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tonycries · 9 months ago

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SECOND masterlist! This masterlist has all my writing from 02/10/24 up until now — for my earlier works check out my FIRST MASTERLIST <3

👻 = from my Kinktober!

MONSTA! 👻

WILD WILD WILD 👻

Bad Bad Boy 👻

PONY 👻

Girl, I'm Into It! 👻

KNOTTY GIRL! 👻

NNN

Madam.

BUTTER

FEVER FEVER FEVER

BUMPIN' THAT!

DDD

CHERRY-POP!

JUNO

O-O-O-OBSESSED!

D!LFMAS?!

BIIIG STRETCH.

STICKYYY

Like a Dog!

P*SSY POWER!

TALKIN' BOOODY!

STUFFED.

OL-F*CK-TORY ETHICS?!

ABRACADABRA

Can't Feel My Face.

ATTACK ON P*SSY!

BIG BOYYY!

TRACKSTAR?!

JUICY!

FEVERRR?!

KREME!

RAW-MANCE!

Jujutsu? Gnarly.

FIT CHECK?!

FAST N' FURIOUS!

BAD INFLUENCE

Animals — Yes, your best friend is secretly an alpha. Yes, he acts like a fúcking anímal when he rúts. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alíve. 👻

Corpse Groom — Till déath do you part…or does it when a déathly error leads your newly-wedded husband to be from beyond the gráve? 👻

The Initiation — From now onwards, you’re the madam of the Gojo clan - and your clan leader husband is going to prove it to everyone.

Cake or Fake — The only birthday gift your brother’s best friend wants? You. And not just for fake-dating…

Sweetheart Online — Isekai-ed into another world, or isekai-ed into your pants?! Gojo Satoru is in danger - in danger of losing his prized, otaku vírginíty, that is.

Knight of Roses — You, heir to the throne and fated to be married off to a royal you’ve never even met. Gojo Satoru, your personal knight and the one man that will not let this happen. He will not.

Night(wing) Crawler — Trapped with a too-smug, too-handsome Nightwing by the very same villains you were trying to swindle was not how you planned to spend your night. Luckily for you, Gojo can think of a much better way to pass the time.

To Tame A Monster — Gojo Satoru, the most dangerous underground fighter in all of Japan - and the…hottest, too. You, the cute nurse that takes care of him, and totally not his favorite prize, right? Right?

STRONGEST — The strongest. The most feraI. Gojo Satoru’s powers aren’t the only thing that goes out of control after a battle.

Hot Nerd Summer — The best way to beat your tall, nerdy, hot academic rival during finals? Fúck him!

Cruel Summer — The five times Gojo Satoru would rather díe than marry you, his (infuriatingly pretty, oh-so-irresistible) arranged fiancée - and the one time he comes back from déath to.

Love Thy D!LF — Yes, your neighbor is a hot, pérvy D!LF. Yes, he’s a total tease. No, you don’t think your poor new bed frame is going to stay in one piece…

Bed Chem — No, you’ve never gone through a heat. No, your big bad neighbor, Toji Fushiguro, hasn’t had a rút in years. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive when all that changes with your…bed chem.

Bat(man) Romance — Running into Batman AKA your ex-husband, Toji, after a heist? Could this night get any worse? Well, there’s also one tiny problem…you’re both covered in séx pollen.

Lady & The Sick Man — Most people would run away from the ghost in their shabby new apartment, Toji Fushiguro makes you lose your mind.

To Have Your Eyes — Toji Fushiguro - strong, hot, and your steadfast personal knight. And his duty to the crown means that Toji should…help the princess he’s always loved with obtaining an heir, right? Right?

SCREEN QUEEN! — To see a movie or to make one? Four times Geto Suguru absolutely ruined you for the cameras, and the one time outside of them.

Video Game Lover — Suguru Geto, the resident nerd who “helps” you with your homework. Tall, gloomy, mean, and- and an alpha? And he’s in rut?!

Sweetener — You, hit by your heat cycle and accidentally calling your best friend over in a daze. Choso Kamo, your utterly sweet best friend - and totally not an aIpha, right? Right?

