#god. i need to go to bed. this has been such a fucking Day

[gojosphantomprincess]

MDNI 18+

more computer nerdjo ₊‧ ୨୧

nerdjo before he got his hands on you <3 he luvs your insta

cw: nsfw, jerking off, (m) masturbation

“a-ah fuck—s-shit.” his words are airy, breathless, trying to keep up with the speed of his fist. satoru holds his phone in his free hand, adjusting his grip so it doesn’t slip out of his hand. sweaty. hot. the only way to describe the feeling circulating though out his body. his head pounds, like it’s shutting him in. it’s not supposed to see this, trying to cave his brain in so he can stop. it hurts, edging a migraine. but not enough to stop.

he tries to swipe to the next image, but his thumb pad is too damp for the screen to react. “jesus—jesu-fucking christ!” frustrated, desperate. needy. needy to see the next photo. “come on, come on, come on.” he takes three huffs from circle shaped lips, attempting to set himself back into reality. he drops his phone to the crinkled bed sheets, wiping the salty sweat from his palm before grabbing it roughly. he swipes, the screen responding to his touch this time around.

“y-yes. yes, yes, yes. i fucking love you.” the pressure thickens in his abdomen, twisting and pulling the nerves in the hot of his belly. he blinks hard, getting rid of the blur his tears had caused so he can see better. see every detail. “so p-pretty. fuck you’re hot.”

satoru thanked god every day you accepted his friend request on instagram. he didn’t mind that you didn’t follow him back. he just liked to have a inside look into your life. the foods you tried, the extravagant vacations you went on, the golf tournaments your father participated in, the beach trips you took with your friends. fuck—the beach trips. he loved hot days, the ones that guaranteed you’d be by water, in something small, skimpy. had his notifications on for you, and only you. whenever you posted a pic of you in a little bikini, he’d immediately go and jerk off to it. the shame never hit him until it was over with.

satoru would talk to the screen like you could hear him. he wanted to tell you how sexy you were, how hard your pictures alone made him cum. it wasn’t just the pictures, but your stories. the ones where you would post your tan legs posing in the sand. shiny. he enjoyed shiny things. he has since robotics club back in freshman year. and you glistened.

his lips formed into a thin line and wrinkles formed in his forehead. his pale skin flushed up from his neck to his cheeks and to his ears. his body ached, muscles taught and needing to be rubbed out.

“haah, so pretty baby.” he whined. “mmmmh make you feel s-so good. cum all over those aa-ahh pretty l-legs.”

one specific picture did it for him every time. the one with your friends, you laughing with your mouth open an exceptional amount. just wide enough for him to cum down it. he wanted to cum down your throat. have his mess cover your lips. to watch you lick it off.

his nerves clenched in his lower belly, groin aching to be set free from tension. he throbbed painfully, before his thick cum contracted from his cock, the tension releasing from his belly. satoru shuddered, head hitting the headboard. his glasses slipped down his nose from the sweat that dripped down from his hairline. “thank you, thank you, thank you.” he repeated with gasps mixed between. “thank you, pretty.” he stared down at your photo, now covered in his mess. his balls were sensitive to the touch, weight lifted from them now that he had gotten what he’d been aching for.

the guilt consumed him. daily. he would cry, promised himself he wouldn’t do it again. but his notifications stayed on. satoru couldn’t help himself. he knew he was a perv. the more he deprived himself, the more he wanted to cum on your face.

[anaburbononburbon]

18+, MDNI

-

Gimme gimme gimme desperate Soap and a pretty thing that can't stop fucking each other. All over one another when he's back from deployment. Real nasty stuff. Talking: wall to wall, kitchen countertops, bed, floor, couches, outside on walks.

Vibrating cockrings in public spaces. Remote controlled vibrators on drives.

Two, desperate, horny little devils.

Soap is in heaven.

For about....six months.

Eventually, it'll wear on him. Tired from work. Too tired to always give it to you like he needs to, but he isn't a quitter! He does it, no complaining on his end.

But the team notices. Ghost first, of course. Johnny is comin back worse for wear off of leave, and it doesn't sit right with Ghost. No, no it doesn't. That's his sergeant, his best man. So, he watches and waits.

Gaz notices second. Soap and Gaz are two peas in a pod and he can't help but stare as Johnny walks in the rec room with dark circles around his eyes, winces as he sits down and immediately passes out when he relaxes in the couch, snuggled to his best mate.

Breaks Gaz's heart.

Cap notices last, but immediately pulls him and the rest of the team in his office to ask him straight:

"What's goin on, sunshine? You feelin okay? Everything olright at home?"

And god, Soap appreciates the thought, but is mortified that his lack of jokes, tired eyes and sore muscles have been noticed by everyone.

He tries to play it cool. Laughs it off. Tells everyone to stop worrying. Attempts to pick himself from his seat, but Ghost immediately shoves him back down.

"Someone hurtin you, Johnny? Someone we need to take care of?" Soap almost wants to cry. His team is so fuckin sweet, but there's no way he can admit what's actually happening.

"Say the word, Soap, and it'll be taken care of. No questions asked." Kyle rubs his shoulder, offering him support and comfort in this difficult situation.

Soap breaks.

"Not what you think it is..." He whispers, thinking about you. Your lips around his cock. Your tight holes around his dick. His own tongue deep inside you.

Over and over and over-

"What is it, son? What's goin on?" John cares about his team. He cares about his boys. He wants them happy. Wants them thriving. They were in a fucked up line of work, and every day wasn't promised.

Least he could do was make sure his men were taken care of. That they were being taken care of.

"It's too much." It was soft. A confession. Something he didn't mean to say out loud, but was ripped from his throat all the same.

"What's too much, Johnny?" Ghost whispered back, his hand finding his knee and squeezing it gently. Both his and Kyle's hands pulling and pushing Soap into an ease that he hadn't had in quite awhile.

Johnny broke.

"My...my lass and I we're...she's draining me fuckin dry!"

Silence.

Not what they thought he would say...

"Your lass is-" Kyle couldn't even ask before Johnny threw his head back and sobbed.

"My fuckin dream is my nightmare, Kyle! Can you fuckin believe it? Fuckin right embarrassin, I'll tell you. She's the best. Sweet. Cooks. Cleans. Has hobbies. Never cries when I'm gone. Never upset when I leave at a moments notice. Just smiles, kisses me and wishes me well. God, Gaz, I'm in fuckin love with her. She's perfect. But...but..." Johnny shakes his head. Swallows thickly and breaths deeply.

"But?" Cap presses, his arms crossed against his chest, plans forming in his head.

"Fuckin insatiable, that one is. It was fine at first. Fun! Sex everyday. Multiple times a day. Wake up with my cock down her throat and go to sleep deep in her cunt. Keeps me warm all the time, Cap. Begs me to fuck her right in the arse at midnight. Eats my arse like she's mad at it. Fuckin heaven I tell you lot! But...but I'm so goddamn tired. I'm so sore from it all. And I don't ever want to tell her no, you know? She...she's my sweetheart. And she's been through some things and, not my place to tell, but I want to make her feel wanted. That's what she does to me. And I need to do the same. Just some days...it's hard." Johnny laughs, shaking his head at his outburst. "Fuck, here I am, whining and bitchin because I can't tell her no...fuck me. I gotta just, say it. Be honest. Be open. Let her know that I'm not just some machine. That I need some rest."

It's quiet. Conversations are happening without Johnny being involved.

Kyle readjusts in his chair.

"Insatiable thing, you say?" Johnny smiles brightly, nodding his head.

"Fuck yeah. Sweet thing, fuckin fooled me the first time. Went for hours before I finally passed out inside her, pinnin her down to the floor. How I found out she likes to go to sleep with a cock in her."

"Nasty little thing, huh, Johnny?" Ghosts asks, remembering what Soap said about her devilish tongue.

"Oh, LT. You wouldn't fuckin believe. Made me piss on her the second week I moved in. Had to convince her to let me do it in the shower. Kept trying to do on the bed. Fuckin feisty when she wants." Johnny couldn't help but squeeze his hardening cock, remembering vividly that night. Your smiles. Your mouth opening. Your giggles. You were a fuckin angel.

"Needs some good lovin, that right, Soap?" Price asked, leaning back in his chair, lighting up a cigar as Johnny smiles wide, hearts for eyes.

"Needs all the lovin, Cap. Can't take a compliment. Dishes em out like currency but refuses to acknowledge any back. Love holding her down and tellin her how perfect she is, how gorgeous she is. How she was made for me. She tries to hide her face. Wants to pull away, but I don't let her. Gotta make her see it, you know?" Price hums, filing it away for later.

Simon sits back in his chair, stretching his neck side to side. Thinking of things that he can't say quite yet.

"Can't tell her, Johnny." Johnny freezes at his words, his heart catching in his throat and his eyes widening.

"What you mean, LT? I thought...I mean-I-" Johnny stutters, thinking he made a big mistake. He shouldn't have said anything. Everything is ruined.

"He's right." Kyle says, now massaging both of his shoulders, trying to get Johnny to relax and accept what they were offering. "You need a break, mate. Need to relax. But your lass? Poor thing is neglected every time you're out and about. She waits every day for you to come home and make her feel good. Make her feel like she belongs. Bet she looks forward to you home more than she does waking up." Kyle waits, still working the knots out of Johnny's shoulders and letting it settle into his core. Kyle brushes his lips against Johnny's ear, letting him shiver at the closeness of his fellow sergeant. "You just need someone to help you out with her." Johnny's eyes bulge out, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"Might need more than just one person, from the sound of it." Cap has a grin on his face, predatory and exhilarating. Johnny's cocks his head, his thoughts running away from him as he takes in what his team is saying.

"Think you might need the whole team, Johnny." Simon's whispers, and it's settled.

Now...how to tell you.

[polif1]

ok so i'm obsessed with this au, where "max has a thing for girl!george, that happens to be alex's girlfriend" and i had to write more, so here is part 2.

thank you again anon for the ask! and to everyone else, im open for prompts and requests for almost any f1 ship ;)

Georgie.

That's what Alex calls her; Georgie.

The woman is 1,80cm tall, for the love of god – nothing is little about her. Not her legs or her ass or her huge fucking eyes or her insufferable temper.

She's always all up in Max's business telling him everything he's done wrong in a race or quali or, hell, even a practice. They bump into each other, and she barely says hi before saying; "You're breaking too soon on turn 9" or "You know that oversteering cost you at least half a second, right?" or even "Maybe you're just not as good anymore, maybe you only won because the car was dominant," and fuck, Max might be in love with her.

She's so- Fuck, she's infuriating. She's observant like hell and talks as if she could even begin to drive a Formula 1 car herself in her high heel stilettos. She talks to him as if they're long time friends or rivals or something in between and how the hell does Alex ever let this woman out of his sight?

It's not unheard of drivers stealing each other’s girlfriends; giving the media a field day about it while doing so. It's in fact common enough that it has happened to drivers on the current grid, and the one before that.

And Alex really thinks that no one is going to want his girl?

George Russel, the perfect woman, and no one's going to bat an eye?

If it were any other girl, Max would've give a pass – but George? Georgie?

God, she's unbearable, and Max needs her.

