#AND I JUST HAVE TO KEEP IT ALL LOCKED UP INSIDE ME THERE IS NO OTHER OPTION NO FUCING OPTIONS NO CHOICES NOTHING

[lovebugism]

How about something smutty for the Thunderbolts headcanons 😳 Like how each of them would react to you making them cum in their pants

thank you so much for requesting and feeding my hyperfixation!! below you will find four separate baby blurbs for bucky, john, yelena, and bob. each section will have it's own summary, warnings, and whole lotta smut! enjoy :D

BUCKY BARNES X READER — you're with him in wakanda when he's cured of the trigger words in his head. he's able to touch you for the first time without feeling scared of himself. (established relationship, post-cacw | 1k words)

Bucky Barnes can’t remember the last time he felt this free. Maybe sometime in 1942, he guesses — before he got drafted, before Hydra captured him, before they put those goddamn words in his head. It feels weird that they’re gone now; to be without the dark cloud of impending doom that, at any moment, someone could utter the words and he’d just snap. 

But now, freshly cured and living on the Wakandan countryside, he can touch you for the first time without being terrified of himself.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles as his vibranium hand trails up the expanse of your bare back. He keeps his flesh one on your thigh, smoothing his thumb over the plush skin there, and tilts his scruffy chin to smile up at you. He’s got you straddled over his lap, barely clothed and bathed in golden candelight, like some kinda angel brought to life.

“You’re pretty,” you correct with a lovesick grin, raking your hands through his silky, growing locks.

Bucky leans instinctively into your touch. “Don’t make this about me,” he says, squinting.

“It is about you,” you remind him with a giggle, ducking down to kiss his neck. “I’m supposed to compliment you—” Your lips brush his pulse in a chaste kiss. Bucky fights back a shiver. “—Supposed to make you feel good.”

“You do,” Bucky sighs a contented moan, pulling you further into him. “You always do…”

His vibranium hand curls up your back and towards your shoulder. His other one holds tightly to your hip. You wrap your arms tighter around his neck until your bare chest is flush with his scruffy one — until your clothed cunt brushes his cock, half-hard and throbbing within the confines of his boxers.

A moan rumbles in Bucky’s throat. You feel it against your lips when you press them to his adam’s apple. “Do you want to?” you murmur against him, voice low like honey. “‘Cause it kinda seems like you want to.”

Bucky’s head is too clouded to respond properly to your teasing. He just nods his heavy head and flexes his hips beneath you in a desperate attempt to relieve the pulsing ache in his boxers. You let him, and with his consent, begin to rock slowly over his lap. 

“Say it,” you whisper in his ear.

“Want it,” he pants in yours. “Want you.”

“You have me, Buck,” you slur, trying to peer at him through the haze in your vision. Your panties drag over his stiffening cock and leave a damp spot at the center of them. You find yourself chasing your high just as much as Bucky’s. 

You snuck a few sips of alcohol to quell your worry before watching Ayo recite the wretched words back to the man haunted by them. You feel the consequences creeping up on you now and find yourself rambling before you can stop it, half-deluded with pleasure. 

“‘M already yours. My pussy’s already— shit,” you whimper in time with Bucky’s groaning when your clit drags over his lap. Through pants, you beg him, “Say you wanna fuck me. Please. Don’t wanna cum ’til you’re inside me.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky whines, face screwed and eyes shut tight. He tries to form the words in his head, but all he can think about is how wet you are — and how his leaking cock has left a damp spot in his underwear — and how the combination of both makes the friction between you so dizzying. “I wanna… fuck—” 

“Uh-huh,” you tease with a slow nod when you sense he’s getting close. “You can do it, Buck. C’mon. There you go.”

He can’t tell if you’re trying to coach him into saying the words or push him headfirst into an orgasm. He hopes it’s the latter, ‘cause he feels himself bursting into his boxers a second later.

“Fuck!” he blurts when he cums, half-muffled and half-whined, like it pains him. 

He holds your hips in both hands, keeping you still above him in a crueler grip than he means to. The quiet bedroom fills with the sound of crackling candles and his groaning. He tilts his face to the ceiling and moans into the golden darkness with his eyes squeezed shut. The sudden orgasm racks through his body in so many shivers up his spine, three warm ropes spit into the confines of his boxers.

“‘M sorry,” he pants when it’s done, still slightly airy from the aftershocks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” you promise with a soft laugh as your own building pleasure begins to subside. You cup his scruffy face in your palms and try to kiss him through the smile on your lips. “You deserve it, Buck,” you whisper against his mouth, between your delicate kisses. “You deserve everything.”

Bucky shakes his head between your palms and smooths his fingers over the bruises he unknowingly stamped into your skin. “Don’t care about everything,” he murmurs lowly. “Just you.”

Your eyes narrow in a sarcastic squint, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Do you think we can get Shuri to erase the cheesiness from your brain, too?”

“Sure,” Bucky scoffs, smiling still, as he shoves you playfully onto your back. You giggle when you hit the mattress, caging your smile between your teeth as the man crawls back between your legs. He lies flat on the mattress, face-to-face with your clothed pussy. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod, obviously sarcastic. “Mhm. Very much.”

“Maybe I’ll just go get her then,” Bucky murmurs, punctuating his quip with a kiss to your inner thigh as he spreads them apart. You shiver when his scruff scrapes your delicate skin. “Tell her to put me back under the ice—”

Your feet lock behind his back to keep him against you. Bucky laughs and curls his arms around your thighs as you prop yourself on your elbows to shoot him a death glare. “You’re not going anywhere, Sergeant Barnes.”

And, truth be told, Bucky’s exactly where he wants to be.

JOHN WALKER X READER — john hates when valentina pairs the two of you on missions together. until he doesn't. (enemies to lovers, pre-thunderbolts, cw for brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

John Walker can’t stand you most days. You’re too reckless, too impulsive, too quick to put yourselves in situations that might kill you. He hates that Valentina paired you together just as much as he hates that he cares so much about your well-being.

He knows it’d be easier to let you get yourself killed, to have one less thing to worry about, but he somehow ends up kissing you instead.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” he grumbles through labored breaths, with your spit still shining on his swollen mouth. He cages your body between his larger one and the unforgiving wall behind you. The men guarding the vault outside surely won’t mind the sexual tension rising inside it, seeing as they’re half-dead already.

You smile in the face of his anger until the fresh cut on your mouth starts to sting. “But you can fuck me?” you pant, eyes glazed over as they dart back and forth between his dilated ones. “I mean, you want to, right? ’S why you locked me in here, isn’t it?”

“I locked you in here because there were three guys outside trying to kill you, if you forgot.”

“Two,” you correct in a witty deadpan. “I killed the third one.”

“And I killed the other two, who gives a shit—”

“You’re obsessed with me, Walker,” you grin, pulling him close by the belt loops on his suit. 

Despite his near palpable rage, he melts into you with ease. The blonde man stumbles closer until he’s towering over you — hair messy from his helmet, face bruised, ocean eyes staring daggers into you.

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he gripes.

“I don’t think it is,” you lilt lowly and nudge his clothed crotch with your thigh. 

You watch the words of an argument form and dissolve on his tongue all at once. John exhales hard through his nose as his eyes go glassy. He hadn’t realized how hard he was until you pressed yourself against him — how sensitive he was — how long it had been since he’d had any sort of release.

“Admit it—” you whisper, pulling him closer until his stiff cock is pressed between your bodies. He smells like cologne and copper pennies, likely from the blood darkening his navy blue suit. You’re almost sure you’d be able to feel his racing heart from here, if it weren’t for the thick layers separating you. “—You love me…”

“I hate you,” he corrects, though his dark eyes cloud with lust.

Your smile widens. The cut on the corner of your mouth begins to weep all over again. John reaches for your jaw without thinking, cupping his palm there and swiping the crimson away with his thumb. 

“No, you don’t,” you coo with a shake of your head. The room goes quiet then, filled only by John’s heavy breaths and the clinking of his belt as you undo the buckle. You keep him close with one hand around his belt loop while the other creeps around the front of him. His breath catches in his throat when your fingers dip beneath the hem.

You don’t think he realizes how he’s rocking himself against your thigh. Or the way he subconsciously shakes his head in agreement. 

“You’ve always thought about this, haven’t you?” you continue mercilessly, grinning when your fingertips meet the coarse thatch of hair above his cock. 

John nods his heavy head and leans further into you, propping himself on the wall as his eyes flutter shut. He deserves this, he tells himself, for saving your ass a hundred times over. You owe him one, really.

“I know you have,” you whisper in his ear. “I bet you’ve gotten yourself off to the thought of me a thousand times.”

Again, John nods in response without ever really noticing it. Just like he doesn’t really notice the release building within him — like a creeping hand up his spine, or a tightening knot in his lean stomach. He just keeps rubbing himself against you, chasing a high he barely knows is there.

“But I think when you imagined me making you cum…” you trail off and smile when John moans against your pulse. “…You always thought it’d be inside me.”

John tenses at the thought of fucking you. He’s left trembling above you as a sudden orgasm racks through his body. The quiet room fills with his poorly heldback groans and your giggling while he cums in his pants. He feels the evidence, warm and wet, blooming in his boxers — just like the red-hot embarrassment exploding in his chest. 

He pulls away to find you grinning like the devil.

“Told ya,” you monotone and pull your hand from his boxers, only slightly mourning the fact that you never actually got to touch him. “You’re obsessed with me.”

John scoffs, like he has any room to be ambivalent after humping your thigh like a dog. He zips up his pants, belt buckle clinking as he fastens it again. “You ruined my suit,” is all he can think to say as you walk past him.

You roll your eyes and wrench open the heavy door to the vault, stepping over the bloody bodies littered on the other side of it. “Bill me,” you call over your shoulder.

YELENA BELOVA X READER — yelena is full of adrenaline after a mission, and you only know one way to calm her down (established relationship, post-thunderbolts, cw for very brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

Yelena Belova has you flat on your back. The rest of the Avengers tower is dark, quiet, and asleep — each of you recovering from the latest mission in the sanctuary of your bedrooms. The blonde Russian girl is too full of adrenaline to rest, though, never mind how much she could probably use the sleep. She’s a relentless force on top of you — because of the adrenaline, of course, and not because she nearly lost you.

She tugs your pants down your legs with a pair of merciless hands, bruised knees digging into the foot of the mattress across from you. The mattress squeaks with each of your movements, and you fight back a laugh. “Be gentle, Belova!” you scold in a whisper. “Walker’s gonna hear.”

(John had the misfortune of his bedroom being one story below yours. And the floors were surprisingly thin. Or so he says.)

Yelena scoffs, face screwed. “I don’t care,” she mutters, voice accented and low like honey. “Let him hear.”

She makes a big show of climbing back over your body, moving much more violently than normal over the worn bed frame, so it creaks louder beneath her. “Yelena!” you snap quietly through gritted teeth, but hold her gently by the hips when she straddles you just the same.

“What?!” she exclaims, louder than necessary for the late, late night, as she tugs her shirt over her head. She throws the fabric to the side, discarding it with the rest of your pajamas littered on the floor — leaving both of you in mismatched sets of old, cotton underwear.

“God, you’re such a child,” you grouse and cross your arms beneath your head.

Yelena grins. “Stop flirting with me,” she lilts lowly and ducks down to kiss you.

Your eyes flutter shut when her plush lips trail from your jaw down to your neck. “We should rest, Lena…” you tell her, sighing when her teeth scrape your pulse. “We’re gonna be sore in the morning.”

You feel her mouth curl into a smile against your skin. “I hope so.”

“Child,” you repeat.

Yelena gets relentless rather quickly, feral in a way only a previous world-class assassin could be. She forgets about the exhaustion and the bruises that ache to the bone, littered across both your bodies. Her head fills only with thoughts of making you feel good, touching you like it could be the last time she ever gets to.

“Lena, Lena, Lena—” you echo, reaching for her wrist where her hand’s shoved into your panties. “Slow down,” you laugh.

“Why?” she whines.

You find her pretty face contorted in a girlish pout when you cup her cheeks in your hands. “Because we have all night,” you coo, smoothing your thumbs over her flushed jaw. “We don’t have to rush.”

Your words strike something deep in her chest. She refuses to let the vulnerability show. 

“I know that,” she scoffs, trying to look unbothered as you smooth the top of her tank top down her chest. You tuck it beneath her breasts, and her pink nipples perk when the cool air hits them.

“Good,” you hum, lifting your head to take her left breast in your mouth.

“I just— I wanted to make you feel good—” she whines in her low Russian accent, voice cracking when you nudge her clothed cunt with your thigh. “—Oh…”

You smile into her chest, teeth scraping her sensitive nipple. Yelena keeps you pressed against her with a hand on the back of your head. Your arms curl around her back to keep her flush to your thigh. You feel the warmth of her cunt against your skin, and the wet spot slowly forming there.

The stubborn girl turns into a puddle above you, in more ways than one. You feel her shuddering as she buries each of her moans in your hair. Your mouth leaves her nipple with a quiet pop, and a thin string of saliva threatens to connect you when you pull away.

“Are you gonna cum, Lena?” you coo, swollen mouth curling into a soft smile. “I’ve barely even touched you—”

Her fingers tighten in your hair. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she pleads in a broken voice.

You return to her chest, sucking on her sensitive nipple until she keens. She exhales a hoarse moan above you, flexing her hips over your thigh to keep her clit flush to your skin. She lets out several pretty “Uh, uh, uh”’s before tensing suddenly above you. 

Yelena holds her breath, grips you tight by your shoulder and the back of your neck, and begins to tremble over your thigh. “Oh, shit…” she moans, then sighs. “Oh, shit—” 

It comes out more disappointed the second time, as she pulls back from you to flash you a girlish pout. “What?” you laugh, mouth shining with spit, as you smooth a rouge blonde tendril behind her ear.

“I was supposed to make you feel good,” she whines, Russian accent sounding deep in her mouth. “I had it all planned— I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing we’ve got all the time in the world, right?”

Yelena’s frown curls into a more devilish grin at your words.

Neither of you get any sleep that night. Walker, included.

ROBERTY REYNOLDS X READER — a year after the void nearly destroyed new york, you're still teaching bob that it's okay to feel good (new-ish relationship, post-thunderbolts | 1k words)

Robert Reynolds is still getting used to touching you. He’s spent nearly every day with you since you found him — learning how to use his powers for good, how to touch you without hurting you, how to be human again. It’s been a year since then, and he’s starting to get the hang of it. But sometimes he thinks you have more faith in him than he does in himself.

You kiss him hard enough to bruise him on the center of the living room couch, with Sunset Boulevard playing quietly on the large TV behind you. Bob’s anxiety is only partly quelled by the rest of the Thunderbolts’ absence, but he’s still slightly scared of himself — what if The Void returned and swallowed him whole again? Who would be there to stop him from hurting you if it did?

You don’t seem half as panicked about the whole thing as your lips stamp wet kisses up and down the expanse of his long neck. “You’re so pretty, Bobby,” you murmur into his warm skin. “Such a pretty boy…”

Bob swallows hard at your praise, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He shifts uncomfortably beneath you on the sofa when he feels his cock twitching in the confines of his sweatpants. There’s a need for release inside of him that he can’t ignore, but he cares more about keeping you safe. Safe from himself.

You pull back, mouth swollen from your assault on his neck. “Can I…?” you smile and trail off, hands sliding down his clothed, lean chest to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Bob doesn’t know what you’re planning. It excites him as much as it frightens him. His mouth opens and closes like a fish until he finds the words. “Oh. I— I don’t— I don’t know,” he stammers through an awkward chuckle.

You shrug despite the pang of disappointment in your chest. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—”

“It’s not that!” Bob blurts, rushing to hold you by the waist when you threaten to move off him. (He forgets, for maybe the first time ever, to be scared of touching you.) He swallows hard at the look you give him, blinking wildly with glassy eyes. “I just… I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you assure him with a pretty laugh. “You don’t even have to touch me.”

Bob’s brows furrow. “What?” he wonders aloud.

You don’t answer him with words. You just flash him a mischievous smirk and shift on the couch until you’re no longer straddling him. You press your lips to his — once, twice, and then a third time — in a silent reminder to relax before your mouth trails down his neck once more. 

You move past his jaw, to his pulse, and down towards his collarbone, sinking further onto your knees as you kiss down his body.

Bob exhales a shuddering breath and tilts his heavy head towards the back of the couch. He feels his hands start to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists, instead.

“Relax, baby,” you murmur between the kisses you press to his clothed sternum. “Let me make you feel good.”

Bob tenses beneath you when your hands brush his cock, growing harder in his boxers by the second. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ignore the need swelling inside him. “Um… Maybe we should…” he stammers, voice shaking. “Maybe we should, like, slow down?”

He covers his desperate plea with a wavering half-smile.

You nod, now fully on your knees between his spread thighs, and give him a kind, tight-lipped smile in return. “‘Course. I’ll go slow. Promise.”

You feel Bob trembling beneath your hand when you lift the hem of his shirt. Your fingers brush the fine hair sprinkled on his lean stomach as you press chaste kisses to every inch of revealed skin. He takes in a shaking breath, burning red hot under your touch. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you how sensitive he is — how, if he thinks about you and your soft touches for too long, that he’ll explode. So he doesn’t. He just squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think about anything other than the way you’re making him feel just now.

“I’ll take care of you, Bobby. I promise,” you slur between languid kisses, holding his shirt up with one hand while your other teases the hem of his boxers. “I’ll make you feel so good—” Your lips brush the coarse hair peeking from his waistline. You flash him a pair of glassy, mischievous eyes. 

“And maybe—” A kiss. “If you’re real good—” Another, a bit lower this time. “I’ll let you fuck me—”

Bob face twists. His brows furrow, his eyes shut tight, his nose scrunches at the bridge. He makes a strangled noise in his throat, growing so tense beneath you that it makes him tremble. 

You just freeze, frightened that you might’ve done something wrong. You did just promise to take it slow, after all — and here he is now, cumming in his boxers. 

He feels the warmth of his orgasm wetting the plaid fabric and sticking awkwardly to his skin. He fails to stave off the pang of embarrassment searing his chest.

“I’m sorry,” both of you blurt at the same time.

Bob’s eyes snap open, still slightly glazed over. “You’re sorry?!” he gapes. “What are you sorry for?”

You falter for a moment. “I don’t know,” you answer and start to laugh. 

The pretty sound fills the quiet tower, and Bob can’t help but laugh along with you. He tilts his heavy head back against the couch as you rise from your knees, straddling him once more and avoiding the sensitive mess in his pants. 

“Did it feel good, at least?” you ask, smoothing your palms over his trembling shoulders.

Bob nods and swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mumbles, then clears his throat. “I haven’t— Haven’t been with anyone in a while, so… I guess you could say I’m… a little out of practice.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” you coo, ducking down to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. Even with his eyes closed, he can hear the smile in your voice as you whisper, “I’ll whip you back into shape in no time, Reynolds.”

[arina24]

Reprise

LE SSERAFIM Kazuha x M Reader

Tags: Fluff, Smut

10k words

You’ve always loved the carnival. The yellow lights splash across the land like streaks of fire, growing ever more alluring the closer you get. The Ferris wheel is the first to appear—giant, unmistakable. Then the merry-go-round with the painted horses comes into view. Nearby, a huge tent hides the mirror maze underneath.

When you’re right up there, the stalls selling popcorn and potato snacks pop up, filling the evening air with salt and warmth. Maybe you’re a little too old for most of the rides now, but that doesn’t really matter. It’s about how it makes you feel, right?

You thought you’d noticed all the highlights on your way there. But something still feels just out of sight, like the memory is yet to fully take shape.

Then you see. You’d missed something—no, someone important. She might just be the most important attraction here for you.

You don’t remember your childhood best friend being this beautiful.

Your gaze locks onto Kazuha, wearing a sporty white crop top and a baseball cap. Fits the theme. Her jet-black hair dances in the wind, but never blocks her view as she aims a long air rifle at the board of balloons—a fierce look in her eyes.

And when dawn breaks, she’ll disappear, like the carnival itself. Again.

“Still awful at aiming, huh?” Your voice catches her off-guard as she’s reloading for a second try.

She turns sharply—bullets slip from her fingers and roll towards you. You promptly stop them with your feet. “Careful, butterfingers,” you add as you bend to pick them up.

Her eyes stare at you for a moment, flickering with something unreadable, before going back to the natural cockiness you’ve always seen her sport.

She snatches the bullets out of your palm with a scoff. “Not awful. I was compensating for the wind—it changed direction at the last second.”

“Right,” you reply, amused.

“And someone I haven’t seen in years randomly shows up? I think some shock is warranted.”

She takes another shot. This one almost hits the operator a few feet away from the target.

“You know you’re supposed to hit the balloons, right?” You gesture to the board. “Let me have a try before you end up hitting some poor kid around here.”

Kazuha grits her teeth at that comment. As competitive as ever.

“I’m going for the harder balloons at the back. They keep moving.” She puts all her focus on this shot—posture adjusted, wind analyzed and eyes narrowed.

The bullet flies, and this time, hits her target. The balloon pops with a loud crack, startling some kids nearby.

“Yes!” She punches the air. The operator hands over a big teddy bear to her. Kazuha flips you the finger with a smug smile, hugging the bear to her chest.

“You still have a couple bullets left,” someone reminds her. She reaches for the gun—but before her hand can get close, you quickly pick it up. You point it at the same area she was aiming at and fire off two quick shots in succession. Both hit your target, much to her visible displeasure.

Two plushies for you. You turn towards Kazuha and hold them up in mock triumph, taking in the spite written all over her face. It only makes you feel warmer inside.

“Being the gentleman I am.” You offer her both the bears. “I will let the lady have her prizes.”

She rolls her eyes at that and gives the bears to some kid roaming around. He snatches them from her hands and runs away, without so much as a thank you.

A woman nearby, likely his mother, stops and chides the kid. “Go on, thank the nice lady. You can’t be rude like that.”

“Yeah, thank the nice lady who couldn’t win a single thing till I showed up,” you whisper into Kazuha’s ear. She endures the lecture with a tight, polite smile.

”No, no, it’s completely alright. I know how kids can be sometimes.” She grabs your wrist as an excuse and pulls you away with her.

Soon enough, the pair annoying her disappear from view. ”I hate kids,” she mutters, not realizing she can let go of your wrist now.

“That’s funny.” You let her lead. “Because the last time I saw you, you were one.”

Evening slowly dips into night, and more and more lights are being switched on. Kazuha adjusts her cap, tying her hair back with a rubber band. Her perfectly fitting crop top slides up a little as she raises her arms, revealing more of her toned midriff. But the view is fleeting—her hands drop back down, searching for your wrist before she notices she doesn’t need to hold you anymore.

The smell of burnt sugar and frying oil thickens as more stalls open up. Laughter from kids on nearby rides echoes through the air. You’ve walked these places with Kazuha before. But the way her fingers brush her wrist now—you hope, maybe it was yours she was reaching for.

You get the lightest feeling you're seeing her differently this time.

“Gosh it’s been…” She tries to count the years, but gives up. “Forever. Didn't even know if you were alive. Or if you offed yourself for losing to me in too many games.”

“You could’ve known, you know, if you ever bothered to reach out after disappearing.”

She ignores that comment. You want to press again, but the night is just getting started. Maybe you'll get your answers later. Maybe. But for now, you'll let it slide.

“Speaking of games in which you lose to me—” She stops, revealing where she’s been leading you: a big toy hammer leaning against a massive target, and a tower of numbers climbing all the way up to 1000.

You know you’ve been had.

“Remember this?” she asks with a cheeky grin—planned all along.

“Clear as day.” You deadpan.

“Thought I'd give you one last chance to try and beat me.”

The sting of losing to her all those years ago suddenly feels fresh and piercing. There's no way you're still worse than her at this, right? You are a grown man now, and she’s just a girl.

“Loser has to buy the other marshmallows, same rules,” she continues, sweetly. You curse yourself under your breath. You’ve given her way too much money in this stupid game.

“Fine. Who goes first?” You pick up the hammer, feeling its weight.

”Since it’s already in your hand, I’ll let you go ahead, gentleman.” She hands over some change to the operator nearby.

You cannot let her beat you. Not again. Not this time.

You take two practice swings. Grip firm. Stance solid. Hammer lined up dead-center. This can’t go wrong. On the third swing, you go for it, hitting it hard with a satisfying thump which makes the marker shoot up. It races past the initial numbers, and your heart kicks up with it. Maybe this is it. Maybe this time you finally win.

