#I WANT TO EXPLORE THE LAYERS DAMN IT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buckyseternaldoll · 1 month ago

Text

𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲

(i know this gif has no relation to this story and not even sexy, but let's say it's a hint of where i got the inspiration from 😭)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: After sparring leaves Bucky pinned and panting, you discover just how much he craves control being taken from him—how easily he’d fall apart for you, again and again. All he wants now? To worship you from his knees, breathless and bound.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, sub!bucky, soft dom!reader, breathplay (m receiving), restraint (hands tied), edging, cockwarming, mirror sex, face riding, praise kink, begging, overstimulation, spit & slick mention, aftercare

Word Count: 5.5k

Author's Note: Another sub!Bucky exploration, not a direct continuation to knife's edge.

You never thought your usual sparring session would end up like this.

Bucky, breathless beneath you.

Begging to be pinned.

It was supposed to be just another late Saturday morning—another round of sweaty training mats and mutual bruises. You and Bucky had a tradition of sparring together. No gear, no audience, just the two of you testing reflexes, trading smirks and smartass remarks between blows.

You’d shown up in your usual getup: a black cropped racerback tank top, clinging just enough to show the line of sweat along your spine. Your thighs were wrapped in dark grey workout shorts, snug at the hips with a skin-tight black compression layer underneath that hugged every curve. Breathable, flexible—meant for movement. Meant to fight.

Bucky was already stretching when you arrived, wearing that damn grey tank top—thin and fitted tight across his chest, the fabric straining slightly at the seams of his shoulders. His vibranium arm caught the light as he moved, and those black sweatpants hung low on his hips like a challenge, soft cotton doing nothing to hide what was underneath.

But there was a silent rule you always followed: you never restrained him.

Not fully. Not with real holds, not with the ones you knew could trigger something. You knew what that feeling could do to him. That cold, metal-locked part of his past that still haunted him some days. So you stayed clear. Always danced around the edge. Kept it safe.

But not today.

Today, he stood in front of you with that look in his eye—the one he gets when he’s about to do something reckless.

“No more soft hits,” he said, breath coming steady. “I want all of it. Full force. No holding back.”

You hesitated, brows drawing together. But then he pushed you—taunted, tested, fighting harder than usual like he wanted to provoke you.

And so, you snapped.

A quick parry. A fake left. You ducked low, legs twisting—and locked your thighs around his neck in one sharp, fluid movement. You hit the mat with him caught between them, back pressed to the floor as your thighs flexed tight around his jaw. The fabric of your shorts shifted against his stubble with every breath he took. You could feel the scrape of it—rough, bristled, a sharp burn of friction against your inner thigh with each shallow exhale. It made the hold feel more intimate, more raw. Like every twitch of his mouth against your skin was confession.You twisted just enough to keep pressure on his neck but not hurt him. Just enough to make him feel the helplessness. The submission.

And god—he squirmed.

Bucky Barnes. Enhanced, lethal, super soldier—struggling beneath someone half his size, his hands gripping your thighs like they were his last anchor.

But then… you felt it.

The shift.

Not in your hold—but in him.

The soft gasp. The tension in his core. And most telling of all—the tent in his sweatpants, unmistakable now, thick and straining against the fabric.

You blinked once. Then again. That was—real. That wasn’t a trick of the light or an accident. He was hard. From this. From you. From your thighs choking him out.

Your pulse kicked, heat rising between your legs so fast it almost scared you.

What the hell did that mean?

Your eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You immediately released him, your thighs unlocking from around his neck as you scrambled backward, breath caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief.

Your own core throbbed with something dangerously close to need. Jesus. You weren’t supposed to be this turned on either.

“You were… turned on?” you said, eyes wide.

Bucky sat up slowly, pushing himself up with one arm and dragging in a shaky breath. “I mean…” he grinned, shoulders rising in a light shrug. “In my defense… that was insanely hot.”

The two of you sat there on the training mat, breathing hard and sweat-slicked—Bucky still in his grey tank top, clinging to his chest, and black sweatpants stretched tightly around the very visible tent in his lap. You sat across from him, legs bent at the knees, your black cropped tank clinging to your ribcage, dark grey shorts riding up slightly from the scuffle, the compression layer beneath hugging every curve. The heat in the room wasn’t just from training anymore.

He looked at you with that crooked smirk��flushed, messed-up hair, lips a little parted.

“Since you’re so freaking dangerously hot,” he said, voice rough, hungry, “you wanna stop and make out for a while?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped past your lips. “I know it won’t be just making out.”

That was all the invitation he needed.

Before you could blink, Bucky lunged forward from his seated position, hands sliding over your waist as he pulled you into his lap, lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that was messy and deep and laced with fire. You felt his fingers dig into the waistband of your shorts like he needed to feel your skin underneath, like he wanted to pull you into his body and never let go.

