightly painted sails and the creaking wooden deck.

Luffy's grin had stretched so wide it almost looked painful. His straw hat nearly flew off as he rushed over full of elbows, noise and too much excitement to contain.

"You came!" Luffy had yelled, bouncing on his feet as he smacked your back hard enough to make you stumble.

Whenever the crew split up for errands like gathering resources on the next island or scouting the coastline, Luffy would always insist you go with him.

He'd volley questions your way as you ducked beneath vines or wandered narrow paths between houses, his pace quick and always eager to stay beside you.

When Sanji would lay out plate after plate of meat and vegetables at dinner, Luffy would just plop down beside you without hesitation, even though three empty seats begged from the other side of the long table.

His elbow nudged yours unconsciously whenever you paused to sketch in your diary and leaning closer, he whispered,

"What are you drawing now?"

You shot him that familiar glare that said, 'eyes off' and with a sheepish grin, he turned back to his own meal.

That diary was your sanctuary.

Bound in dark leather, its pages held intricate sketches of crumbling fortresses, breathtaking landscapes and sometimes the faint outlines of your crewmates resting.

One morning, you caught sight of Luffy's shadow hovering over your bunk, his straw hat tipped back and his gaze locked onto the diary's cover as you were about to open it.

Without thinking, you slammed your hand down with such force that the wood planks beneath you trembled.

"Don't you dare." You hissed.

The words came out sharper than you meant and for a heartbeat, you watched his smile falter.

After that, he never asked again.

To Luffy, that book became a line drawn in red ink.. off-limits.

Whenever you laughed at his cheesy jokes or brushed a stray lock behind your ear, the flutter in his chest made no sense.

Luffy was a pirate, not a poet or a natural flirt like his blonde crewmate and to him, love felt as foreign as a calm sea in the heart of a storm.

Still, when night fell and the lanterns guttered low while the world outside grew quiet, his hand would drift beneath his pants, fingers wrapping around his swollen cock, slick and throbbing with need.

His thumb rubbed over the sensitive slit at the tip, dragging thick, sticky pre come across it, warming it nicely.

Luffy bit his lip, breath hitching as his palm clenched tight, jerking hard and fast whilst the rough wood of the bed creaked under him.

His mind swirled with thoughts of you.

Soft skin, the perfect curves of your body, the way you bit your lip whenever he caught you concentrating..

Soon, heat pooled deep in his balls, burning with desperate need as his hips jerked off the bed, grinding against the sheet while chasing the tightening coil in his stomach.

A strangled groan tore from his throat and his body convulsed violently.

Hot ropes spilt over his fingers, soaking his palm before dripping onto the floor and sweat slicked his skin while his chest heaved, heart pounding loud enough to echo in his ears.

He couldn't be bothered to stand for a towel, so instead he brought his aftermath to his mouth, licking and swallowing the shame with the salty taste of himself lingering on his tongue.

The straw hat fell asleep almost instantly, a slight smile curling his lips at the thought of morning and the promise of another day with you.

Luffy always kept you close.

Either pulling you into the crew's madness, bringing you along on every errand or doing silly gimmicks just to hear your laugh as if he discovered an artist's most precious melody.

From the start, though, his efforts felt like words tossed into the wind. Heard by no one, felt by no one. You weren't looking at him. Not really.

Your eyes were always on the swordsman.

The way you looked at Zoro made Luffy's insides twist.

You stared when you thought no one noticed.

When he cleaned his swords, jaw set and muscles shifting under his shirt, when he trained shirtless on deck, sun tracing every carved line on his body or when he drank, lips curling around the rim of the glass, drops of alcohol glinting at the corners of his mouth..

That smile of yours would flicker shyly and inviting whenever the green haired man glanced up. Maybe Zoro never noticed.

Luffy always did.

At first, Zoro was cold. Distant. Like a wall no one could climb. Luffy got it. His first mate didn't warm up easily, especially not to someone new, no matter how genuine or bright they were.