To your dismay, the pace drops rapidly near the top. 800, 850, 900, and the marker comes to rest at 950. One square away from a 1000.

“Not bad.” She almost seems genuine—then the corners of her lips slowly curl up. “But clearly, there’s room for improvement.”

“Oh, cut it out, Zuha. No way you’re making 1000.”

She doesn’t respond right away, picking up the mallet and trying to block out the crowd noise. Her fingers curl around the handle, and that familiar smirk returns. No practice strikes for Kazuha—she’s going all in. But just as she’s about to bring the hammer down, her foot catches on a rock. The swing goes wide, and the hammer almost slips out of her hand.

You burst into laughter, but she’s unfazed. She takes another swing, making sure her feet are clear this time. The sound the button makes is enough to cut through your laughter and let you know she’s smacked it.

The marker shoots up again, and it’s hard to tell if it’s faster than yours. The pace drops like it did for you: 850, 900, 950—and then it ekes out a slow, grinding climb to a perfect 1000.

Not again.

”Streak still alive. Guess you just lost a strength game to a girl, again.” Not trying to be subtle today.

Her arms don’t look remotely like they pack that much power. They’re long, slender, and smooth—not the kind that throws down 1000s like it’s nothing.

What does she even do to be so strong? Although it’s weirdly attractive in a way you don’t quite know how to explain. You don’t know how to explain a lot of things about her tonight—her eyes sparkle with the reflections of the lights surrounding you, and if you stare into the golden streaks in them long enough, it’s almost enough for you to feel something.

Though that could just be the nostalgia talking, you argue.

You have no choice but to add to the already large amount Kazuha has looted from you in this game.

“The lady in the food stall is still the same.” She dips a marshmallow into the chocolate dip and nibbles on it.

“Maybe she loves—” A running kid bumps into Kazuha, pushing her off balance. Her chocolate spills all over your fingers.

“You little shit!” you shout, but he’s long gone already. You steady her with your clean hand. “You okay? Didn’t knock the wind out of you or anything?”

“No, I’m alright.” She brushes herself off. “Was the same kid from before. I suppose this is what I get for trying to give him some teddy bears.”

“Did earn him a lecture.” You hold up your fingers, showing them coated in her dip. “He made my hand a mess too.”

“Well, can’t let my hard-earned snacks go to waste now.” She pops a marshmallow into her mouth and lifts your fingers to her plush lips. She pauses for a second, then slides them into her mouth, sucking the chocolate off like it’s an everyday occurrence.

In her defense, it could have passed for one. A few years back. But right now, it does not feel so everyday to you. Kazuha’s warmth envelops your fingers, savoring the sweetness from you so casually. You hope she doesn’t catch the flush creeping on your face. She’s quick with it—you’re in public after all, but it’s enough to get your pulse racing. Her tongue slips out to lick the remaining off her lower lip.

“Mouth clean?” she asks.

You wish it weren’t (maybe you could have offered to clean it off).

But it is, and you report that truthfully.

You were staring at her face maybe a bit too long—her delicate lips, fierce dark eyes (soft underneath, you know), strands of hair framing her face like she’s a photograph—a moment to be captured, and it’s long enough for Kazuha to notice. She tilts her head, amusement slipping into her eyes.

”All okay? Did I suddenly turn too beautiful for you to take your eyes off me?”

(You have no idea.)

“What—no, no.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting around for an excuse to change the topic. The gigantic rotating structure right behind her catches your eye.

“I was admiring the Ferris wheel behind you. Brilliant architecture, right?” And if your memory serves you right, this might just prove to be the best excuse.

“It’s alright. What’s so brilliant about it?” You can feel her smug exterior crumbling ever so slightly.

“It’s the biggest attraction here and we should definitely go on it once.” (Second biggest.)

“Nuh uh.” She knows your intentions.

“Oh my, the strong and mighty Nakamura Kazuha still pisses her pants at heights.”

“That happened once,” she protests.

“Do you know what happened every time we went on the wheel? You holding—no, crushing my hands and not letting go no matter how much I cried.”

”That won’t happen again, because we aren’t going on it,” she says with an air of finality.

“Can’t believe you’re still afraid of heights.” You shake your head in disappointment.

“I’m not.”

“Then we’re going on it—right now. Even little Zuha wanted to go on the ride. Every single time. Have you really become more of a coward?”

A long sigh leaves her mouth. She’s conflicted, but you can sense the side you’re rooting for is winning the battle.

“Are you gonna hold my hand again when we get to the top?” you ask, waiting in line after getting the tickets.

“Not a chance,” she retorts.

The queue is short, and your turn comes quickly. Kazuha’s denim shorts ride up her thighs as she sits down, and you try not to stare too long. You take your seat next to her in the cramped cabin. The operator pulls the metal bar down with a clang, locking the two of you in place.

The wheel moves a little, then stops for the next passengers to get in.

“The worst part is the loading, really.” She leans forward a bit to look at how far the ground is from her.

After peeking down, she immediately snaps back in place. “Nope, shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”

“Hey calm down. Let’s maybe try to talk about something else. What have you been up to? My guess is training to be a professional athlete.”

The wheel is set into motion, and Kazuha breathes again.

“Good guess.” She snorts. “But no. Regular adult life, mostly. Nothing as glamorous as that.”

The wheel stops for the next loading, about halfway up now. You are suspended several dozen feet in the air, feet dangling below. The cart rocks unevenly, making it worse, at times tilting almost perpendicular to the ground. Kazuha’s face is red. She looks like she’s about to throw up.

“Hey, think this is a good time to ask—” She turns to you nervously, voice shaking. ”Are you seeing someone?”

“Not currently, no.”

”So I won’t get jumped by some girl for holding your hand, right?” Her hand slips into yours, palm in palm. She grips you hard—the usual, but you were the one who got her on this time, so you’ll bear it.

“Only if I won’t have to deal with any jealous boyfriends or exes either.” Your other palm moves on top of hers, affirming her grip. She relaxes a little at the touch.

“Boyfriends, no; exes, I’ll trust you to defend yourself if it comes to that.” She rests her head on your shoulder. Her hair falls behind you, brushing softly against the back of your neck.

“Tell me something. If you’re so afraid of heights, why did you want to go on it every time we came here?”

The wheel is moving again, and you’re on the way to the top now.

“Look.” She motions towards what you’re already seeing. The small-town houses look like mere dots across the landscape, none of the buildings tall enough to display any of their features. Rolling green fields surround the town, broken only by the occasional winding road.

Below, the carnival stretches out, cheap decorations and all, but charming in its own right. The striking yellow lights tie it all together. A scene worth the ride.

“I love the view. The town looks absolutely stunning from here.”

“So why'd you just up and leave one day? Seems rather unfair to the town.” (To the town.)

“Because.” She shrugs. “How could anyone be content where they are?”

“Dunno. I could be pretty content staying right here.” You turn, looking into the eyes which effortlessly held your attention the entire evening.

The wheel comes to a slowing halt right at the very top.

“Talking about the view or me?” Her eyes look back at you, pupils dilating in the lush ambient glow around. You could stare into them forever.

“I mean the view—” Your throat tightens. Words stuck in your mouth.

"Is that all you were gonna say?"

“You, you look so beautiful.” You barely manage to get it out.

“Kiss me, then.”

What happens next is a blur. Purely instinctual.

She pulls you in, your lips connecting like opposite poles of a magnet, finally allowed to meet. Your hand wraps around her waist, and her fingers thread through your hair. Her lips are soft and warm—perfect.

There’s still a trace of chocolate from earlier, not that her mouth needs any help being sweet. Her nose brushes slightly against yours, and you keep her lips locked in place, almost like you’re afraid she might disappear again.

A soft whimper leaves your mouth, letting her know how much you’ve wanted this. She tilts your head towards her, finding the perfect angle for you to feel her lips full against yours, her body moving closer. The air between you carries her scent—fresh, floral, sharp.

You wish you could freeze this moment: Kazuha’s lips pressed to yours, the kiss full of everything neither of you could say aloud.

She pulls away for a second, her fingers still tangled in your hair, not willing to let you go. She looks into your eyes, searching for a reaction to what she did.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you like this,” you murmur.

”Feels right.” Her lips part in a soft smile.

You cup her cheeks and pull her back in, her lips crashing onto yours. You aren’t satisfied with one round. You couldn’t be satisfied with a million rounds.

The wheel is back in motion, the cart rocking gently. Neither of you care. In your world, the two of you are still, existing only for each other.

The night is warm; it’s still summer, but there’s a cool breeze flowing through you now. You’re unsure if it’s because of the ride or the released tension. No—it has to be the kiss. Normal breezes don’t feel this freeing.

The rest of the ride passes in a mix of fervent kisses and dodging onlookers whenever the cart dips too low for comfort. Kissing you seems to work better than any antidote for Kazuha’s acrophobia—you don’t hear another complaint from her. All her attention is on you.

Eventually, the ride slows to a stop. You lend her a hand getting off the cart (though she'll deny ever needing help with that). Palm in hers, barrier lifted.

“Next time, maybe I won't have to fight to get you on this thing?”

“Maybe you will.” She steps out of the cart, getting on the trimmed grass with you.

”I’d do a lot worse things to kiss you like that again.”

The lips you just kissed waver into a smile as she sweeps a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

“Didn’t know you had a flirt in you.”

“You weren’t around for my best years.” The thought reminds you. “You never told me why you left.”

She takes your wrist in her hand and starts walking, going who knows where again. Her eyes drift toward the fields far away, like she could find her answer there if she tried hard enough.

“Not my call, really. Mom wanted a fresh start, I think.” She kicks a stone. It skips past a nearby stall. “Said I'll get more opportunities in a big city. More exposure, yada yada. Probably just excuses.”

Her voice trails off for a second, like she’s holding back the rest. Excuses for what? But instead of continuing, she just keeps walking. You decide to give her space for now.

“So, did you? Got into any new stuff?”

“One or two.” Her gaze drops to her feet.

“Like what?”

“Ballet.”

You break into a smile. “Didn't peg you for a pirouette. All that inhuman strength—and you chose ballet?”

“Shut up. I’m good at it.”

“Yeah, I'm gonna need to see a performance to decide, live.”

She scoffs. “In your dreams.”

The walk keeps going. She pulls you past the stretched-out haunted house and the bumper cars. The carnival music fades, speakers switched off one by one as the night gets deeper.

“Do you have a place in mind, or are you just taking me in circles?”

”We are going somewhere. It’s been waiting since we got here, you’ll see.” She rounds the corner and stops in her tracks. Lifting your hand, she points to the huge tent in front of you. “We're here.”

Mirror maze.

“Why does it feel like you've been calling the shots the whole night and I'm just following you?”

“When have I ever taken a bad decision?”

You don’t even bother with a response, and just look away.

“Come on, you’re really gonna pretend we didn’t have fun here?” Kazuha continues, half-challenging. Truth is, there's a spark in her eyes you'd follow anywhere.

You shrug. “Don’t know. Don’t remember much of this.”

”So the onus is on me to make this memorable for you.” She nods like she’s been expecting this.

“What does that even mean?”

Ignored. You turn to the ticket stand—only to find it shut down.

“Zuha, it’s closed. Guess we’re too late.”

A playful smile creeps on her lips. “Just as planned. Follow me.” She heads to the back of the tent, where there’s no one around. Lifting a loose flap, she pulls you in and lets it fall shut behind you.

Shiny is the first word you’d use to describe the place. Disorienting the second. It feels like you’re in one of those high school physics puzzles: Given k mirrors at various angles, calculate how many images you’ll see. The answer to this one is millions. Millions of yourselves and Kazuhas surround you, some even intersecting at odd angles.

You take a step—only to hit yourself on the head. All the Kazuhas around you grin widely as you rub your forehead.

“Watch and learn,” she says and strides forward. Not an obstacle in her path. Eyes locked ahead, no hesitation, almost like the mirrors themselves part to make way for her.

“Caught that grace? Ballet.”

“If you brought me here just to show off again.” You roll your eyes at her. “I'd rather leave.”

She keeps walking, taking right and left turns at specific spots like she's memorized the entire map. You follow. The way she moves—self-assured, hips swaying ever so lightly—is captivating nonetheless.

Your thoughts spill out before you have a chance to catch them. “Though I’d be content just watching you like this.”

That’s not how you talk to your childhood friend.

A soft laugh slips from her. “I thought you wanted to leave a minute ago. Anyway, I didn’t bring you here to show off. I brought you here to show something, if it still exists…” She taps behind the panel of one of the mirrors. “We're in luck.”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“Shh.” Her finger brushes your lips—light, deliberate. It lingers there a second longer than it needs to. Your heartbeat stumbles. You want to kiss her fingertips, suck them into your mouth like she did yours, but you don't.

“I know you said you can't recall much. But try jogging your memory, do you remember when we used to play hide-and-seek here?”

You take a look around, and in the reflections, the past becomes clearer. Environmental memory and all.

“Somewhat. Didn’t you always vanish for way too long?”

“Precisely. I'm about to reveal to you where I used to hide.” Kazuha motions with a flair suited for revealing a lifelong secret.

She pulls at a mirror. It gives way to a relatively small space—just enough for the two of you to fit, with a little room to spare. Brown walls, a break from the bright and shine everywhere, make it feel like a private spot made only for you both.

You step in first, Kazuha slips in after you. As she moves past, her chest brushes against your hands—slow, almost like she wants you to touch her. You can hear—no, feel her breathing. Steady. Yours isn’t.

A second later, she's in place. The mirror slides shut behind her, darkness swallowing you both.

“Give it a minute, your eyes will adjust,” she murmurs, her hand settling on your shoulder to steady you. “Unless you’d prefer to feel your way around instead.”

You’re facing each other, backs against opposite walls.

“Is this the first time you’re here with someone?”

She nods. Kazuha’s floral scent hits you stronger now that you’re this close to her. You’re almost scared to breathe her in twice.

Your eyes adjust, just enough to make out her face. You can’t help but admire how gorgeous she is, right there in front of you, even if you can barely see her in the dark.

Almost like she knows what you’re thinking, she stands on her toes to reach a panel behind you. She pushes it open, letting a few rays of light in. They illuminate her face a little, her features even more striking in the dim golden light. The light carves across her cheekbones, emphasizing their sharpness.

And yet, it’s the same Kazuha you’ve seen a million times.

“What if someone sees us?”

“Nobody will. It leads nowhere, I know this maze inside out. We have this place to ourselves.”

Her thighs touch yours as she settles back into place. It’s incredible how sure of herself, confident, she can be even when she can’t see anything. Or maybe it’s because you’re here with her.

“Why are we here?” you ask softly.

“I’m not staying here long.”

Her words land like a stone in your chest. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, you had no idea why she was even here, but it was easy to get lost in the memories with her and pretend this was permanent.

It’s not though, and her words remind you—maybe both, that this night is fleeting. You need to make it count.

She brushes the back of your neck. The warmth of her body is comforting, even in the summer, heating you up. The silence hanging tells you exactly what you have to do.

You cup her cheek and pull her in, lips meeting yours. You slip a hand around her waist, impossibly slender against you. Maybe there was truth to her claims on grace after all.

Her fingers are tangled in your hair again, messier this time—like she wants to show you exactly how much she wants this. Wants you. She pauses for a second, her lips grazing your ear, breath hot on you.

“And when I said you can feel your way around,” Kazuha whispers. “I meant my body too.”

You don’t move at first.

Not because you don’t want to—God, you do—but because this version of her, the one offering herself to you in the dark, feels almost too surreal to touch. Like one wrong move and she’ll vanish. Disappear into thin air. Again.

“You okay?”

You nod. “I just... I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Her fingers find your chin. She tilts it toward her. “I’m here now. So touch me.”

Your hands trace the outline of her figure. You've touched her before—games, scrapes, fights—but never like this. Never with intentions like this. You slide down the curve of her back, her skin damp from the heat, before finally resting on her ass.

Your fingers hang there awkwardly—hesitant, unsure what to do. Kazuha notices. She places her free hand on yours, guiding, and presses your hand into the soft curve of her ass. It’s plump, yielding, and fits perfectly in your palm.

“Feels good?” she asks, voice low.

“Mhm,” you breathe.

Satisfied, her lips return to yours. You squeeze her ass cheeks again. A soft moan escapes her, caught by your mouth before it can go anywhere else.

The tip of your tongue grazes her lips, asking for entry. And her lips part willingly. Your tongue slides against Kazuha’s in her mouth—hungry, slick, and deep.

For once in her life, she’s happy to lose to you. Her tongue submits to yours, letting you savor her mouth at your own pace.

Her hand drifts down, fingers tracing the outline of your hardness, already heavy against your pants. She cups it with her palm, groping, gently stroking through the cloth. It only makes you harder. Throbbing. And a grunt slips out at how she's touching you.

She tugs at your pants, asking for more. You grab her wrist and lift it away.

“My turn.”

Her brow lifts slightly, but the corners of her mouth curl in approval. “Someone’s feeling bold tonight.”

You sink to your knees, planting kisses on the abs you've seen all night, but never really admired how fit they are. Tight, slim, built to be shown off, worshipped. And worship them you will, tasting her skin with your tongue, licking across her midriff. Her skin has a hint of salt, sweat glistening under the light, but she still manages to taste sweet.

“Can we at least take my shorts off?” she huffs.

You look up, meeting her eyes. “We've got all night.”

Still, you decide not to torture her further. You unzip her denim shorts and slide it down in one fluid motion. Her black panties greet you, fabric stretched over the shape of her lips, outline clear. You only need one touch to feel how drenched she is, and it’s immediately clear why she needed them off.

Her inner thighs are a creamy, milky white, tempting you to taste more of her. You start with kisses, then drag your tongue slowly over her soft skin. Her flavor is stronger on her thighs, more intense, addicting. You can't get enough.

Her muscles tense beneath your tongue, and Kazuha's fingers weave into your hair. Every flick of your tongue leaves her trembling, you're getting closer, but never close enough. She shifts her body, trying to press down on you, wanting something you won't quite give her.

It’s not like her to beg for anything. You’d probably laugh if someone told you she ever did. But now, for the first time, you hear her beg. Kazuha herself, whispering for release.

“Please.”

Your hands reach behind her and pull her panties down. Her pussy presents itself for you—bare, pink folds slick with a mix of sweat and arousal. Your tongue finishes its ascent, giving her core a long, slow lick. She whimpers, so satisfied. She’s warm, the heat on your tongue telling you just how much she’s been holding back.

Her grip tightens in your hair, urging you closer.

But you tease her instead, giving slow, deliberate licks—agonizingly gentle. You love how each moan slips out in rhythm with your touch, music only you get to hear.

“Someone might hear us,” you murmur, fully aware you’re the reason they might.

“Fuck,” she hisses. “Let them, then. Feels too—fuck, good.”

She gets wetter with every lick, your saliva mixing with her arousal, coating her pussy in a translucent mess. Some of her sweet nectar trickles into your mouth, and you savor every drop. Your hands wander to her ass, groping handfuls of her flesh, driving her further, closer, deeper into ecstasy.

“Clit too, please.”

You wrap your lips around her clit, one swirl of your tongue, and she’s squirming. Kazuha arches her back, trying to push herself further against your tongue, wanting all of you on her.

You pick up the rhythm, quick swipes of your tongue at her clit, and she melts into a moaning mess. Her hands clutch locks of your hair, not daring to let you go.

“Had no idea you were so fucking good at this.”

Her thighs lock on either side of your head, pushing you further and further into her heat. You can barely inhale anything but her pussy now—her sweat, slick, lust for you. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The more frantic her hands grow in your hair, the more you reward her with your mouth.

And it’s no surprise she’s already getting close. She grinds her pussy on your tongue, chasing her release. Her knees go weak, and her fingers dig deeper into your scalp, as if needing you just to stand upright. You press her further against the wall, steadying her.

Her wetness is all over herself, thighs, abs, pussy, coated in her own desire. Her moans take over the entire room—someone’s definitely hearing, and she couldn’t care less.

She’s screaming all sorts of things, your name included, and it’s the first time you’re hearing it in this flavor out of her mouth. You could get used to it.

As she finishes, a gush of juices flows into your mouth, and everywhere else. Your cheeks, lips, and neck are all a mess. Kazuha’s slick is all over you, and you could stay like this forever. (Not literally forever—good thing she always carries tissues)

“Maybe I did miss out on a few things,” she says between heavy breaths.

You look at her with an expression that says, I told you so.

You climb up and kiss her lips, offering her a sample of her own juices. Her tongue slips out to swipe at your mouth, tasting the mix of her slick and your spit, and she laps it up into her own. She lets you go once she’s satisfied.

“Not bad. Been a while since I’ve tasted myself.”

“You're kidding right? You taste incredible.” You wipe some off your mouth.

“Since when do you shower me with praise like this? Maybe I should disappear more often.”

She rests for a good few minutes, catching her breath. Once she's steady, her hand slides down to your pants once again, finding your cock pressing through it. “Can I have my turn now, Mr. Decision Taker?”

“Sure, but I don't see how anything can match up to the performance I just gave.”

“Ooh, shouldn't have gone there,” she purrs, dropping on her knees in front of you. Your pants are tugged down quickly, your hardness even more obvious on your underwear. “You have no idea what you started.”

“Or maybe I know exactly what I'm doing.” You grin, hand slipping through Kazuha's hair.

There’s no hesitation in her grip as she fondles your boner through the cloth, trying to familiarize herself with the shape before she even sees it.

“Brat…” She rolls her eyes as her fingers tighten on you.

“Just the way you like it.”

She slips her hands into your underwear and pulls your cock out. You’ve known those eyes your whole life—seen them light up over dumb jokes and game nights—but now, they’re locked on your cock like it’s the only thing that matters.

“Someone must have been feeling a little… constrained.” She runs her fingertips along your length, barely brushing. Every touch sends sparks dancing across your skin.

She glances up, catching the way you squirm. “Two can play at the teasing game.”

Your cock is throbbing, twitching for anything more than the ghost of her touch. Your thighs tense without permission, breath catching—shallow, uneven. You want to grab her hand, make her finish what she started. But you also want to stay still, because somehow the way she looks up at you, barely touching, is better than anything else could be.

Once she decides she’s done playing, she wraps her palm around you, slow strokes gliding up and down your length. You let go of a soft moan, ”Zuha…”

Her eyes meet yours and she strokes you firmer now, steadier. “I like hearing you say my name like that.”

“Keep going and you’ll be hearing it a lot more.”

She brings in her mouth close to your tip, tongue about to slip out—

—instead, a hot breath rolls over your skin. It hits you like lightning. Your cock pulses harder than before.

“Oops. That wasn’t intentional.” The smile tugging at her lips says otherwise. Her hand rubs gently over your tip, like nursing an injury. She holds your base firmer, leans in near your tip again—breath careful this time—and kisses it. Another, then another, and plants a line of kisses to your base.

Finally, her tongue slips out, and she licks you all the way back to the tip.

Kazuha gives you a few more licks, slow and deliberate, making sure not a single spot is untouched. Your cock is lathered with her spit, giving it a glossy finish.

“You taste good.” Her eyes glint up at you. “Could suck on this all night.”

You’re already getting weak for her. “Not sure I can last that long. But we’ll try.”

One of her hands drifts down to your balls, massaging you gently. Suddenly, she squeezes too hard.

“Ah—careful,” you wince, hips pulling back instinctively.

She lets go instantly. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Was that too hard?”

You nod.

“Should I stop with my hands?” A flush spreads over her cheeks, as if she’s second-guessing herself. Doesn’t happen often.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You stroke her hair, trying to soothe her. “I know you didn’t mean to. You can still do it if you like, just be a little gentle. They’re sensitive.”

“Okay, I'll be careful.” Her hands return to your balls, fondling with a calculated care.

“You look cute when you’re flustered.” You cup her face with one hand. “Don't think I've ever seen you like this.”

Her cheeks only flush a deeper red at that comment. She tries to ignore it and focuses her energy on your cock instead, trying to wipe that smile off your face.

Her hand spreads the slick mess all over your shaft. Your fingers dig deeper into her hair, urging her to take you in—and to your surprise, her lips immediately part open. Guilt always did make her more agreeable. Her hands rest on your thighs, steadying herself, breath hot against you.

Then she takes you into her mouth.

She’s soft. So warm. Incredibly wet. Her mouth wraps tight around you, tongue flat underneath, her spit making you slick as she slides deeper. Her cheeks hollow—sucking hard enough to pull a sharp gasp out of you. You twitch inside her mouth, and that is all the encouragement she needs to keep going.