But you were quick—quicker than he expected.

Instead of letting him take the lead, you shifted in his lap and slowly traced your palm up the curve of his throat. You kissed him again—once, softer—then broke it, letting your lips trail downward.

Hot, wet kisses down his jaw.

Along the side of his neck.

You lingered there, bit down lightly until he gasped, hips twitching under you.

Your fingers pressed firm under his jaw, thumb settling over his pulse.

You squeezed—not tight, but enough to control his next breath. Enough to make his pupils blow wide, mouth part in a gasp.

The little sound he made? Guttural. Like his soul left his body and came crawling to your feet.

A soft, broken whimper spilled from his lips as his eyes fluttered open, blown wide and dark. His hands stayed on your waist, but he didn’t fight you. Didn’t move. Just let you hold him like that.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, easing your grip, watching his pupils dilate. “You really like that, don’t you?”

He was panting now, sweat rolling down the line of his throat.

“I think I found God,” he rasped. “And she’s sitting on my lap in tight shorts and telling me what to do.”

You laughed, releasing his throat, and watched how he sagged slightly—boneless beneath you, like just your hand alone had melted his brain. The tent in his pants was aching now, nearly damp with how hard he was.

“You’re a mess already,” you teased, dragging your fingers along the waistband of his sweats. “That hard just from a little pressure?”

“Fuck, yes,” he moaned. “I want more. Please. Do it again—tie me down, ride me, I don’t care. Just don’t stop leading, baby. Don’t stop.”

His hips bucked lightly, almost involuntarily.

“I’ll be good. Just tell me how you want me.”

You tilted your head, studying the way he trembled beneath you.

“If we do this, I’m in charge.”

“God, yes,” he groaned. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

Your lips curled slowly, dangerously.

You leaned in close, lips just by his ear. “Good boy.”

His whole body shuddered like you’d short-circuited something in his spine.

—

Still beneath you, Bucky was panting—his chest rising fast, eyes fluttering. His breath caught in his throat like it didn’t know whether to come out as a moan or a prayer. You didn’t even have to squeeze again. The memory of your hand, of being caught between your thighs… it lingered in his body like want.

Your fingers dragged down his chest, nails lightly scraping over the damp grey fabric of his tank top. You felt the way his abs tensed beneath it—hard muscle twitching, struggling to stay still. He liked this. Not just the contact. The helplessness. The rush of blood and denial of air. The flutter of lightheadedness that made him feel pinned in more ways than just physically.

“Take this off,” you said, voice low but firm.

Not a suggestion.

He obeyed immediately—yanking the tank over his head with a grunt, breath shaky as he tossed it aside. You pushed him gently onto his back again, straddling him. His chest was bare now, sweat beading down the line of his collarbone, rising and falling in shallow bursts. Still catching up from earlier. Still winded. Still needing.

You kissed his jaw, then leaned in to whisper.

“How’s your breathing, baby?”

“Fast,” he rasped.

“You like that?”

“God, yeah.”

You brushed a finger under his chin.

“Then let’s play with that.”

He groaned—already pliant.

You leaned to the side, reaching toward the pile of your gear at the edge of the mat. It was normal. You always brought towels and robes to shower after training. But today, your fingers curled around the soft cotton belt hanging from your robe—and it wasn’t going anywhere near your waist.

You shifted back over him, lips brushing his ear again.

“Hands behind your head.”

He laced his fingers together as instructed, arms flexing above his head. You wrapped the belt around his wrists—not tight, not enough to hurt, but firm enough to hold. Firm enough to remind him that he couldn’t move unless you let him.

You pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat. Felt the way his pulse jumped under your lips.

“You’re not going anywhere,” you murmured. “Not until I’ve bled every breath from your lungs.”

A sharp inhale. A groan. His cock twitched beneath you.

Your fingers slid down his chest, over the glistening trail of sweat beneath his pecs. You traced the V of his abs until you reached the waistband of his pants—and dipped your hand in.

Just your fingertips.

Just enough to tease the hot, throbbing length of him.

He gasped.

You wrapped your hand around him fully, stroking once—slow and tight, squeezing just enough to make him bite back a sound. Then again. Then harder.

“Fuck—” he hissed.

“You gonna come already?” you whispered. “That easy, baby?”

“N-No—”

“Didn’t think so.”

You dragged your hand out of his sweats and then—slowly, deliberately—peeled them down. His hips twitched, lifting just enough to help you. You tugged the fabric past his thighs and off completely, letting them fall somewhere on the mat behind you.

His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. Vulnerable. Needy.

You hummed in approval.

“There’s my good boy,” you whispered, wrapping your hand around him again. “So fucking eager to be used.”