Madam Kamo — Bréeding kínk? Going feraI? What the hell is that? Maybe your sweet clan leader husband knows the answer…

Hey, Venom Boy! — Venom’s had enough of his host’s racing heartbeat and tíghtening pants around you. So he does what any good symbiote would do - help Choso lose his vírginíty, of course!

Heat Waves — The two things they don’t tell you about a hot emo half-curse? 1. He’s in heat. 2. He needs you badly.

Your (Super)Man — He’s not a bird. He’s not a plane. He’s…just Nanami Kento from the journalism department. But you have a feeling that Nanami’s hiding a super big secret - and not just the one down there.

50 Shades of Kento — You help your hot uptight boss blow off some much-needed steam, and he makes an absolute mess of you - that annoyingly flirty new employee of his. Deal?

Heaven — An aIpha? Please, your arranged husband was the perfect gentleman - soft, strong, shy to even look your way and- and damn feraI when he’s in rút?

The Duke and I — Dearest gentle reader, it is with great pride that we introduce this season’s most eligible bachelor, Duke Nanami Kento. However, ladies be warned, rumors swirl that our most gallant gentleman already has his eyes (and hands) set on a particular chambermaid. You.

My Oh My — Trick or treat! The mean ínmate in Room 6/9 doesn’t want halloween candy - he wants something else much, much sweeter. 👻

Executioner Style — How long does it take for the demon king, Ryomen Sukuna, to figure out why you summoned him? Three hours. How long until you wonder whether you’ll make it out of the bed aIive? Well…

#tonywrites #tonynavi

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toby-du-coeur · 2 years ago

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..do they have a Story? they are full of.. such pure joy and mischief

i am intrigued

The brief and unfortunate return of Felicio for a bday gift to a friend

#no thoughts head cake frosting #story beyond the snippets in their other art pieces that is #f e l i c i o #they're like a lil pixie

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daddyjackfrost · 20 days ago

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Oh, my love, side to side: B. Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avengers!F!Reader

Synopsis: After a successful yet traumatizing mission, you dream of losing Bucky for the first time in years. In a fit of panic, you call him. He answers. Not the phone, but the call your heart makes to his.

Warnings: Slow burn, fluff, minor angst if you squint, best friends to lovers?, mentions of; blood, injuries, burning bodies, crumbling buildings, nightmares, death, loss, panic attacks, and religious imagery, down!bad bucky, very obvious they are in love, WC: 3k

A/N: Thank you for the request! I really do love slow-burns. I wrote this in like, forty minutes so if it’s bad, I’m sorry! Also, listen to the song! it elevates the experience. Reblogs & Comments appreciated!

The quinjet landed just after midnight.

The compound’s landing pad lights flickered against the sheen of metal, casting long shadows as the ramp lowered with a hiss. The mission had ended hours ago, but the adrenaline hadn’t faded, not really. It clung to your skin like sweat, and its success didn’t account for the blood caked beneath your fingernails or the tremble in your fingertips when you keyed in your ID. It didn’t reflect the way your chest still heaved like you were mid-sprint, lungs not quite convinced you were out of danger.

The inside of your suit was stiff with dried blood—some yours, most not.

As you stepped down into the quiet night, your body ached with exhaustion, but your mind wouldn’t slow. Not even with the hum of familiarity beneath your boots. You were safe and the mission was over.

And still, you felt like the rug was going to be pulled out from under you any second.

You chose to go on this mission alone. You had done your research, accounted for all the mistakes that could have been, memorized the facts and mission brief, and yet. Muscles aching, you leaned your head against the cool metal.

The elevator hummed as it carried you back up to the main floor. The doors opened to the familiar click of Tony’s boots echoing from the kitchen, and Natasha’s soft voice somewhere behind him. Laughter floated down the hallway—Sam, probably, cracking jokes at this late hour.

You stepped into the glow of the kitchen and the moment your boots hit tile, all heads turned.

“Hey, hey—look who made it back alive,” Sam called, voice low but teasing as he leaned against the counter. His eyes raked over your bloodied body and softened a fraction.

Natasha looked up from her tea. “You’re late.” She had kept tabs on you in the beginning. She had no idea how horrible it had gone, how it had all unravelled.