Her tongue swirls around your cock, slurping loudly as she sucks, like she’s convinced it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.

She keeps you there for a while, her eyes gripped on yours, watching them roll back deeper with every passing second. Drool slips from her tongue, soaking your cock until it runs down and lands on her own midriff.

“Your mouth feels unreal.” It takes effort to even pronounce words. “Zuha.“ More moans of her name, as promised. You see the glimmer in her eyes every time you say it.

She slides you deeper into her throat, her lips brushing against your waist. Her throat constricts around you—so fucking tight. Kazuha’s making the dirtiest noises you’ve ever heard.

And when she finally can't take it—she pulls back. Her face is a mess. Strands of her spit glide from her lips to your cock. It almost feels wrong to see Kazuha like this, but then why does it feel so fucking good?

She steadies herself with a breath, then plants kisses down your length, getting ready to take you back into her mouth. You brush a few strands of hair out of her face and lock them in your hand, still gripping her hair. Her lips envelop your length again, the sensation drawing a grunt out of you.

Her mouth bobs up and down on you, taking you deeper with every round. Your knees go weak, and you look around for something to hold onto—but nothing.

“Is it okay if I hold your hair tighter?”

She nods, unbothered, and barely reacts when you tighten your grip on her hair like your life depends on it—focused on worshipping your cock. If anything, she takes it as a sign to go harder. Her mouth moves faster on you, suction tighter than ever.

The wet, slick sounds of her lips on your shaft are somehow louder than your moans.

Her lips release you with a pop, and her hand takes over—lips kissing your tip as her grip tightens, almost possessive of you. She strokes you, steady and firm, and for once, your moans rise louder than the obscene sounds she makes. The sensation makes your back arch, every movement pushing you closer to release.

“It’s okay, you can cum on me.” Her hand keeps working you, milking you for all you’re worth, her face right below your tip.

And then you let go. Thick ropes shoot out of you, landing across Kazuha’s face—forehead, cheeks, chin, and some in her mouth as well.

A few drops drip down to her chest and midriff. She’s a total fucking mess for you—and somehow still manages to look like the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen.

“So, not matching up to your performance is out of the question.” She swipes a streak from her cheeks and licks it off her fingers.

You struggle to form a response. It takes a while before you can say, “Ouch. And here I thought you were doing all this because you were into me.”

“Of course I am, you dork.” She gestures to the sticky trails from her hair down to her body, like that alone should be proof. “And I pull off this look too, by the way.”

“Sure you do. Thank God you always carry tissues though.”

“Yeah, God,” she mutters, already digging through her bag—only to come up empty-handed. “Not this time.”

”What the fuck? We are not going out like this.”

”Yeah, I gathered.” She lets out a quiet breath while she takes one last look in her bag. “I can’t walk out covered in cum and spit. You’re gonna have to go grab napkins for me.”

”Your juices are all over me as well, ma’am.”

“All this is definitely worse. So you are going.” Her tone leaves no room for argument.

You stand there, staring at her, she is right. There’s no way she's stepping outside like that. Which means it's on you to dodge a dozen eyes and sneak your way to a food stall for napkins.

She looks at you, eyes glinting, lips pursed like she’s trying to suppress a smile.

”Not funny, Zuha.”

She shrugs. “A little funny.”

The packet finally comes out from her bag, and right when you’re about to grab it—it slips from her hands.

“Jesus. At this rate I might have to actually go out like this.”

She picks it up and offers one to you. “If I were you, I’d be thankful someone actually brought tissues.”

You grab it and start wiping yourself off. “We should take this someplace a little more… intimate. No point taking risks like this again.”

“That, I agree. But where?” She's dabbing at her face too. These are the wet deep-cleanse ones. Should do the trick.

”Same as usual, my place? Nobody’s home—whole reason I came here.”

“Works.”

—

“So what did you use to do there before you, you know, had a guy to play around with?” You plop on the couch beside her, packet of cookies in hand. The air conditioner drones in the background, a welcome break from the heat outside.

“Play with myself,” she says casually, grabbing a cookie.

You turn to her, brows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“Not like that, dumbass,” she shoots back. “I meant doodle, sing songs, dance.”

You flip through TV channels, stopping on some old sitcom. “Prefer my company to that?”

“It’s close, but I’d say so.”

“Ever think about what life would’ve been like if you’d stuck around?”

“Sometimes.” She pulls at the strap of her top, then lets it snap back.

“Maybe we wouldn't have had to wait so many years for something between us.”

“Or maybe things would have never gone this way.” She leans back on the couch. “We were around each other all the time back then. And still—nothing.” Her eyes drill into the ceiling.

The TV screen flickers, static crackling from the speakers.

“Does that sometimes. Let me go check the connection.” You head behind the TV stand, feeling for the loose wire. You crouch down, out of her line of sight.

“Did you miss me?” Her voice is quiet, distant, like she’s not sure she wants the answer.

You don’t reply right away, spending a few seconds fiddling with wires that aren’t even loose.

“Sometimes. Like when I got sick, I half expected you to show up with juice and stupid movies again.”

Silence stretches between you.

“I’m sorry. I fucked up.”

You get up and walk back to the couch. “I never understood why you ghosted. Just had to make peace with it—no other option.”

“You really wanna get into all that?”

“Of course I do, Zuha. We were best friends for a decade. Whatever this is now, barely a night. I still care about you. That’s the issue, really.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She lets out a long sigh.

“Life got… weird when I moved. My new school was awful. I tried. But people either acted off or pretended I didn't exist, so I just stopped”

She shifts in her seat, adjusting her posture.

“And home wasn’t much better. Dad rarely visited, guess that was always the plan. Everything sucked. I wanted to text you—God, so many times. I’d open our chat and just sit there like an idiot.” Her fingers tug at a thread on the couch, eyes somewhere else.

“I couldn't. I was scared. Scared you'd moved on. Scared I'd look pathetic like that.

I wish I did though. Tonight… felt easy. Felt right.”

She meets your eyes now. “And more importantly, it was fucking unfair to you. I'm so sorry.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy.

“Hey… that sounds rough. Must have been hard to reach out with all of that going on. I had a sense things weren't great with your parents but not the full extent.” You pull her head to your chest. “I’m glad you told me though. Are things better now?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’m alright now. I still think about you from time to time, but it felt like the door had closed by then.”

She stretches her legs, resting her head higher up your chest. “Shit, we've been talking all about myself. What about you? How’s life been?” Her eyes glance up at yours.

“Nothing that dramatic.” You chuckle. “Stayed at the same school. Then college. Got an internship starting soon, offer came through just a few days back.”

“Wow. Someone’s been busy winning.” Her voice softens. “I’m proud of you. If we’d still been in touch… I probably would’ve been the first person you told.”

“Nah, you never were.”

“Shut up, I so was.” Her palm covers your mouth. “You came running to me to celebrate after placing second in a sack race.”

“Hey, it was a highly competitive—” You fight to lift her hand off. “—race. Millions would’ve killed to get on the stage and collect that medal.”

”Sure.” She laughs—the sound so sweet to you. Infectious. You can’t help but join in.

Both of you sit there for a second, smiling, catching your breath. It's easy like this. Familiar.

You nod toward your bedroom. “I suppose we should be making up for the missed movie nights.”

“You wanna watch something or just sleep with me?” She grabs your wrist, tugging you along.

“Wow, that reminds me. One of those sleepovers, you fell asleep first, as usual, on me and I had the most confused boner ever.” You pause. “Maybe I shouldn't have said that out loud.”

“Were always into me, huh?” She looks back over her shoulder at you.

Your memories tug at you, almost like they're trying to say something. “I'm not sure. Which is what made it weird.” Her step slows a little.

“What’d you do?”

”What could I do? I waited till it went away, then went to sleep.” You reach the bedroom and shut the door behind you. “Can't believe our parents never suspected anything, with how close we were. Not that we ever crossed the line back then, but still.”

Kazuha gets on the bed with you, pulling the blanket over you both. “My mom did. She had the same two lines every time I left the house—‘Tell your boyfriend I said hi,’ or, ‘Have fun on the date.’”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Your lips twitch into a smile. “How come I never heard about this?”

“Because I told her if she ever called you that in front of you, it'd be the last day she saw me.”

“Sounds about right. Didn’t she question your tragic outfit choices for a ‘date’ though?” You pull up Netflix, and hand her the remote. “Your pick for the night.”

She scrolls through the options. “You want me in some short little dress or what?” Her nose scrunches just at the idea.

“Obviously. Don’t you do ballet anyway?”

“Performing’s different. I’d probably cancel the date if I had to wear one outside.” She eyes your watch history. “What kind of trash do you watch?”

You sit up, facing her. “Let’s up the stakes of our next hammer game—marshmallows are boring. If I win, you’ll wear a dress on our date.”

“And if I win, the dress goes on you?”

You stare at her, deadpan.

“Kidding.” Her hand reaches for yours, intertwining fingers. “And you're never winning against me. So if you really wanna see me in a red dress, choose a different bet.“

“Why red specifically? Maybe I’d rather see you in green.”

”Wasn’t red your favorite color?” She finally settles on a cheesy romcom.

“Didn’t know favorite colors are still a thing after you grow up.” The movie begins—opens on a girl monologuing that she’ll never settle down. “Wow. You called my taste bad, and now we’re watching someone explain why love isn’t for them for the hundredth time?”

“Best I could salvage from your recommendations list. And hey, fits the mood at least.” She slides her fingers up your arm, and they settle on your shoulder.

“And what kind of mood would that be?”

Her grip tightens on your shoulder as she leans in. “It’ll take her the whole movie to realize that love is, in fact, for her.” Her hair hangs dangerously close to your face, brushing your cheek. “We can skip to the ending.”

You breathe her in. “Why does your hair smell so good? What's that scent?”

“Same shampoo I've always used.”

“No way. Didn't smell like this before.”

She laughs. “Maybe you had rocks for a nose back then.” She moves even closer, and you can feel her breath, hot against you. “You smell it better now?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, moving in to kiss her neck. Kazuha wraps her arm around your waist. A low moan slips from her lips as you leave a trail of soft pecks down her neck. She tilts her head back, letting you find the curve of her neck better. You keep kissing her—until a crop top interrupts your descent.

“Want it off?”

You nod and help her lift it off. You continue your path, lips brushing on her collarbone. Your hand finds her chest, cupping her breast through her bra. Her breath hitches. Her soft sounds grow louder at how you’re touching her.

She lets her hands wander down your body, feeling your hardness poking through your pants. “Already hungry for more?” Her fingers grazing you like that don't help at all.

“Hungry for you, Zuha.” It feels so good to tell her that. Your lips find her cleavage, kissing at the tiny bits peeking out from her bra. The chatter of the movie—the female lead’s friends urging her to text someone—fades into the background, replaced by the sounds Kazuha makes just for you.

Your hands reach behind and unhook her bra, freeing her tits. Her breasts are soft and creamy, perfectly shaped for your hands and mouth. You taste them—tongue gliding over her sensitive skin.

Her nipples are already taut, and you take one into your mouth, savoring the texture of her arousal. Her hand tangles in your hair. She’s not willing to risk letting you go.

You feel her other breast with your hand, taking her in your palm and gently squeezing—more moans for you. She leans back, pushing more of her flesh into your mouth, urging you to have more of her.

You take your time with her. Quick swipes of your tongue, gentle sucks on her nipples, your hands massaging her tits, and with every motion, soft sighs slip from Kazuha’s mouth.

“Figured you’d be thorough with this too” She lets out a breathy laugh. You can feel her body getting hotter—and one slip of your hand beneath her shorts confirms what you were thinking—she’s soaked. You gently push her onto her back, climbing over her.

“These aren’t needed.” One swift motion—and her shorts are off and on the bed. Her juices are already soaking through her panties, leaving damp spots on the sheets.  You kiss your way downwards, moving to her abs—before she stops you, clutching your shirt.

“Can we please take this off too?” she asks.

“You’re so adorable being polite during sex, you know?”

She smacks your shoulder—

—”Ow, that hurt.”

“Yeah, kind of the point. Now shut up and get naked with me.”

“What's wrong with me finding you cute like that?” You shrug and let her help you take your shirt off.

She shifts her gaze. “I don't know. That's not… our thing.”

“Going down on each other wasn't our thing till tonight. Didn’t stop us.”

“Good point. But that doesn't mean everything will change overnight.” She drags a line down from your chest—coming to a stop at your waist. “Do your pants need a separate invitation?”

You take off your pants and underwear, and she’s wrapping her hand around you again. She grips you tight, stroking your length.

“I want you in me.” Her hand glides naturally on your cock this time, like she knows exactly how to please you best.

“Come here.” You help her get her panties off, her hand not letting go of you—almost like you’d disappear if she did. You stare at her beautiful bare folds, coated in her translucent arousal, aching for you.

Kazuha’s hair is spread across the pillow, framing her face, almost angelic. She breathes short, needy gasps; even having your cock close to her core is too much for her. You line up your tip against her lips, her heat brushing against you. Every graze sends sparks flying through both of you.

Her hands come up to your face and tilt it toward her. “Look at me, please,” she whispers.

You meet her gaze as you slide inside her. Your cock is immediately wrapped in her warmth, drowning in her wetness. “Fuck,” she hisses. Her walls clench down on you, gripping you tight, almost making you lose control.

“Zuha, you feel amazing.”

Her lips twitch into a smile. You can tell she needed that. You want to throw in another unnecessary quip but you decide against it—enough smacks for the night. Her walls stretch around you as you go deeper, adjusting for your thickness. Your hips meet finally, your cock fully enveloped by Kazuha’s warmth.

“Go ahead,” she sighs, arching her back slightly to give you a better angle. Her juices spill all over your cock. “Give it to me.”

You start slow, drawing your hips back leisurely. Her eyes flicker—caught between wanting to shut them and savor the feeling, and keeping eye contact with you.

“Ah!” She parts her lips when you thrust back into her wetness. Your fingers roam her body—the curves of her chest, the tightness of her abs, the softness of her thighs. A satisfied smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Your hand comes to rest on her hip, gripping her to steady yourself. You find your rhythm, your cock disappearing into her with every slow, deliberate thrust.

Your fingers press deep into her as you build momentum, little by little. You take a quick look at her reaction to make sure it doesn’t hurt her—all clear. If anything, the lip bite says she likes how possessive you’re being with her.

Each time you push into her, she lets out a louder moan—soft, breathless gasps spilling into the space between you. Her cheeks flush, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she gives herself over completely. God, you could watch her face look like this forever.

It’s mesmerizing, really, how easily you can push her into the depths of ecstasy.

One of her hands grips your waist, grounding herself against you as she basks in the feeling of you fucking her.

“Fuck, just like that,” she squeals. “Just like that, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. The last word comes out somewhat awkwardly, but with how much of a moaning mess she is, it’s hard to tell. “Feels so good. Please, don’t stop,” she gasps, her perfect tits bouncing with every thrust.

“Not—” You grunt, hips rocking into her. “—planning to. You feel so—fuck—fucking good, Zuha.”

She fights to keep control of herself—loses. Her back arches, then sinks deeper into the bed, eyes closed shut as she melts into you. Her legs hook behind your back, thighs tightening around your waist, locking you in. Kazuha surrounds your entirety.

“I’m gonna cum.” Her mouth cups into an ‘o’, her body trembling as the pleasure crashes through her. You already know: It’s an image that’s not leaving your mind so easily.

One of the (several) things you’re getting to know about Kazuha tonight is that when she cums, she leaks like a waterfall.

Her juices gush all over your cock, somehow drenching it even more than before. Her body first tenses around you, then she quivers in pleasure, trembling. Her eyes flutter open to meet yours.

“Are you close too?” she asks. You nod in response. If you weren’t already—the sight you just saw was enough to nearly push you over.

“Keep going, feels so good.” She drapes an arm around your neck—the motion almost too much for her spent body. “Kiss me, please.” You lean in close to her, Kazuha exhales softly when your lips touch.

The kiss is lazy, lingering, a complete contrast to the rhythm of your thrusts down below. You pull back just enough to ask, “Zuha, where should I—uh, cum?”

Her brow furrows briefly. “Wherever you want… but I wanna feel all of you in me.”

“That’s what I want too.” You drive into her with a few final pumps—climax fast approaching.

“Cum in me, sweetheart,” she whispers against your ear. Your lips go back where they belong—pressed firmly to hers.  Thick streams pour into her. Her soft, drenched pussy pulls you in, clenching tight around you.

“Give it all to me,” she breathes. “Every single drop.” You keep pulsing inside her, each spasm dragging more of you out. She takes it so well, her body milking you dry like her words promised.

You slowly pull out of her, your cock slipping from her soaked core. Your release drips out of her, trailing down her thighs. You collapse beside her, every muscle sore. Kazuha clutches the sheets, still breathing hard next to you.

"That was nice," she sighs.

"Nice sounds like a participation award."

"Fine, it was fucking amazing."

“I hope you mean that." You drape an arm around her shoulder. "Wanna go sit on the fields later? Big cities just don’t have skies like these.”

“Yeah. Been so long since I’ve properly seen stars.” Her head rests on yours.

“Can’t say the same, seeing one right next to me.”

“Gosh, enough flirting for the night, Romeo.” The way her cheeks turn red disagrees with her words. “Starting to miss the days when you’d just call me names all day.”

“Who says I can’t do both, loser.”

“There we go. Much better.”

“Besides, you were the one who called me sweetheart earlier.”

“Never happened. Oh, and we don’t have to leave right away, right?”

“No.”

“Good. I wanna rest here for a while.” She snuggles up to you and shuts her eyes.

—

You lie down on the damp grass, the air cool this late at night. The blades are soft but cling to your skin, carrying a faint earthy scent.

Kazuha settles beside you. The sky above is wide and clear, scattered with stars. In the distance, the Ferris wheel still glows in yellow.

Balloons are being popped, stalls shuttered. Leftover food dumped into buckets. The painted horses are lifted from the merry-go-round, loaded piece by piece into trucks. Teddy bears crammed into plastic covers. The tents are gone—replaced by bare ground with nothing to offer.

“Sweet spot to light one.” She flicks a stray blade of grass at you.

“You smoke?”

Her shoulders rise in a shrug. “You heard my whole story. What do you think?”

“Thought that was just a TV trope. Guess not.”

The wheel lights glow brighter with every minute, while the rest of the carnival dims.

“Would be cool if the carnival lasted all year.” She exhales, like she knows it's wishful thinking.

“Don't know if it'd feel the same. But still, does feel weird watching it get packed up like this—like seeing a school after hours. Or an empty mall.” You wrap a strand of her hair around your finger.

“Liminal space,” she says.

“Hm?”

“Places of transition—or something like that. Exactly what you said. Felt the same to me when I saw it from the train window. The first time I was leaving town.”

The quiet stretches between you. A faint pop echoes, cutting through the silence—maybe another balloon meeting its end. The carnival getting taken apart suddenly feels like the only thing worth seeing.

“So…” You clear your throat. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

She tilts her head up, like she’s just noticed the stars. “I lied about something.”

“Wait—you're staying?”

“No. I’ve got a ticket.”

Something in your chest crumples, slow and painful. “What is it?”

“About why I always wanted to go on the ride with you, even when I was scared of it as a kid. The view was nice and all, but I never got the appeal.”

“Then why?”

“You liked it. I wanted to confess to you at the top.” She draws her knees up, curling into the thought. “Cheesy, I know. But I saw how your eyes lit up at the view. I wanted some part in that.”

She pauses, then adds, “And felt nice to have an excuse to hold your hand.”

It takes a few seconds to respond with a question that only sounds smaller out loud. “Why didn’t you—you never told me.”

“Chickened out every time. It hurt, not being able to tell you. Whenever you smiled at me there, it felt like I was drowning. And when I was leaving the last day…” She takes a long breath.

There’s a heavy thud of something getting thrown in a truck.

“But I could never risk what we had—could never risk hearing that you didn’t love me back.”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” You say it with such conviction that it silences whatever doubts were still in her eyes.

“The second I saw you here today, knew I had to take my chance. Wasn’t getting yet another one.”

“Guess you took it.”

She shifts slightly, turning towards you. The grass rustles beneath her. “What I’m trying to say is, yes, I have a train to catch. But no, I’m not disappearing again. Not without you.”

Her words echo in your ears. They settle somewhere deep in your chest, humming.

All those nights you spent wondering why she stopped replying. Why she left without a word. Wondering if you were the reason she never looked back.

“So, what—I just drop everything and follow you?” The words come out uneven, rougher than you expected.

“No, but that doesn’t mean this has to end here either.” Her voice wavers, choking in her throat. “That doesn't mean I can't still have you in my life, right?”

Something in her tone sounds different this time. Like she’s scared to lose you too.

“True.” A soft gust of wind ruffles her hair across your cheek. “Suppose our date with you in a red dress will have to wait.” (But not forever, right?)

For the first time in all the years you’ve known her, you see her eyes pool. They shine—stars caught beneath the tears. One drop falls onto your shirt, sinks through the fabric, straight into your skin. Burning.

Her hand finds yours and squeezes, probably harder than she means to—as always. She whispers, “I’ll wait for it.”

The Ferris wheel flickers once, then goes dark.

—

[rafessecret]

hi! i love ur writing and was wondering if you could write for rafe and basically reader is hanging at barry’s trailer high off m0lly and really needy and begging barry to help her out (fuck her) and he tells her to chill and soon rafe comes by to get his drugs and sees reader on the couch wiggling all around and and barry tells rafe what’s up with her and tells him to figure out because he has to go do a delivery for his customers and while barry leaves rafe fucks reader on barry’s bed/couch until she’s satisfied.

⋆˚࿔ trailer¡park reader && rafe cameron

I'M DESPERATE.

Stretched out on Barry’s couch, your skin is shimmering, dewy with sweat, every nerve lit up like you’ve been kissed by stars. The molly hits you in waves—sweet and dizzying. Your heart races. Your pupils are blown, so wide the whites barely show, and everything is so soft, so good, too much. The thin fabric of your tank clings to your chest, nipples peaked and visible. Your thighs rub together in search of friction, hips twitching like they have a mind of their own. You giggle, breathless and high, burying your face in a scratchy throw pillow that smells like weed and boy. ❝Please,❞ you whimper, voice coated in sugar and desperation. ❝Barry, I need it.❞

He just leans back in a folding chair, lighting a joint with lazy fingers. He doesn’t even look at you. ❝Fuckin’ hell, sugar, chill out. You’re all wound up. I got deliveries.❞ But that only makes you more desperate. You shift on the couch, thighs rubbing together, slick and twitchy. Your tank is riding up, your panties damp and clinging. You whine louder, hips canting up against the air. ❝Barry, please—I’ve been good, haven’t I? Just need it so bad. Can’t stop squirming.❞

You crawl toward him, eyes wide and glossy, lip trembling. You reach for his thigh, nuzzling close, fingers trembling. ❝It hurts, Barry. I’m so wet it’s dripping. Just want to feel full. Just need you to touch me.❞ He groans, cock twitching under his jeans, but he keeps smoking, keeps teasing. ❝Look at you. Fucking’ mess. Begging like that—sweet little voice all shaky.❞ He finally looks down, smirking. ❝You’re going to drive me crazy. But I really have to go.❞

❝No!❞ You cry, crawling up into his lap, your breath hitching. ❝Please, Barry—I’ll be so good, I promise. I’ll ride you nice and let you cum wherever you want. Don’t leave me like this; I’m aching.❞ He chuckles, pulling your hands off his belt. ❝Cute. Fuckin’ greedy little thing. But you have to wait. Rafe’s swinging’ by—maybe he’ll deal with you.❞ Right then, the trailer door swings open with a creak. Rafe steps inside, low-browed and sun-warmed, jaw already tight. He's just here for a drop—but then he sees you. He sees the gloss smeared on your lips, your cheeks flushed, mascara smudged down your face like war paint. Sees you grinding down on the pillow, trying to get yourself off like a fucked-up little kitten in heat. Your mouth’s parted, panting like you’ve been chasing relief for hours.