And it's sickening, watching Alex kiss her cheek softly and kiss her lips slow and steady, hands to her neck and hip but no actual intention behind it – when Max knows that George must like it rough. God, her splayed out on a bed, all open and pink and wet, wrists tied together above her head and legs trembling and her begging... Max would do that to her. Max would make her feel so good.

"You're okay, mate?" Lando says, breaking him out of his transe by snapping his fingers on Max's face.

"I'm good," Max forces out, downing the rest of his drink as if to make a point, "Why?"

Lando ignores his question, "What were you looking at?" he asks, looking around the general direcion Max had been staring.

Alex and George are still there, still dancing. Alex is whispering something in her ear and she is laughing and Max's hold turns firmer on his glass cup without him noticing.

Lando turns back to him after a beat; "You're still hung on that, mate? You know, they seem well together. Alex told me-"

"I really don't wanna know, Lando," Max says, too earnest. He's ordering another drink before he can think better of it, ignoring his friend's stare to his profile. "Relax, I'm not gonna do anything. Nothing she doesn't want to, anyway."

Lando stands there baffled for a second, right until Max turns to wink at him. "You're impossible," he announces, snatching the drink from Max's hand and rejoining the McLaren crew on the other side of the club.

Max orders another and drinks it as he watches George dancing with her back to Alex's front.

Their eyes meet as Alex kisses the back of her neck.

Max doesn't look away.

Neither does she.

<3 read part 1 here or click on #girl georgie au for more content for this au! :)

[batrogers]

My god can I even do this on some... I'll do half WIPs and half published I guess?

"The worst thing about Link, Zelda thought, was that he was still just as good in bed as he thought he was." -- Straight to the Heart of the Matter, a Bad End Links fanfic.

"Ganondorf’s crew netted the bastard and hauled him onto the deck, a bloody thrashing rod of muscle and violet scales." -- A Good Catch, a vaguely OoT GanLink Pirate/Mermaid AU. Rape/Non-con.

"Link was stuck yet again because all the other Heroes had so much equipment on them that needed regular maintenance while he was always ready to go." -- Indiscretions, Linked Universe Wind is impatient and too curious for his own good, take three.

"Green should've known this would happen." -- Turning Blue, a Linked Universe Doll % Run, in which Vaati possesses Four and nobody has a good time. Temporary MCD.

"Get me out of here alive." -- Getting Out Alive, a Linked Universe Fierce Deity fic. Rape/Non-con.

"Link felt like a fucking show pony at the ball." -- Untitled WIP, OoT ZeLink consensual-non-consent fic.

"Ganondorf was very sure nobody had struck him that day; he'd been doing horse work, in fact, and it had gone well." -- Untitled WIP, HW GanZeLink Rescue fic based off an @/ovegakart comic.

"Does anyone know this caller?" Twilight called across the Epona. "It's a Kingdom line, I think." -- Untitled WIP, fic for Linked Nexus LU AU by @/Zarvasace

"The irritating part of being planet-side in the middle of a bad fight was the collateral." -- Untitled WIP, related to above but a different scene.

"We hear the story of the Zonai from three places: Rauru’s spirit, the Chamberlain’s tablets and the memories, from Zelda, Mineru, and Ganondorf." -- A TOTK analysis I'm including to call myself out on finishing it at some point

Thanks for the @!! Open tags to whoever else wants to do this, I'm not bothering y'all LOL.

First Line Challenge

Share the first lines of ten of your latest fanfics (or up to if you have fewer) and tag ten people!

I was tagged by @miadearden @zeldaelmo and @amelias-calamity-quintet. I'm going with published fics on AO3 (except for one!) because you don't want to look into my drafts folder, I promise you. It's a nightmare in there...

Link stands on the streets of Central Hyrule staring up at the imposing building the locals call the Tower of the Gods. (Like the Fairy Tales - Modern TeLink for ZW, coming soon to AO3!)

Edward Elric once bonded his brother’s soul to a suit of armor. (A Battle of Wits and Wills, FMAB post-canon Dad!Ed)

Link’s eyes stung from dust motes floating in the air. (Broken Vessel, Twilight Princess post-canon, affectionately called my Bad Mood fic)

4. Sky is on dish duty again. (Chapter 6 of my LU Sprint Prompts from the discord server)

5. Unable to sleep, Zelda, dressed in a simple nightgown and stockinged feet with an old knit shawl around her shoulders, sat at the desk in her bedroom. (Sleepless Nights and Twilight Mornings, TP Zelink gift fic for @mistresslrigtar birthday! Hi friend!)

6. Legend stands on the edge of a mountain in an unfamiliar Hyrule and leans precariously forward to examine the incline. (Crash Landing, LU Legend whump for my internet pal @poposusz for her birthday!)

7. Zelda’s hands shake as she sits in the golden sands of the Gerudo Desert. (Honey Candy, botw Zelink for @miadearden Loftwing Letters earlier this year)

8. Already, the faint trails of smoke could be seen rising over the western walls of the castle. (Chapter 8 of my original legends fic On My Honor, which updates very slowly but does update!)

9. “I don’t get it,” Wind says, bouncing on his tiptoes at Legend’s shoulder. (Lucky to Love You, for the LU Legend/Fable fans out there. You're an awesome bunch)

10. The whole plane buzzes with static as the pilot speaks over the PA system. (Like the Holiday Films, modern TeLink holiday fic)

Thanks for inviting me to play, friends! I'll tag @poposusz @zolanort @waythroughtheice @sprite-and-the-bunnydragons @silvrash-797 @the-au-collector @mailrebel @mistresslrigtar @daemosdaen @fan-girls-r-us

No, pressure of course, and I'm sure some or all of you have been tagged before, so don't feel the need to do it again.

[mangled-by-disuse]

also i'm sorry but just as a heads-up: no matter how shit you're feeling or how shit your country feels

it is not a fair thing to be like "i'm either going to find a foreigner to sham-marry or kill myself" to a foreign, unmarried friend

i am not saying this to the person in question because i don't think they're kidding and also i don't think they were trying to put me on the spot, but. dude. maybe fucking don't.

[nebuladreamz]

A little different than last year's, but here we are again. To say that this past year hasn't been absolutely wild would be a lie, cause HOLY SHIT MAN

This year's birthday is. A little different for me, but you already have the silly comic to show that so I won't make like a broken record oops

But, despite the changes and hills that life's decided I should climb or throw at, it hasn't changed the fact that I'm so genuinely fucking thankful to the people that I've known since joining this fandom. I'm not even kidding when I say that being here has actually changed my life for the better. I know I said something similar last year, but this time, hoo boy it sure turned up the AMP and test how far I could go.

So, to everyone, both new and old; thank you for being here :D

@garbagechocolate @darkxsoulzyx @smoljeanius @bunmuffin @skizabaa

@tuzesdays @sleepykas @fernzwing @kandidandi @starsketchez

@just-a-drawing-bean @notdysfunk @ilsole @amberluvsbugs @cloudyvoid

@nomsthecat @alfinefalf @nosleepygay @theblog-with-thestuff

@cacaocheri

(Edit: ty kibbits for informing me of the. Fuck ass tagging system)

AND TAGGING OTHERS BECAUSE. POINTS. BONKS WITH HEAD. GETTING TO EITHER INTERACT OR TALK OR WHATEVER IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT

@ohno-the-sun @kibbits @ink-yy @saltyfryz @kaprisvn

@hierba-picante @sunny-sophies-garden @cookiiemancer @sneeblbop @justaduckarts

@pepethehumanz @crystalmagpie447 @woolysstuff @mocha-illustrates @duhsty1

@sanchensky @pillowspace @victarin @witherfide

[I DEFINITELY GOT SONAS WRONG AND THESE AREN'T ALL THE SILLY PEOPLE I KNOW BUT IM SITTING HERE AT 2:30 IN THE MORNING JUST KNOW YOU'RE THERE IN SPIRIT HANDING YOU ALL POPTARTS WAUGH]

[b4kuch1n]

siren

[impulsivedecisionsat3am]

this could've been me missing school (but instead i feel like garbage over winter break)

[fridayyy-13th]

wow. not even a week into college and i'm already behind on work. fucking lovely.

[exopelagic]

okay I’m going insane I need to fix my sleep schedule now

[tonycries]

So Lonely In My Mansion!

Synopsis. When he’s sorry, what better way to show you than in bed?

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

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, apology séx, spítting, bodyworshíp, stuff with pantíes, bréeding, chokíng, cúmplay, Nanami and Geto are a bit mean, squírting, thígh séx, Gojo’s blindfold, overstím, oral (female receiving), pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. Hope y’all are having a lovely day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Too full!

Now, Toji knows he’ll more than make up for forgetting to join your lil’ shopping spree anyway. Ten times over, in fact, with the way he has you on all fours, tears rolling down your cheeks, pretty lil’ moans muffled into your pillow. 

Stuffing your poor cunt full over and over and-

“Is my pretty baby still mad?” he’s dragging his lips down your neck, throbbing cock ramming into you from behind. Bruising - like he was the one angry here. “Still fuckin’ pouty?”

Too needy, too delirious. It’s all you can do to grit out a determined, “Y-yes…” Your breathless gasps only make his smirk widen, hips stuttering as they get sloppier.

“Aww, what a shame.” Toji coos, angling his head just right to catch the heavenly sight of your poor overfilled pussy, all dripping and painted white with his cum. Eyes lighting up at how you gush around him with each thrust. “Guess I jus’ have to give you another one then, hm?”

“A-another?”

And God, Toji doesn’t even know if he can cum again - vision spotty now, jolts of electricity running down his spine each time he plunges into your snug pussy. 

But the way you’re immediately scrambling to hold onto the headboard - the sheets - just anything to hold onto some semblance of sanity has Toji wanting to more than ever. So painfully good as he desperately speeds up. He needs to - and fuck if he wasn’t going to try - because you’re only getting wetter at his words. 

“Fuck- squeezin’ me s’fucking tight.” he groans, pushing your skirt up higher, not having the patience to even think of taking that damn thing off. “Ya like this, huh? Like me f-filling you up until m’sorry?”

You can only give him such a delirious little nod, one that Toji doesn’t even know if you realize you’re giving. One that has him needing to show you how sorry he is by filling you up so much you can’t even think about how he forgot to accompany you on your lil’ shopping spree. To fuck you so hard into the mattress that you can’t remember anything else but him-

“Toji!” you keen, as he snakes down his strong arms push your legs further apart to show off. Burning at the stretch of how he was handling you like his favorite ragdoll. “What-”

“Said m- ngh- sorry.” he interrupts abruptly, voice so ragged that it takes you a second to even recognize it as your boyfriend. “See.”

And how could you not? 

You were awe-struck at that creamy ring around the base of his swollen cock. The way your gummy walls were sucking him up so easily, fucking back bruisingly into him. 

“See how sorry I am?” One hand tightens on your hips, the other snaking up to press down on your lower stomach. Hard. “See?” Both your jaws fall open at the way your ravaged pussy just coats Toji’s cock in such an obscene white mess. “Sorry, doll, shoulda been there for you.”

“Oh- fuck, s’too much.” And maybe you’re stubborn, maybe you just don’t know what’s good for you - because despite it all you manage to choke out, “N’ you don’t ah- mean it.”