So for months, he swallowed that gnawing feeling and called it nothing.

Just a friendship between his best friend and the woman occupying his every thought, slow and stubborn in the making. Just that.

After a couple months, though, something shifted.

Luffy saw it before anyone else, only because he never stopped obsessively watching you.

Zoro's gaze started softening when it met yours.

He began scanning every room for you, taking the seat at your side.. the seat Luffy had quietly claimed in his mind since day one. He even shared his best alcohol with you, the bottles Nami had risked smuggling in just for him.

And when you told your dry, biting one liners over dinner? It was Zoro's laugh that cracked through the silence first.

Sure, you were no stranger to the crew's attention but the swordsman's laughter brought out a new expression on your face, a longing Luffy had never glimpsed before.

That look was impossible to miss and in a flash, your brave captain was drowning in hopelessness for the first time in his life.

It was new kind of frustration took hold of Luffy whenever he watched the two of you interact.

He found himself lurking nearby whenever Zoro started helping you train, his hands steadying your movements, fingers lingering a moment too long on your waist as your faces were close enough to catch the faintest breath with whispers meant only for you two.

You blushed like a shy schoolgirl, biting your lip and steadying yourself by running your fingers down Zoro's flexed biceps, as if starving enough to bite.

That was something you never did with Luffy. Never. It was driving him to insanity.

It hit him like cannon fire that the one who spoke the least, the man impossible to read, the one who hadn't even bothered to greet you when you first joined the crew had everything Luffy wanted in the palm of his hand without doing anything to earn it.

Meanwhile Luffy, the one who carried you on his back, saved your life, trusted you with every fibre of his being to join his crew, shared all his stories, pulled you into every adventure alongside him and treated you like one of his most important treasures, was being treated like a child.

A silly, annoying puppy trailing after you and never taken seriously.

He wasn't a child.

He was a man.

The captain of the damn ship. Your captain.

He was jealous and that unfamiliar feeling seized him. Not of his closest friend but because he wanted you in a way that was even worrying him.

That ache was untamed, fierce and confusing, impossible to swallow whole. Still, it was real, burning deep inside him.

Night after night, the crew's footsteps faded one by one until silence settled over the ship.

Luffy stayed awake, leaving his door cracked open just an inch. He settled into the shadows, eyes locked on the faint glow slipping beneath Zoro's door down the hall.

Without needing to watch, Luffy knew your routine.

You'd slip from your room in an oversized shirt loose over bare skin and shorts nowhere to be seen. The moment he realized was when your hand lifted to knock softly on that door the first time and his breath caught at the sight.

Zoro always let you in without hesitation, the latch clicking shut behind you. Then, you disappeared into the quiet night for hours.

You always returned to your room just as dawn began bleeding into the sky, the sun painting it a bruised dark blue.

How did he know? Because Luffy waited.

Sat in the silence of his room, heart thudding loud enough to drown out his thoughts, watching for the slightest sound of you leaving that room.

Curiosity broke through on the fourth night.

Luffy moved without thinking, slipping from bed, his bare feet ghosting over the cold planks.

He pressed himself to Zoro's door, drawn in by the warmth radiating from behind it.

Then came the sounds..

Shy, trembling moans that wrapped around his ribs and tightened, stealing the breath from his lungs.

Zoro's gravelly voice followed, murmuring words Luffy couldn't quite make out but each syllable made your sighs return louder than before.

The reaction was immediate.

His body answered before his mind could stop it as his cock strained hard as stone, throbbing behind his pants and heat tore through him dizzying, leaving his lungs scrambling for air.

He grabbed himself without thinking, palm grinding down over the bulge, pressing back into the wall with a ragged breath. His free hand clenched at his side, blood pounding with every drag of his fingers.

It was wrong. He knew it.

Every instinct clawed at him, warning him to turn away, that this was a violation of your trust, the bond he shared with Zoro. Even of who he was supposed to be as a leader.

Yet the desire was louder. It fucking curled desperately beneath his skin, growing faster than the shame could chase it.