Barry chuckles, nodding toward you. ❝She’s rollin’ hard. Been begging’ me to fuck her for half an hour. Keeps playing’ with her tits, can’t sit still.❞ Your eyes meet Rafe’s. Blurry, sparkly, helpless. ❝Rafe… please.❞ Barry claps him on the back on the way out. ❝She’s all yours, man. Figure her out. I have to drop off. Lock up when you’re done.❞ The trailer door slams behind him. Silence. Rafe moves slowly. Crosses the space between you in a few long strides. You don’t even realise you’re whining until his shadow blocks out the ceiling light. ❝You look like you’re about to lose it, sweetheart.❞

You nod frantically, mouth trembling. ❝Need to cum so bad. Been aching. Hurts.❞ He slaps you across the face—not too hard, but enough to make you gasp. Enough to spark more heat under your skin. Then he grabs you by the wrist and drags you into Barry’s room. The mattress smells like smoke and sex, the covers tangled. He tosses you down onto them like you weigh nothing. Rafe groans low when he sees your panties—thin and soaked, clinging to your pussy like second skin. Your legs are already spread, toes curling into the sheets.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. Soft. Gentle. For one second. Then he pulls back, lips wet, smirk cruel. His fingers trail down between your thighs, slow and torturous. They brush along your folds, slick and twitching, teasing your clit without pressing in. Just the edges of sensation, light and fluttering, and it drives you crazy. You sob. Hips rock up—he pins them down with one strong hand. ❝Stop that,❞ he snaps. ❝You want it? Ask pretty.❞ You reach for his wrist, trying to drag him lower, guide him where you need it, but he just shakes his head. Laughs. He taps your clit once. Just once. You wail.

Your whole body’s on fire, trembling. You could cry. Maybe you are. He slides two fingers in, just barely. You whine, eyes rolling, trying to grind down. ❝Not enough. Rafe, please. Need your cock. It’s not big enough. I need it—please.❞ That does it. His expression twists—dangerous, sharp, and so fucking dark it sends heat straight to your core. He yanks his fingers free, your slick clinging to them, and flips you onto your stomach so fast your cheek smacks the pillow. You barely have time to gasp before he’s got your hips hauled up, back arched, panties dragged down to your knees like an afterthought. ❝Not big enough?❞ he growls, voice thick with hunger.

Then he fucks you. A brutal, toe-curling thrust that knocks every ounce of air out of your lungs. You scream into the mattress, drooling, clenching down hard around him. His cock is massive—veiny, throbbing, and hot—stretching you until your pussy flutters around him helplessly. You feel it in your ribs, in your belly, and in your throat. He pounds into your gummy spot with precision, his length bottoming out with every cruel, hungry push.

Your legs tremble violently. You’re soaked, dizzy, high and overstimulated, pleasure bleeding into pain and back again. Your walls tighten like a vice around him, clutching at his cock with every punishing stroke. ❝Fuck,❞ Rafe snarls, yanking your hair and forcing your face deeper into the sheets. ❝Listen to you. Whimpering like a bitch in heat. So fucking’ needy.❞ He’s relentless—hips snapping against your ass, one hand on your spine to keep you pinned down while the other fists your hair. You’re choking on your own moans, your brain pure static.

❝Feels like heaven, doesn’t it?❞ He pants, voice rough, forehead damp with sweat as he presses his weight down on you. ❝Your tight little pussy fluttering on my cock—fucking’ perfect.❞ You nod, sobbing through it, jaw slack. ❝S’big,❞ you slur, tongue heavy. ❝So big, Rafe—feels so good—❞ He grunts, angling deeper, the thick head of his cock grinding into your favourite spot until your toes curl and you go silent, lips parting around a breathless whimper. He can feel the way your cunt pulses around him, your climax building with helpless urgency. ❝There it is. ‘That’s your spot, huh?’ he breathes. ❝Takin’ me so fuckin’ well. That’s it, baby—cum for me.❞

You do. Loud and wrecked, your pussy clenching down hard around him, thighs twitching. Your orgasm hits like a train—white-hot, messy, leaving your brain completely numb. And Rafe’s not done. He fucks you through it, harder, faster, chasing his own high. The sound of skin slapping, wet and raw, fills the room. His cock throbs inside you, thick and soaked with your slick, the head dragging through your fluttering walls. ❝Gonna fill you up,❞ he snarls. ❝You want that, don’t you? Want my cum all the way inside?❞

You nod frantically, high off it, slurring something close to ❝please❞ into the pillow. He cums deep inside you, cock jerking, pulsing hard, hot spurts painting your walls. You choke on a sob, whimpering as the warmth floods you. Rafe stays deep, gritting his teeth, hips grinding through the last waves of release. He collapses over you, mouth at your ear.

❝Next time,❞ he breathes, voice gravel. ❝Don’t beg, Barry. Beg me.❞

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : umm yum thank you anon, you get itttt + um yess I know this is the same ask and the same concept and yes me and them have already spoke about it!! they’re completely fine with it and have actually read this already and said it’s totally okay for me to post. we got the ask around the same time and luckily I noticed before posting that we’d both received it, so no worries at all angels

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[fic-girlie]

Hidden in plain sight

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x f!reader Summary: While promoting Gladiator II, you and Pedro keep your three-year relationship low-key, playing it cool in public. But behind closed doors—especially after the London premiere—passion and love overflow in a night full of intensity, comfort, and quiet devotion. Warnings: fluff, established relationship, explicit smut (18+), soft dom!pedro, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, language, dirty talk A/N: Thank you @kellyxo1 for the idea, again!

The lighting in the suite is too bright, as always. Cameras click. Laptops clack. The endless rhythm of press junket days, where the same questions are folded into new words and passed across the table like shiny candy. You’re seated on the left, angled ever so slightly toward Pedro, as always. There’s something in that small tilt of your body that comforts him—you don’t say it, but he knows it.

You’ve learned how to make each other laugh without a single word.

Today, he’s in a white button up. Curls tamed but not conquered. He’s got that easy charm dialed up, eyes soft, smile sharp, the kind of presence that people describe as “effortless” even though you know exactly how much effort he puts into staying calm in rooms like this.

The interviewer is young and clearly nervous. She fumbles through a question about character dynamics, some half-formed thought about power and vulnerability, and Pedro saves her with a warm chuckle and that gentle charisma that got him cast in this movie—and half the world’s hearts.

“She throws me to the ground in our second scene together,” he says, tossing a thumb in your direction. His voice is light, playful, but the way he glances at you—quick, fond, proud—makes your stomach flip.

You smirk. “I did not throw you to the ground. I gave you a gentle push. With force.”

He lets out a theatrical sigh. “And people wonder why I have trust issues.”

The room laughs. It’s easy. You make it look easy, the way your rhythms lock into each other like pieces that were always meant to fit. It’s not fake. It’s just not everything.

Because when you two share a look like that—one filled with years of stolen mornings, late-night scripts read aloud from opposite ends of a hotel bed, silent dinners when the exhaustion was too much to speak—it’s too much to explain to strangers. So you don’t. You let them see what you want them to see: a friendship that feels alive and quick and perfectly believable. And if someone catches a flicker of something more behind your eyes, that’s their business.

“I will say this,” Pedro continues, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees in that way he does when he’s feeling a little too exposed. “This one—” he gestures toward you, “—she’s dangerous with a sword and devastating with sarcasm. The duality is… genuinely terrifying.”

You laugh again, but the heat crawling up your neck is real. The way he praises you—quietly, gently, under the guise of teasing—always hits harder than it should.

“Better terrifying than boring,” you say smoothly, nudging your knee against his under the table. A soft pressure, fleeting. But he doesn’t shift away.

Your names trend together on social media almost daily now, not because of PDA or big declarations, but because people love trying to decode you. The inside jokes. The way he watches you when you speak, like he’s still discovering new things in your voice. How he sometimes interrupts interviews just to say, “Wait, tell the story about Morocco—the falcon one,” even when it has nothing to do with the question asked.

It’s a game you never meant to play, but now you both know the rules. Keep it fun. Keep it light. Let the world believe they’re watching something spark in real time.

Only you and Pedro know it’s been burning steady for years.

——

The boat had been someone’s spontaneous idea—Fred, probably, or maybe Pedro himself. A rare day off during the Italy shoot, too precious to waste indoors. You’d all been running on fumes, eyelids sunburned, costumes stiff with dust and leather, so the idea of turquoise water and cold drinks had seemed almost holy.

The boat was bigger than you’d expected, but still cozy enough that no one could pretend not to hear the conversations happening across it. A small crew kept to their business, steering and serving and politely pretending not to notice when someone made a bad joke or took too long choosing a playlist.

You wore a black one-piece under an airy linen cover-up. Pedro’s sunglasses had slid low on his nose. He hadn’t stopped smiling since his bare feet hit the deck.

From the start, it was easy. Laughter. Music. Connie swaying to Stevie Nicks with a drink in each hand. Joseph sitting on the edge of the deck, feet dangling above the sea, narrating dramatic fake scenes from the “Gladiator III: Vacation in Capri” as if the camera crew were rolling.

And then there was Pedro.

He hadn’t left your side since you boarded.

His hand brushed the small of your back when you walked. His fingers threaded with yours when you sat. It wasn’t deliberate—at least not for show. It was just who he was around you when no one was watching. Or when he forgot they were.

You found a spot in the bow, a patch of smooth wood catching full sunlight, and settled there with a drink in one hand and Pedro’s thigh beneath the other. He stretched out beside you, skin warm, shirt half-unbuttoned and clinging to the lines of his chest from a splash he'd taken earlier when someone dared him to jump in.

At one point, you laid your head on his shoulder, and his arm slipped around your waist like it belonged there. Like it always had.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this relaxed,” you murmured, watching the sunlight scatter diamonds across the waves.

“I’m not,” he said, glancing at you with a lazy smile. “I’m just pretending for your sake.”

“Convincing performance.”

“That’s what the Oscar’s for,” he whispered, and kissed your hair.

It wasn’t until the boat stilled—anchor dropped in some hidden cove off the coast—that the warmth lulled you fully under. Pedro’s heartbeat thudded steady beneath your cheek, and the ocean hummed a lullaby. You meant to just rest your eyes, just for a moment.

But you drifted. The boat rocked softly. The breeze lifted the hem of your cover-up. And you melted into him like he was home.

You woke to hushed voices and a shutter click that made Pedro flinch. One of the crew members quickly apologized, but Pedro just waved it off and tightened his arm around you.

“Sorry,” he whispered when he felt you stir. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

His voice was rough with sleep, lips warm against your temple. He hadn’t moved at all. You realized that—your body had molded to his side, your legs tangled lightly with his, one of your hands curled into the hem of his shirt. He could’ve shifted. He could’ve gotten up. But he hadn’t.

He’d stayed.

“They’re talking about us,” you murmured, voice groggy, heart quickened more from the closeness than the attention.

“They always do,” he said softly. Then, after a beat: “Let ’em.”

You stayed curled against him until the sun dipped low and someone called for group photos. Pedro helped you up, pressed a hand to the small of your back like he was still afraid you’d topple over.

Later that night, back at the little hotel, the whole group gathered around a fire pit in the courtyard. Someone opened wine. Someone else dragged a guitar out of nowhere. You sat beside Pedro again, this time in a dry T-shirt of his and shorts that didn’t quite reach your knees, and the others pretended not to notice how much of the evening you spent tucked into the crook of his arm.

Connie snapped a picture—your legs over Pedro’s lap, his hand on your bare knee, the soft flicker of firelight between you. You didn’t see it until weeks later, posted with the caption “Sunset stunners. Starring: these two, in love and annoying about it.”

The clip started circulating almost immediately. Cast members retelling the boat story on talk shows. Paul grumbling playfully, “I thought I was the romantic lead, but apparently Pedro and his girl stole the whole damn film.” Joseph teasing Pedro about turning to mush the second you fell asleep on him. Connie calling you “the most disgustingly smitten couple on water.”

And every time it came up in interviews, Pedro would laugh. Blush, maybe. Pretend to wave it off. But he never denied a thing.

Not once.

And neither did you.

——

A few months later you were standing in the hotel room, shared with Pedro, getting ready for the London premiere. Of course, you’ve been to red carpets and premieres before, but this one was different. It wasn’t only your movie or his, it was a movie where you both played big roles.

You were looking at yourself in the mirror. You were wearing a black dress with some red details which clung to you perfectly, highlighting the curves of your body. You choose a natural makeup, not wanting to push it too far.

You were just fixing the straps of the dress when Pedro came out of the bathroom. And when you saw him in the mirror you had to take a double look.

The black shirt clung to him like it was made just for him, the V-neck showing the slight dip of his solid chest, making you go feral. The little red pins on his shoulder emphasizing him, but just enough to not stole the spotlight, and the black slacks he was wearing completely tailored for him. His hair was styled perfectly, some silver strands showing and shining in their place.

You turned around and looked at him with admiration in your eyes. He looked like one of those old statues, like a God, who fell from heaven.

“You good?” you ask quietly.

He nods, but it’s a lie.

You know that look. You’ve seen it at events before—press junkets, big tables—when the crowd is too loud and the stakes too high. When the world expects Pedro Pascal to be Pedro Pascal, and some part of him just wants to disappear.

“I will be,” he says.

You walk to him in heels that click softly on marble, stopping close enough to smell the cedar in his cologne and the faint trace of peppermint on his breath.

Your fingers brush the edge of his lapel, straightening it, pretending it needs fixing. “You look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously handsome or ridiculously nervous?”

You raise an eyebrow.

He huffs a soft laugh through his nose and looks down. “I hate these things.”

“I know.”

“You make them better.”

Your hand slides gently down his chest, lingering over his sternum, right where his heartbeat stutters beneath your touch.

“I’ll be close the whole time.”

He meets your gaze, and the rawness there almost undoes you.

You kiss his cheek. Not the kind that means I love you. The kind that says I know who you are when no one’s looking.

——

The car ride over is quiet.

The city glows wet and golden through the tinted windows — streetlamps like fireflies, crowds already pressing against barricades. You sit with your hands in your lap, and his are resting just inches from yours on the seat, his knee occasionally brushing yours when the car turns.

You don’t speak.

He closes his eyes once, briefly. You reach over without thinking and slide your pinkie around his, just for a second. He exhales.

The carpet is blinding.

A river of flashing lights and calling voices, umbrellas twirling in the crowd, velvet ropes separating fans from stars. You feel the heat of cameras, the electric buzz of names being shouted, the press’s hunger for something worth posting.

You both step out, not quite together.

Pedro takes a moment to square his shoulders. He looks calm again — perfectly composed — but you feel the shift.

You walk a few paces behind, giving the illusion of independence. Of separation. It's part of the game.

Until the angle shifts.

Until the interviewer from Vanity Fair — the one who asked that question last time — waves you both over.

You settle beside him. Close, but not touching.

He glances down at you, voice low enough that it’s lost in the noise: “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

The interview starts light. Jokes. Banter. You’re both good at that. Your timing fits like puzzle pieces — his sarcasm soft and dry, yours sharp and playful. You toss each other softballs, grin at the same questions, answer with that carefully rehearsed mix of camaraderie and mystery.

But then the question shifts.

“What was the most surprising part of working together on this film?”

Pedro looks at you.

Really looks.

And the pause stretches longer than it should.

You meet his gaze and offer the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

He speaks slowly. Thoughtfully. “I think… the way she carried so much of the weight. Quietly. The emotion she brings—it changes the air around her. I think I forgot how to breathe sometimes.”

The interviewer laughs lightly, not sure if he’s joking.

But he’s not.

You don’t say anything. Just smile—soft, knowing—and step slightly closer. Not enough to raise eyebrows. But enough for him to feel your arm brush his as you walk away from the mic.

He doesn’t let the distance open up again.

You glide through the rest of the carpet like two satellites orbiting the same star. Separate in appearance, but always pulled toward each other when no one’s looking.

When the cameras shift.

When the lights tilt.

And later—when the lights go down inside the theater and the film begins—his fingers find yours in the dark. Silently. Desperately.

You hold on tight.

Because this is how you survive the noise.

Together.

——

You don't even remember crossing the room. One moment he's teasing you about the shirt, about the way you were staring, and the next you’re walking backward as he follows, one slow step at a time, his eyes locked on yours like you’re the only thing that exists. The soft click of the door sealing shut behind him feels like it closes off the entire world.

The low hum of London still murmurs outside the tall windows, but in here, it’s all dark wood and soft light and the quiet intensity in his gaze.

Pedro doesn't say another word at first. He just watches you with that look—the one that makes your breath catch low in your throat. The one that says he’s seen every part of you and still wants more.

He stands there in that damn shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. The contrast of the crimson buttons against the dark fabric makes him look sharper somehow, more dangerous. Like he’s the one pulling every invisible string in the room.

And maybe he is.

You shift slightly under the weight of his silence, heat rising behind your ribs. You open your mouth to say something—maybe a joke, maybe nothing at all—but you never get the chance.

He steps in.

His hand curves around your jaw with practiced ease, not rough, not rushed—just firm. Sure. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, slow and deliberate.

"You have any idea how hard it was not to touch you all night?” he murmurs, voice low, thick with restraint. “You, standing next to me in that dress, smiling like that…"

You try to respond, but he’s already kissing you, slow and hot, the kind that robs the breath right out of your lungs. His mouth moves with intent, just enough pressure to make your head spin. He doesn't waste time—his hands are already sliding down your back, finding the zipper, and when he breaks the kiss it’s only to speak against your skin.

“You wore that for me, didn’t you?” he asks, lips brushing your throat. “Knowing I couldn’t do a damn thing about it until we got here.”

Your answer is a shaky inhale. You feel his smirk as he pulls the zipper down, one slow inch at a time.

“I should make you beg for it,” he says, still behind you now, his breath against your neck. “After the way you looked at me all night. Like you knew what you were doing.”

You tilt your head, letting him push the dress from your shoulders. It pools at your feet like a sigh.

“I did know,” you whisper.

Pedro chuckles, low and dark, and his hands are on your hips now—pulling you back against him. You can feel him already, hard through his trousers, and the sound that slips from your mouth makes him groan.

“Then don’t pretend you’re not going to let me have you exactly how I want,” he mutters, one hand skimming up your stomach, the other sliding between your thighs.

His fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear, teasing you with maddening patience. Just the graze of his knuckles, slow and purposeful, as if he has all night to unmake you.

"Already wet," he murmurs against the shell of your ear, his voice thick and approving. "You like it when I talk to you like that, don’t you?"

You nod, but he doesn’t let that slide.

"Use your words, cariño," he says, his tone darkening just enough to make you shiver. "You know I want to hear it."

"Yes," you breathe, barely holding on. "I like it… I like when you talk to me like that."

He rewards your honesty with a low growl and two fingers slipping through your slick heat—slow, precise, stroking you just enough to make your knees go weak. His free arm wraps around your waist to steady you, holding you flush to his chest like he’s claiming you in the quiet of this high-rise hotel room.

"You’ve been driving me fucking crazy for weeks," he mutters. "These press tours, pretending we’re just friends. Watching you laugh with the others like you don’t crawl into my bed every night."

His words hit you low in your belly, the possessiveness curling into arousal as his fingers begin to move in earnest—deep, steady, controlled. You moan into the air, unable to keep quiet, and that only spurs him on. He bites gently at your shoulder, his grip tightening just enough to make you gasp.

"Think they know?" he asks against your skin. "Think they’d still see you as sweet if they knew how you sound when I make you come?"

The words drag another helpless sound from your lips. You press back against him, needing more—needing all of him—but he still doesn’t give it. Not yet.

Instead, he pulls his hand away, and before you can beg, he turns you around and kisses you hard—mouth greedy, tongue insistent, as if he's trying to taste every sound you’ve ever made for him.

"Bed," he says roughly, guiding you backward without looking. His hands are already unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off like it’s nothing, like he isn’t the best-looking man you’ve ever seen with his skin flushed and jaw tense and eyes dark.

You’re still in nothing but your underwear when the backs of your knees hit the mattress. Pedro follows you down, catching your mouth again before trailing kisses to your collarbone, your chest, licking a slow path between your breasts as he peels the last scrap of fabric from your body.

“You’re mine tonight,” he says, looking up at you from between your thighs with something between reverence and hunger. “And I’m going to make sure you feel it tomorrow when we’re pretending again.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Hot, unrelenting, skilled. He devours you like a man starved, moaning softly against you, like your taste is better than anything the night could offer. His tongue flicks, circles, dives—he doesn’t give you time to adjust, doesn’t give you space to breathe. Just pleasure, building faster than you can process.

You cry out, your hands tangling in his hair, your thighs tightening around his head—but he doesn’t let up. Not until you’re trembling, choking on your own gasps, your orgasm crashing over you with brutal, blinding force.

Only then does he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze locked on you like he’s not nearly done.

“You still with me?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod, dazed, still panting.

“Good,” he says, undoing his belt with one smooth pull. “Because I’m not finished with you yet.”

You watch him strip the rest of the way, every inch of him revealed in the golden lamplight. His chest rising and falling with quiet tension, his hands still clenched like he’s barely holding himself back.

You sit up slightly on your elbows, eyes trailing over the defined lines of his torso, the heat that rolls off him. His gaze finds yours as he comes forward, slow and purposeful.

“You gonna lay there lookin’ at me like that,” he says lowly, “or are you gonna get up on your knees like a good girl?”

The words hit you like a spark to dry kindling.

You move, heart pounding, turning onto your hands and knees in the center of the bed as he comes behind you. You feel the mattress dip under his weight, feel his warm palm drag slowly down your back, his fingers tracing your spine with almost-too-gentle pressure. Then his hand grips your hip firmly, pulling you back, adjusting your angle like he’s positioning you exactly how he wants.

“You know how beautiful you look like this?” he murmurs, voice ragged. “How good you are for me?”

You start to say something—anything—but then you feel him against you, thick and hard, sliding along your folds without pushing in. Teasing.

You whimper, push back slightly, silently begging, and he chuckles behind you.

“Desperate now?” he says, leaning over your back, his mouth warm against your ear. “I warned you, didn’t I? You show up in that dress and expect me to behave?”

And then—finally—he pushes into you.

A long, slow thrust that fills you completely, taking his time so you feel every inch. Your hands twist in the sheets, a broken sound tumbling from your lips.

“Fuck,” Pedro groans behind you, grip tightening on your hips. “You’re perfect—always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

He pulls out just enough to make you ache before thrusting in again—deeper this time, more force behind it. His pace builds gradually, controlled but hungry, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the quiet room.

You arch your back, moaning with every stroke, and his hand slides up to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly in place. Not hurting—just anchoring you. Letting you know exactly who’s in control.

"You take me so well," he growls, hips snapping harder now. “Every fuckin’ time.”

His other hand slides down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit with practiced ease, circling in rhythm with his thrusts. It’s too much and not enough, your body strung tight between the way he’s fucking you and the words spilling from his mouth—rough, reverent, utterly unfiltered.

You can feel your second orgasm rising sharp and fast, your body clenching around him, and he knows. He always knows.

“That’s it,” he murmurs through gritted teeth. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

You do—helpless and loud and shaking apart beneath him as he rides you through it, his rhythm never faltering. He fucks you through the waves until your legs give out and your arms collapse beneath you, face pressing into the mattress.

Pedro slows just enough to pull you back upright, wrapping one arm around your waist and dragging your body against his chest as he thrusts up into you from behind, now deeper, rougher, needier.

His mouth finds your neck again, his voice broken with restraint.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants. “Fuck, I’m so close—wanna come inside you, baby.”

You nod, gasping, grinding back against him.

“Please,” you manage. “Want it… want you to—”

And with a deep, guttural groan, Pedro buries himself to the hilt, his whole body tightening as he comes hard inside you, holding you there, letting you feel every pulsing wave of it.

You both collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and sweat and breathless sounds. His arms curl around you as you come down, his hand sliding up your stomach, holding you close like the world outside the room doesn’t exist.

You can still feel the press of him inside you, warm and full, and the slow kiss he plants behind your ear is a silent promise—one that says this isn’t just about lust or need.

It’s him. It's you. It’s always been more than what anyone sees at a premiere.

[an-abysma1-0bserver]

pleaseeeee can i request thunderbolts!bucky barnes x reader where they basically just act like bobs parents. maybe even a bit of bucky saying “now can daddy get some alone time with mommy”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: After the events with Sentry and the Void, the Thunderbolts* (New Avengers)—Yelena, Bucky, and reader, especially—are trying their damndest to look out for Bob. But what happens when Bucky and reader want some alone time while on Bob duty?

Warnings: 18+ (MDNI). Smut! Allusion to unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it). Mentions of bodily fluids. Oral (f and m receiving). Brief handjob. Language. Established relationship. Possible spoilers for Thunderbolts*. Spelling and punctuation mistakes. Bucky is a warning 👀. Anything else I missed.