Eyes raising to meet his and oh- oh, you weren’t making it out alive. 

“I do.” Toji drops his head into your neck, running his mouth. Rolling his thumb against your achingly clit as if to prove his point, “Next time m’gonna hah- watch you try on all those pretty outfits.” Hips rocking forward to slam into your sloppy pussy faster and faster. “Kiss you s-senseless in front of any fuckin’ scrubs that thought they had a ngh- chance.”

Movements only growing more erratic - more feral - with each broken little whine that’s fucked out of you. Like he knew he was so close to breaking you. Ruining you. 

Just the thought of it has Toji slamming his dick into you further, mentally cursing himself for forgetting your little invitation today. 

“And this lil’ thing?” he bunches up the flimsy fabric of your skirt. “And those-” nodding his head towards the stacks of shopping bags you barely got to look over before a sorry Toji had you shoved onto the bed. “I would’ve taken em’ all off as soon as I was in that changing stall.”

“I-I get it.” you finally break. Squealing at the hips hitting yours harder, his heavy balls squeezing so painfully. “I get it ngh- I get it-”

“Heh, nah- gotta show you how s-sorry I really am.”

You have an inkling of what he was implying - something that didn’t bode well for your abused cunt, if the way Toji’s cock was twitching wildly inside you was anything to go by. Not a moment wasted before Toji’s pushing your knees up all the way until they were at your tits. A sure sign that he was close. Looking like he was in such delicious agony as he taunted you into asking. 

“H-how?” 

“By fuckin’ you in all of that.” Head tilting at the bags upon bags from earlier today, “Then we’re goin’ shopping all over again.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Squirt if you’re sorry

“Keep your legs open f’me.”

But it was so hard when Nanami already had you spread so shamefully in front of that obscene mirror, placed oh-so conveniently right in front of the plush hotel bed. Sat so prettily on his lap, your back against his hard front, being split-apart on his throbbing cock. 

Any more and you think you might just die. 

“Is that so?” he whispers hotly in your ear and- “Think this is too much?”

Oh, shit, did you say that out loud?

But right now you were too delirious - to fucked-out - to even think of forming a coherent response to that, let alone be embarrassed about your little slip-up. Running solely on the aftershocks of your nth orgasm and the feeling of Nanami’s thumb drawing steady, slow little circles on your sensitive clit. 

“Get it together now, my love.” your husband seems to decide that your broken whine speak for themselves. Placing such a mockingly gentle kiss on your forehead, “M’still not even halfway through my apology.”

Ah, yes, the apology - the sole thing that got you into this entire mess. That one off-hand joke that Nanami should apologize for being 7 minutes late for your date - the one that had you shoved into the nearest suite, while he ‘apologizes’ to you over and over and-

“Now now, darling.” Nanami squishes your cheeks together into a pathetic pout, forcing you to look up at the mirror. “Look at me when I apologize.”

Several things happen at once - your eyes just barely make contact with Nanami’s darkened, dangerous ones in the mirror, and then it’s like something snapped. Because he’s thrusting up deeper into your snug cunt, drinking in all your pretty gasps as he starts up at another relentless, sloppy pace. 

Not even fucking easing you into it because you wanted an apology, right? And Nanami was sure going to give you one - fuck you like he’s sorry.

“M’sorry!” you keen, bucking wildly into Nanami’s touch. Cock so hot and heavy in-between your swollen folds - still not having came even once yet. ��Was- was a joke- I can’t oh- my god.”

He knows - oh, how he knows. But it’s just so fun to tease you this way, and Nanami’s not sorry about that one bit. 

So he only lets out a huffed laugh. “Why are you sorry, my love?” Shifting his hips to massage all the right spots that’ll have you breathless and seeing stars. Hitting that one magical spot over and over. “I was the one that’s late.”

And God, you could just cry. You are - big, fat tears streaming down your face, dripping down Nanami’s wrist where he was holding your lolling head steady - but, of course, you’re too far gone to even realize at this point.

“Shhhh, lemme take care of you,” Nanami rocks his hips impossibly harder into yours, eyes on the mirror just devouring you almost as much as he was ruining you with his dick. Watching all your adorable gasps, the way you twitch, how your mouth drops into a soft oh! as he licks a slow stripe up your tears. Dangerous. “Lemme show you how sorry I am.”

And he does, cooing at how your eyes widen when he angles your head to show you the fucking sinful view down below. 

It was so hard to look too, how your snug cunt was trying to suck the soul out of him. Sloppy - making such a mess of the crisp sheets below. Quivering like you didn’t know whether you wanted to run away or to sink down for more more more-

You’re jolting in his bruising grasp, “Hngh- m’- fuck fuck fuck. Yes, oh my god- Ken-”

“Yeah? Ya like this?” He’s fucking you back rougher into him, merciless. Absolutely fucking merciless - and Nanami was only glad he thought to choose a sound-proof suite. “Think m’sorry yet?” Biting down on your neck, hard. “Because I’m sooo fucking sorry, my love.”

He lets out a cruel chuckle, one hand groping down your breasts - your hips - your thighs. Pulling them even further apart like he wanted to break you. 

Because Nanami wasn’t fucking sorry, why would he be? But oh how he loved teasing you. Acting all pissed off while he threw you around like his favorite toy, giving you a bit of your own medicine. How sexy you were when he did. 

“M’sorry.” he breathes against your ear, nibbling on your lobe. “M’sorry m’sorry m’sorry- Next time I’ll be hah- early-” Pooling the fresh wave of your salty tears on his tongue as he toys with your pretty clit. “N’ next time m’gonna make you squirt the first time-”

“Shit- Ken, m’cumming m’cumming-”

Almost like your body is listening to Nanami, you’re squirting all over his achingly hard cock. Absolutely drenching him in all your sweet sweet juices till he was glistening in the dim lighting. Some specks even landing on the mirror in front of you. 

And shit you’re out of control now, limbs trembling, such sinful moans leaving your swollen lips. Loud. Uncontrollable. Nanami’s next words barely audible over them-

“Your turn now.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Nice (and sorry)

“S-so mean-” It’s the only thing you can gasp out, “Y-you’re still not forgiven-” 

Oh, Geto knows. And he doesn’t really feel bad about using his apology to his advantage - not one bit, actually. You won’t hear a word of apology from his sly mouth, instead, he’s got you straddling his pretty lips, breathless and shaking above him. 

“Even when m’being nicer than usual?~” he hums into your clothed pussy, nose-deep and breathing in your essence so fucking sinfully. “Ya sure about that?”

Disgruntled, “What- ngh- what do you mean?” 

“Oh just that-” He licks a long, purposeful stripe up your drenched panties, adding to the mess of your juices beading through the fabric. And God it takes everything in Geto to not just rip off that flimsy underwear and tonguefuck you like he wanted to. “You’re being so loud. Sure you’re still mad?”

You hated it - how he was peeking up at you with those hooded eyes, pupils blown. Hated that predatory glint in them that sends shockwaves right down to your very core. Hated how he was right.

“Th-that doesn’t hah- mean anything.” you scoff, and the excuse sounds flimsy even to you. The way you were grinding down deeper onto his tongue certainly not helping your case either. 

And oh of course Geto pulls away at that, obscene little slicks of string snapping from his tongue and your wet core, your disappointed whine going straight to his rock-hard cock. What was it you were saying earlier? Something about him being too much of a tease? Well, you were about to eat your words before Geto Suguru offered you an apology. 

“Yeah,” he let his tongue dart out, letting your slick pool through your panties and onto his tongue. “N’ this doesn’t mean anything either, huh?”

No warning before he’s surging forward, tongue pushing through your panties to just barely tease your sloppy entrance.

You can only grip at Geto’s long, inky locks - trying your very best to not look like you’re absolutely on cloud nine as he alternates between toying with that first ring of resistance and sucking on your clit. All through your panties.

“Now now,” a hand on your hip stops you from all but ripping your panties off your hips - something that Geto would’ve already done by now, usually. “Keep ‘em on.”

It’s like he’s trying to drive you mad - wants to drive you mad. Torturing you slowly with that soft tongue and that smirk you can feel against your dripping cunt. As if to say - you really think he was a tease before? You haven’t seen the least of it. 

“S’fuckin’ sloppy f’me even through these slutty panties.” he grunts, lips smacking against your swollen ones. “Don’ lie - you like this, huh? Like what a tease I am? Acting so tough when m’so sorry?”

Okay, maybe Geto lied - so what if he said he’s sorry? It was all worth it at how you get so wetter, slick just glistening all over his lips and chin. Walls clenching around nothing - because might’ve said sorry, but oh is he still as petty as ever.

“N-no-” you whimper, and both of you know it’s a lie. Close - you were so close. 

Too close, if you asked Geto.

Smack!

A quick, sharp sting on your ass - just a little reminder that this is Geto. Your Geto. And it’s so torturous - so addictive - when he immediately shifts them ever-so-slightly. Wasting no time before lapping at your juices. Just loving the way your jaw drops open in disbelief as he throws his head back to let it slide down, down, down his throat.

“My girl is such a liar.” Grinning at the way you jolt on top of him with each teasing lick at your quivering hole, dragging your slopppy pussy all over his face. “S’fuckin’ wet and you still think you’re mad? And I’m being so-” Rolling his tongue against your clit. Hard. “-nice, too.” 

He was not - he knew it. In fact, he was probably being meaner than usual. Mean with the way he thinks your fucked-out head shake speaks enough. 

Of course, you still have to run your mouth when you’re being absolutely ruined by him. Whining out an unconvincing. “M’still- m-mad.” - even when you’re deliriously riding his pretty mouth.

Without a word, Geto snaps back your useless panties back in place. One hand on your hip, easily lifting you off his face - letting you fall back prettily onto his lap as he gets up. Weeping tip just nudging your dripping entrance as he reaches behind to tie back his long hair.

And you’re so disappointed at how you were so close, that you almost miss the words that spill from his mouth next.

“Then, will you still be mad if I fuck you just as nicely?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Ruined panties?!

“Please baby, let me put it in. Please?” 

God, how badly you wanted to just break and give your needy boyfriend exactly what he wants - to let him fuck you how he wanted. But, no, he’d just ruined your favorite pair of underwear and you were not going to let him off so easily again. 

“Fuck- Cho.” you huff, fighting to keep your voice steady. “If y’wanna get off to my panties so bad, then ngh- just use that.”

“But, baby. M’sorry.” Choso’s head drops to the crook of your neck, abs rubbing up against your back so sinfully from where he was all pressed up. “I’ll be good this time. So good.” Hands groping underneath your t-shirt, throbbing erection grinding against your absolutely drenched panties. From Choso’s precum or your own slick? You have no idea. “Please?”

And he’s so desperate that Choso probably doesn’t even realize the way he’s sliding his soaked cock between your swollen folds. Fucking his hips forwards languidly, hissing at how dripping wet you already were.

“T-this is being ‘good’?” you gasp at the feeling of his dick, so hot and heavy where you needed him the most. And it’s such a sinful little sound that he immediately snakes a hand down to toy with your throbbing clit - wanting, needing more of it. 