Tony grinned from the bar, nursing something with too much tequila and not enough sense. “She walks in looking like a murder scene and you’re giving her shit?” He raised the glass towards you in a silent salute. “Welcome back.”

You let out a breath of laughter, slow and tired. The kind that pulled from your chest more like a sigh.

“Just took the scenic route,” you said, voice hoarse. “You know how I enjoy a pretty view.”

The words felt like bile on your tongue. There had been nothing pretty about anything you had seen. You knew they’d see bits and pieces in the morning, how their concern would flood your senses, but for now, you shoved it all to the back of your mind.

The last thing you needed was Sam sitting you down or Natasha hovering.

You felt his eyes before you saw them. Warm, filled with knowing.

Bucky stood near the wall, arms crossed, his figure still as stone. His hair was brushed back, strands curling loose around his face. The dark t-shirt stretched over his chest like it didn’t want to let go of him. His eyes followed every subtle movement you made—the slight limp, the way your shoulders curled inward, your haunted silence.

To others, you were fine. A little bruised, shaken up, but smiling.

To him, you were a storm waiting to break. Something scraped and aching.

Both of you had a tradition, something that had started years ago. A simple nod and smile after a mission, just to assure the other that you were okay, that you hadn’t let the mission come back home.

You avoided his gaze and set your bag down with a soft thud. You knew, knew he’d read you too easily. He had offered to come with you, not because he thought you couldn’t handle it but because two sets of hands were always better than one. He wanted to help you, be someone you could lean on, but you had refused with a smile.

Flashes of burning bodies and crumbled buildings hit you like a truck and you blinked.

You didn’t smile or nod, just dodged his burning stare. He clenched his jaw.

“Gonna shower,” you murmured. “See you guys in the morning.”

“You want dinner?” Sam offered. “We saved—”

“I’ll grab it later,” you cut him off, turning. “Thanks.”

Bucky watched you disappear down the hallway, the tension in your spine making his own body coil tight. He hated seeing you like this, hated that things had gone wrong and he hadn’t been there to help you.

“Don’t follow her,” Natasha said quietly, not unkindly.

He didn’t move. Not yet.

But later, when the kitchen had emptied, goodnights shared, and lights dimmed, Bucky made you a plate anyway. Put your favourites on it. Covered it in foil and tucked it into the fridge. Maybe, just maybe, you’d listen to your body and eat something.

He couldn’t force you, but he could make it easier.

Quietly, he made his way down to his floor, but stopped at yours first. The elevator doors opened silently and he was greeted with a dark floor, eerily quiet. He moved towards your bedroom, eyed the bandages and medkit on the counter.

He paused at your door for a moment, eyes narrowed, trying to listen through the silence. He heard nothing, just your soft breaths, a rustle.

Then, slowly, he walked away.

Sleep didn’t come easily anymore, not for you. It hadn’t, for years.

But when it finally did, it came hard and fast—dragging you under into a memory that wasn’t quite a memory. The sky was red. Your lungs burned. In the middle of the smoke and gunfire and screaming. You were running toward him.

“Bucky!”

Your voice tore out of you in a ragged scream. He turned, slow and silhouetted in the haze, blood on his shirt—so much blood—and then he was gone.

Shot. Chest ripped open. Dying.

You dropped to your knees. You were screaming. Shaking.

He was bleeding out in your arms, dog tags slick with blood, his blue eyes wide and fading.

You woke up gasping.

Your sheets were damp with sweat, clinging to your skin like a second, suffocating layer. The room was too dark. Too quiet. Your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, like your heart was breaking from the inside. You could barely breathe, throat raw.

He had died.

No, No—that wasn’t real.

You scrambled for your phone with shaking hands, barely able to put in the passcode. Your fingers shook as you tapped his name. It was instinct, muscle memory.

One ring. Two—

Panicked, you ended the call, dropping the phone like it burned. Your hands were in your hair.

“No, no, no—” you whispered, tossing the phone aside as you covered your mouth with both hands. You couldn’t breathe. Your body rocked with panic, your mind caught between now and then and that awful dream where he’d died and you couldn’t save him.

You hadn’t had a dream like this in years. You used to dream about loss—death—like it was family, but then you gained a new family, real and tangible. Hours at therapy had made you comfortable in your skin, had convinced you that loss could be prevented and how to deal with it.