You tightened your grip a fraction more. Your hand moved so slowly it was like punishment—each stroke heavy and torturously controlled. His cock twitched, leaking over your knuckles.

Then you stopped.

He let out a low, strangled whine.

“Tsk,” you murmured, brushing your lips across his ear. “You’re dripping like a slut and I’ve barely touched you. Naughty, naughty boy.”

You climbed off his lap slowly, heat dragging over his cock as you moved. He was breathless now, sweat shining down his abs, muscles tense under the strain of self-control. His hands twitched above his head—tied, compliant, wrecked.

You stood, peeled down your shorts and leggings together, slow and sensual, revealing inch by inch of bare skin. Then your panties—completely soaked. Translucent with arousal.

He groaned at the sight.

“Open.”

He obeyed. Of course he did.

You shoved the soaked panties into his mouth, holding them there with a slow, deliberate hand on his jaw.

“You don’t need your mouth to beg anymore,” you murmured. “Your cock does all the talking.”

You knelt again, nudging his legs wider.

Then licked a stripe up the underside of his cock—slow, firm, possessive.

His whole body twitched.

“God, you taste desperate,” you growled. “Every drop of you says please, mistress, use me.”

You climbed back onto his lap, deliberately grinding your slick cunt along his shaft, letting it slide through your folds. He bucked beneath you—barely—his hips stuttering with need.

But your hand shot to his throat.

You didn’t choke. Not fully. But your fingers pressed gently at the sides, just enough to hold him still, to remind him what you owned.

His moan was muffled around your panties, his eyes nearly rolling back.

You squeezed just a little more, then released.

“You don’t come until I say so,” you whispered. “Or I’ll tie your cock up instead and make you watch me come without ever letting you feel it.”

He whimpered. Squirmed. His cock throbbed beneath you.

You leaned back, letting your slick folds rub over him again, never letting him inside. Then you stopped. Watched his face twitch with denial.

“Beg,” you said. “Beg me to use you.”

He groaned around the panties, words distorted—but you heard it anyway.

“Mmm—mmph—use me—please—ride me—please—”

You yanked the panties from his mouth and tossed them aside.

“Tell me who owns this cock.”

“You. Fuck—you, baby—it’s yours, all yours—”

“You’ll wait.”

“Please—”

You finally sank down on him—slow. Inch by inch. His cock stretched you open so perfectly it stole your breath, and his back arched, every muscle flexing like you’d lit him on fire.

You bottomed out and held him there.

No motion.

Just heat.

Just breathlessness.

“You’ll sit there and take it,” you whispered, tightening your thighs around his hips. “You’ll let me ride you when I’m ready. And when I say come…”

You leaned closer.

“You better fall apart for me.”

—

His whole body shuddered like you’d short-circuited something in his spine.

Still beneath you, Bucky was panting—chest rising fast, lips parted. His breath caught in his throat like it didn’t know whether to come out as a moan or a prayer. You didn’t even have to squeeze him again. The memory of your thighs around his neck lingered in his body like electricity, like want.

You trailed your fingers down his sweat-slick chest, nails lightly dragging across bare skin, and felt how his abs tensed beneath it—coiled, twitching, like he was aching for more. Not just for touch—but for restraint. For that strange, dizzy, breathless sensation he wasn’t supposed to like. But craved anyway.

“You breathing okay, baby?” you murmured, voice low against his throat.

“Fast,” he rasped. “But so good.”

“Good,” you purred. “Let’s play with that.”

You crawled higher over him again—knees planting on either side of his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair to keep him still.

“You’re gonna stay right here,” you whispered, “while I put you back where you clearly want to be.”

You locked your thighs around his head—just like before—but this time, you were bare.

Your soaked cunt hovered just above his parted lips, flushed and dripping. Bucky’s eyes were already glassy as he looked up at you, chest rising faster beneath you.

You lowered yourself slowly, carefully, until your folds just barely dragged across his mouth.

Moan.

The sound that escaped him was pure sin—low, muffled, vibrating into your cunt. Slick smeared across his lips and chin as you rolled forward slightly, letting a single drop fall into his mouth. His tongue twitched.

You immediately stopped.

And smiled.

“Did I say you could taste?”

He whimpered beneath you, the sound desperate, pleading. You lifted your hips an inch and slapped the inside of his thigh—sharp, quick, close to his balls.

He gasped, hips jerking—but not from pain. No. That twitch was hunger. He liked it.

“Naughty,” you tsked, letting your voice fall into something calm and deadly sweet. “Trying to sneak a lick?”

You rewarded him with another slow grind—slick folds dragging wetly across his mouth and stubble. His face was slick with you now. His nose pressed right into your clit. He was gasping, lips open, unable to taste fully, unable to move.