“Yes.” nibbling down your neck. It’s like a dam has been broken with each cute little whine escaping your throat. “Yes yes yes yes- Wan’ this so bad. Please.” 

Your angry facade is crumbling away bit by bit - and both of you know it. Especially when Choso cranes his head until it’s mere inches away from yours. Dark strands of hair tickle your face as he catches your lips in such a searing kiss.

“Oh god.” he groans into your lips, hips stuttering forward in-between your thighs. Precum smearing everywhere and adding to the mess already down below. “Yeah- kiss me properly, baby. I deserve at least that, hm?”

A resounding rip! of fabric sounds down from below. And you don’t know what you break the kiss to say - to tease him some more? Beg him to just fuck you the way you know he wants? 

But it doesn’t matter, because as soon as Choso feels your lips leaving his, he’s chasing after them again with a pained grunt. Licking so sloppily at the seam of your lips, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you deeper onto his cock.

“No- no no no, kiss me.” You can feel his prominent veins rubbing up against you, throbbing in a lewd little thump! thump! thump! as his hips get more calculated. Purposeful. “M’sorry m’sorry, Kiss me ngh- kiss me- need it. Need you-”

And God you should’ve known that Choso wouldn’t be acting this good for so long. 

No sooner are you grinding back down on him in shallow, mindless little motions - he’s pulling your panties to the side just enough for his weeping tip to drag lazily against your folds. 

“Fuck- please, baby.” He sounds so wrecked already - and looks like it just as much. Skin flushed, eyes hazy and miles away, kiss-bitten lips letting out such sinful little moans that you just know he’ll be embarrassed about later. “M’sorry.”

Panties completely soiled with precum and slick, absolutely ruined in just the way you’d been telling off Choso for not too long ago. Nothing but a slightly tattered, dripping wet mess. What a shame.

What a shame you couldn’t care less.

Scoffing, “F-fine.” But it comes out a bit more breathless than you intended - because Choso’s desperation was contagious. Hands everywhere, chest heaving, fat head pulsing right below your sloppy entrance. “Only this time m’ngh- l-letting you off easy.”

You know it won’t be the last time - and your boyfriend does, too. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second. The sentence barely leaving your mouth before Choso’s sinking into your heavenly pussy inch by fucking inch. Brows scrunching together at the way you were sucking the soul out of him, neat fingernails on your hips as he holds you still. 

“G-god- so fucking- good. So tight-” he hisses lowly, thrusting in shallow, mindless little movements just to squeeze inside your walls. “Ah- feel so much better than any panties.” 

“S-so needy, Cho-”

“I know, m’sorry, m’sorry. Hah-” So fucking massive that it feels like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. The stretch too sinful, your panties too soaked, breath too hot against your ear as he whispers.“F-fuck- Now, be good f’me, hm?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - “No more tears.”

“Shut up.” you flinch as he spits on your cunt once. Twice. Feeling like such a fucking toy as he smears it with the mess of your sweet juices down below. “How dare you use those evil, evil tears.”

Why would the great Ryomen Sukuna ever apologize? Why would he ever have you sat on his throne, big arms spreading your legs so sinfully in front of him? Just ravaging your poor abused cunt with his swollen cock. The complete opposite of his image as the merciless king of curses. 

Well, that’s exactly what was happening. And it turns out that only a few tears and a single huff of him “not spending enough time” with you today was all it took - to have him bowing down to you. 

And all you can do is let out a broken, “I-I didn’t.” 

And that only seems to spur Sukuna further, like he was angry more than anything. Angry at you for being so cute and pouty when you’re mad. Angry at himself for letting his pretty lil’ human get this way. Spoiled, so spoiled. 

“Liar.”  he grunts, spreading your swollen folds further apart with his index - just circling your sloppy hole. “The only time you’re s’pposed to be cryin’ is on my fingers. And-” he slides his angry, weeping tip down your cunt in a long, wet movement. Up and down. Up and down. Smirking at how you’re bucking and pleading under his touch. “-my cock.”

As if to prove his point, Sukuna’s dipping his cock past that first feeble ring of resistance - difficult, with how you’re clenching around him so sinfully as if you’re trying to milk him already.

“Yeah, jus’ like that.” he groans, thumb rubbing obscene little circles on your poor clit. “Suckin’ me up so good. Do y’get sluttier when you’re mad? When you’re makin’ me apologise?”

“Ngh- sh-shut up.”

And oh for how suave Sukuna’s acting, he can’t deny the way his heart squeezes so dangerously at the way you’re letting out delirious little moans. Fucking you so completely dumb. 

And he was barely halfway in still.

Legs spreading obscenely wider, clawing onto the chair - his wrist - his shoulders, just anything to help drag your sloppy pussy all over his toned pelvis. To fuck him deeper. 

“Heh, cryin’ like you want me to be like this.” He’s rocking his hips in jagged, shallow thrusts that have you letting out such teary moans. “Want me to fuckin’ apologise?” Hard enough that you know it’ll leave marks - his heavy balls on your ass, fingers on your clit, hands spreading your calves. “Well m’sorry, see? M’so so sorry, brat.”

You gasp, “S-so mean, Kuna- hngh-

Yet he sounds anything but. Tone way too fucking delighted at the prospect of having you crying on his thick cock than over some stupid little argument. 

And fuck, Sukuna should tease you about how fucking wet you are, how you’re grinding your hips down on him like such a slut. So sloppy all over the expensive throne - gonna be a hell of a job for whoever cleans this. 

But, ah, those pretty lil’ tears welling up in your eyes will surely be the death of him. Or maybe the death of you.

“Now now,” he can’t help but huff out a dark chuckle at your disappointed whine as he pulls his fingers away from your throbbing clit. Biting back a deep groan at how glossy they were, just drenched in all of you. “No more cryin’. Told ya I’m sorry, didn’t I?”

And Sukuna meant it.

Because, immediately, he’s shoving two fingers into your mouth. All the blood in his body just rushing to his cock at how filthily you were gagging at the intrusion. 

At the same time, reeling his hips back to let himself fuck your tight pussy to the hilt. Rolling his hips forward, all the way until his fat head just kissed your cervix - nothing at all like the almost-gentle little grinds from before. 

Eyes widening when he presses right at the back of your throat - exactly where he knew would draw out the prettiest noises from you. Like he was pushing all the way into your lungs. To the back of your throat. Too much. 

You’re just as shocked as Sukuna when you cum from just this. Pathetic little moans muffled and slurring together. Jolts of white-hot pleasure going all the way from his fingers in your mouth to your sloppy cunt, fluttering so obscenely around his cock.

God, you were perfect. 

“Oh?” he’s chuckling over your delirious little blubbers, “Well, whaddaya know. M’gonna have to get you to give me more of those tears, brat.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Show you!

When the bouquets and the expensive chocolates don’t work, what else is Gojo to do other than let you tie him up with his blindfold and ride him to insanity? Both a punishment to himself and an apology, of course.

“Sweetheart- fuck!” Gojo groans, hips bucking up to shove his swollen cock deeper into your sloppy pussy. “You’re killin’ me, shit shit shit-”

Nevermind that he doesn’t think he’s ever been harder at the sinful sight of you bouncing on his aching cock above him. 

“Sh-shut up, ngh- Toru.” you gasp, hands trembling on his sculpted chest as you claw for some sense of stability. Cunt so wet and dripping all the way down his thick cock as you fuck yourself on him like some toy. “T-talkin’ too fuckin’ much.”

Oh. how he wanted to ruin you like he could. 

And he’s letting out such a guttural whine, feet planting on the plush mattress to rock you harder - deeper - down his dick.“But, my girl~” Tugging on the blindfold, acting like it did anything to restrain him. “You’re being so hah- mean.”

“And why’s that?” you scoff, undeterred by those long lashes batting innocently up at you. “You’re still- fuck- still not forgiven f-for crashing my hngh- girls night out, Toru.” 

“Still?”

“Still.”

Oh. Well, Gojo might as well just speed up this apology process before he loses his patience - and his sanity. Steadily dwindling away each time you slam your sloppy pussy down on him, with each trail of slick and precum smearing along his pelvis. 

And it’s so easy, too. 

RIP! 

Feeling like he’ll fucking explode, half-lucid mind barely even registering the way he easily tears through that flimsy blindfold, the fabric absolutely nothing against the way Gojo is running on pure need and the thought of you you you-

You can only squeal as his fingers immediately find your waist, gripping so hard you wondered whether it would bruise. “Toru- didn’t you say m- ngh- t-takin’ control?” 

“Change of plans.” Is all Gojo grunts out. Lifting your hips so effortlessly up, up, up - only to ram you down on his rock-hard cock with no warning. Filling you up completely - no more of those teasing little grinds and shallow thrusts you were torturing him with. No, Gojo Satoru was well and fully intent on fucking his apology into you. And he says so, of course. “F-fuck m’sorry. Gonna fuck it into this pretty ngh- cunt. M’sorry.”

“Oh- You’re so deep, Toru- hngh.” you whine, fully letting your boyfriend rock his hips up into yours like his favorite sextoy. “C-can feel you deep inside here-”

And oh Gojo thinks he could cum right then and there as you trail down a hand to press on your stomach, right where his weeping tip was massaging all your sweet spots. Stretching you out so sinfully. 

“You little minx.” he huffs out a disbelieving laugh, eyes narrowing at your obscenely fucked-out state. “Now m’not sorry.” 

“W-wha-” He shuts you up with a quick circle on your pulsing clit, toying with the sensitive nub as he runs his mouth instead. 

“M’not sorry I crashed that hah- lil’ hangout.” Hips so harsh against yours, forcing you to feel every dip and curve of Gojo’s muscled body. “Not sorry I ngh- fuck introduced myself to that fuckin’ loser of a waiter that was ah- eyeing you up. Not sorry that I get to fuck you like this afterward.”

And it’s true - Gojo didn’t sound the least bit remorseful about anything he did. Confidence only growing more and more with each pathetic little moan that leaves your swollen lips in agreement. 

You’re shaking on top of him, the stimulation too much. “Shit- you’re such a smug- bastard, Toru.”

“Don’ act like y-you don’t like this, sweetheart.” he pulls your head down to catch your lips with his. Barely - just a mess of teeth and saliva and words he’s hissing out, “Jus like you’re -fuck fuck fuck s’too good- acting to be mad with me.” Each word punctuated with a harsh, sloppy jab of his hips that have the breath leaving your lungs. “Mad with how ngh- you’ve got the s-strongest groveling at your fuck- feet.” Movements getting faster. Deeper. “M’forgiven r-right?”

Your voice strained as you whisper against his lips, “Kiss me properly, Toru.”

And he is - kissing you like he’s so sorry as the both of you reach your highs. Stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Your gummy walls milking the fucking soul out of Gojo as he cums in thick, hot spurts. Painting your walls a lewd little white that trickles down you shaking thighs. Over and over and-

So, so sloppy. Arms looping around your waist to hold your hips still. Muffling his deep moans into your mouth as his hips slow down only ever-so-slightly, pumping you full of his seed. And it’s almost…sweet.

If only it hadn’t been for the words that leave him as soon as he parts, of course. 

“Hey, now that we had apology sex, can we have regular sex, too?”

“...”