But this—this was new. This was personal. This was Bucky. Your Bucky.

Pulling your legs up to your chest, you rocked back and forth, trying to breathe. The tears leaked out of your eyes anyways.

The phone vibrated once on the nightstand.

He was up before the second buzz.

Bucky didn’t waste time. Didn’t hesitate. He was already moving. Barefoot, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, dog tags clinking softly as he grabbed his gun from the nightstand. His metal hand clenched instinctively.

He glanced at his phone. Your name was on his screen.

You’d called and hung up.

That was enough to make his blood run cold.

You were only two floors up. He ignored the elevator and threw open the large metal doors, running quicker than he ever had before.

He didn’t knock. The door creaked open quietly. You didn’t hear it. He was silently glad you had granted him fingerprint access months ago. He didn’t need Jarvis alerting and disrupting you.

He stepped inside like he belonged there, in your space—because God, didn’t he?

His breath caught when he saw you—sitting up in bed, knees pulled to your chest, body trembling. You were sobbing. Your eyes vacant.

His heart cracked clean in half.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was soft, barely a breath.

You flinched. Then, your eyes met his—and he saw the exact moment they focused. The panic didn’t fade, but it shifted, turned into something raw, deeper.

“Bucky,” you gasped. His name felt like a prayer on your lips.

He crossed the room in three steps. Sunk to his knees in front of you, at the edge of your bed, like he’d done a hundred times before.

“Hey, hey,” his voice was soft, coaxing. “I’m here, Y/n. I got you.” He held his hands out, giving you the option to hold on or push him away. Either way, he wasn’t moving.

You stared at his hands for a second before you folded into him. You leaned down, off your bed, and wrapped your arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around you like they’d been sculpted for this—holding, grounding, anchoring. Like these very hands hadn’t caused mass destruction.

He pulled you onto his left knee, pressing your trembling body into his. He rubbed your back, pressed his cheek into your hair. “It was just a dream,” he murmured into your hair. You didn’t need to tell him, he knew. “You’re safe. Look at me, Y/n.”

You did, slowly. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in. You hadn’t even realized he was shirtless, just holding on like you’d fall apart if you didn’t.

His eyes, blue and stormy were so soft, so calm as he stared at you. His eyes flickered across your face, taking in the light bruising and cuts. Gently, his arms went under your knees and around your waist and he stood up.

Your hold on him tightened and for a moment, you thought he was going to drop you onto the bed and leave. You whimpered, wounded.

Bucky’s heart clenched in his chest and he pressed you closer to his chest as he sat down on the edge of your bed with you in his lap. “None of that, sweetheart. I’m here. With you.”

He rubbed your back as your face fell into the nape of his shoulder and he held onto you tight, wanting nothing more than to take on whatever burden rested on your chest.

“You were—God, Bucky, you were gone,” you choked out, still breathless. “I watched you die.”

He exhaled hard, holding you tighter. He pressed his chin into your hair, hoping you hadn’t felt the shiver that ran down his back. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded against his skin but he could tell his words hadn’t fully registered. He remembers the first time he had dreamt of you dying. It had been years ago, when you had first made him laugh. He was trying to stay away from everyone, keep them out of harm's way, but you’d slowly but surely clawed your way inside his heart.

He hadn’t spoken to you in a week.

It wasn’t until you cornered him, told him that avoidance didn’t mean protection, that he tried to be better. For you.

He can’t remember if he’s ever died in your dreams. You hadn’t told him. He knew you used to dream about loss, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been included.

It was a terrifying feeling, he decided. Being on the receiving end of such a revelation. It meant too much. He meant too much and he didn’t know how to carry that weight with pride. If you were dreaming about losing him then that meant you had him.

And you did.

Irrevocably so.

You were the only one who ever had.

But this fear, the picture of him in your arms—it wasn’t one he wanted you to see, to experience. He hated that you had. He lost you in his dreams often, but that was because he didn’t have you. Couldn’t. It was his burden to bear.

You pressed your forehead to his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you. His body heat helped with your shivers, his scent a calming balm. You didn’t realize how hard you were crying until his fingers were brushing away tears from your cheeks.