Author’s Note: Thanks, @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf, for being my first request! I hope you enjoy this story.

I don’t own the MCU or Marvel Comics in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owners. Similarly, I don’t own any of the gifs or pictures I use for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas (unless otherwise requested).

Word Count: 1,341

Masterlist

Buck let out a shaky breath. His fingers were tangled in your hair, curling gently, giving a soft tug. Your face was buried in his lap, his hardened length in your mouth and your head bobbing. It all happened so fast, so unexpectedly. You and Bucky were on Bob duty while Yelena and the others were off on a mission—someone had to stay behind and keep him company. You’d been injured during the last mission: a few stitches and a mild concussion. You were feeling better now, but Bucky was adamant you sit out of missions for the time being.

Bucky, on the other hand, graciously offered to stay behind and look after you and Bob—purely out of the goodness of his heart, of course. Certainly not so the two of you could finally act on all that pent-up tension—no, never that!

You were in the common area when the team left. Bob was curled up in his reading nook, a book in hand as he tried to keep himself occupied. Bucky had spent most of the morning and early afternoon training. It wasn’t until after your phone buzzed that your stomach did a somersault—Bucky wanted to meet you in your room. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, then turned to Bob. “I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you said. “Do you want me to grab you anything before I go?”

He gave you a small smile and shook his head. It was classic Bob—always reluctant to trouble anyone with his own needs. The gesture made you hesitate for a moment.

“I’m fine, really,” he said with a shrug. “If I need anything, I’ll get it myself.”

You have a small nod. “Just let me know if you need anything—I’m here.”

Bob gave another, slight nod, murmuring a quiet good-bye as you turned and headed to your room.

You didn’t even make it into the shower. Not that you were going to take one to begin with.

The moment you stepped into your room, you saw Bucky sitting at the edge of your bed. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat, and his hair was equally tousled and damp. His eyes were dark, his face slightly flushed—and the instant your eyes met, he was on you before you could blink.

Lips met in sloppy, heated kisses as teeth grazed skin and hands clutched each other with urgency, fumbling to shed layers. Bucky broke away just long enough to yank off his shirt, his gaze locked with yours the entire time. His chest was flushed, a light sheen of sweat highlighting every contour. You took a moment to admire him openly before slipping off your own shirt, leaving you in an old bra and sweat pants.

Bucky wasted no time admiring you either. His eyes raked over you before trapping you in another heated kiss. His arms wrapped around your middle and pulled you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as your hands cupped his face. He carefully laid you down on your bed and pulled away from the kiss. His fingers tugged your sweats and underwear down, leaving you exposed to him. Your skin prickled, a soft hum escaping you. Resting on your elbows, you watched as Bucky nudged your legs apart with his vibranium hand. His eyes seemed to darken even more when he saw your glistening core. He looked up at you, almost akin to a predator, wanting to devour you whole. You gave a slight nod.

Bucky gripped your thighs with both hands, spreading your legs further apart. Bucky kissed up your inner thighs; you fell onto your back, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. You felt his breath at your core, his ragged breaths and the heat he radiated. Without so much as a warning, Bucky began devouring your cunt like a starved animal. His tongue licked and thrusted into you. He’d occasionally suckle on your clit. Your back arched, whimpers and moans escaping you.

You could feel your release crescendo within you—a steadily rising build in the pit of your stomach. Your breath hitched when you felt Bucky’s fingers along your entrance, teasing you before slowly pushing in. You let out a low whine, your legs trembling as he started a steady rhythm.

“You’re doing so good,” Bucky growled. His mouth was coated with your arousal, eyes wild. You whimpered at the sight, shivering at the almost animalistic look he had. “So fucking gorgeous…”

His mouth latched back to your clit, suckling it, causing that crescendo to peak and teeter on the edge. Bucky’s fingers curled within you, brushing that sensitive spot that had you seeing stars. Your back was arched, hands gripping your bed sheets tightly, looking for some kind of anchor, until you felt that tension snap within you. You let out a cry, your body trembling as a gush of release coated Bucky’s hand. He groaned against you, the vibrations making you moan as you continued to ride out your high.

After a moment, you felt Bucky pull away. You hissed at the feeling, at the emptiness that washed over you. Slowly resting against your elbows, you watched as the former assassin worked to take off the rest of his clothes. You could see his erection straining against his pants, thick and heavy. As Bucky’s pants fell, you hummed at the sight of his member—reddened tip already leaking, the veins and thickness making your mouth water. Maneuvering onto your knees, you pushed Bucky onto the bed. He watched as you clamored off the bed and moved his legs enough for you to kneel between them.

“Doll, you don’t have to—” he started. Your hand wrapped around the base of him, stopping Bucky’s words in his throat.

“I want to,” you murmured, your hand slowly pumping along his length. Bucky let out a low groan, his head falling back. You used his pre-cum as lubricant, working him the way you know he loves. Your pace switched from slow to quick, feeling him twitch in your hand as you edged him to his own release.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he groaned. “I-I—You’re so good—Oh my God—”

You hummed. “You’re so big,” you sighed. You gently licked the tip of his cock. He hissed, twitching in your hand. You dragged your lips down his length, continuing to pump him until you reached his sac. It was heavy, full. You gave it a gentle lick, your lips wrapping around it and began suckling. The sounds Bucky let out were borderline pornographic. His thighs tensed, heart jumping in his chest as you brought him so close to the edge.

You released his sac from your mouth. Bucky gasped. You kissed and licked up his cock until you reached his tip, licking the bead of pre-cum off before slowly taking his member into your mouth. Bucky moaned. Your head bobbed, hands gripping Bucky’s thighs like a lifeline. His vibranium hand tangled in your hair, gently tugging on the strands. It didn’t take long for Bucky to feel his balls draw up, his body tensing as his release built up. You could feel it too—the way his vein felt more prominent, how he twitched and tensed beneath you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunted. His hips thrusted up into your mouth, his hand holding you in place as he sought out his release. “Take it—fuck, you’re gonna take it—”

With one final thrust, rope after rope of his cum spurted in your mouth. Bucky gasped and groaned, his hand pushing your face as far as it could go. Your nose nudged against his pubic hair, tears welling in your eyes as he kept cumming. After a minute, he released your hair and you slowly pulled his softening member from your mouth. Wiping your eyes, you swallowed what he gave you with an appreciative sound.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. You?” He nodded. “You still up for…?”

“You know I am.” A smirk came across the super soldier’s features. “Just let me catch my breath first.”

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

can i req 104, 129 and 220 with mean dom yunho?🫶

➯a/n: yes you caaaan omgggg yall know i love me sum mean dom yunho😋➯a/n2: im starting to use the queue feature again so i hope this actually posts when i want it to, last time tumblr screwed me over 😭

Lucky Charm

❥Jeong Yunho x fem reader

104 + 129: "give me your panties" + "you want to cum ? ... oh, but do you deserve to ? "

✫彡wordcount: 1k

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: 220: manhandling, idol yunho/non idol reader, established relationship, semi-public, fingering, clothed sex, name calling+playful (?) degradation, yunho panty obsession and you'll see what i mean LMAO, not edited

♡masterlist !♡

MINORS GET LOST

౨ৎ

    In the back of the waiting room, Yunho has you all but cornered as the chaos of preparation continues around you.

     "You look extra handsome today," you smile softly as you rub his velvet-clad arms, "you nervous, Baby?"

    "Just a little, we're sold out." His eyes never leave yours, his hands finding your waist as you pull him into a hug.

     "Don't be nervous, Yunho, you always do amazing," you peck his lips softly so as not to smudge his lipstick. He's got a mischievous glint in his eyes that's spelling trouble for you.

    "I could use a good luck charm, y'know?"

    "Mh? Like what?"

    "Give me your panties."

    You choke on your saliva, covering your mouth and looking at the floor with heat creeping up your neck. "Yu..."

     "Your panties," he whispers with a smirk, "give them to me. I want to keep them in my pocket."

    "Again, seriously?" You whisper-yell, slapping his arm. "You need to start bringing them for yourself at this point!"

   "Seriously," he leans closer with a laugh, tilting his head. "Hurry, hurry~"

    "You creep," you pout dramatically while looking past him. Not even one person is looking your way, and Yunho nearly completely covers your frame anyway by the way you're situated in the corner. "Fine, but I want them back this time."

౨ৎ

      "Get over here."

     How in the world Yunho has any energy after such an intense performance is a damn mystery.

     He came back to you with a searing kiss and drug you to the nearest bathroom, locking the door the second you were inside. He's always like this when his adrenaline is pumping.

     "Careful!" You yelp as he slams you to the wall, his hand cradling the back of your head so you don't hit it.

    "You aren't getting them back," he moans against your neck as he kisses and bites all over your skin. "Sorry, sweetheart, they're my lucky charm. I gotta add them to my collection."

    "You jerk," you chuckle as you push at his shoulders playfully, "I'm going to run out of underwear if you keep this up!"

    "You don't need them anyway — they just get in my way." He proves his point by running his hand up the back of your thigh and grabbing your ass. "I should have easy access to what's mine, don't you think?"

"Mhm~" You moan softly as he slides his hand to your heat and cups it teasingly soft, the other wrapping up in your hair.

"You're all wet, you naughty slut," he laughs as you shake your head; trying to deny it. "Yes, you are~ Gets you all turned on knowing I'm on stage with your panties in my pocket, doesn't it? You're lucky you didn't start dripping down your legs."

"Fuck!" You grab his shoulders tightly as he slips two long, thick fingers right into you and starts an unforgiving pace.

He pins you to the wall by your neck, groaning as you start soaking his palm with every flick of his fingers. "You want to know a secret, sweetheart?"

You struggle to nod your head with the dizzying pleasure he's giving you, but you manage.

"Look down my sleeve."

Your eyes follow the hand that's currently stretching your hole, and your eyes widen as you catch a glimpse of your panties wrapped around his wrist. "Yu-Yunho!" He only smirks at your embarrassment, pulling you away from the wall by your neck. "You damn perv! What if s-someone saw?"

"Oh, well," he wraps an arm around you and lifts you to the counter, your skirt making you slide as you sit on top of it. He leans and pulls you by your hair to meet him in a rough and passionate kiss; spit swapping and tongues everywhere they can reach — all while he's curling and scissoring his fingers in ways that make you go crazy.

He leans his forehead against yours, breathing in your heavy breathes and watching as your eyes get more and more foggy with your growing pleasure.

Yunho has an intense habit of staring at people. Even in non-sexual situations, his eyes are always screaming 'dominance' when he sets them on someone. And you always get that stare times one hundred.

"Stop that," you whine as you feel his gaze penetrating your very soul while he sinks in a third finger.

"What, honey?"

"Looking at me like that!"

"Like what~?" He bites his lip to hold back a laugh as you grumble embarrassedly, looking away from his eyes and holding onto the edge of the counter tightly. "I can't help myself, sweetheart," he hums before pecking your lips again, "you're just so pretty when you're all shy~"

You're a bit shocked he's being so nice. Usually he's even meaner after a performance —

"My pretty slut."

There he is.

He shoves your legs back open when you try to close them, standing between them to stop you from doing it again as he repeatedly curls his digits right into your g-spot and presses for a moment before letting go and repeating all over again. "Just look at you — leaking all over the place. Letting me finger you in the fucking bathroom, you're just as nasty as me~"

"Fuck, please! Keep going!"

"Yeah? You want to cum?" If only you'd open your eyes; you'd see the evil, cheshire grin on his lipstick smeared lips.

"Yes!"

"Oh, but do you deserve to?" Before you can even think of a response, he's pulling his fingers out quickly.

"Ahh! Come back~" You nearly cry at the loss of stimulation, finally peeking your eyes open and catching a glimpse of him sucking his fingers clean as he continues to stare you down.

"I asked you a question." He tilts his head when you don't do anything but stare back at him with your mouth gaped open. "Put that mouth to use before I do."

"What was — yes! Yes, I deserve to, please!"

He pulls you straight off the counter and spins you around, bending you over it roughly. "I don't know about that, sweetheart... Let's see how well you take my cock and then we can decide, deal?"

౨ৎ

[azrielstherapist]

The Things We Keep in the Dark

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

One-shot, Smut with little to no plot [18+]

Warnings: knife play, shadow play, oral s*x (on both parts), face riding, not protected penetration (p in v), fighting, dirty talk, Dom!Azriel, Switch!Reader, (if I forgot something, pls let me know).

It always started with a blade.

Tonight was no different — cold steel glinting beneath the moonlight, the dull thud of boots circling on stone, and Azriel’s golden gaze locked on mine like I was prey he’d already chosen but hadn’t yet decided when to devour.

The training ring atop the House of Wind was deserted, the city far below glittering like stars scattered across a velvet cloth. I moved in silence, muscles humming, sweat trailing down my spine as I twisted and swung. He blocked. Pivoted. Parried. Again.

“You’re holding back,” I said, breathless, catching the flat of his dagger with mine.

Azriel didn’t answer. He never did — not unless it mattered.

Instead, his shadows coiled near his shoulders, shifting like a creature half-asleep. Watching. Listening. Waiting for his command.

I shouldn’t have liked the way they watched me.

But I did.

And that was the problem.

“You’re smirking again,” I said, ducking his blade and aiming a low kick. He caught my ankle mid-air.

“I’m not.” His voice was gravel and silk — soft but scraping. He stepped forward, forcing me to hop on one leg unless I wanted to fall on my ass. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m trained to observe. You’re definitely smirking.”

“And I’m trained to lie.”

Something like a laugh caught in my throat, but it didn’t make it out — because suddenly, he yanked my leg higher, and I lost balance. I went down hard, blade clattering from my hand. His knee pinned my thigh, one arm caging my wrists above my head, and gods, he was close. Heat radiated off him, sweat and shadows and the kind of tension that made every part of me tighten.

Azriel’s mouth hovered just inches from mine. He hadn’t smirked — but now, he looked like he wanted to do something far worse.

“Tell me what you see,” he murmured. “Since you’re so observant.”

My chest rose against his. His free hand reached for his dagger — not to threaten, but to lift it. He turned it flat and pressed the side of the blade gently to my collarbone.

I stilled.

The metal was cool against my heated skin, slow as it dragged across the curve of my throat. My pulse jumped — and his eyes locked on the fluttering beat beneath my jaw like he could feel it too. His shadows slithered low, almost possessive, curling around my thigh beneath my leathers.

“You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” he asked, so softly I almost missed it.

“No,” I whispered.

But I didn’t move.

He smiled then — not smirking. Real. Devastating.

“Liar.”

The blade slid down to my sternum, stopping just above the swell of my breasts. No pressure. No pain. Just the unbearable promise of what he could do.

Of what he wanted to.

My breath hitched. His shadows stirred again, brushing the inside of my thigh like a question. I spread my legs just slightly — testing. Daring.

Azriel’s gaze darkened.

And then 

— he pulled back.

The dagger vanished into its sheath, his body retreating like nothing had happened. Like my skin wasn’t still tingling, like I wasn’t still wet from the brush of his shadows and the look in his eyes.

He stood, offered me a hand, and said flatly, “We’re done for tonight.”

I didn’t take it. I climbed to my feet on my own, jaw clenched.

“You do that again,” I said, brushing off my pants, “and you better fucking finish it.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes lingered on my mouth for one second too long.

Then he vanished into the night.

Three nights later

I couldn’t sleep.

The House of Wind was quiet — too quiet — and I was too keyed up, every inch of me aching with unburned energy. I’d tried to distract myself. A book, a bath, a bottle of red from the cellar. None of it helped.

All I could think about was the weight of his body, the whisper of steel on skin, the look in his eyes like he wanted to ruin me slow.

So I went to the ring again.

Midnight wind howled over the cliffs, but I didn’t feel cold. I needed to move. To hit something. To—

“You never learn,” a voice murmured behind me.

I turned. He was already there, leaning against the archway like some ancient god sculpted from shadow and silent hunger.

“Neither do you,” I said, heart thudding.

Azriel walked toward me — slow, deliberate. His shadows wrapped around his boots like mist, and I hated how easily they obeyed him. How easily I wanted to.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“I think you know.”

“I don’t want to train.”

His eyes scanned my body once, lingering at my throat. “Neither do I.”

And then we were on each other.

His hands were on my hips, slamming me against the wall of the ring as his mouth crushed mine. No teasing. No testing. Just teeth and tongue and heat, like he’d been starving for me and I was the only thing that could satisfy it.

I moaned into his mouth, grinding against him — and fuck, he was hard already. I felt it through his leathers, thick and hot and demanding, and my hands fumbled to unbuckle him, desperate and shameless.

Azriel grabbed my wrists and pinned them to the wall.

“Slow,” he growled.

“You’ve made me wait long enough.”

“I’m not rushing this. You want me to use the blade again?”

I shivered.

“Yes.”

His lips curved against my neck. “Then behave.”

He dropped to his knees.

I gasped, grabbing his shoulders as he tugged my leathers down and off, peeling them like a second skin. His shadows slid in to help, teasing over my thighs, brushing my entrance.

When his mouth finally touched me — I nearly screamed.

Azriel ate like he had all the time in the world. Like he was memorizing every tremble, every whimper. His tongue circled, pressed, licked into me slowly, possessively — while his shadows held my legs wide, my arms above my head, keeping me open for him and only him.

“Fuck, Azriel—”

He groaned into me, and the vibration sent stars behind my eyes.

I rode his face like I was drowning and he was air, one hand tangling in his hair as his shadows slipped lower, curling between my ass cheeks and teasing just enough to make me writhe.

My orgasm hit hard — hips jerking, legs shaking. He held me through it, licking me slow as I came down, not stopping until I whined from overstimulation.

Then he stood.

His mouth glistened. His eyes were molten.

“Your turn,” I said hoarsely, sinking to my knees.

I knelt before him — still trembling from the orgasm he’d just wrung out of me, still high on the taste of his shadows dancing over my skin. My legs ached, my throat was dry, but I wanted more. I wanted him.

Azriel stood still, silent as a mountain god, watching me with melted gold eyes. His cock strained against his leathers — thick, leaking just enough that it had left a darkened patch. I reached up, unbuckled his belt with hands steadier than I felt. Each movement slow. Deliberate.

“I’m not breaking,” I whispered.

His head tilted, shadows curling around his shoulders. “You look like you already have.”

I smiled — wicked and slow — as I pushed his leathers down just enough.

His cock sprang free.

Hard. Thick. Veined. Long. So long. The tip was flushed, slick, perfect. My mouth watered.

“I’m going to ruin you,” I said, wrapping one hand around the base, giving him one firm stroke.

Azriel hissed through his teeth. “You can try.”

He didn’t touch me. He let me do what I wanted — which made it worse somehow, the stillness in him coiled like a viper. A male who knew his power and didn’t need to flaunt it.

So I used mine.

I licked the head first — just the tip — teasing my tongue around the slit until I felt him twitch in my palm. Then I licked lower, dragging the flat of my tongue down the underside of his shaft, savoring the weight of it. His cock jumped again, and I smiled against it.

“Stop teasing,” he growled.

But I liked teasing.

I took him into my mouth slowly — inch by inch — until he hit the back of my throat. I gagged a little, swallowed, pushed farther. He grunted — one hand finally tangling in my hair, not forcing, just there. Anchoring.

“You feel— fuck—”

I moaned around him, letting the vibration buzz through his length, and he swore again, this time in Illyrian.

I didn’t stop. I bobbed my head, sucked harder, used my hand where my mouth couldn’t reach, twisting at the base just as I hollowed my cheeks. His hips started to move — just slightly — a shallow thrust that betrayed how close he was to snapping.

“Don’t stop,” he said, voice hoarse.

I didn’t plan to.

But his shadows had other ideas.

They slid behind me, brushing between my thighs — again — teasing my sensitive, still-throbbing core. I gasped, and in doing so, nearly choked on him. Azriel pulled out instantly, hand cupping my cheek.

“You alright?”

I nodded. My eyes were glassy. My lips wet. I had never wanted someone like this — not like a lover, but like a fire I wanted to throw myself into.

“I want more,” I said, licking my lips. “All of it.”

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter.

And then — he stepped back.

He pulled a small, narrow blade from the sheath at his side. The one he’d pressed to my neck before.

My breath caught.

He walked around me slowly, until he stood behind me. I was still on my knees, bare, flushed, wet.

“Hands behind your back,” he said.

I obeyed.

He crouched behind me — close enough to feel the heat of him on my spine. I felt the kiss of the blade first — the flat edge sliding up my back, lifting strands of hair away from my neck. I shivered, but didn’t flinch.

“You trust me?” he asked.

“With the blade?” I said.

“With all of it.”

I turned my head to look at him. “Yes.”

Azriel kissed the back of my neck — just once — and that simple act made me ache.

Then the blade slid forward, tracing my collarbone, down to my sternum.

“I could cut the strings of your soul,” he whispered, “and you’d thank me.”

“I’d beg for it,” I said.

He hissed. “Fucking hells.”

The blade trailed down to my stomach, then lower — a whisper over my hip bone, the curve of my thigh.

Then he flipped it — pressed the hilt between my legs.

I gasped.

“Look at you,” he growled. “Dripping. Just from my shadows and steel.”

I whimpered, grinding against the cool hilt shamelessly.

Azriel’s hand snaked into my hair and pulled my head back gently.

“I want you on my face,” he said. “Now.”

I turned, breath ragged, eyes wide. “You want me to—?”

He was already lying back on the stone, wings spread, cock still hard and glistening against his abdomen.

“Ride my face,” he said. “I want to feel how sweet that cunt is when it’s smothering me.”

Mother Above, I moved.

I climbed over him, straddled his face slowly — and the second his tongue touched me again, I shattered.

He licked me like a starving man, his nose buried in my folds, tongue flicking my clit with practiced precision. I ground down against him, moaning loudly, openly. His hands cupped my ass, guiding me, pressing me harder against his mouth.

The shadows came again — swirling around my nipples, teasing them into hard peaks. I was overstimulated, overwhelmed, undone. My thighs trembled, my head fell back—

I came again. Loud. Wet. Shaking.

Azriel drank every drop.

When I finally collapsed beside him, gasping, he turned his head and said, “You think that was everything?” he asked, voice low and rough.

I smiled, dazed. “You mean you’re not done?”

“Not even close.”

He flipped me onto my stomach in one fluid movement. His cock pressed to my soaked entrance — ready, thick, desperate.

He leaned over me, one hand braced beside my head, the other steady on my hip. His voice was gravel-soft in my ear.

“Tell me you want this. Say yes, and I’ll give you everything.”

I turned my head just enough for our eyes to meet. “I’m yours,” I whispered. “I want you. I need you.”

He slid in slow. Deep. One inch at a time.

And fuck, he was huge.

I arched, groaning, clawing at the stone as he bottomed out.

Azriel leaned over me, mouth at my ear. “Now you’ll feel what my shadows already know.”

Azriel filled me slowly — a deep, grinding thrust that split me open in the most delicious way. I gasped, clutching at the stone floor beneath us, my cheek pressed against the cool surface as his hips met my ass.

“Fuck,” he groaned against my neck. “You feel…”

He didn’t finish. He just growled — low and hoarse — and started to move.

Slow at first. Purposeful.

Each thrust was a stroke of fire — thick and hard and dragging against every nerve inside me. My thighs were already sore, my body slick with sweat, my skin tingling from the memory of his shadows and tongue.

But Azriel wasn’t done with me.

He braced his hand beside my head, his other palm sliding beneath my waist to lift my hips just enough — angling me perfectly. When he thrust in again, I yelped.

“Right there?” he asked, voice rough, amused.

I nodded furiously, barely able to form words. “Don’t stop. Please—”

He didn’t.

He pounded into me with a brutal rhythm, all control gone, shadows writhing around our bodies like living threads of heat and silk. Every sound he made was raw — panting curses, moans that turned into snarls.

I wanted to crawl inside that sound.

His name tore from my throat as his fingers reached around and found my clit — rubbing tight, perfect circles that made my vision blur. The pleasure climbed too fast, unbearable.

“Azriel, I’m— I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me,” he ordered. “Let me feel you.”

I shattered.

Everything went white — the force of it so intense I collapsed beneath him, body convulsing around his cock. My pussy clenched so tight it pulled a broken groan from his lips, and he faltered, losing pace.

He didn’t stop thrusting. If anything, he slammed deeper.