A/N. PSA don’t work out relationship stuff like this hehe.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[barnesonly]

Obsession

possessive!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You don’t even really like Bucky Barnes — he’s grumpy, kinda mean, and totally clueless about how you feel. But damn, he’s so hot it’s driving you crazy. Every time he walks in, all you can think about is what it’d be like if he just took you right there. You try to play it cool… but yeah, that’s not happening.

word count: 6021

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, masturbation, dirty talk, degrading, praising, desperation, fingering, teasing, PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex and he talks through it, breeding, overstimulation, oral (m receiving), possessive behavior.

A/N: i’m horny, okay?…

You don’t have a crush on Bucky Barnes.

That would imply affection. Admiration. Maybe even a little emotional investment.

You don’t have any of that.

What you do have is a deeply inconvenient, soul-destroying case of lust. A constant, throbbing ache between your legs every time he walks past. A full-body reaction to the way he stretches, or leans on the counter, or wears those fucking grey sweatpants like a goddamn weapon.

It’s chemical. It’s hormonal. It’s not personal.

Because Bucky Barnes is grumpy. Bucky Barnes is quiet. And Bucky Barnes has absolutely no idea that he’s the reason you can’t go three days without needing to fuck yourself stupid.

Like right now.

He’s just standing there in the kitchen, back to you, broad shoulders stretching that worn black Henley like it’s a second skin. His hair’s short now, freshly trimmed at the nape, the kind of cut that shows off the sharp line of his jaw, the back of his neck.

You’re staring. Again.

You don’t mean to. But he makes a little grunt when he stretches — just a tired noise, nothing sexual — and you nearly whimper like a kicked dog. Instinct. Pavlovian response.

And he doesn’t notice. Not even a flicker of awareness as he pours his coffee and walks out, oblivious, muttering something about the mission report.

You just stand there, holding a spoon, clenched thighs and flushed cheeks like you’ve just been fucked by the idea of him.

It’s getting worse.

Like, medically worse.

You’ve gone from horny to feral to clinically unwell, and it’s all because of one man.

One grumpy, emotionally constipated, vein-poppingly hot man who can’t say a sentence without sounding mildly irritated. Who barely even looks at you unless you’re in the way. Who definitely doesn’t like you — and yet somehow owns your nervous system like a fucking landlord.

And it’s not fair.

Because he’s not even nice to you.

He’s short with you in meetings. Scoffs when you crack jokes. Gives you that look when you say something mildly reckless on a mission — like you’re exhausting. Like you’re annoying.

But then he’ll do something that ruins you completely. Like grunt your name low and gravelly when tossing you your gear. Or casually push you out of the line of fire with one big, rough hand and say, “Watch it, sweetheart,” like you’re some dainty little thing.

You pace your room that night, ranting to no one.

“I don’t even like him,” you mutter, folding laundry with violent purpose. “He’s so rude. He never smiles. Doesn’t talk to anyone unless he has to.”

Your shirt gets yanked onto a hanger too hard. You nearly snap it.

“And he doesn’t even like me. Not even a little. I’m just some girl who laughs too loud and gets in his way and—oh my god, I would let him ruin me.”

That’s probably the most honest thing you said all week. You’d let him manhandle you. Throw you over his shoulder. Rail you into the mattress like a war crime. That arm? The metal one? You’ve thought about it. God, you’ve thought about it so much it’s starting to feel like a sin.

You can’t help it.

You collapse onto your bed, still in your T-shirt and underwear, legs kicking uselessly against the sheets. Your body is hot — too hot. Your skin prickles, stomach twisting tight with the sheer need of it.

You shouldn’t do it.

But fuck it — you do.

Your hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties like second nature, no hesitation. You’re already soaked — of course you are. One fucking grunt from Bucky in the kitchen and you’ve been like this all day, wound tight and throbbing.

Your fingers slide through the slick heat of your folds, and your hips twitch. You let out a soft, breathless whimper, biting your lip like it’ll help.

It doesn’t.

He’s all you can think about.

Bucky, with that low rasp of a voice. Bucky, sweat-slicked and panting, muscles straining above you. Bucky, staring down at you like you’re a mess he likes making.

You rub lazy circles around your clit, teasing yourself, letting it build slow. Letting the images crawl behind your eyes:

His hands gripping your thighs, spreading them open.

That cold metal arm wrapped around your throat, holding you in place while he pounds into you, relentless and filthy.

His voice in your ear, rough and possessive —“You been thinkin’ about this, sweetheart? Been touching yourself like a needy little thing?”

Your fingers move faster.

You arch into the mattress, breath stuttering, hips chasing the pressure. Your other hand slides up under your shirt, finds your breast and squeezes hard, tugging at your nipple.

“Fuck,” you whisper, squirming, already so close it’s pathetic.

You imagine his hand — that hand — between your legs. Imagine him shoving your panties to the side with those cool, precise fingers and just… watching you squirm. Watching you come undone with that unreadable expression of his, like he’s filing it away for later.

You imagine him making you come like this. Telling you you’re not allowed to stop. That you’re gonna do it again, and again, until you’re crying.

Your thighs start to shake.

You gasp, pressing harder, grinding down. Your toes curl, muscles tensing, pleasure tearing through you like lightning — sharp, wet, overwhelming.

You come hard, moaning into your pillow, breathless and ruined, hand still trembling between your thighs.

And then?

You lie there. Sticky. Hot. Unsatisfied.

Because no matter how many times you make yourself come, it’s never enough.

Not when it’s him you want.

Not when it’s Bucky fucking Barnes.

———

You’re minding your business. Truly. Peacefully. Drinking your stupid little smoothie, scrolling through intel reports on your tablet, trying so hard not to think about last night and the shame spiral that followed.

You’re in the common room, feet tucked under you, hair up, living a clean and quiet life.

The front door hisses open. Voices filter in—Sam laughing, Nat muttering something dry, Steve’s boots heavy on the floor.

And him.

Bucky.

You don’t look up at first. You don’t need to. You can feel him. Like some sixth sense activated just by his presence, like the air itself is different when he walks into it.

But then you do look up and you regret it immediately.

He’s just back from the field. Tactical gear still clinging to him, black shirt soaked through with sweat in that way that makes it stick to every hard line of muscle underneath. The sleeves are tight around his biceps—dangerously tight—making it look like the fabric’s seconds from giving out under the strain of his arms.

His hair’s damp, just messy enough to be criminal, a few strands sticking to his forehead. Dog tags resting against his chest. Black cargo pants slung low on his hips, clinging to his thighs like they were custom-made by someone with your exact problem.

He’s flushed from exertion, a little dirty, jaw tight like he’s still coming down from combat.

And he doesn’t notice you. He just walks past, arm flexing as he drags his glove off with his teeth.

You actually—physically—have to grip the edge of the couch.

You squeeze your thighs together so tight your eyes almost roll back. Your smoothie is sweating in your hand, condensation dripping onto your leg, and it’s the least of your problems right now.

Because that man?

That man could rail you into next week with the anger he carries in his shoulders alone. You’d let him wreck you in the debriefing room, up against the wall, still wearing that gear and not saying a word.

You’d tear those tactical pants off with your teeth.

And he just keeps walking. Oblivious. Like he’s not singlehandedly dragging you through the gates of horny hell.

“God,” you mutter under your breath, heart hammering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He pauses for half a second like he might’ve heard you. Glances over his shoulder—just once.

And then he’s gone, down the hall.

You stare at the door for a long time, smoothie forgotten, thighs still clenched like your life depends on it.

You need help. You need prayer. Exorcism. A cold shower.

Or maybe you just need him to ruin your entire existence.

You barely make it back to your room.

Your legs are shaking. Your mind’s a blur. All you can see is him—sweaty, panting, muscles strained beneath that black t-shirt. His arm flexing, the curve of his jaw, those goddamn tactical pants hugging every inch of thigh like a threat.

You lock the door behind you with trembling fingers.

You don’t even bother taking your clothes off properly—just shove your hand down your shorts as you collapse back onto your bed, legs spread, head spinning.

He looked so good.

Your fingers slide through your folds, already wet, your body acting like it’s been starving for him. Like it’s been waiting all day, all year, for a glimpse of that man so it can break down on command.

You rub your clit in tight, needy circles, moaning quietly.

Your eyes flutter shut.

You picture him over you, sweaty and still in gear, that black shirt pushed up just enough to show the cut of his stomach. You imagine his voice, low and rough, right next to your ear—“Couldn’t even wait, huh? Needed me that bad?”

Your hips buck, thighs shaking, pleasure building fast and desperate.

“Fuck—Bucky,” you gasp, breath catching.

You don’t hear the quiet footfalls in the hall.

Don’t hear the door next to yours click shut.

Don’t know he’s just gotten back to his room.

But he hears you.

Bucky stops with one boot halfway unlaced.

He frowns—still half in mission mode—until he hears it again: a faint whimper through the wall. A soft gasp. Then—his name. Muffled. Almost whispered.

His blood goes still.

He steps closer to the wall, heart suddenly pounding, every nerve pulled tight.

Another moan. Higher this time. Desperate.

He can hear the rhythm now—quiet, wet sounds, a bed creaking slightly with every movement. You’re touching yourself. Saying his name. Whimpering like it’s been torturing you.

His mouth goes dry. Something low in his stomach twists.

He shouldn’t listen.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe.

You don’t know he’s there—don’t know you’ve already ruined him. That he’s standing on the other side of the wall, jaw clenched, cock straining against his pants, while you moan into your pillow and come with his name on your lips.

———

The next day, you tell yourself you’re fine.

You look fine. You act fine. You sit in the common area with your laptop open and a mug in your hands like a picture of peace. The night before? Never happened. The hand between your thighs? The breathy moans into your pillow? The orgasm that left you limp and half-ashamed?

A delusion. A private, pathetic delusion.

Until he walks in.

And your entire body remembers.

Bucky enters like it’s nothing. Like he’s nothing. Joggers low on his hips, black T-shirt riding up in the back, hair damp from a shower and curling just slightly around his ears.

You look up instinctively.

And he looks right at you.

Your breath catches. Your stomach drops. He holds your gaze for half a second—half a second too long—then nods, casual as ever, and heads to the kitchen.

No hello. No smirk. Nothing to suggest he heard the way you moaned his name with your fingers stuffed between your thighs like you were starving for him.

He doesn’t say a word.

You try to refocus, try to look at your screen and breathe, but your eyes keep flicking back.

He’s moving around the kitchen now, calm, quiet, efficient. Forearms flexing with every movement. The joggers cling when he crouches to grab something from a low cabinet, and your mouth actually goes dry.

Your thighs squeeze together.

He knows.

He has to know.

But he’s pretending like he doesn’t, and it’s driving you fucking insane.

You don’t even want to like him. He’s grumpy and rude and dismissive. He doesn’t flirt. He barely talks. He exists like a thundercloud with muscles and you still want to cry from how badly you want him.

And now he knows.

Now you’ve moaned his name with a hand between your legs, and he’s seen you since and said nothing.

You want to crawl into the floor.

You want to jump him.

You want him to ruin you until you can’t even say your own name.

He walks past you again with a cup of coffee, eyes flicking toward you—slow, heavy, unreadable.