“I’ll get you some water, okay?”

Part of you wanted to refuse, beg him not to leave you, but instead, you nodded, small and shaky.

You slid off his lap and he stood quietly, hand on your shoulder until he had no choice but to drop it as he moved quickly, stepping outside your bedroom door and into the kitchen. He opened a cabinet and pulled a large glass out, filled it halfway with water and downed it.

He sighed and braced the sides of the counter, head tipping down. He hated this, hated that you’d been alone on the mission and that things had gone wrong, hated that you’d been woken up by such gruesome nightmares.

He wasn’t a very religious man but he’d beg God for all of your pain. If he never had to see that vacant look in your red-rimmed eyes again, he’d thank the God that had once abandoned him.

He hadn’t heard. Hadn’t heard the soft patter of your feet or your shaky breathing, too caught up in his mind.

But he felt you, felt your arms slide around his waist as you pressed into his back. He stilled before he sagged at the contact. You rested your cheek against his back, his hands resting on yours.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you whispered, guilt dripping onto the floors.

“You didn’t,” he lied. He had been, but that wasn’t your fault. “Just needed to see you.”

The silence that followed was soft, fragile. Sacred.

“I couldn’t save you.” You sounded broken, like even the words were pulling you under.

“You called me,” he said gently, tilting his head. “You reached for me. That means something.” He slowly turned in your arms, his arms wrapping around your waist as he looked at you, eyes having fully adjusted to the dark.

“Why’d you get out of bed?”

You looked away at the question, mildly embarrassed. But his eyes didn’t move, just watched you. “I needed to see you. Touch you.”

His lips parted at the admission. His arms around you tightened and he tipped his head down, chin resting on your head. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m okay. Alive.”

“Yeah,” you said. But it didn’t feel like enough.

Unbeknownst to either of you, you had begun to sway. It was soft, a whisper of muscle movement, but Bucky rocked you, side to side. It felt a bit like slow dancing, like if a candle had been lit and some 80s jazz had been playing, everything could have been warm and filled with love.

It was a little like that now.

The floors were cold and the room was dim but there was warmth between you, a press of chests as his body heat slowly enticed yours. There was love in the air, flickers of it wrapping around you like it couldn’t be helped.

Bucky didn’t want to be anywhere else. Here, in your arms, swaying with you in the kitchen was everything he wanted—needed. But you needed more, needed sleep and a restful night.

With an arm around you, he leaned back and filled the same glass with some water. Still close, he brought it to your lips and smiled softly when you let him tilt the glass up. The cool water soothed the dryness in your throat and you sighed, forehead against his bare chest.

“Come on,” he whispered into your ear. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

He filled the glass to the top before he flexed his arm and crouched down a little. “Jump, sweetheart.”

With practiced ease, like it was second nature and maybe it was, you wrapped your legs around his waist and his hand, his warm, strong hand rested under your thigh. It was intimate, sweet, and it broke through the clouds that were in your head.

Made something warm, something delicate and treasured curl up in your stomach.

Holding you with one arm and the glass with the other, Bucky made his way back into your bedroom.

If these were any other circumstances, if you weren’t quietly still mourning him in your mind, you would have fully appreciated it. Bucky holding you and taking you to bed had been a dirty little secret of yours, something you’d think about and imagine when you were alone.

It—with his genuine love and affection—was all you wanted.

You didn’t know you already had it.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked softly, already knowing the answer.

Your arms tightened around him as he eased you back into bed, carefully, never once letting go of you. You shook your head. “No. Can you stay? Please.”

He didn’t hesitate.

Bucky slid under the covers beside you, careful not to crowd. But then you turned and curled into his space, borrowing into his chest, your body instinctively molding to his, your face in the crook of his shoulder.

He wrapped himself around you instantly.

One arm tucked under your neck, the other holding you tight against his chest. His dog tags were cool against your skin. His hand pressed to the small of your back. You breathed in his scent—soap and cedar and wood—something so distinctly him.

“I don’t wanna lose you, Buck,” you whispered into his skin, heart settling but still afraid.

He exhaled sharply and buried his nose in your hair. “You won’t, Y/n. I’m here, with you. I’ll always come back to you.” He pressed his lips to the crown of your head. “Just how you always come back to me.”