That night marked the start of Luffy's darkest indulgence.

/ / /

He hadn't meant to go in that day.

At least, that's what he kept telling himself as he stepped over the threshold of your room, eyes flicking straight to the bed.

He did it often when you weren't around.

When he could find you on deck or in the kitchen, his heart would start pacing, knowing that the coast was clear and so he'd go into your room like instinct.

Sometimes, he'd lay in your bed, face pressed into the pillow where your scent lingered. Sweet, soft, salty from the sea. It didn't just cling to the sheets. It clung to him.

There were times he'd catch a glimpse of your underwear in the laundry basket. Lace, barely there, just a scrap of black or red.

He'd stare at it like it held answers.

Run a single fingertip across the delicate fabric, his breath pattern frenzied. He always wanted to steal a pair. Just one but he never did. Praised himself even for showing restraint.

This time, though.. this time was different.

The diary was open on the bed.

The forbidden fruit.

The one unbreakable rule you'd made months ago. Don't touch it. The first time he saw you angry. The only time. It never left his mind.

Now it was just lying there, inviting, the leather stretched open like it was waiting for him to caress its skin and Luffy was well familiar with off-limits temptations.

He stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides.

Every part of him screamed to look away, to leave the room. You were his crew. His friend. The girl who made him feel like the world was spinning differently whenever you were near. It was wrong.

Yet his body moved anyway. He didn't even register it but he was already sitting on the bed, thumbing through the pages.

The beginning was innocent enough, a couple drawings of the crew.

Usopp sporting a crooked grin, Robin standing with arms folded, Franky frozen mid-action and then a detailed map of a nearby cove, freshly charted.

Just as his hand moved to shut the book, the sketches shifted beneath his gaze.

Zoro.

Pages of him. His face. His body. The curves of his back, shirtless. The lines of his muscles drawn with care. Him sleeping. Him training. His smirk. His hands. One sketch showed him with a faceless woman under him, tracing her curves... You.

Then the words began.

Luffy's eyes scanned quickly with need clear in each short sigh.

'First time we kissed was under the moonlight. I was shaking but he wasn't, obviously. His mouth tasted like the sake he stole earlier from the bar. He pulled my shirt off so slow like he was unwrapping something he'd been waiting on forever.

And then… fuck. The way we fit together? It's like I was made for him. The way he touches me? Rough when I need it. Sweet when I'm falling apart.'

Turning page after page, Luffy felt his pulse quickening in his chest.

'Last night was.. intense. He fucked me against the wall this time. Still can't believe how good it feels when he grabs my hips like that and just uses me as he pleases. My thighs are still sore. He's getting meaner when he sees me teasing him in front of the crew which means I'll be doing it more often.'

Jealousy twisted in his gut ugly and fast. He was about to stop reading but then..

The raven haired pirate turned another page and froze.

His name.

'Luffy's been watching me again. I can feel it. Those eyes, always on me.. Sanji and Usopp even joked about it the other day.. said our Captain has a little crush.

I laughed cause it's not just a little. He touches me differently. His hand always brushes my ass when he walks past like he's doing it on purpose. His eyes are always on my tits when I lean forward and god!! the way he stares sometimes… like he's unashamedly proud of me catching him.'

Luffy swallowed hard, shutting his eyes before daring to read on. He was caught and there was no way of escaping this time.

'That one time I caught him in my room holding my panties? I pretended I didn't but I knew exactly what he was doing. I always know. I even started placing them a certain way in the basket. He never puts them back right. Ha.'

What scared him most was losing you. Would you shut him out forever? Walk away from the crew because of him? Never let anyone in again for good?

The more he crossed your boundaries, the clearer the answers became though.

'His door is always cracked open. I see it. Every night I sneak out to Zoro's, I know Luffy's watching. I can feel it as if he wants me to know that he's doing that.. His eyes on my legs, my thighs..which is why I stopped wearing anything underneath. Zoro appreciates the easy access anyway. It's kind of fucked up but… I kinda like it. Is that weird?'