And this time?

You swear there’s a hint of a smirk.

He leans against the counter, sipping his coffee, that black mug dwarfing in his gloved hand. The steam curls around his face, catching the light, and he’s just staring at nothing—completely unreadable.

Until he speaks. “Sleep okay last night?”

You freeze. Your heart flatlines. Then kicks into overdrive.

You glance up too fast, trying to act casual, but your grip on the mug betrays you—tight, white-knuckled.

“Yeah,” you say, blinking. “Why?”

Bucky shrugs. Sips again. His face is all calm, cold stillness. Like he’s discussing the weather. Not like he heard you moaning his name behind the paper-thin wall like your soul was leaving your body.

“Nothing,” he says, low and even.

You swallow hard. Try to hide the heat crawling up your neck.

You stare at him. Waiting for something. A look. A smirk. A single flicker of anything.

But he gives you nothing.

Just turns back toward the hallway, casual as ever, coffee in hand, like he didn’t just dangle a loaded gun over your head and walk away.

And as he disappears down the hall, your thighs press together again.

You’re so fucked.

———

You try to sleep.

You really, really do.

You toss. You turn. You fluff your pillow. You kick the blankets off and pull them back up. You stare at the ceiling and beg your brain to stop replaying the way he looked in that shirt. The way his voice dropped when he asked about your night. The nothing he gave you like a damn grenade and walked away.

It doesn’t stop.

It won’t stop.

You squeeze your thighs together for the fifth time in twenty minutes, but it only makes it worse. Your whole body’s aching—burning. Tight with the need that’s been building for the entire day.

You glance at the door. You know you should get up and lock it.

But you don’t. Because you’re tired. And turned on. And pathetic.

“Fuck it,” you whisper, dragging your hand under the sheets. “I’ll be quiet.”

You bite your lip as your fingers slide down, already warm, already soaked. You work slow at first, trying to stay silent—just enough to relieve the pressure. Just enough to breathe again.

But then your mind starts drifting.

To him.

Always him.

Bucky in the gym, sweat-slick and scowling. Bucky walking past you post-mission like a walking sin. Bucky pressing you into your mattress with that big metal hand wrapped around your throat, voice rough in your ear—“You’re so fucking loud for me, baby.”

You gasp. Then whimper. Soft. Barely audible.

But he hears it.

He’s in his room again. Reading. Trying to pretend like he didn’t spend all day imagining the look on your face when he asked about your sleep. Trying not to picture your hand between your thighs again.

And then he hears you.

Again.

A muffled moan, breathless and aching, like it’s being pulled out of you against your will.

He stands without thinking.

Crosses the hall with quiet, deliberate steps. His pulse is steady, but something low is stirring—something primal. Something possessive. The kind of heat that doesn’t burn—it consumes.

He stops outside your door.

Closed. Not locked.

He doesn’t even knock.

The handle turns with the softest click, and then—

He steps inside. The door shuts behind him with a quiet snick.

You don’t hear it.

You’re on your back, one knee bent, your hand buried under the hem of your shorts. Your head is tipped back against the pillow, mouth open in these soft, gasping little whimpers as you chase the edge, hips twitching, breath fogging in the dim light.

You have no idea he’s there.

Not until you hear him speak.

“Didn’t I just ask if you slept okay?” The voice—his voice—cracks through the quiet like a whip.

You bolt upright.

Everything inside you lurches, heart ramming against your ribs, a violent rush of heat and panic rising through your chest like you’ve been caught in a fire. Your hand yanks back from your shorts like it’s been scorched, and you scramble to pull the blanket up, dragging it over your thighs as your breath shatters.

Your eyes fly to the source of the voice.

And there he is. Leaning against the door like he’s got all the time in the world. Arms crossed. One brow slightly raised.

His expression is unreadable—casual, maybe—but there’s a flicker in his eyes. Something dark. Something hungry. Like he’s taking inventory of every inch of you in one glance.

You can’t move. Can’t think.

Your heart’s thudding like a drumline, and your cheeks go hot, burning as your stomach flips over itself in full-blown horror.

You can still feel your arousal—sticky, heat pressed between your thighs, your pulse fluttering in places he’s not even touched.

“Bucky—” you croak, throat tight. “I—what are you doing—how—”

“The door wasn’t locked,” he says flatly.

Matter-of-fact. Like that explains everything.

And it kind of does.

You just sit there, still clutching the blanket to your chest like it can undo what he saw. As if it can erase the sound of you moaning into your pillow while your fingers worked yourself over to the thought of him.

He doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t leer.

He just watches.

Like he’s curious. Patient. Like he’s giving you a chance to dig your own grave or shut up and let him lower you into it.

You look at him and it hits you how big he is. Broad and solid, filling the doorway like a wall. The black t-shirt is stretched across his shoulders, tucked into his pants just enough to show the lines of his waist, and that goddamn metal hand is flexing at his side like it’s already made its decision.

And still… he doesn’t leave.

Your voice breaks trying to fill the silence. “I didn’t mean— I thought I was quiet— I didn’t know—”

“I heard everything.”

That shuts you up.

His voice is calm. But it’s not soft. Not gentle. It sinks into your gut like a stone, and your thighs squeeze together before you can stop yourself—before your body betrays you again.

You look away. You can’t look at him. Not when you’re like this—hair messy, skin flushed, caught in the act like a filthy little secret with your want written all over your sheets.

He moves. Not quickly. Not harshly. Just decisively. Like this is inevitable. Like he knew the moment he opened that door that he wasn’t going to leave until you were ruined.

He crosses the room in two slow steps. Sits on the edge of your bed, right next to you. His thigh brushes yours, warm and solid, and your breath hitches—your entire body tensing as his presence crowds the air.

Then his hand—the metal one—reaches out.

He takes your wrist. Your fingers are still damp. Still twitching from where they were buried between your thighs. He stares at them for a second, then meets your eyes.

“Touch yourself.”

You blink. “What—”

“I said touch yourself,” he repeats, a little lower this time. “Show me.”

Your heart slams. His grip stays locked around your wrist, not forcing—but not letting go either. He doesn’t need to threaten. Doesn’t need to beg.

He’s already heard you fall apart for him.

Now he wants the show.

And fuck—your body obeys before your brain can stop it.

You shift beneath the covers, breath shaking, eyes wide as your hand slides back down, slipping under the waistband of your shorts.

Your skin’s hot. Everything throbs and you’re soaked.

Shame prickles in your chest, but it’s drowned by the way he watches—focused and still, his hand still gripping yours like he owns it.

You let your fingers find that spot again, slick and swollen, and you shudder.

“Fuck,” you whisper, breath catching.

His voice cuts through it. Soft. Direct. “You’ve been touching yourself thinking about me?”

You nod, cheeks burning.

“And now you can’t stop, can you?” he murmurs. “Poor thing. You want me this much, baby?”

You let out a tiny, broken sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—and press harder.

His metal thumb strokes over the inside of your wrist, slow and thoughtful, like he’s testing your pulse. You’re so wet your fingers glide without resistance, your hips moving on their own.

“Messy little thing,” he mutters. “God, you’re desperate. Didn’t even lock the door.”

His flesh hand moves too now—reaching up to push your hair from your face, tilting your chin toward him.

“You wanted to get caught, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, but your body betrays you—back arching, thighs tensing, rhythm faltering as your orgasm creeps up again, fast, tighter than before.

He sees it. Feels it. And he knows.

“You gonna come for me?” he whispers. “Right here, baby? With my hand around yours and your pussy soaking your sheets?”

You sob his name and he finally leans in—breath warm against your cheek.

“Good girl.”

Your fingers slip again—rhythm stuttering, body caught in that maddening edge.

He watches you falter. Watches your mouth fall open, brows pull together, your thighs start to shake with the pressure of holding yourself there. So close. Too close.

And that’s when he moves. His grip on your wrist tightens just enough to make you freeze.

“Let go,” he says.

You whimper. “But—”

“I said let go.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

You obey. Your hand slips from your shorts, fingers slick and trembling, and your chest rises in short, desperate breaths as he shifts closer.

“Bucky—” you gasp.

But he’s already there. His fingers slide between your folds—just one, at first, cool and unreal, brushing over your clit in a slow, torturous circle. Your hips jerk like you’ve been shocked.

“God,” you moan, clinging to the sheets, “fuck—”

“So sensitive,” he murmurs.

His eyes are locked on your face, hungry, focused—like he’s memorizing the way your mouth falls open for him, the way your lashes flutter when he presses a little harder.

You can’t stop the sounds you make.

You’re already too close—too much—your body wired tight from teasing yourself for nights and thinking of him, only him.

One metal finger dips lower—in now, slick and slow—and your breath punches from your chest.

Your hips grind into it, chasing it like you’re starving.

He fucks you with it slow at first. Deep. Deliberate. Watching you unravel inch by inch.

“You’ve been dreaming about this?” he says, voice like gravel. “Getting off to the thought of my hands on you?”

You nod helplessly, fingers clenching around the sheets.

Another finger slides in.

Your body wails for it—so full, so good, the metal stretching you just right—and your thighs tremble, back arching as your orgasm builds so fast it almost hurts.

“Then come for me,” he growls. “Right now. I want to feel how tight you get when you finish.”

You choke on a cry.

And then you fall apart.

Hard.

Your walls clamp down around his fingers, body convulsing as the wave hits you—sharp and electric—shaking through your entire frame with a loud, wrecked moan that echoes in your room.

His hand doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it—slower now, drawing it out, holding your body steady with his free hand while you tremble and sob and drip around him.

You don’t know how long it lasts. You just know you’ve never come like that before.

Not in your life.

Not until him.

You’re still gasping, thighs twitching, brain static from how hard you just came—but he’s not done with you. Not even close.

His fingers slip from you slow, drenched, and he brings them up to his mouth, sucking them clean without taking his eyes off you.

Then?

He smirks.

That low, dangerous smirk you’ve only ever imagined. Dreamed about. Touched yourself to. And now it’s real.

“You’ve been thinking about me so much,” he says, voice thick with heat, “I bet you want to feel my cock, huh?”

You don’t even answer. Can’t. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out but a broken moan.

He laughs. Dark. Rough. “You fucking slut.”

He stands. Hands go to the waistband of his pants.

Your breath catches, watching.

He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t need to.

The black tactical pants slide down slow over those solid thighs, revealing the outline of what’s beneath—thick, heavy, hard. You feel your whole body clench at the sight.

He steps out of them, shirt already discarded somewhere between your moans, and he’s standing there now in nothing but black briefs—soaked at the tip.

And holy fuck, he’s big.

Your lips part, staring. You want to drool.

He notices.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs. “Look at what you’ve been aching for every night.”

He pulls the briefs down—slow, shameless.

His cock springs free, thick and hard and flushed at the tip, veins running along the length like something out of a wet dream. You whimper, thighs pressing together reflexively.

“You wanted this inside you so bad you couldn’t keep quiet,” he says, climbing onto the bed again, crawling over you until his weight cages you in. “Moaning my name with the fucking door unlocked.”

Your body arches up to meet him.

“Please,” you whisper.

He fists his cock once, dragging his head through your soaked folds, teasing your entrance.