Azriel’s rhythm became frantic — harder, rougher, until I could hear the slap of skin on skin, the wet sounds of my arousal coating him. His breath was ragged at my ear.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled. “So wet. You were made for this. For me.”

He pulled out — just in time — and flipped me again, dragging my legs over his hips as he lined up and slammed back into me from above.

I cried out — overstimulated, sensitive, but hungry for more.

He kissed me — messy, deep, open-mouthed — as he fucked me through my third orgasm. I arched beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

And still, he didn’t stop.

“You’re going to make me cum,” he hissed. “Where do you want it?”

I whimpered, biting his jaw. “Inside.”

His body shuddered.

“Fuck— are you sure?”

“I want to feel it. All of it.”

That did it.

Azriel groaned — long and broken — as he pushed in deep, buried to the hilt, and came. I felt it — hot pulses flooding me, his cock twitching deep inside as his body trembled above mine.

It was devastating. Beautiful.

He stayed there for a long moment — panting against my neck, shadows curling around us both like a blanket. One of his wings draped protectively across my body.

I stroked his hair gently, kissing his temple.

“I didn’t know shadows could be this… tender,” I murmured.

“They’re only tender with those they trust,” he replied, breath warm against my skin.

We lay tangled together, a sweaty, spent mess of limbs and pleasure and silence. His scarred fingers found mine, lacing them together over my stomach.

“You really didn’t hold back,” I said with a breathless laugh.

“I don’t when it matters,” he said simply.

He looked down at me, eyes half-lidded. “You’re not going to walk straight tomorrow.”

I smiled. “Good.”

His shadows hummed in agreement.

After a while, Azriel sat up, muscles rippling as he stretched. He reached for the blade — still gleaming faintly nearby — and sheathed it again with reverence.

“Do you want to go another round,” I asked, voice hoarse, “or are you finally satisfied?”

Azriel gave me a look that made my whole body tighten.

“Not even close.”

And just like that — he pulled me into his arms again, shadows rising like smoke around us.

This time, it was slower. More intimate.

But no less intense.

Because with Azriel — the dark wasn’t something to fear.

It was something to worship.

A/N: My first smut!!! Hope you guys like it, and if you do pls let me know in the comments.

Dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics

[btsstraykidsateez]

All Ours.-Felix.(NSFW.)

Dirty talk, fingering, pussy eating, missionary, riding, unsafe sex, creampie.

What you loved the most about your relationship was knowing that everything that people saw about you and Felix in public was far from what you two were like behind closed doors. The public would see a loving couple who held hands, laughed, kissed and were very romantic. Not a single soul could say that your relationship wasn't genuine or special.

But they never saw the dirty part of your relationship.

When your front door closed and the rest of the world faded out.

When the soft, gentle boyfriend who held your hand in public would pin your wrists above your head as he fucked into you.

When the words from a soft spoken man became filthy, breathless and desperate.

You loved this side of your relationship not just for the fact that no one would ever see it, but because even if you could show it off to the public, you wouldn't. You loved showing Felix off, loved having him show you off, but these intimate, dirty moments belonged to you two and the rest of the world would never be worthy of seeing it.

"Look at you." Felix groaned, pushing your legs apart, "So fucking beautiful and it's all for me."

You nod, "Only you."

He grinned at you, "Yeah? This pussy belong to me?"

He placed two fingers on your clit and started rubbing causing you to groan at the contact. You grabbed at the sheets and felt your face flush when your legs started shaking. It really never took much for your body to react to him.

"Ye-Yes." You stutter, "It's all yours."

"Good." He replied, kissing your knee before moving to kiss the other.

He was kneeling between your legs, your naked body on display. Your arousal was obvious between your thighs as well as other places. Your nipples were hard, face flushed and even your neck was flushed. He could feel your legs trembling around him and it had his cock throbbing from where it was pressed against the inside of your thigh.

You could feel his pre-cum smearing against your skin and you wanted nothing more than to take his cock into your mouth and suck it until his voice got so deep that you couldn't understand what he was saying. His voice always got like that when he was on the edge of an orgasm and you fucking loved it.

"Felix," You moan, "need your mouth. Please."

The sound of you begging always worked. He never hesitated to bury his face into your pussy once you begged.

He knelt between your legs, his eyes locked on your most intimate place. He leaned down and inhaled deeply, a groan escaping his throat. "Fuck, you smell so good," he murmured. "I could eat this pussy all day and never get tired of it."

He started with slow, deliberate licks, tasting you, teasing you. You squirmed beneath him, trying to urge him on, but he held your hips down, keeping you in place.

"Patience," he chuckled, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "I'm going to take my time with you. I want to savor every fucking second."

He focused on your clit, sucking gently, his tongue flicking out to tease. You moaned, your body already trembling with need. He looked up at you, a wicked grin on his lips.

"You like that, don't you?" he said, his voice a low growl. "You like it when I suck on this little clit. It's so sensitive, so responsive. Just like you."

He returned his attention to your pussy, his tongue delving inside, fucking you slowly with it. You cried out, your hands fisting the sheets, your body writhing.

"Felix," you panted. "Please. More."

He obliged, his fingers joining the action, stretching you, preparing you. "That's it, baby," he murmured. "Take it. Take everything I give you."

He returned to your clit, sucking and licking with a fervor that had your body tensing, your orgasm building. But just as you were about to tip over the edge, he pulled back, a evil smile on his face.

"Not yet," he said, his voice firm. "I want you to cum on my fingers first. I want to feel that pussy milk me."

He pushed two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that special spot. You cried out, your body clenching around him. He began to move his fingers in and out, his thumb circling your clit, his mouth sucking and biting at your inner thighs.

"Come on, baby," he urged. "Let me feel it. Let me feel that pussy cum all over my fingers."

Your body obeyed, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you shaking, your vision blurring. He continued to finger you through it, his movements slow and gentle now, drawing out your pleasure.

"Good girl," he praised, kissing your inner thigh softly. "Now, let's see if I can make you cum again."

He dove back in, his tongue and fingers working in unison, his dirty talk never ceasing. "Your pussy is so beautiful when it's flushed and swollen like this," he murmured. "And so fucking tasty. I could live between these thighs and die a happy man."

He sucked your clit into his mouth, his fingers curling inside you, and you were lost. Your body tensed, your back arching off the bed as a second orgasm tore through you, even more intense than the first.

He looked up at you, his chin glistening with your arousal, a satisfied smile on his lips. "That's my girl," he said, crawling up your body, his cock hard and ready, "So fucking beautiful."

"Felix, please." You moan, "I need you so bad."

He chuckled and slowly started jerking his cock just to tease you. You licked your lips at the sight, the way his tip glistened with pre cum had your mouth watering. You wanted to suck on his cock so bad but you knew he was ready to fuck you. You'd end up sucking his cock later anyway, but you couldn't help but crave the weight and taste of it in your mouth.

"Look at you." He whispered, "So fucking desperate for it. Even after two orgasms that pussy is so fucking ready for my cock."

You whine and grab his shoulders, "Felix, please. I need you to fuck me."

He groaned and kissed you hard stealing the air from your lungs. You wrap your legs around his waist to try and keep him pressed against you. You didn't want any space between you two.

"Going to make you cum again all over my cock." Felix promised, "Then you can suck my cock afterwards if you want to so bad."

You can only nod as you tighten your legs around him. Your desperation has his cock throbbing and he can't take it anymore. He has to be inside of you. He has to feel your pussy clench and spasm around his cock as you cum on it.

He kisses you one more time before pressing his cock against your pussy groaning at the feeling of your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He slowly pushed into you, inch by inch, your body stretching to accommodate him. You both moaned at the sensation, the intimacy of it, the raw, primal connection that only the two of you shared.

"Felix," you gasped, your nails digging into his back. "You feel so good."

He began to move, his hips rolling in a rhythm that was both familiar and intoxicating. Each thrust was deliberate, designed to draw out your pleasure, to make you feel every inch of him. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was as hungry as it was tender.

He broke away, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes locked onto yours. "I love you," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I love every fucking part of you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, his words hitting you right in the chest. "I love you too," you whispered.

He smiled, a soft, genuine smile that was reserved only for you. Then, with a wicked glint in his eye, he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, more urgent. He reached down and grabbed your leg, hitching it higher around his waist to go even deeper. You moaned, the angle hitting that sweet spot inside you perfectly.

"Right there," you panted. "Don't stop."

He chuckled, a low, sexy sound that vibrated through your body. "I won't, baby. I'm going to fuck you just like this until you can't take it anymore."

He kept his promise, his hips moving in a relentless rhythm, each thrust driving you higher and higher. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing, your inner muscles clenching around him.

"Felix," you cried out, your voice hoarse with emotion and exertion. "I'm close. So close."

He leaned down, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "That's it, baby," he murmured. "Cum for me. Let me feel that pussy milk my cock."

Your body obeyed, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you shaking, your vision blurring. You cried out his name, your nails digging into his back, your body convulsing around him.

He groaned, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. "Fuck, you feel so good," he panted.

He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. "Again," he demanded. "I want to feel you cum again."

You thought you were spent, but his touch, his words, his body moving inside you, it was all too much. You felt another orgasm building, your body responding to his every command.

"Felix," you moaned. "I can't. It's too much."

He smiled, a wicked, knowing smile. "You can, baby. You will."

He picked up the pace, his fingers working your clit, his cock filling you completely. You were lost in a haze of pleasure, your body a live wire, every nerve ending sparking with sensation.

"Cum for me," he growled. "Now."

And you did. Your body exploded in another orgasm, even more intense. You screamed his name, your body bucking wildly beneath him.

He groaned, his body tensing as he found his release, your inner muscles milking him for all he was worth. He collapsed on top of you, his body slick with sweat, his breath ragged.

But he wasn't done. He rolled off you, pulling you with him so you were straddling his hips, his cock still hard and ready. "Ride me," he said, his voice a low growl. "I want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock."

You smiled, a slow, sexy smile as you positioned yourself above him, his cock pressing against your messy pussy. You took him inch by inch, your body stretching to accommodate him once again. You began to move, your hips rolling, your body taking control.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his hands on your hips, guiding you. "Fuck yourself on my cock. Use me to make yourself feel good."

You leaned back, your hands on his thighs for support, your body moving in a sensual rhythm. You could feel every inch of him, the way he filled you, completed you. You moved faster, your body chasing another release, your breath coming in quick gasps.

He reached up, his hands cupping your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. "You're so beautiful," he murmured. "So fucking sexy."

You moaned, your body responding to his touch, his words. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing, your inner muscles clenching around him.

"Felix," you panted. "I'm close."

He smiled, a wicked, knowing smile. "Then cum for me, baby. Let me watch you cum all over my cock again."

And you did. Your body shook through another orgasm, your vision blurring, your entire being convulsing, your inner muscles milking him for all he was worth.

He groaned, his body tensing as he found his release with you, your bodies moving in sync, your breaths mingling, your hearts pounding as one.

You collapsed on top of him, your body spent, your mind blissfully empty. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his cock still pulsing inside you.

"Love you," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You too," you whispered, your eyes already heavy with exhaustion.

And as you both drifted off to sleep, your bodies still connected, you knew that this was what true intimacy was. It was raw, it was real, and it was all yours.

[elliespassagerprincess]

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie (currently reading) / first time / nsfw headcannons

☆ She teaches something cerebral—Literature, Creative Writing, or Philosophy—and has a cult following of students obsessed with her intellect and cold beauty.

☆ She’s the kind of professor that everyone crushes on, but no one dares approach. Sharp tongue. Impossibly high standards. A reputation for never mixing business with pleasure.

☆ She lectures with her sleeves rolled up, tattoos exposed, glasses perched low on her nose as she picks apart theories with quiet confidence.

☆ You challenge her in class. You’re clever, intuitive, and occasionally bold with your interpretations. That makes her look up from her notes more often than she should.

☆ She starts reading your papers more carefully than anyone else’s. Leaves long, thoughtful feedback. Starts quoting your insights in lectures.

☆ You feel her eyes on you. Not often—but enough to wonder if you’re imagining it.

☆ You start visiting her office under the guise of discussing assignments. She always looks up slowly when you enter. You swear her voice drops half an octave when she talks to you one-on-one.

☆ The air between you is thick. Tension buzzes under every conversation—your knees brushing under her desk, her lingering glances at your mouth.

☆ You leave every time a little breathless. Every time, you swear you’ll stop going. You never do.

☆ She’s calculated. She doesn’t take risks. But something about you breaks her pattern.

☆ She knows this could ruin everything—her job, her career, her integrity. But she can’t stop wondering what your skin would feel like under her fingers.

☆ She starts pulling away—cold in class, distant in office hours. You notice. It hurts.

☆ It happens late. You’re the last student at her seminar. The conversation turns personal. You say something that disarms her completely.

☆ You’re standing close. Her breath catches. She kisses you.

☆ She pulls away immediately. Apologizes. You tell her you wanted it. She tells you it can’t happen again (It does)

☆ You agree on rules: No affection on campus. No texting unless it’s academic. No being seen together in private spaces. Every rule falls apart quickly.

☆ She starts leaving books for you with hidden notes inside. You start staying after class even when you don’t have questions.

☆ When the door is locked, she’s softer. Takes off her glasses, lets her fingers trail across your cheek as she kisses you slowly.

☆ She lets you lie with your head in her lap while she reads aloud. Strokes your hair and calls you “baby” in a whisper.

☆ She admits she dreams about you. That sometimes she writes about you and deletes it in a panic.

☆ If someone flirts with you in class, her smile tightens. She calls on you more. Challenges your answers with sharp questions just to re-establish dominance.

☆ Outside class, she lets it out. Pulls you onto her lap and murmurs:

“You belong to me, you know that?”

“I see the way they look at you. But they’ll never know you like I do.”

☆ She tries to keep her distance, but it always ends the same—your lips on her neck, your hands under her shirt, her voice breathless: “God, I can’t stay away from you.”

☆ She’s never done this before. Never even thought about crossing the line. But for you, she’d risk it all.

☆ She scrubs your name from her personal phone. Starts using encrypted apps. Uses burner emails to talk about anything non-academic.

☆ Always looks around before letting you into her office. Never leaves a paper trail.

☆ She even gives you a code phrase—"What time is the seminar again?"—that means you want to see her alone.

☆ You like how commanding she is. How she takes control with her voice alone. She calls you “darling” or “sweet girl” only when no one else can hear.

☆ But you also love making her lose control. Love seeing her flustered. Love hearing her beg—only for you.

☆ She has a small couch. You both fall asleep tangled up after a long night of whispered confessions and kisses.

In the morning, she wakes you with soft kisses and regret in her eyes.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

“Then stop.”

She doesn’t.

☆ She writes about you. You find it once by accident. A half-finished poem with your favourite lipstick shade in the margin.

☆ She’s furious when you read it—then kisses you like she wants to drown in you.

☆ The first time she says she loves you it slips out during a quiet moment. She freezes. Looks at you with eyes full of fear and awe.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

She kisses you hard, like she’s trying to erase the fear.

☆ Only you are allowed in her apartment. She never brings anyone else. You cook together, read on the couch, listen to old vinyl records.

☆ She wears soft sweaters, no makeup, lets you sit between her legs while she grades. Sometimes she forgets the world is waiting outside.

☆ One day you accuse her of being ashamed of you. She snaps, tells you this could ruin everything. You scream that you’re worth the risk.

☆ She shows up the next day with red-rimmed eyes and a stack of your favourite books.

“I’m scared. But I want you.”

☆ She's always teaching you something new. Not just in class but in life too. She shows you how to break down arguments, how to write better, how to stand your ground in a debate.

☆ She’s fiercely proud of your mind. Tells you, “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever taught—and the only one I want.”

☆ You almost got caught a few times. A classmate sees you leaving her office late at night. Once in class you slip and say “Ellie” instead of “Professor.”

☆ You both panic. Lay low. Stop touching. Stop texting. It’s torture.

☆ She cracks first. Shows up at your dorm. “If we’re going down, I want one more night with you.”

☆ In whispered conversations at 3 a.m., you talk about a life after school. A place where she’s not your professor. A place you can be together without shame.

☆ She wants to publish a book. You want to teach. You want to love each other in the daylight.

☆ She gets offered a position at another university. She can leave—with a clean record. She asks if you’ll come.

“If we stay here, we lose. But if we go… we can finally be real.”

[rhiannonsknife]

hii, are you comfortable writing g!p readers? coz i think housewife!rhiannon x g!p reader is good with that baby fever, but it's okay if you don't write g!p HAHAHAH i just got the idea

(；゜∀゜)

i haven’t before so this might suck but…enjoy? nsfw content so mdni!!

just imagine having a sweet, murderous housewife <33

housewife!rhiannon who never imagined this life for herself; housewives who went on and on about their partner’s latest achievements, like that was all they had going for them, usually earned a spot of honor at the top of rhiannon’s mental kill list. you, of all people, weren’t supposed to be the one to make her soft.

now she finds herself humming while she folds the laundry, a shirt no longer stained with blood from her latest kill, getting wet over the thought of being bred right there on the kitchen counter before dinner <33

she doesn’t miss her work at the gazette in the slightest. the only thing she misses, occasionally, is the writing. but that’s what the kill lists are for and if giving that up means living this life, with all the time in the world to go out and kill, she’ll happily leave journalism behind.

housewife!rhiannon who gets jealous of people with families 😭

suddenly, happy families end up on her mental kill lists just for…being there. she wouldn’t actually do that. she wants to protect kids, not harm them or their parents. it’s more of an impulsive thought that comes to her involuntarily. (think: “people i’d love to kill…people who don’t deserve what they have. people who get to build families without ever really loving their partners…”)

housewife!rhiannon who brings it up while you’re fucking her bare. “i’d look so pretty carrying your babies” she gasps, head tossed back as she moves on top of you, the bed creaking under the constant shift of her weight. “you’d stay, wouldn’t you?” she whispers with her eyes closed, crossing her ankles behind your back. her fingers dig into your shoulder blades and her tone grows breathless as you push deeper. “fill me up”

housewife!rhiannon who’s still in control. she sets the pace, decides when to let you cum and when to drag it out. her hands rest against your chest while she rocks on top of you. “deeper,” rhiannon instructs, her voice already cracking, “i want to feel it in my throat”you try to tell her how good she feels, how tight & warm, and she only moans louder, one hand drifting between her legs.

housewife!rhiannon who begs you not to pull out whenever you’re fucking. she stays on her knees, spreads herself open for you, and whispers: “don’t pull out this time. want to feel it. all of it!” you push into her and she gasps in relief. afterwards, she lies there, legs still open, feeling it with her fingers.

housewife!rhiannon who gets so overwhelmed she starts whispering “thank you” on every thrust….

housewife!rhiannon who keeps you edged for hours. she knows that, after being denied for so long, you’ll explode once she lets you cum. “i’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” she whispers, licking a long stripe up the side of your neck. rhiannon’s hand is firm, keeping it at an agonizing pace. every time you buck your hips, she lifts off slightly, laughing. “aw, are you trying to fuck my fist?” rhiannon teases, leaning over to kiss the head of your cock once. “maybe i’ll let you come…but not yet”

housewife!rhiannon who wants you to fill her and keep going. you’ve already emptied yourself inside her once and she could’ve stopped there. instead, rhiannon keeps moving. “don’t stop,” she begs, legs locked around you. even if you wanted to pull out (which you don’t), there wouldn’t be a way for you to do it. “i want all of it. i wanna feel it leaking down my thighs.” rhiannon babbles. she’s twitching under her own hand, barely managing to talk you through another round. “don’t care how sore you are. you’re gonna give it to me. i need it”

cockwarming with housewife!rhiannon…?

she sits on top of you, moaning softly, her walls fluttering while you ache beneath her. “no thrusting,” she warns. “just let me feel you.”rhiannon is soaked where you’re buried in her, squeezing you in gentle, rhythmic waves that make your whole body twitch. “feels like you’re throbbing,” she purrs once, circling her hips slowly. “is it too much, baby?”

housewife!rhiannon who talks to her abdomen post fuck…she’s tracing lazy circles over her stomach, almost like there’s already a baby in there. “your mum’s going to protect you,” she whispers. “she’d kill for you” then, rhiannon brings your hand down to join hers, intertwining your fingers low across her belly.

[elswhore]

hey gorg! congrats on the 2,000!! you deserve it. i was wondering if you could per chance do a angst to fluff with prompt 7? with ju, maybe someone was sending mixed signals and and they get in a lil argument but work things out.

(i’m so sorry this is long i wasn’t sure how to explain it🙃)

prompt 7 "tell me what you want" ── angst to fluff.

thank you so muchh!. sorry i dont get it.. but i tried hope i did wrote it right. (btw i loved writing this)

you paced the living room, your phone clutched tightly in your hand, replaying the last few weeks in your mind, juju’s laugh, her teasing smirks, the way her hand lingered on your arm a little too long moments that felt like promises.

but then there were the days she’d pull back, her texts short and distant, her eyes avoiding yours when you tried to get closer, the mixed signals were driving you up the wall, and you were done, the front door clicked open, and juju stepped inside, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her gym bag slung over one arm.

she looked at you, her brows lifting slightly at the tension radiating off you. “hey,” she said, her voice casual, like she hadn’t noticed the storm brewing in your eyes. “what’s up?” you stopped pacing, turning to face her, your grip on your phone tightening.

“what’s up?” you echoed, your voice sharp with the frustration you’d been bottling for weeks. “juju, I’m so fucking tired of this, one day you’re all over me, flirting, acting like you want something real, and the next you’re cold, like i’m just some friend you barely care about, do you even know how confusing that is?”

juju’s expression faltered, her bag sliding off her shoulder to the floor as she straightened, her eyes locking onto yours. “what are you talking about?” she asked, but there was a defensive edge to her voice, like she was bracing for a fight. “don’t play dumb,” you snapped, stepping closer, your emotions spilling over.

“you know exactly what i mean, you’ll text me at midnight, saying shit that makes my heart race, then ghost me for two days, you’ll hug me like you never want to let go, then act like it’s nothing when i try to talk about us, i can’t keep doing this, juju. i’m not some game you can pick up and drop whenever you feel like it.”

your voice cracked on the last sentence, and you hated how vulnerable it made you sound, but you couldn’t stop now. “i like you, okay? i’ve liked you for so long, and i thought—i thought you felt something too, but if you don’t, just say it, stop stringing me along, because i can’t take it anymore.”

the room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging between you, juju’s face softened, the defensiveness melting away as she took in your trembling hands, the raw hurt in your eyes, she stepped forward, closing the distance, but you took a step back, shaking your head.

“don’t,” you said, your voice quieter now, but firm. “eon’t just hug me or say something cute to smooth this over, need to know where you stand.” juju stopped, her hands falling to her sides, for a moment, she looked lost, her usual confidence replaced by something softer, almost uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice low, genuine. “i didn’t mean to mess with your head, i just… i’m not good at this.” you frowned, crossing your arms, still guarded. “good at what? being honest? caring about someone?”

“no,” she said quickly, her eyes searching yours. “figuring out how to let myself want this, want you, without freaking out..i know i've been all over the place, and that’s on me, i get close, and then i pull back because… i don’t know, i’m scared of screwing it up..but i do care, i care so much it fucks me up sometimes.”

her words hit you hard, unraveling some of the anger but leaving the hurt behind, you swallowed, your throat tight. “then why can’t you just show it? why do i have to feel like i'm chasing you all the time?”juju’s shoulders sagged, and she ran a hand through her hair, exhaling shakily.

“because i’m an idiot,” she admitted, a small, self deprecating smile tugging at her lips. “and because i’ve never felt like this before, not this much, i keep thinking if i hold back, i’ll protect myself or whatever, but all i’m doing is hurting you, nd i hate that.” ehe stepped closer again, and this time you didn’t pull away.

her hands hovered near your arms, hesitant, like she was waiting for permission. “tell me what you want,” she said softly, her voice raw, her eyes pleading. “i don’t want to lose you, i just need to know how to fix this.” your heart ached at the vulnerability in her voice, the way she was laying herself bare for the first time.

you took a shaky breath, your anger softening as you looked at her, really looked at her, and saw the sincerity in her eyes. “i want you to stop running,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. “i want you to be real with me, even if it’ messy, if you’re scared, say it, if you want me, show it, just… be here. with me.”

juju nodded, her eyes glistening slightly as she closed the gap, her hands finally settling gently on your arms. “i’m here,” she whispered, her thumbs brushing soft circles against your skin.