He continued reading like it was a spell that forced him.

'Sometimes, when Zoro's fucking me so good, I picture Luffy in the corner of the room. Just watching. Jerking off maybe.. or sitting there all wide eyed, innocent and hard, not even understanding what he's feeling.'

Luffy's mouth fell open. His palm pressed against the growing bulge in his pants.

'I can't help but wonder… if our sweet, clueless Captain would tell Zoro how to fuck me. Order him around. 'Harder, slower, make her scream.' Would he join us? Would he come in my mouth while Zoro's inside me?'

He dropped the diary like it burned him, chest heaving.

You were as twisted as he was. Just as filthy.

You were fucking Zoro but fantasising about him.

And it was too much for Luffy to handle.

Without hesitation, his hand plunged between his legs, clutching his swollen cock through the fabric.

Whether it was pride or madness driving him, he didn't care. He gave in completely.

His cock was already hard and leaking, the friction against his palm turning unbearable as he pulled it free, the air striking the flushed head like a slap.

There was no thought of sitting.

Just him, looming over your bed, eyes locked on the sketch of Zoro between your legs next to what he had just read and imagined you spread out beneath him instead with your shirt hitched up, breasts swollen and aching to be sucked, your soaked pussy open and inviting.

Luffy drove his hand in frantic, merciless strokes, biting his lip hard to keep the sounds inside.

His wrist clenched tightly at the base, the head of his cock gleaming wet and angry red as the muscles in his thighs clenched with aching balls heavy with need.

The room blurred around him as his mind painted the scene.. your mouth open, saliva dripping down to slick your breasts while Zoro pounded into you hard and without mercy.

Luffy stood before you, slapping his cock against your eager tongue before stuffing your mouth.. or maybe jerking himself in the corner just like this, pre-come leaking from the tip as he waited his turn to ruin you.

A groan escaped him as his eyes fluttered shut and his hips bucked forward.

Release hit violently with thick ribbons spurting across the open pages, staining the sketch of Zoro's hands on your thighs.

His hand trembled as he milked himself through the aftershocks, breath ragged, seed still dripping from his slit onto the satin sheets.

Luffy blinked, panting, the blur of orgasm slowly clearing his mind to deal with reality.

And then he saw it. The mess he created in your room, on your bed.. on your most sacred possession.

Wet white drops glistening on the diary pages like someone spilt white paint on it.

"Shit-" Panic set in.

His trousers still open, cock softening in his palm, the mess spreading, impossible to undo.

Then the door clicked.

There was no time to move, no space to hide, not even a second to wipe himself clean.

He turned.

And there you were.

Frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, gaze dragging from the diary to his hand, to the red flush still staining his cheeks and chest.

He opened his mouth. "I..." He began, voice barely there.

Luffy expected you to scream, to curse at him, to storm out and never look back, gone the moment you touched land again.

Instead, you stepped inside and the door clicked shut as your back pressed against it.

Not a single word escaped your lips.

Instantly, the shame and guilt that clenched his chest vanished when he saw you standing there like that.

Your shirt hung open, unbuttoned to reveal the curve of your bra, sweat-damp hair clinging messily to your face and your skirt hitched up as if you'd hurried to hide your state before anyone else could see.

It was clear where you'd been. Who was just claiming your skin moments ago, tasting every inch and curve.

Then something shifted on his face. The look of a man caught turned into something else.

You could've run like prey bolting for safety but you didn't. You stood still, chest rising fast and eyes locked on his. Daring him.

And there it was, that smile. Menacingly stretching across his lips.

He realised then.. he wasn't the one caught.

You were.

Then, slowly, Luffy stepped forward.

#I'm so excited for part 2 now idk when I'll get to it but yeah lol #luffy x reader #luffy smut #monkey d. luffy #one piece luffy #opla luffy #one piece smut #one piece x reader #opla smut #opla x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #roronoa zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #zoro smut #opla zoro

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