“Okay,” you whispered, focusing on his steady heartbeat, feeling safe for the first time in a week.

And in that quiet, the hush of your room, wrapped in his arms, the steady rhythm of two hearts finally beating in sync, your eyes drifted shut.

#hana’s.writing!#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barns imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky one shot #bucky imagine #bucky smut #winter solider x reader #winter solider imagine

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megapteraurelia · 17 days ago

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pussy inspector rin. — suna x you | hq

SUMMARY; suna rintaro, who lets you get away with a lot, except when you try to rile him up on purpose. WARNINGS; 18+; f!reader; fingering; oral (f!receiving); p in v (unprotected); squirting; degradation and objectification; dumbification; mention of piss; not proofread!! WORD COUNT; 2470.

Suna Rintaro who lets you get away with a lot.

When you slip your hand into his back pocket and squeeze his ass in public, he just lets it happen. He doesn't move your fingers or pulls a face; unimpressed look still etched in the slant of his gaze, the barest hint of a slow eyebrow raise. With your palm full of him, he doesn't care at all if anybody throws him any weird looks. If anything, he loves shrugging in their faces, voice languid and unhurried when he replies with, "This loser's a bit handsy."

"You're dumb," he says when you steal all his thick clothes in the dead of winter, and then throw him a look like he's at fault when you're outside, having started rubbing your arms despite wearing his shirt and his hoodie already. He lets you, though, as he peels his jacket off his shoulders because— , "Stay dumb."

Suna Rintaro lets you even get away with whispering filthy shit in his ear in front of the guys. Sunarin has spent a lot of time on the internet; masking his face when you decide to climb onto his lap, fingers brushing over his clothed cock as if you were only adjusting yourself, is a piece of cake, really. When your lips touch the shell of his ears, voice almost purring, "Poor baby, bet your hand's been getting more action than I give you lately," he allows you that, too.

Suna Rintaro who likes when you push limits, he does; it shoots a thrill down his spine seeing the triumphant look in your eyes when you think you've gotten away with another mischievous tease, when you pretend the sex scene in the movie wasn't affecting you even though he could tell that it does by the shifting of your legs, the press of your thighs. He does enjoy it because he likes the dumb face he'll have you make after way more.

So, he lets you get away with things until you strive to see the muscle in his jaw jump, until his eyes narrow and his voice cuts a little sharper, "That supposed to be funny?"

"Relax," you blink up at him, a sweet grin on your face, "It's harmless."

"Yeah? That why he's still looking like you'll go back to him?"

It is harmless.

Running a hand up that guy's shoulder at the party really doesn't mean anything — not when you had sent a look over the idiot's shoulder straight at Rintaro, your lashes brushing your cheeks with a demure smile. But Rin's hand rests on the back of your neck now, thumb just barely caressing the skin of your jaw, in the quiet way he always likes to touch you.

Suna Rintaro who drags you into an empty bedroom when you linger near that guy again, catching your wrist when you walk by, grip tight, neck tense, not even looking back at you.

The bed was soft, bouncy when his hand finds your chest to push you on it, when his other hand of his comes to grip your jaw, thumb finding its way into your mouth, heavy pressure on your tongue. Your hands scratch at his waist, but he doesn't budge even once. Instead, he lets his weight sink you down a little further, knee forcing your thighs apart.

"Nah, none of that. You want attention so bad?" Suna's eyes are sharp, hand travelling down to pick your wrists up like it was nothing, long fingers curling around your skin, "Cool. I'll give you as much as you deserve."

Leaving your mouth, his hand is slow, methodical in the way he strips you down; your protests weak, attempts to fight against him even weaker, because when he doesn't kiss you, when he doesn't praise you but instead stares down at the way you're laying on the bed with your legs spread, it has your skin vibrating, breath shallow, spit collecting at the back of your throat.

His face doesn't look impassive anymore, and you almost wish it would — instead, there's a sharp glint in his eyes, mocking and deliberate all the same. His lips are curved, but not in a smile, not in any way that shares your humour, but more like he's enjoying watching you dig your own grave, enjoying digging it with you.