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── .“saudades”.

| summary | Was he supposed to miss you like that or is he going insane? Maybe a bit of both. | cw | fluff, gn!reader. | a/n | i love him.

Yushi’s foot hadn’t stopped tapping against the airport floor since the moment he stepped inside. Every few seconds, his eyes flicked down to his phone to check the time, only to sigh and lock the screen again. The whole thing would’ve been funny, adorable, even, if he didn’t look so close to spiraling.

Three months ago, he wouldn't have felt like this. Back then, you were just the person who made his heart stutter, made him lose track of what he was saying mid-sentence, made him feel like a walking cliché.

But now… now it was different, because you were together.

And until three weeks ago, he was totally fine with your trip. You both had made the most of the time before you left—cuddling, sleepy movie nights, texts that turned into calls that turned into “I’ll miss you more” wars. It was sweet. He thought it would hold him over.

He honestly didn’t think he’d miss you this much.

He didn’t even know it was possible—to miss someone so intensely that it started to feel physical. Sure, you kept in touch, exchanged texts, voice notes, and the occasional sleepy video call, but with the time zone difference and your packed schedule, it wasn’t always easy.

And maybe he was going a little crazy. At some point, he started seeing you in everything—more than usual. In a song playing on the radio. In someone's laugh across the street. Hell, once he swore he smelled your perfume in an empty elevator and nearly lost his mind right there. He was seeing ghosts of you everywhere, feeling you even in the tiniest things, like a stray breeze or a grain of sand that made no sense at all.

He wasn’t used to this. To feeling this much.

How could he have known that just one month without you would be enough to unravel him completely?

That’s why he was counting down the seconds, quite literally. Checking his phone every five minutes, bouncing his leg like he was wired with too much caffeine and too many emotions. Today was the day. Finally.

Of course he’d be at the airport. There was no universe where he wouldn’t show up to welcome you home. He’d been restless all day, barely able to sit still, picturing your face, your smile, imagining the exact moment he’d lay eyes on you again.

He just needed to see you. To hold you. To hear your voice, to bury his face in your neck and finally breathe you in again. To kiss you like the world had been holding its breath in your absence.

He snapped out of his thoughts the moment the screen flashed “Landed.” He shot up from his seat, like he’d been shocked with a bolt of electricity, fingers twitching nervously as he stretched his neck to see past the crowd. He bounced on the balls of his feet, scanning every face that passed with wide, frantic eyes.

And then—there you were.

Dragging your suitcase, eyes sweeping the crowd just like his had. You looked tired, sure, but somehow more beautiful than ever, like the glow of coming home clung to you. And the second your eyes found his, your entire face lit up, making his heart skip a few beats.

The moment your eyes locked, it was like everything around him blurred. Your face lit up, and he swore the world got just a little brighter. You both instinctively picked up your pace, almost tripping over your own feet in your rush toward each other.

He immediately opened his arms, no hesitation, and you barely had time to drop your bag before you were swept into a warm, tight embrace. You laughed, slightly muffled by his shoulder, as he practically clung to you. Any trace of his usual shyness was gone, he was holding you like he’d been starving for days and you were the only thing that could keep him alive.

“Hi, baby,” you murmured, rubbing slow circles on his back. “Did you miss me?”

“You can’t even imagine,” he whispered, voice almost cracking. He pulled back just enough to see your face, and yeah, his eyes were definitely a little misty.

He opened his mouth like he had something to say, but no words came. His face was doing all the talking—soft, overwhelmed, glowing. He looked like a puppy who had been waiting at the door for hours, tail wagging at full speed, ears perked up, whole soul buzzing with love. You half-expected him to start vibrating from sheer happiness.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, your hands gently cupping his face as your thumbs stroked his cheeks. “I missed you too,” you said softly, your eyes locked on his. “I couldn’t wait to see you.”

Your words, your voice, your touch, you, were completely undoing him. He’d never felt emotions this intense over something so seemingly simple. Yet here he was, melting under your hands like it was the first time anyone had ever touched him with care.

Without saying a word, he pulled you into another hug, tighter than before, like he was trying to make up for every second he spent missing you.

That only made you giggle again as you gently pulled him back just enough to see his face, only to tug him right in again, pressing your lips softly against his.

Were you actively trying to kill him?

Because it sure felt like it.

It was almost funny how he still went all weak in the knees from your kisses, even after being your boyfriend for a while now. He melted like butter in a hot pan, returning the kiss shyly, as if it were your first all over again. And God, he hoped he'd never get used to this, because nothing had ever felt better.

Yeah. There was no way he was going through that kind of separation again. Not if he could help it.

Once the kiss ended, he dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a soft sigh, his cheeks burning with warmth. “Next time, I’m going with you…”

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @spacejip, @peterm4rker, @sinisxtea .

[juletheghoul]

father figure III

a/n: So I've watched the movie like 6 times at this point and I just really love Clint lol. I have some things planned out and I cannot wait to write them, hopefully you all love what I come up with. Shout-out to @just-here-for-the-moment for encouraging me and for putting up with my endless questions and voice notes! 💕xoxo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, POV sex (wrap it up) Clint not pulling out, oral sex (male receiving)*swallowing*, dirty talk, nipple play, shitty dad (neglect), absent mother (abandonment issues), allusions to illegal activity, domestic violence, daddy kink, secret relationship, **DRAMA** Hurt/comfort, period piece - takes place in 1987, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Clint Flood x F!Reader

Ko-fi link 🥲💕

word count: 5.4k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series Masterlist

---

Thursday morning finds you in a very different mood than the previous week.

You huff about it on your way to the bathroom, pout through the daily rituals with unwanted thoughts of Jen’s words. You mentally shove them away for the hundredth time, lock and bar the doors but they slither in regardless, like smoke. 

You take a deep breath and sigh a deep sigh, drying your face off before continuing with your routine. His smile is there too, along with the blood and the violence, the soft slide of his fingertips across your neck, the plush press of his lips against your mouth, the toe-curling stroke of his tongue, his cock. Surely a man who pleasures you like that would never hurt you?

Your fathers voice is raised, argumentative over the phone hanging on the kitchen wall, enough so that he doesn’t register your presence until he slams the handset onto the receiver. 

“Everything okay?” You ask him despite yourself, it’s not as though he tells you anything. He grunts in response. 

“You working today?” He shoves different papers into his pockets, grabbing his keys from the counter. 

“No, it’s Thursday–”

“Okay, I’ll be back later, probably late.” He huffs, shaking his head in annoyance, at what—you don’t know, don’t entirely care. He leaves, thankfully taking that annoyance with him. 

Clint shows up a couple of hours later with a tape in his hand, and a mischievous look on his face. For a split second, Jens words echo, they project blood onto his clothes and splatter it onto his face. He smiles bigger though, leans in and kisses you soft and sweet, the vision dies and it seems almost absurd to even dwell on what may or may not have happened so long ago. 

“Hi baby.” Cigarette smoke and his cologne mingle and flood your nose as well as your panties when he pulls you in close, when his mouth captures yours. You don’t respond, only pull him closer, wrap your arms around him tighter; enjoy the comforting strength. 

“I’m not dressed–” Your eyes fall to your ratty old sweatpants, the holey t-shirt. 

“I think you look very cute, very comfortable.” He steps inside and shuts the door. “I thought it might be fun to watch a movie, stay in, order a pizza. How does that sound?” The idea is perfect, after standing on your feet for hours on end at the store, a quiet night in is just what you need. The tape clutched at his side draws your eye but he slips it behind his back. He smiles, one eyebrow raised. 

“What did you rent?” You try to peek again but he tsks, angling himself to keep it hidden. 

“You’ll know when you know.” You huff, pouting and it only makes his smile grow. 

“You’re such a little brat huh? I said you’ll know, when you know.” He taps the tip of your nose, laughing at the way you narrow your eyes, at the way you scrunch up your nose. 

“Fine, so bossy–wait, are we watching here?” 

“I think it’s best we go back to my place, and why don’t you go ahead and pack a bag.” Your heart skips a beat, your stomach drops down to your socked feet. He must see the shock on your face.

“Or, I could bring you back if you don’t feel comfortable staying over—“

“No! No I’d love to, give me a few minutes!” You surge forward, pulling a smiley oomph out of him before running up to get yourself together.

Your hands shake. 

The soft, comfy pyjamas you usually wear don’t seem right. They sit in one hand, while a silkier, newer pair sits in the other. You toss the silky set into the open duffel bag. Clean, cute underwear join the bag, along with your basic toiletries, a clean pair of jeans–and your video store t-shirt, just in case he ends up driving you directly to your shift tomorrow. 

He’s leaning against the counter when you jog back down the stairs, tapping the mystery tape against his leg. Wordlessly, he grabs the duffel from your hand and leads you out of the house.

-

A fluffy, grey thing winds through your legs, almost tripping you. 

“Louis, manners.” Louis meows back, and you laugh. 

“Hi buddy.” He butts his head into your hands when you crouch down. He’s so soft, so sweet, purring and chirping at you. “You’re just a little softie aren’t you?” 

“Just shamelessly flirting with my girl huh? You little monster.” The casual way he claims you makes your face hot. It's not overt, or aggressive and when he smiles and makes his way inside you’re sure he’s unaware of what it’s done to you. The feeling is so foreign. No one has ever called you theirs before, not in this way, not with such a quiet certainty.

The smile lingers, aches in your cheeks when you pick up the big cat and carry him with you towards his cozy living room. 

“So, can I know what we’re watching now?” He grunts on one knee, says nothing as he slips the tape into the VCR. There’s a gleam in his eye when he turns towards you. 

“I think it’s best if we put Louis into my room, I don’t want him interrupting us.” It’s hard to work out what he means by that, but you make yourself comfortable on his couch regardless. My girl, you think, snuggling into the well-worn leather of his couch. Dustmotes dance in the shafts of light coming in through his window, a vision of slow afternoons with him float through your mind–what would it be like to live here? To have a life with him?

“Okay—“ there’s an energy about him, something electric, excited, eager, “I can guarantee it’s not a movie you’re expecting, but it’s something I really wanna watch with you.” He settles into the sofa, pulling you from your corner, and from your thoughts. 

The smell of his cologne pulls your face into his neck, the warmth of it melds with the cigarettes he smokes, makes him completely irresistible. He hums to himself when you kiss just below his ear.

“I think you’re gonna like it.” There’s that undercurrent again, a knowing, a plan—

The tv screen flashes blue before the movie starts. Music you don’t recognize plays, FBI warnings flash across the screen and you watch, confused as to what it might be until you see her. 

“Clint… is this…?”

“It’s porn.” His nose skims up your neck, his hands tighten around your thighs, your eyes remain glued to the screen though. It’s a little jarring how much she looks like you. Your heart races, your stomach drops and despite how confused you are over what you actually think about this whole thing, arousal pools in your belly; a deep pull, like something tugging behind your bellybutton.

The image of her, bubbly and laughing, flirting shamelessly with the single dad, the much older man holds almost all of your attention.

“She’s pretty…” he whispers in your ear, his smile is sharp when your head whips around to face him. “Nowhere near as pretty as you baby, but it could be you. You see it right?” His eyes turn to the girl on the screen, the scene has shifted dramatically, from flirting, to kissing and groping, you cannot help but watch.

“Same eye shape, same cute little smile, and look at him—could be my brother.” And it could, the man on the screen is nowhere near as hot as Clint, but he’s the same type, greying, handsome and broad as hell.

“And doesn’t she just love it when he touches her…look how wet she is…” the scene has shifted again, both of them are naked now and she really does seem to like the way the older man touches her, you can’t really blame her—

“Just like you huh? Your pussy gets so fucking wet when I touch you doesn’t it baby, I bet it’s wet right now.” A moan slips out and he laughs low. His voice, the images on his tv, his hand slipping between your legs to cup your cunt, it all drives you mad. Jealousy burns hot within at the thought that he’d want to watch this at all, but it’s tempered by the resemblance, it’s spiced with the possessive way he holds you to him. It’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced.

“Talk to me, pretty baby, what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” he pauses the movie, “I—it’s a lot, my heart is racing right now.” You let out a nervous laugh, his fingers press softly to your chin and turn your face to look him in the eye.

“Do you want me to turn it off? I won’t make you watch it if it’s not turning you on. We can stop this whole thing and do something else.” The smile curls your lips up. 

He would turn it off if you told him to, he’d probably take you right back to the video store and let you pick out another movie if you expressed any discomfort at his plan. Embers burn in your chest at the thought, a sticky heat that feels like genuine care, genuine feelings for this man fill you to the brim. 

The paused image of this alternate version of you shines on the screen, frozen in absolute pleasure, a hand on her breast, a tongue on her clit. 

“I wanna keep watching, but I want us wearing less.” It’s hard to get the words out without trembling, or feeling awkward but you do it anyway. 

He smiles, presses play, and pulls you closer.

Clothes come off, your shirt and your jeans pile up alongside his shirt and slacks around you. The older man is feeding his cock into her mouth by the time you’re both naked. He was right about the state you’d be in, your panties shine with the clear, slippery evidence, his cock stands at attention. 

“No, I want you facing the tv. We’re gonna watch.” You’re halfway to straddling him when he stops you and turns you around. A sharp bite to the meat of your ass makes you squeal, and then he sits you in his lap, and not on his cock.

“Look at that. She’s good at sucking dick… I bet you are too, aren't you baby?” His chin rests over your shoulder, “I bet you would look so fucking pretty with daddy’s cock in your mouth.” 

The thought makes you squirm, makes you rub your thighs together in his lap. His hands slide across your belly, slide up to hold the weight of your breasts and then focus on your nipples. It’s a torture the way he touches you, soft flicks at the sensitive peaks, slow circles that end with them pinched gently, and then not so gently between his big fingers.

“Does that feel good?” His lips press against your shoulder while his fingers continue to pluck at your nipples.

“Yes.” It really fucking does, he knows it does. Your arms rise to thread through his slicked back waves, gripping while he continues to tease your breasts.

“He’s going to give it to her, you want me to give it to you? You want me to fuck this pretty little cunt?” One hand slips down, he lets out a laugh when your legs fall open. “Oh honey, just as eager as her huh? Answer me.”

“Yes daddy, I want it so bad—“ your voice shakes with anticipation, the words barely coming out as his hand hovers at your mound, those deft fingers slipping through the soft curls there. 

“What do you want baby, tell daddy what you want—keep watching the movie. I want you to watch her get fucked while I have my way with you.” You let out a shaky breath, swallow thickly. She’s on her back now, legs spread while he plows into her. You moan at the sight. Clint’s cock is so fucking hard under you. 

“Is that how you want daddy to fuck you? Hard like that—?” His fingers slip inside you, two, thick and long. A moan escapes, your head tilts back with the pleasure of it but he tuts.

“Eyes on the movie sweetheart.” With a whine you focus, or try to. His fingers start to thrust in sync with the man on the screen, your brain blanks. The girl moans on the tv, just as you do, both of you being filled. For a moment, that flash of violence fills your mind's eye again, that the solid, gorgeous man underneath you could inflict such pain on someone makes your heart race. 

Shamefully, it makes you wetter. 

“Oh baby, listen to that.” Heat floods the whole of you, your pussy sounds soaked–every thrust of his fingers rings out louder, messier. A breathy daddy comes out of your mouth, and he laughs, an earthy, low tone that only adds to your considerable arousal. 

“You want my cock don’t you baby, just like her huh? You want me to fuck you just like that?” God you do, you want him to hold you down, you want him to bruise you, claim you roughly, make you take his dick until he says you’ve had enough. “I need words, sweetheart, those pretty moans won’t get you what you want.” He pulls his fingers out and you whine, desperate, feral. 

“Open.” His word is law, and your mouth falls open while you writhe in his lap. His fingers rub your own arousal onto your tongue, a vulgar blessing, an anointing. Sweat beads on your skin and in your hairline, on your lower back. 

“How do you want it?” He pinches your nipple again, already so sensitive from his earlier teasing. 

“Hard.” You mumble around his fingers. 

“Put your hands on the coffee table.” He taps your leg and for a moment you don’t really understand what he means, your brain is too full of the girl getting fucked on the tv, on how you aren’t getting fucked, too full and not full enough of his dick pressing into your back. 

“Don’t make daddy tell you again. Bend over, and put your hands on the coffee table. Now.” He’s such a good man, the best man who ever fucking lived and there’s no way you aren’t going to obey the best man who ever lived. 

Smooth, solid wood under your hands holds most of your weight, it’s a little awkward for a moment to stand bent over, until you finally feel the blunt head of his cock slipping through the mess between your legs. Those deft fingers ghosting over your skin.

“Watch her.” It’s the only warning he gives you before he bottoms out in one, deep thrust. That bruising grip you were fantasizing about finally rears its head, that firm feel of his fingers gripping your hips while he gives it to you exactly how you want it. 

Your head drops with the force of his thrusts—

“Eyes up baby, don’t make me tell you again.” He pants, voice clipped with authority, exertion and passion. 

“Yes daddy, yes, god yes.” Your whole body is on fire, the pleasure is so sharp, laser focused in that spot he’s hitting with every push in, but spreading like a wildfire through your veins, inching you closer and closer to that peak. Your head drops again.

“What did I say?” Your hands come off the table, one hand holds your throat and for a moment your heart races with something close to fear. 

“Daddy told you to keep—“ he thrusts harder, shoving the air out of your lungs and making your pussy weep rivers of arousal, “watching, the screen—“ two fingers hook into your mouth, pulling at your cheek. He holds you to him, caught, subdued. Dominated.

You come all over him, hard and sudden.

Your body tenses with the force of it, arching sharply, ass pressed against his groin, breasts jutting out, half standing, half bent over. Half moaning, half sobbing. 

“Oh I know, I know baby, so good huh? You gonna be my good girl and take this fucking cock until I come? You gonna take all of daddy’s come in that ruined little cunt?” He sounds frantic, animalistic. His fingers slip out of your mouth, dragging your spit across your chin, across your breast when he holds it. The girl on the screen laughs as she bounces on the man’s dick, flirting and teasing while your brain melts out through your ears, leaks out around Clint’s dick.

“Fuck, here it comes—“ you wince, feeling the way he grinds deeper, the warmth of his come, the humid pants against your neck. 

You try to catch your breath for a minute, he does too. Your whole body aches when he pulls out and lets you straighten your spine. There’s a dark thrill that lights you up from the inside at the feel of his load dripping out. 

“Give me a second and I’ll grab something to clean you up with.” Tender, soft, relaxed. He tilts your head back to press a soft kiss to your forehead before shutting off the tape, and walking over to his bathroom. There are scars on his back too, you can’t help but notice.

He's wearing a soft t shirt, and an old pair of sweats when he comes back. Gently, he wipes away the mess he made between your legs before slipping another one of his shirts over your head. It smells like his skin, like that tender spot behind his ear that smells like him and soap. Emotions swell within, an intensity, a vulnerability you can’t quite explain. You almost want to cry. 

Methodically, he opens your duffel and roots around for a clean pair of panties, slips them over your trembling legs as you silently fall apart. 

“Get cozy, I’m going to let Louis out, and then grab you some water.” He places another tender kiss on your forehead before walking away and again, the threat of tears lingers. 

By the time he comes back, by the time he presses the glass to your mouth they fall silently. He frowns, but you shake your head. 

“I’m sorry It’s not you, I don’t even know why I’m crying, it’s so stupid–” He tsks, puts the glass down and then settles back, pulling you half into his lap in the process. 

“It’s not stupid, and you have nothing to be sorry about. Happens sometimes.” He pulls you in, reassuring you with his tone, with his hands and his warmth.

You snuggle closer, bury your face into his neck. He’s so fucking solid, so warm. His big hand does a soothing sweep on your back, it melds the line between boyfriend and daddy, your face shoots up. 

“What’s wrong?” His other hand cups your cheek, “Oh god, you must be hungry, let me order a pizza–” he groans, his whole body tensing up to rise but your fingers grip onto him. “What is it baby?”

“Um. I just had a thought, maybe it’s dumb, or the wrong time to ask but, are you my boyfriend?” His eyebrows rise up into his hairline and immediately you want to backtrack. Leave it up to you to have the most amazing, mind-blowing sex of your life and top it off with crying and interrogating him. 

“Well–” He starts, but you don’t let him finish.

“Oh my god no, I’m sorry, forget I asked.” You bury your face into his shoulder again, clench your eyes together and let the embarrassment overflow like a broken levee.

“Enough with that, hey–no more saying sorry for asking questions or telling me how you feel. I’m not trying to dodge the question, or avoid the topic. You just caught me off guard is all.” He tilts your head up, presses a kiss to your lips. “I want to be with you, I want you in my life, preferably not secretly but I understand you not wanting to deal with your dad. I am happy to be your boyfriend, or partner, whatever you want to label it.” 

Your face heats, the whole of your body floods with warmth at the sound of those words. 

“I’ll tell him, I don’t want you to be a secret.” Your nose connects with the warm skin of his neck again, he smells so good you sigh. 

“We can do it together.” The sweep of his hand continues to work its magic as your heartbeat slows, comfortable, safe. Is this what it feels like to be loved? Is that too strong a word? Too fast?

“I think I should do it on my own, but thank you for wanting to be there with me.” He says nothing, only nods, presses his lips to your forehead.

-

The rest of the night was just as perfect as you’d hoped it’d be. He ordered pizza. You cuddled on the couch and watched other movies he’d rented, not that you’d actually paid attention to anything. Laughs and cuddles morphed into a soft makeout session, which then morphed again into a heavy makeout session. Soft sex on the couch. Longer, more intense sex in his bed. He laughed about needing to hydrate, teased you for being insatiable, made self-deprecating jokes about his age and keeping up with you. Your birth control was going to have to put in work. 

The morning finds you awake before he is. Louis meows softly at the door, no doubt hungry for breakfast. You knew where he kept the food, and so quietly and quickly, you crept out and fed him. 

Clint is still asleep when you slip back inside the room. He’s always the most relaxed right after he comes, but even that doesn’t hold a candle to how he looks while asleep. He looks a little younger, the lines in his face are a little less defined, that constant furrow in his brow is gone.

He shifts onto his back with a deep breath, settles, eyes still closed. Completely at ease. You study the freckles littered across his neck and shoulders. Your finger absentmindedly follows each little silvery scar you come across. Theories, or more accurate still–your own imagination fills in a little story for each one. A scratch from Louis, a cut from the sharp chef's knife in his kitchen, a fight. The scar on his nose is the hardest to rationalize, so you don’t even try. 

His chest rises and falls with each even breath, a sparse little patch of hair, soft under your fingers when you trace them down from between his pecs. The sheet covers his belly, you move it out of the way to continue your soft exploration. A darker happy trail leads down from his bellybutton, towards his groin, ending in the darkest patch at the base of his cock. 

You let out a sigh at the sight of it. It’s half hard, resting against the junction between his torso and his thigh. There’s an intimidation that grips your chest in regards to this part of him. He easily has the biggest dick amongst all of the guys you’ve been with. Thick and slightly curved, a prominent vein that makes your head buzz. In the short time you’ve been together you’ve slept with him a handful of times, he’s gone down on you, seen every inch of you but this is the first time you’ve come face to face with it, so to speak. 

Despite being naked, despite having wiped the trickle of his come away every time you’ve used the bathroom, you somehow feel almost shy. His eyes are still closed when you shimmy closer. Your stomach jumps when you get really close. Slowly, tentatively, you run your tongue across the head. The nervous flutter in your belly is still there, but it’s tempered with how his cock twitches, you take a hold of it loosely and continue. 

He lets out a soft sigh, half asleep, half dreaming while you let your saliva pool and drip onto the head. It’s an unhurried exploration, a slippery kiss of the shaft, a tentative lick from root to tip until it’s swollen and hard within the soft grip of your palm. The intimidation swells along with his cock in your hand, your heart races at the size of it, your cunt leaks.

He wakes up while you’re licking at his balls. 

“What are you doing down there, Princess?” He smiles, his voice deep and morning-raspy. 

You smile, responding with another kiss at the tip. It’s slick with your saliva, slipping through your grip with ease. His hand finds your throat, long, thick fingers curling around your neck when you take him deeper. There’s no pressure in his grip, only a gentle encouragement, a reminder of his strength. You moan onto him, take him deep until he hits the back of your throat, until your nose presses against his groin. He smells like himself only deeper, earthier. Clean. Masculine.

“Good Christ, baby–” The fucked out tone of his voice only motivates you to swallow around the tip, pull out all the stops, make him moan just how he makes you do. His thumb presses only slightly into the base of your throat–how can those hands ever hurt anyone? How can the thought of that strength turn you on so much?