You’re still sensitive. Still pulsing.

“Is this what you want?” he growls, notching the tip right against you. “Want me to stretch you open and fuck the brains outta that filthy little head of yours?”

You nod, desperate.

His cock sits heavy in his hand, the flushed tip glistening as he slides it through your slick folds again. Over and over—up and down—until you’re squirming beneath him, hips chasing every motion like you can’t stand another second of not being filled.

But he doesn’t give in. Not yet.

He drags the thick head over your entrance, slow and deliberate, just barely nudging inside before pulling back again.

“Fuck—Bucky,” you whimper, body arching.

“You’re soaked again,” he growls, almost to himself. “You got this wet just thinking about my cock?”

You nod, but it’s not enough. Not for him. He taps your clit once—sharp and teasing—and your whole body jerks.

“Say it.”

Your breath catches. “I—I thought about it every night,” you gasp. “I wanted it so bad. I still want it. Please, Bucky—”

He groans, low and ragged. The tip of his cock presses at your entrance again. Just a little. Just enough to make you feel the burn of it—how thick he is, how your body tries to pull him in even as he holds himself back.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, circling your hole with maddening precision. “How much your pussy needs me?”

You moan, desperate. Hands clawing at his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you can hold onto.

He grins. “Needy little thing.”

Then he pushes. Just the tip—slow and thick, stretching you inch by inch.

Your mouth falls open. Breathless. Wide-eyed.

“Oh my—fuck,” you cry.

He pulls back.

You sob.

“Patience,” he mutters, teasing your entrance again. “Wanna feel you beg for it.”

“I’m begging,” you gasp. “Please, Bucky—please, I need it, I need you to fuck me—”

His mouth crashes over yours, swallowing your cry as he thrusts in deep—all the way—filling you to the hilt in one thick, devastating stroke.

Your back arches. Your vision whites out.

“So fucking tight,” he growls against your mouth, rolling his hips, grinding in deeper. “Fuck—you were made for this, weren’t you?”

He stays there for a moment—buried inside you—his cock stretching you open so wide it burns in the best way, hips pressed flush to yours. You can barely breathe, your body trembling with the shock of just how full you feel.

Then he moves. A slow pull out—just a few inches—before slamming right back in.

You scream. Not from pain. From everything. The pressure, the friction, the heat of his skin, the weight of his body pinning you down like he owns you.

“Goddamn,” he hisses, his jaw clenched tight. “You’re fucking dripping around me.”

Your nails dig into his back.

He starts thrusting—hard and fast, hips snapping against yours with brutal rhythm, the head of his cock dragging over every sensitive spot inside you like he knows exactly where to hit.

And all the while, he talks.

“Been thinking about this tight little cunt every night since I got here. Didn’t know it was mine to take.”

You moan—choked and desperate.

“You wanted it so bad, didn’t you? Wanted me to catch you with your legs spread and fuck you like the filthy little cock-drunk slut you are.”

“Y-Yes—please—” you’re a mess beneath him, eyes wet, mouth open.

He grabs your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek, forcing you to look up at him.

“Look at me,” he growls. “Don’t you dare look away while I fuck your pussy.”

You blink up at him, dazed. And fuck—he looks insane. Hair a mess, sweat dripping down his temples, that metal hand gripping your thigh so hard you might bruise.

And still—he doesn’t stop. He fucks you like it’s punishment. Relentless. Ruthless.

Every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs, your body jerking with the force of it. The bed creaks beneath you, headboard slamming against the wall, your moans echoing like you’re meant to be heard.

“You gonna come again, baby?” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your ear. “You gonna soak my cock just like you soaked your fingers last night?”

“Bucky—Bucky, I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

His hand slips down between you, fingers rubbing fast circles over your clit as he keeps fucking you open with brutal thrusts.

“You’re gonna come with me inside you, sweetheart. You’re gonna come on my cock like a good little toy.”

And it snaps.

You cry out—loud and broken—as your orgasm slams into you hard enough to steal your breath, your pussy clenching around him like a vice.

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, grinding deep into you as you come, riding you through it. “That’s it. So fucking tight—so good for me—”

He’s close now too. You can feel it—his thrusts stuttering, muscles tensing.

“Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “You want that, baby? Want me to come inside this perfect little pussy?”

You’re still shaking, but you nod. Whimpering. Needy.

“Please—inside—want it so bad—”

He buries himself deep and groans loud—raw and wrecked—as he spills inside you, hips jerking, cock twitching as you feel every hot pulse of it.

You’re ruined.

His weight sinks down on top of you, breath ragged in your ear, and for a long moment, all you can hear is the sound of both of you panting.

The room’s heavy with heat and sweat, skin sticking where it meets, your body still twitching with the aftershocks of how hard he fucked you.

Then he lifts his head. Eyes drag down your flushed face. Your parted lips. Your chest rising and falling fast. Still dazed. Still ruined.

He shifts back onto his knees between your thighs, hands gripping your hips, keeping you spread open wide beneath him.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

Then he pulls out—slow and thick, his cock dragging against your fluttering walls before slipping free with a wet sound that makes you whimper.

And fuck.

You feel it immediately. The warm spill of him leaking out of you—thick and hot and so much—trickling down your folds and onto the sheets in sticky, glistening streams.

Bucky groans under his breath, his eyes locked on your pussy like it’s the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “You took it all. So fucking good for me.”

You try to close your legs on instinct, flushed and wrecked and so overstimulated—but he stops you with a firm grip, holding you open with his metal hand.

“Uh-uh. Keep ’em open. I wanna see it.”

His thumb slides down, spreads you further, letting him watch as more of his cum drips from your aching hole.

“Look at that mess,” he murmurs, gaze heavy-lidded, voice thick with pride and hunger. “You’re leaking all over the place, baby.”

You shiver under him.

He swipes his thumb through the slick, then presses it back in—just a little—pushing some of it inside again while your body jerks from the sensitivity.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You were made to be filled like this.”

He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear, breath hot and uneven.

“You’re gonna clean me up, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice thick with command. “Gonna taste every drop.”

Your pulse spikes. You barely have the strength to move, still reeling from the wreck he’s made of you—but you obey, because you need it, because he told you to.

He shifts forward, settling between your thighs again. His metal hand spreads you open, keeping you wide for him, raw and messy. His other hand trails down, steadying his cock where it rests—still hard, still slick with both of you.

He throbs against your skin, flushed and glistening.

You lean forward without hesitation, tongue flicking out to catch the first salty bead that clings to the head. He lets out a quiet groan above you.

His eyes burn as you take your time, licking slowly around the tip—teasing, deliberate—before your lips part wider and you sink down, wrapping him in heat.

Your cheeks hollow as you draw him in deeper, your mouth soft and eager.

“Fuck,” Bucky grits, his hand sliding into your hair, curling tight. “You’re good at this.”

You moan around him, letting the praise sink in as you begin to move—slow, controlled bobs of your head. Your tongue swirls, tasting the mix of him and yourself, and it only makes you hungrier.

You’re not just cleaning him up. You’re savoring him and he knows it.

He pulls you up by your hair, not rough—controlled. Intentional. His mouth crashes onto yours in a kiss that’s all teeth and heat and claiming, like he’s branding you from the inside out. His metal hand clamps around your waist, anchoring you, holding you still as he devours you like he owns you.

And fuck, maybe he does.

When he finally breaks the kiss, his breath ghosts over your lips, low and ragged.

“That’s enough,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and satisfied. “You did so well. That’s my good girl.”

Your stomach twists, body still trembling, as you melt into him — breathless and soaked, the taste of him still slick on your tongue.

He doesn’t move for a while, just lets his weight settle into you, chest rising and falling against yours, heart still pounding beneath sweat-damp skin. His breath is warm where it fans over your cheek, his metal hand still possessively wrapped around your waist.

Then, gently, he shifts. His fingers slide up, brushing your hair back from your face with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. He kisses your forehead—soft, slow—like he’s claiming you all over again, but quieter this time.

“My good girl,” he murmurs, the words husky but reverent now. “You were perfect.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the sound, overwhelmed, wrecked in the best way. His flesh hand strokes your cheek, soothing the heat from it, while the metal one trails lazy circles over your spine.

“Did so good for me,” he whispers again, like a secret meant only for your bones.

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nuzzle closer, tucking yourself into his chest.

Fuck, he did ruin you.

tags: @iamthatonefangirl

[classyrbf]

you and bf!choso who’ve decided that you can’t fuck each other for a week. It was a stupid challenge both of you made up while drunk and the loser who breaks first has to do all the house chores for a month. You thought it was a huge joke, but you were oh so wrong. He’d push you away at any sort of intimacy, even a hug. You could tell it was making him break. Just a slight south on his shoulder made him jumpy. He wasn’t handling as well as he thought he would. It was funny to see him losing his mind, whining about not being able to touch or kiss you. “You did this to yourself, Cho.” You smiled. “You can still touch and kiss me, we just can’t…have sex.” You shrugged.

Choso plopped his head into the pillow. “That’s the point! If I do any of those things, all I can imagine is fucking you.” His muffled words come through the pillow. And though he has been getting the worst end of the stick, you’ve also been missing your man…a little too much. You sneakily undress yourself, climbing into bed while he’s face down, your hands running up and down his bare back, completely unaware of your malicious intent.

“Come on, baby. As long as you don’t put it in, we’ll win.” You try so hard to break him, but you know how tenacious he is. He shakes his head, covering his ears to rid himself of your sultry voice.

“I will not listen to you devil woman. You cannot persuade me.” He’s completely lying because he’s hard right now and trying so hard to distract his mind, but it always leads back to you.

“No? Not even if I do this?” You grab one of his hands, placing it on your bare chest. His hand freezes when he feels your warm skin, taking a second to recognize what he’s touching. It slightly moves, his thumb running over your hardened nipple. “I’m bored, Cho! I miss you, baby. Please, please—” He quickly pushes you back on the bed, his body hovering you. His eyes hurriedly scan your naked body, taking in every inch of you.

“Baby, no,” he breathes. “You can’t—god, fuck. Why are you like this? You know I can’t resist you.” He says above a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut. But when he feels your hands run down his abs and into his sweats, his eyes spring open to see that wicked smile on your face. “Fine, fine , fine.” He quickly pulls his sweats off, tossing them to the floor, his cock already throbbing. “Fuck, you’re crazy…I love it.”

“I know you do,” you giggle, slowly jerking him off. “If you just do…this,” you rub his cock along your folds, his tip nudging against your clit, “and go slow, we’ll be fine.” You bite down on your bottom lip. He lets out a shaky breath, moving his hips as his cock glides up and down your pussy, gathering slick and smearing it. “There you go, baby. Good job.” You praise.

He gulps, everything in him just wants to be inside you. He can feel your warmth, your wetness, how badly you need him. He needs you just as much. He doesn’t know why he’s so determined to win this challenge, he could forfeit right now just to get a feel of your pussy. He feels like it’s been forever, when it’s only been five days. Is he losing his mind? Why does this feel so good already? Everything about you is tempting him. You little whimpers and moans, your perky nipples that are begging to be sucked, you plump lips ready to be kissed. He can’t do it. He pulls away before he makes a mistake. “I-I can’t do it, baby.” His breaths are heavy, heart pounding against his ribcage. “We cant.” But he wants to so bad, he wants to keep going.