His head tilts, "You've been acting like a spoiled little whore all day."

A whine catches in your throat, one that you try to swallow down as soon as it tries bubbling up. You don't want to give him the satisfaction, you don't.

His finger catches the hem of your underwear and he yanks it up, watches the way the damp fabric clings to your lips, the way your pussy quivers, "Look at that, you're ruining your panties. Kinda pathetic. This what you want that freak downstairs to see?"

Shaky exhale, a challenge in your eyes, "S-so what of it?"

"You're right," Suna says, a digging note in the lazy tenor of his, and it's sudden the way he lets go of your hands to grip your thighs; your heart lurching when he yanks you to the edge of the bed. There's a dull sound of his knees hitting the ground, his shoulders shoving your legs far apart, "Let's see what you got to show for then, yeah?"

When you squirm, he drapes an arm over your abdomen, pressing you down on the mattress heavily, with purpose. Your fingers scratch at his skin, but he ignores it; his heavy-lidded eyes focused on your cunt, his other slowly pulling your puffy folds apart with his fingers.

He hums, low, judging, and his breath feels cool against the wetness, "What a mess."

Fingers drag through your slick, slow with just enough pressure to make you gasp. You try to catch the movement with more control, hips begging against the hold he's got on you, but he's lifting his hand up and away already, watching the strings of pussy drool stretch between his fingers with a raised brow.

"I haven't even touched you properly, but you're already primed to go. Tell me, how do you walk around with such a needy pussy and pretend you have dignity?"

Sunarin doesn't even wait until you've opened your mouth, finger tapping your clit once, just to watch you flinch. His eyes gleam with amusement this time, shoulders slipping underneath your thighs now, voice low, "Pathetic little twitches, can't even handle my fingers. What makes you think you'll have a chance with anybody else, hm?"

He taps again, slower this time, tracing just enough to make you shiver but never enough to give you relief. Pressing the back of your hand to your mouth, your voice comes out whiny anyway, an insult on your tongue, a plea, j-just hurry already.

"What's that?" ignoring you and your whimper, his thumb holds you open whilst he leans in, close enough to breathe on you, to smell your scent, but he still doesn't touch you, "All swollen. Desperate. So very embarrassing. But you like this, don't you? Spread open like some cheap toy for me to rate."

Pearls trickle down between your cheeks, wetting the sheets beneath, sticky against your skin and when his tongue swipes over your sensitive sodden folds, your legs jerk out of instinct, trying to close around his head — he slaps the inside of your thigh with a lazy smack of his hand.

"Did i say you could move?"

"T-then you move, Rin— ah—"

His fingers sink inside you so easily, no resistance, his knuckles hitting your skin with a sharp sound, one that has heat shoot through your chest only to pool low. Your stomach tenses, eyes flutter, lips parting like you're trying not to moan, and your hips grind against his hand, chasing any type of friction, any type of filling he can give you, anything of his.

"So fucking needy," his breath comes out a little heavier, and when he speaks again, he's right against your pussy, "Just waiting to be used, are you even really a person like this, hn?"

Another heavy puff, "Don't know if you even deserve to."

But his mouth sinks down to meet your pussy anyway, tongue lapping up your juices like a dog, and here, in the middle of a stranger's bed, he pulls you closer against his face, against his tongue, the fucking of his fingers, their curling to find that gooey spot inside you that makes your whole body jerk, that has your thighs press against his ears.

When he catches his breaths in between licking you, shaky, his voice comes out muffled, rough, "Oh, I don't—" obscene squelches, "—know if I can—" clap, clap, clap of his hand, "—send you down like that. You taste bad. Honestly, hah—" groans, slurping, rutting his hips against the bed post, "— it's d-disappointing."

The heel of your foot comes down on his back at his words, voice crying out at the way he suckles your clit, the way he pulls it into his mouth like he's going to suck out your life through this puffed nub. His fingers are relentless, each stroke catching you off guard, has your abdomen tensing underneath his grip.

"Can't k-keep up? Figures," spit dribbles past his lips, wetting his fingers more: slick and slicker. The sudden contact sparks a strange, raw sensation, unfurling from your tensed toes to your calves, burning through your thighs, pooling deep inside with a weird and urgent ache.