“Fuck, that’s it Princess, swallow daddy’s cock.” He breathes, his other hand caresses your cheek. Up and down you bob, stroking his shaft while you suck, twisting your wrist on the down stroke. 

“You’re gonna make daddy come, you want that pretty baby? You want daddy to come in that pretty mouth?” You pull away to let more saliva drip out onto your fist, moan a yes daddy, smile at the way he looks at you before dipping down to lick at his balls again. 

“That’s my good girl, go on then.” He guides himself back into your mouth, the hand at your neck tightens a fraction, enough to make your cunt clench although deep down you know it really shouldn’t. 

You focus, suck the head and stroke, twist your wrist and let him touch your throat with every bob. Steady rhythm, firm, wet grip, an aching jaw and determination pay off, and within a few minutes he’s panting; hips moving, balls tightening. 

“Fuck, yes baby, yes baby, oh fuck, I’m coming–” He floods your mouth with a deep groan, hissing when you squeeze his balls softly and swallow every salty drop. 

He drops onto his back, pulling you up with him. Your jaw aches, and another sort of shyness creeps in while he takes deep breaths. There’s a need for approval that threads like a network of veins that connects with your nervous system. The longer he stays quiet, the longer he lays there, the more the need grows. A wholly independent hunger that claws at you, separate from the overwhelming desire for him to love you with his body. 

“Was I good?” Your head settles onto his shoulder lightly, muscles tightly wound, barely letting yourself fully rest onto him.

“Pretty baby, you were more than good.” He pulls you closer, sighing into the kiss he presses to your mouth. Your neck relaxes, all of you does, his reassurance is the relaxant, the special sauce that lets you loosen up.

“That’s one hell of a way to wake up.” He laughs, hugging you tighter, he’s just as loose as you feel. His heavy arms are comforting, his mouth at your neck feels like a light somewhere deep inside has been turned back on. When had it been shut off? Was it even there at all before him?

“My turn.” His voice carries the smile, fills your heart to bursting with it.

-

Anxiety creeps in, just as his car creeps down your street. It’s a heavy weight that keeps your mouth shut, clenches your jaw tightly at the thought of just how differently the light shines through your windows, as opposed to his. 

“You okay?” He presses the back of your hand to his mouth. 

“Yes.” You give him a tight smile, he raises his eyebrows. 

“You sure?” His big hand squeezes yours hard enough to warm you up from the inside. 

“No.” You huff out a breath, sinking further into your seat. 

“I don’t want to go home, I don’t want to see my dad, I don’t want to go to work, I just want to hang out with you and Louis all day.” Heat floods your face at the confession. It's unrealistic, obviously. You know he…well, you know he’s out making money. 

“I would love that. Can you take a few days off in a couple weeks? I’ll rework some stuff, give you my undivided attention, or at least as much as Louis will let me.” He laughs, and suddenly you feel lighter. The thought of being sequestered up in his apartment, a Princess in her tower, only she’s already been rescued.

“That sounds amazing, I’ll talk to my boss.” You scoot over, burying your face into his neck before pulling his face towards you. He lets you kiss him for a few seconds before facing the road again. 

Your house dims some of the light he’s lit inside, but the thought of a tiny vacation with him keeps it on. 

He carries your bag in one hand, holds onto your shoulder with the other as you step through the doors of your house. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Your dad speaks, his tone cuts through the quiet–your stomach drops to see his expression change, his eyes flit between Clint and you, realization dawns. Clint takes a deep breath. 

“Dad–”

“So this is where you’ve been? This is why you’ve been distracted, not taking extra shifts at the store, head in the fucking clouds. You acting out like a teenager? Trying to get my attention by fucking around with my business?” 

You scoff at him, this was not how you wanted him to find out. 

“Acting out? I’m an adult. I haven’t been taking extra shifts because I don’t want to, it has nothing to do with your business.” You shake your head, part of you always knew it would be difficult for him to accept this. 

“Don’t give me that, I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing? Living my life? Dating someone who treats me well?” It’s not fair how he can strip you of your good mood so easily, how quickly he can corrupt your happiness without even trying. The cruel judgement in his eyes shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. It almost makes you want to laugh, how unsupportive, how selfish he’s always been.

“Just like your fucking mother–” It’s a smack across the face without ever having to lift a finger.

“Hey!” Clint’s voice shocks him for a moment, the warning tone of it, “Cool it. Don’t speak to her that way.” His shoulders are square, part of you preens, revels in his protection. 

“Do me a favour and stay the fuck out of it, she’s my daughter and I’ll speak to her however I want. If she wants to go around acting like a fucking slut then I’ll call her a–” He doesn’t finish his sentence. The sting of his words, of his insults don’t feel like anything compared to the shock of seeing Clint’s fist connect with your fathers face. 

Time slows down, a slow motion shot of your dad falling back, of Clint rushing him. Wordlessly, calmly, animalistically, Clint’s fist pummels. Blood splatters, bones crunch, watery gurgles shake you from your frozen state. Your heart races, your stomach drops to the floor, time moves at its normal speed and your feet bring you to them.

“Stop! Please!” You pull at his shoulder, yank him away from where he beats your father into the ground. With shaking hands, you shove him towards the door. “Go! You need to leave!” 

He seems almost drunk while he stumbles back, confused and disoriented. You cannot help the tears, you cannot help the fear of what might happen and so you push him, get him away from your father before he kills him. He cannot be here, he needs to go, he needs to get away before the police are called, before he’s taken away from you. That image of him in his bed with you this morning flashes, something in his eyes, something you have to shut away for now.

“Go!” You sob at him again, closing the door in his face to deal with the damage.

---

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[mahalkitamully]

the girl next door 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

一 movie night

: neighbor ! modern ! ellie williams x fem! reader pt 3 !

FLUFF :3

read the other chapters here !

MEN GO AWAY GOOO AWAY BOOOOO

ladies.. this for you smirks

一

past week has been restless. since schools finals are coming up, people are always at the cafe studying and huge groups will come in at a time. sure you need to study too but you had to make money!!

one night, you came home very late, around 1 am. suddenly you heard footsteps and you quickly turned around before locking eyes with your neighbor, ellie williams "...did our date get canceled?" she tilted her head, almost pouting. she reeked of weed, her hands rubbing the back of her neck. she was more direct when she was high you noticed.

you paused before it dawned on you- the date you two had planned together was today. your eyes widened as you shook your head, talking with your hands. "no i'm sorry- shit i- I had to pick up someone elses shift today and I just- it didn't cross my mind I'm sorry els.." you rambled when Ellie gripped your hands, her voice slightly lowered to a whisper. "I get it.. no need to get all worked up." she smiled as your gaze locked on hers. she's so pretty.

"sorry again i-"

"if you say sorry again- i'll make you shut up"

"what?"

she got a little flustered, before nodding. "you heard me-." the two of you laughed, yours more because of how flustered you were and hers from your reaction. "dude i'm just joking chill-!" she laughed as you rolled your eyes.

"if you want we can do that date now-.. i won't be asleep till later- wanna come inside-?" you were a little embarrassed to bring her inside your apartment but honestly you didn't mind. Ellie however- she seemed more taken aback. "yeah that's- that's cool." she rubbed the back of her neck before you nodded, opening the door for her. "ladies first.." you teased as she rolled her eyes.

the two of you talked for a long while, laughing as y'all added onto the conversation. "hey wanna watch a movie?" you suggested, as she nodded.

as y'all scrolled through and picked a movie you two found interesting, you both leaned towards each other, the distance closing every minute.

by the time the movie started your shoulders were touching. ellie wanted to put her arm around you- to get closer to you in general but she found herself hesitating. fuck it she finally thought to herself before wrapping her arm around your shoulders, your head leaning against her shoulder. the two of you melted together perfectly, fitting into each other as if you two were missing parts of a piece.

ellie found herself looking at you more than the movie. whenever you laughed at something the movie said she'd smile, thinking to herself how pretty you looked with the glow of the movie reflected across your features.

maybe it was the weed, but ellie seemed so fearless. "..your laugh is so pretty." she mumbled out, her gaze fixated on your smile. you turned your attention to her, your breath hitching ever so slightly as you both realized how close the two of you were. "thanks els." both of your gazes flickered between each other's eyes and lips, the tension thick.

"..what're we doing..?" you whispered as ellie tilted her head slightly. "whatever you want us to." she spoke softly, her gaze still locked on your lips. just as you two slowly leaned in, an explosion happened in the movie, scaring the both of you. you two laughed, before cuddling closer.

"that was fun." ellie smiled, her hand resting against the doorknob of your front door. she didn't want to leave, she missed you too much for that. "maybe next time we could have a date at a much normal time" you joked as she nodded, chuckling. "yeah I agree," she smiled "monday, a new movie comes out- it's a horror movie. wanna see it together? i'll pay and drive and all that shit" she spoke with the feigned nonchalant attitude she tried to keep up around you. "i'd like that" you smiled as she nodded.

"cool."

"cool."

"oh- lemme give you my number in case something comes up?" she gently took your phone, your fingertips brushing against each other. (haha y'all touched tips heh)

"thank you-.. and- good night ellie."

"g'night-."

and with that she left with a click of your front door.

i need a masc lesbian in with me now

[hanalyrata]

"Don't touch the dancers, Swiss."

[Uncensored ver on AO3]

Dew knew exactly what he was doing the moment he sauntered across the room with that sharp little smirk, all legs and lace, eyeliner smudged just enough to make his blue eyes even more devastating than usual.

Swiss’s hands were already wandering the moment Dew straddled his lap, fingers skimming over the sheer fabric stretched taut across his pale thighs. The lingerie was sinful—Red and black lace hugging Dew’s hips and the stockings were just as bad, sheer and teasing, leading into intricate garters that Swiss couldn't stop staring at.

Dew smirked, settling more comfortably against him, feeling the way Swiss’s fingers flexed against his hips, “Don’t touch the dancers, Swiss,” a teasing lilt to his voice, dripping sultry as he rolled his hips ever so slightly.

Swiss’s hands twitched, winding around to rest against his thighs, nails biting into the lace just enough to make Dew smirk, "Then you better get off me, firefly, 'cause I don’t think I can follow that rule."

Dew hummed in amusement, dragging his fingers up into Swiss’s hair, twirling a dreaded lock around his finger, "Rainy said I looked like a whore in this," he mused, watching Swiss's reaction closely.

Swiss groaned, his hands squeezing hard at Dew’s waist as he pulled him closer, "Is that so," he rumbled, dragging his lips down the line of Dew’s throat, "Guess I'll have to treat you like one."

Dew shivered, breath hitching as Swiss's mouth moved lower, hot and open over his collarbone, lower still, nipping at his chest, his tongue flicking over the cool steel of his nipple piercings. The sharp inhale Dew took sent a thrill straight through to Swiss’s core.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Dew sighed, tipping his head back as Swiss’s tongue teased at one barbell, lips closing around it as he sucked. His hips stuttered forward, grinding down against Swiss’s stomach and the ghoul beneath him groaned, feeling how warm and hard he already was beneath the lace.

Swiss nosed along Dew’s chest, his hands dragging down his back, gripping at the sheer stockings, the garters, kneading at the softest parts his hands could reach.

The multi's hands slipped down, gripping under Dew’s thighs as he shifted, flipping them effortlessly. Dew gasped sharply as his back hit the mattress, Swiss immediately slotting himself between his legs, one knee pressing up against the back of Dew’s thigh, holding him open.

"Look at you," Swiss muttered, drinking in the sight of him—flushed cheeks, smudged eyeliner making his blue eyes even sharper, chest rising and falling in quick little pants, piercings catching the light with every breath, "Fucking perfect."

Swiss grinned when Dew gasped, arching up into his touch as his hands floated down, pressing against the lace, "All that teasing, and you're already soaking through, huh?" he taunted, pressing just a little harder, watching the way Dew’s lips parted, his breath stuttering, "Still a water ghoul under all that fire."

Dew let out a sharp little whine, his nails digging into Swiss's arms, "Are you gonna keep talking, or are you gonna fuck me?"

Swiss laughed, dark and pleased, leaning in to press his lips just below Dew’s ear, "Both," he murmured, before sinking his teeth into the soft skin there, making Dew shudder beneath him.

His fingers hooked into the lace at Dew’s hips, dragging them down slowly, savouring every second of watching Dew squirm beneath him. The stockings stayed on—Swiss wanted those exactly where they were.

“Fuck, look at you,” Swiss muttered, dragging his hands up higher, thumbs brushing the sharp dips of Dew’s hips, “Wrapped up all pretty for me, knowing damn well I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you,” He pressed a kiss to the inside of Dew’s thigh, looking up to meet his gaze, “You do all this for me, firefly?”

Dew huffed out a breath, shifting his hips in Swiss’s grip, “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice breathy, “You’re the one who likes this kind of shit.”

Swiss grinned against his skin, then sat back on his heels, gripping Dew’s hips firmly before sliding a hand down between Dew’s legs, teasing at the slick warmth waiting for him. He pressed two fingers in without warning, watching as Dew arched up off the bed, a sharp gasp escaping him.

“Fuck—” Dew cursed, fingers digging into the sheets as Swiss worked him open, slow and deliberate, his other hand splayed wide over Dew’s stomach, pinning him down.

Swiss leaned over him again, mouth ghosting over Dew’s ear as he pressed deeper, curling his fingers just right, “You’re fucking dripping for me,” he murmured as Dew shuddered beneath him. A soft whimper escaped his lips and Swiss felt his own cock twitch at the sound. He picked up the pace just slightly, pressing kisses along Dew’s jaw, his fingers never stopping their slow, torturous movements.

“Think you’re ready for me?” Swiss teased, his voice a low rumble against Dew’s skin.

Dew gave him a look—half-lidded eyes, flushed cheeks, lips parted, “I was ready the second I sat in your fucking lap,” he shot back, his voice rough and needy.

Swiss laughed, slow and smug, withdrawing his fingers just to tease them over Dew’s inner thigh, feeling the way he tensed at the loss, “So impatient,” he murmured, positioning himself at Dew’s entrance, running the tip of his cock through the slick mess he’d made, “Gonna fuck you real slow, make sure you feel every inch of me.”

He pushed in, slow, steady, savouring the way Dew gasped, the way his body clenched around him, the molten heat of him nearly making Swiss see stars.

Dew let out a shaky moan, his hands grabbing at Swiss’s shoulders, dragging him down until their bodies were flush, “Swiss—”

Swiss exhaled heavily, pressing his forehead to Dew’s, rolling his hips in a slow, deliberate grind and Dew moaned, his head tilting back, exposing the long line of his throat. Swiss didn’t hesitate to drag his teeth along the sensitive skin there, sucking a fresh bruise into place.

“Yeah,” Swiss groaned, pulling out slow before pushing back in, revelling in the way Dew gasped beneath him,

“Prettiest fuckin’ whore I’ve ever seen.”

[aespabangedbang]

SULLyOON NANNyOON HONEyOON

Writer's Note : Wanted to write about Sullyoon for a long time, here it is.

Tags : DUB CON, I wrote it a while ago so forgot the tags.

Warning : Anyone who have an issue should see a doctor about their inability to fuck.

Word Count : 2125 words of submission and happily ever after!

I am a 23 year old successful manhwaga, divorced and now a single father of a daughter named Sera. Yeah, I had a wild teenage life. But that immaturity costing me now. My wife and first love left me for wealth 2 years ago after Sera's birth, I was poor back then. Devasted, heartbroken and helpless those day's memory brings the better taste back as I wake me, really distasteful.

Sullyoon, the 21 years old nanny of my daughter and household helper came even before I woke up, now taking care of my Sera. She is from a poor family otherwise surely she could become a Kpop idol with her tall, toned and curvy figure with a doll-like face that turns all heads.

Some even mistake her for Sera’s mother, she is that close to her. She has a caring, sweet, shy and kind soul. I am grateful to her for taking care of Sera and keeping my life hassle free. A part of my success is thanks to her dedication to my little family.

But my peaceful life is threatened by her family's arranged marriage for her. My life got messed once, I am not letting that happen twice. “I want you, beside me, as my daughter's mom, forever.” I mutter as I am devouring her sexy body in tights and cropped hoodie from behind, her toned abs are looking appetizing. She is busy playing with my daughter.

The lingering need for her and my years depraved hunger for sex is increasing my lust every sec. Today I will make her mine, by hook or by crook. I also write erotic pornhwa in a different pen name, I am going to use that shady side and expertise of mine today.

I wait till Sully makes Sera asleep and goes to do houseworks. I creep behind her, Sully almost screams suddenly seeing me behind. I calmly thank her for her service for the last 2 years. She politely says it's just her job. I don't beat around the bush and directly say that I want her beside me, as Sera’s mom for the rest of our life.

Sullyoon’s eyes palpate hearing me as if she really wants it deep inside, but she declines politely saying she is now engaged. I grab her face hard and look eye to eye, I say it's not a request. She has to be Sera’s mom, or my life will get ruined again. She just have to say yes, I will manage her family!

She shakes her head sideways to say no, it's time for the crooked approch. I lock my lips with her in a sudden forced kiss. My tongue going inside her mouth, my teeth biting her lips drawing blood. She tries to break free, but my grip behind her head is strong. My other hand is exploring her butt creek with my finger, her soft boobs squished against my chest.

I only let her go once she started whimpering and sobbing. She tries to run away with her shaking body but I hug her tightly from behind and drag her back to the living room and press her on the sofa. My lips lock her again, my hands under her crop hoodie squeezing her perky firm boobs.

She tries to stop me but I easily overpower her both hand with my one hand, the other one busy trying to undress her. She starts begging to stop me, says that she is still a virgin, she can't disappoint her family. She tries to fight back kicking, but I got between her legs. My bulged cock pressing against her wet crotch.

She bites on my hand, but my rude hard slap with other hand on her blushed face makes it redder. I hiss at her pulling her hair and tell that I will make sure her family have no other options but to give her to me. Sully’s teary eyes gets stunned, she understand my plan immediately. There are many cameras around my house.

Specially the living room is packed with 5 camera to keep an eye on Sera. Having sex here with me mean I can use that footage to break her marriage. Her family is poor, they can't fight aginst me in the court and marry her to someone else after that will be impossible. So giving her to me is the only option that will be left for them.

I don't have consent for this oppa, it's rape! Please stop! We can think something… She tries to convince me while sobbing but I don't let her finish. I kiss her again, sucking the tangy taste of her bloody lips. Like a blood sucking demon I look at her and say, it's ok Sully. I will give you a life full of happiness and abundance, just endure today’s discomfort.

Ignoring her gradually weakening protest, I keep undressing her like a Christmas gift on the mat where she was playing with Sera even a moment ago. She is even more beautiful up close and naked. Her body is a piece of art, those supple boobs and ass, thick thighs, hourglass thin waist and her shaved wet juicy pussy that's really like a plump ripe peach! Her face is dripping with uncharted beauty. Sullyoon is mine, this virgin beauty is only for me to take and devour.

I lower my face on her pussy, I can't wait to eat her big muffin anymore. I make a big bite, taking as much as I can of her finely shaped pussy. She tries to stifle her moan, but can't as my tongue darting inside and slurping her virgin juice. The musky scent of her pheromones, sweet pre cum and salty tasted sweat soaked crotch is already making me drunk!

I throw my shirt and pull my boxer down in a frenzy, virgin Sully looking at my 5 inch long but thick manhood with fear. I set my cock at her entrance in classic missionary position and just shove. Even with full wet arousal, she is so tight I can only go an inch or so. She screams in pain but I muffle her with both hand, don't wake up Sera Sully, I will fuck you anyway so it's no use.

After 4 hammering and agonizing inch by inch thrust I completely impale her with my cock, soon red blood starts leaking around her pussy and coating my cock. I tune down my pace and keep fucking her virgin pussy slowly. Her moaning mixed with pain and pleasure is like melody in my ears. Now that I am in and she is not fighting back I am trying not to put her in any more distress.

I lean on her, elbow on the ground as I am caressing her head while wiping her tears and snot. I say to her that it's ok Sullyoon, oppa have fallen in love with you, I will keep you safe and sound for the rest of our life. Please, just please don't leave us Ill fated father and daughter alone. You are the mom Sera needs, you are the wife I wish I had!

Sullyoon is barely moaning now as her pussy got stretched wide for my thick cock, the pain getting overwhelmed by carnal pleasure. She lock her beady big eyes with mine, lips pouty and shaking in a mix of polarizing emotions. Her sweaty face is looking so surreal like I can’t even believe such a beauty is in front of me!

Suddenly she grabs my hair and pull my head in for a kiss, that's the first time she reciprocated my so far questionable actions. My heart jump, is that a yes? She agrees to be a part of our family? Yes? The answer is obvious as she is now exploring my mouth, her lips still leaking some blood.

I didn't touch any girl for more than 2 years since my divorce. Now that she is willingly having sex with me, it makes me way too horny. I sped up, each of my thrust sending shivers down her body. I rise and put a cushion under her waist, then start jack hammering deep in her rapidly. My fingers rubbing her clit, I am hellbent to make her orgasm before I do.

She starts screaming out loud and her loud moaning is echoing through the room. Soon Sera’s cry come into our ears as she woke up from her soon to be mother's lovemaking. Maybe the shame send her over edge as Sullyoon come undone, her back arches, pussy spasming around my cock as her body quivering from her first ever orgasm. Her squirt drench her thighs, my cock, balls and stomach. I slow down, giving powerful thrusts that's drumming her ass with meat slapping sound.

In or out Sully? I ask her gently, she says it's not her safe time. Sigh, after few more thrusts I pull out and put my wet and bloody cock in front of her face. She doesn't want to suck but like hell I am gonna listen. I shove my cock in her mouth and start face fucking her like mad, using her pretty face like a cheap fleshlight. I masterbated months ago, so very thick and huge load of cum fill her innocent mouth, she starts coughing as cum spruts out her mouth and nose.

I order her to drink my sticky milk, she obediently gulp down all of it. I kiss her forehead lovingly as I help her sit up. Her flushed hot body melting in my embrace. But she rushes me saying Sera is crying. I help her quickly wiping her pussy, lips and face. She doesn't waste any time and run to Sera’s crib, though limping from a deflowered wounded pussy. Her delicious looking big ass suspending form her thin waist swaying around like pendulum. What a fine bitch she is!

I follow behind, of course I need a taste of that ass. She is busy changing Sera’s diaper while I bury my face in her ass, my tongue immediately started to rim her puckered hole while both hand spreading her butt cheeks apart. She is whining as it's hard for her to change Sera’s diaper while getting leaked in her ass. I say it's only natural that papa clean mama the same way mama clean Sera, right?

Sullyoon really tried to find a corner where she could run and hide from this shameless man but having no such option she only digest the erotic absurdity of mine, with a pouty face getting loved by a mad manhwaga. Do I need to keep explaining what other shameless act we did for the rest of the day after periodically taking care of Sera now and then?

No, she didn't go back home that day. We were fucking a pair of rabbits whole time. Sleeping the night snuggling Sully as Sera was beside us was the most fulfilling night I had in years…

It's been 3 years we got married. It was very smooth sailing as Sullyoon agreed to marry me. Her parents were reluctant, kept saying about the engagement, keeping their words and what not nonsense but a few sec of sneak peek of what Sullyoon and I did made them go silent once and for all. With both family’s blessing we walk the isle and here we are.

Where? At Sera’s kindhearten because through spoiling from her momma Sully has turned her into quite a bully. Sully and Bully? See, it's you who is in the fault here. This remark only makes her furious as she says she will see who is the problem once we return home. Sigh! I am completely against my gal becoming a macho but Sullyoon is ready to fight me to defend her daughter.

She loves Sera more than me I guess. Sigh, I face other way, what a devilish woman! She pinches me painfully as Sera is running toward us, a silent warning to not say anything to Sera. Every woman is a trouble once they get married and a ticking time bomb when they become a mother. Sullyoon being a mother since day zero makes it even worse. Sigh, just sigh!

Though I listen to everything she says the whole day, the bedtime is all but mine. That's the house rule. I am particularly going rough with the deepthroat today, it's her punishment for being such a pain in the ass this morning. She is thrashing her legs to pull me out, but I am not making it easy. I am gonna make her throat raw so her yapping is going to be less at least for tomorrow. Keep choking on the daddy meat you freaking mommy!

The End up Sullyoon's mommy asshole 🖕