“You’re just gonna leave me all alone like this? Hm?” You blink your lashes up at him, reaching your hand down to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles. His eyes follow your hand, fully fixated.

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. He’s so hard it hurts. Without even thinking, his cock is back on your pussy, his tip massaging your clit. “Can’t believe we’re doing this.” He looks up at you and sees just how much you’re enjoying this, that smile on your face and that glint in your eye. “You’re so wet, baby,” he huffs, your pussy squelching with each movement.

He spreads your legs further, slapping his cock against your cunt earning a small gasp from you before grinding against you again. He hates how good this feels, how easily he’s ready to cum. “Feels so good,” you moan, tossing your head into the plush comforter. He continues to rub his cock against your clit, sensitive from the five days of no sex. You pull at your taut nipples, adding another form of stimulation to help drive you to your orgasm. “You’re gonna make me cum just like that.” You suck in a breath, your eyes rolling back when he starts moving faster. “Just don’t put it inside, baby. I know you want to.” You shake your head at him, brows furrowing in pleasure.

He stares back at you, a teary look in his eyes as he fights so hard. You can tell he’s close too, his chest rapidly moving up and down with each whimpering breath, and his flexed abs. “Fuck, I want it so bad. Wanna cum inside you so fucking bad,” he moans softly. “I’m gonna cum—mmmph! Baby, cum with me, please,” he begs, his voice breaking. “Ah, ah, shit!” His body shakes as thick ropes of cum coat your pussy, covering every inch. Both of your moans mixed as you both entered your highs, cumming just seconds after him. He continues to rub his cock through your folds, smearing his cum in each crevice but inside.

“Did such a good job holding back, Cho. Mmm, come here.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a heated kiss. His hands ghosted over your skin, gripping at the flesh of your waist. “That felt so good.” You lazily smile at him.

“I was losing my goddamn mind. I still am.” His eyes flutter shut. “And I’m still hard,” he groans in annoyance. “This is your fault.”

“Sorry,” you laugh. “I just wanted to have a bit of fun.” You peck his lips as he falls back onto the bed. “I missed you.” You climb on top of him.

“I missed you too, but we have to behave. Only two days.” You grips your waist, tracing circles on your skin.

“But if we both win, who does the chores?” You questioned.

Choso sat in silence for a moment. “That’s actually a good question. I guess both of us?” He shrugged.

“And if we both lose?” You say in a playful voice, leaning down to press kisses against his neck. “Doesn’t that mean we both do the chores still? So, technically we can have sex…”

[morganbritton132]

Eddie has never sold to Steve Harrington.

He has never nor will he ever sell to Steve Harrington. Sure, he sold to Steve friends who probably give him the drugs but that’s rich boy money.

And sure, Steve has never actually tried to buy from him but it’s the principle of the matter. Which is what makes this so interesting because, “Harrington?”

“Hey.”

Steve has been MIA from school for the past week and Billy has been telling everybody that he beat him to death, and well. It certainly looks like he gave it a good effort. So really.

What’s Eddie supposed to do here? Uphold his morals?

“Can I…help you?” Eddie asks, opening the screen door for him.

Steve hobbled insides and immediately asks, “You sell stuff, right? Whatever anybody wants, you got it?”

“That’s what they say. Got something in mind?”

“Sleep.”

“What?”

“I need - I just need sleep,” Steve says, words fast and a little desperate. “I can’t sleep at my house, man. I can’t. It’s - god, it’s been four days and my head is killing me. I - I feel like I’m going to die. I need sleep.”

Eddie just stares at him, blinking slowly because it doesn’t actually sound like Steve is asking for drugs. It sounds like he’s scared to have his guard down at home so, “Yeah, okay. Um, take the couch.”

Steve is asleep almost as soon as he sits down and when he wakes up a couple hours later, he gives Eddie ten bucks and leaves.

Eddie kinda thinks it’s going to be a one-off situation but a couple weeks later, Steve is back. He only ever sleeps for a couple hours, pays Eddie, and goes.

The only changes are that he eventually graduates from sleeping on the couch to in Eddie’s bed (so Eddie doesn’t have to explain Steve to Wayne again) and Eddie shows Steve where the spar key so he can come in when Eddie is at band practice.

Dont get Eddie wrong, this situation is weird but there are worse ways to make money.

It is what it is until it isn’t. Until it’s… “What the fuck is this?”

Eddie knew Steve was here because he religiously leaves his shoes neatly by the front door but - “A girl? He brought a girl.”

Because, yeah. That’s a blonde sailor girl next to Steve in his bed. They’re both open mouth drooling on his pillows, smell like fire, and look like hell. The only reason he doesn’t kick them out because he knows Starcourt caught on fire last night.

He does pull the blanket off them and goes to sleep in the living room.

He wakes an hour later to the feeling of someone watching him and when he opens his eyes, he’s met with - “Robin Buckley, nice to meet you, Eddie Munson.”

This feels like a trap.

“Uh, yeah. Same.”

She gives him a smile like she has secrets and then holds up a stack of Polaroids, “Does Steve know you take pictures of him while he’s sleeping?”

[phagodyke]

worked an hour extra bc they have no respect for my half day but I knew they were gonna do that so whatever..... at least I'm omw home now

[buckyalpine]

18+ Minors dni. Buckys innocent neighbor who bakes him cookies and muffins just cause. The girl next door who has the coziest apartment he's ever been in. Shelves filled with books along with plenty of comfy blankets decorating the couches. Bucky has his own place right across but home is with her (even if she doesn't know it yet).

She's the type of girl he's going to take his time with, asking her out on a date, just coffee and a walk in the park. Nothing more than a kiss on her cheek at the end of the night. Another date. Dinner. Another kiss to her other cheek. He wouldn't dare rush anything, especially not someone as soft and sweet as her.

He feels like such a dirty little pervert when he thinks about her afterwards when he's alone in bed, all the blood in his body rushing south, and fuck he's so hard. He tries to ignore it, he didn't want to do something so debauched by thinking of her like that, he even tries to think about his grocery list, laundry, he'd probably wash his arm later, it would probably be fine in the dishwasher-

Nothing worked.

He groans, shuffling and kicking his sweats off, hissing when his hand goes down to tug at his aching cock, relief flooding his veins at the sensation. He lets his mind wander to how adorable she'd be, the way he'd take her apart in the most gentle way. Lay her against the pillows while he holds those soft thighs apart, giving her the most feather light suckles on that perfect clit, basking in all the sounds she'd make. He strokes himself faster thinking about the way he'd get her ready to take all of him. How he'd make it so good for her-shit he was going to blow-maybe if he was lucky, one day she'd let him put his cock in her mou-

"Fuck!!" Bucky threw his head back, spurts of cum shooting from his sensitive head, his post orgasm haze leaving him feeling like a filthy old man. She were here making him baked treats and he was jerking his dick off like a sick fuck.

Then the night finally comes. Bucky is ready to cuddle and nothing else but he's thrown off because never in his wildest fantasies did he expect this.

She is the girl who sends him reeling the first time he takes her clothes off one by one revealing dark ink on her back and hips. He has to suppress a growl, his eyes growing wide at the scantily clad lace that covers her body.

"Like what you see, Sergeant?" she practically purrs in his ear while he lets his han ghost over her bare skin, his chest heaving when his eyes fall to her perfect breasts, hints of silver peeking from under her lingerie, there was no way-

"Can I?" He asks breathlessly, his hand reaching behind to unclasp the bra, those pretty pierced nipples begging to be sucked.

Bucky who turns into a fucking menace, his entire world flipping upside down when she grinds down on his crotch not hiding exactly what she needs from him. He doesn't even have the ability to hide how feral he is, letting all his inhibitions slip.

-

"My little bunny's a slut, fuck, c'mere" He grabs you and tosses you over his shoulder, hauling you over to his bedroom like an untamed beast, tossing you onto his bed with no remorse. You're in nothing but your panties which he rips right off, your thighs squeezing together at the way he stalks over to you, his hungry eyes raking up and down your body without an ounce of shame. He tugs his sweats down to reveal his leaky cock, stroking it at the edge of his bed after tossing his shirt off.

"See this baby? Been fuckin' stroking and touching myself like a fuckin' teenager because of you-" He throws off his pants before climbing onto the bed and kneeling between your thighs, spreading them apart with his knees, "-and you've been here lookin' like God damn sin under those cute little sweaters"

He flicks his cockhead against your clit, humming at the clear beads of his arousal that drip onto your cunt.

"Fuck James, need more, pl-"

"Nuh uh, what was that you called me earlier, sweets?" He lets out a dark chuckle, the veins in his cock throbbing as he tightly holds the base, waiting to hear it again.

"Sergeant" you whine with mischief in your eyes and Bucky is a goner. He'll taste you later and most definitely feed you his cock another day but right now he wants to be nowhere else other than your pussy. He wants to watch you take every bit of him, rolling over to lay on his back while you straddle him, his length slotted against your cunt. He holds it up for you with a cocky look on his face, moaning when his tip breeches your tight pussy, your walls gripping his swollen, pink head.

"That's just the tip baby, c'mon, sit on it, wanna put all of my dick in you, that's it, good girl-shittt"

"Oh fuccckk,s'big" You moan feeling the stretch as you sink all the way down, panting and staying still while you adjust to his size.

"That's it bunny, that's it, ride me, ride your Sergeant" He grabs you by the hips, guiding you to grind down on him, making you feel his entire cock in your stomach. "You're a slut for big dick aren't you baby, acting all cute and shy when all you really wanted was the winter soldier's cock"

Bucky wasn't even sure where all the filth spewing from his mouth was even coming from but he couldn't stop.

"S'that it bunny? Say it baby, tell me how much you wanted my fat cock in you"

"Wanted it! F-cuk Sergeant, wanted your cock s-o-so bad!!"

"Fuck yes!!" His feet plant to meet your bounces, his hips thrusting up, slamming his entire length into you. "M'close, fuck bunny, gonna cum already, I can't hold it-

He doesn't have time to be embarrassed. You feel to good. He rubs your clit needing you to cum all over him so he can let go.

"Please, cum all over Sergeants cock baby, give it to me, be a good girl n'cum, c'mon, cum on my dick, yes, oh fuck yes I can feel it-milk it, shit touch my balls-"

You nearly collapse as your orgasm starts to wash over you, his sponge head hitting the most sensitive parts against your walls while he toys with your clit. His voice is muffled as you start to feel waves of pleasure consume you but you head just enough to reach behind, rubbing his heavy, so full of cum ba-

"FUUUCCCCKKK" He grabs you and wraps his arms around your body while he relentlessly thrusts up, biting down on your shoulder while he lets out the sluttiest, loudest moan with 0 remorse. It feels too good and he's sure the neighbors can hear but honestly, everyone should know how amazing it feels.

-

"I got you pretty baby" Bucky coos as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, a shiver running through you while you float in bliss. Bucky pulls the covers up, deciding to cuddle up with you for a bit before running a shower, his previous demeanor replaced with the far less debauched version of him.

Anyway, just an idea. Also, it's past my bedtime.