"Ri—ah, Rin, feels— h-ngh."

His fingers move fast, no hesitation, mouth latched onto you, like he knows exactly what you're going to say. His gaze pins you down, nose wet and pushing against your folds, eyes glazed slightly, but the heated mocking is still written clear across his half-visible face.

And then—

Gone.

"Rintaro!"

Whines loud in the room, desperation bitter on your tongue, your hips buck against thin air, but none of his touches. With a barely suppressed chuckle, he wipes his fingers on your thigh, close enough to make you tremble, but far enough from your weeping cunt that tries to contract around nothing that you cry out again.

He shuts you up when his pruned fingers find their way between your lips, feeding them deep into your mouth as he leans over you, "You keep pretending to have this fuckass attitude, but look at you now. Legs open, brain off. You don't even care how stupid you look drooling like that, huh?"

The swollen head of his cock nudges against your quivering hole, "Can't even think, just take and take and take like the dumb little thing you are."

Suna Rintaro slips in like he's meant to be there, like you're nothing more than a hole, there to warm his fingers, there to engulf his dick, to bring him pleasure. He fucks you like he owns you, like you own him, like nobody can ruin you like he can, like he wants you to remember it deeply with every kiss of skin to skin, with every thrust, with every slip of your legs from his shoulder that he catches at once.

And you take it like he's carved himself into you, like he's the only one allowed to take you apart and put you back together, like you could etch it into his very being with the way your tongue swirls around his fingers, sucking your own juices off him.

"He can -ah- look all he wants," Sunarin groans against your leg, his mouth finding the pulse point on your ankle to suck a memory onto your flesh, "Harmless, hm? T-this — n-nah, don't you cry now. You asked for this,you wa-hanted me to fuck you stupid."

Fingers pulled out of your mouth, he drapes himself forward, sweaty chest pressed against yours, the coarse hair underneath his belly button scratching your own skin as he devours your mewls with his own lips.

You breathe heavy; the feeling of him all over you, in you as his hips snap over and over again with an overwhelming stretch too much for you. Stomach tingling, tears pricking your eyes, your toes start tensing on his shoulder as another zing of this same urgency shoots through you.

You don't say anything this time, swallow the words down, but to no avail — it's like Rin knows. Like his thumb finding your swollen clit is not a coincidence, like him pushing himself deeper inside you is urging you to submit, begging you to give in to this feeling.

And you do.

White-hot pleasure runs through your veins, numbing your senses, back arching, trembling legs as you wet his abdomen uncontrollably. Suna's hisses and groans are hard against your ears, "There she is, ah. That's what I wanted. I-it's like you're pissing yourself, huh? So fu-hah-fucking nasty," as his hips grow sloppy in their thrusts, stuttering, a whine building up in his throat.

He cums without warning, hot spurts of ropes shooting into you as he fucks his spilling back, teeth digging into your neck, hair tickling your face. His hips jerks with tiny movement when he continues, as if his need to bury himself in you and keep his seed from trickling out overpowers the sensitivity of his cock.

It was silent for a few minutes, heavy breaths and the soft squelching of Suna moving inside you the only thing existing in the space between you, tiny grunts leaving his lips and you do have hold back an eyeroll at him fucking himself stupid.

His teeth hurt your skin and when you shift, he lets go, licking over it in a half-apology, voice raw as his lips find your flesh in a kiss again and again, "You did well, pretty baby. For me. You were made for me."

Suna Rintaro who lets you get away with a lot.

Who allows you to manhandle his body in any way you want to, his muscles pliant underneath your hands as you seek his comfort within the confines of his arms. Who doesn't mind that you steal his clothes instead of using your own, even if that means he'd have to leave this house shirtless and shoeless. Who pushes you in front of him as you walk past that idiot who really thought you were free to have, who allows you to pull his body on top of yours on the couch, a weighted blanket all for your own.

Whose hands hold your neck now, though not as a warning, but in a way that is safe, that cradles you close to him. His fingers massage your body, his sharp nose tracing the shell of your ear and when his teeth gently bites your earlobe—

"Try pulling that shit again, though, and next time I won't be so nice."

Well, maybe not a whole lot.

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