Still under your control.

Still breathless.

Still starving.

“Look at you,” you murmured, tightening your grip in his hair. “Completely ruined. And I haven’t even let you come. Haven’t even let you taste.”

He whimpered again. You ground down, just once, slow and steady, enough to smear even more slick over his skin.

Then pulled away again.

He groaned helplessly, tongue wet and eager—but you gave him nothing.

“You don’t get to steal,” you said. “You want something?”

You dragged one finger through your folds, soaked and swollen, then tapped it gently against his lips.

“You ask.”

He moaned as your slick touched his tongue. His cock twitched, aching against his stomach.

“You want to taste me, soldier?”

“Yes—fuck, please—please, baby—I need it—I’ll be good—let me—please—”

You grabbed his hair again, holding him steady.

“No licking. No sucking. You just lie there,” you whispered, voice thick and slow. “And take it like the good little pillow prince you are.”

Then you ground down again.

This time slowly. Relentlessly.

You fucked his face in slow, teasing drags of your hips—your thighs flexing around his head, your slick dripping into his mouth with every pass. His tongue wasn’t allowed to move. You made sure of it.

He whimpered every time you pulled away. Every breath was shallow now. His lungs worked harder. His cock throbbed untouched.

“You like this?” you asked. “Being trapped between my thighs? Breathing in nothing but pussy?”

He twitched.

“So close to heaven,” you whispered, “and still not allowed to worship it.”

He tried to sneak a lick again.

You pulled away.

“I said still.”

He froze.

Didn’t twitch this time.

“Good boy.”

You hovered above him, thighs caging his flushed face, until you finally—finally—whispered low and molten:

“You’ve been good.”

“Please,” he rasped. “Please let me—I’ll be so good—need to taste you—”

You smiled.

And this time, when you sank down fully, there was no resistance. No teasing.

Just reward.

“Then go ahead,” you whispered. “Lick me. Show me what that perfect mouth can do.”

And god, he did.

Bucky groaned into you like your taste had saved him. His hands stayed where you left them—bound, obedient. He didn’t grab you. Didn’t flip you over. He obeyed.

His tongue moved with skill and reverence—flicking and curling, pressing deeper, desperate to make you come. The heat of his mouth was overwhelming, but it was the coarse scrape of his stubble that lit your nerves on fire.

The contrast—soft tongue, rough jawline—sent sparks straight through you.

Every drag of his mouth felt like being scorched and soothed all at once. His nose bumped your clit just right as your hips moved, slick covering his face. The more you rode, the deeper he moaned.

Your thighs were trembling now.

“Fuck—Bucky—just like that—don’t stop—”

You came hard—shaking, grinding into his mouth as your orgasm tore through you, your muscles clenching, your thighs squeezing tight around his head. You didn’t hold back. You gave him all of it. Your cries. Your slick. Your whole body.

When you came down, breathless and glowing, you rocked your hips back slightly, letting him breathe again. His face was soaked, lips swollen. His stubble was wet, glistening with you.

You looked down at him, completely wrecked, and laughed softly.

“Goddamn,” you breathed, brushing sweat-damp hair from your temple. “You really just let me do that to you…”

You leaned down, voice soft but teasing against his ear:

“Can’t believe you’re letting me stay in control today.”

Bucky—flat on his back, cock untouched, face drenched in you—smiled, dazed and devoted.

“For you?” he rasped. “I could take this for eternity.”

—

You shifted off his face slowly, dragging your soaked heat across his mouth one last time before settling beside him on the mat. Your thighs were still trembling. Chest still rising and falling. The scent of sex clung to the air.

Bucky didn’t move.

Face glistening. Cock flushed, twitching against his abs. Wrecked didn’t even begin to describe him.

You reached out, brushed the damp strands of hair off his forehead. His eyes fluttered open—barely.

“You’re such a good boy,” you whispered, letting the words sink into his ruined, obedient brain. “So good I might get addicted to you like this.”

His cock jerked. Hard.

You smirked.

“Come on,” you murmured, brushing your fingers down the center of his sweat-slick chest. “Let’s take this somewhere we can really see the damage.”

You reached for the tie and undid the knot slowly, trailing kisses down his chest as you helped him up.

He followed without question, still breathless, still dazed. You led him to the long padded bench near the mirrored wall of the sparring room—intended for cooldowns, but this afternoon? It was a throne. A stage. A place to be displayed.

“Sit back,” you said. “Arms behind you.”

He obeyed, dropping onto the bench. Shoulders against the angled padding. Legs spread. Cock hard, flushed, slicked with precum and the ghost of your mouth. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps as he positioned his wrists at the small of his back.

You reached for the same robe belt you’d used before and tied him off again—firm this time, low at his spine. A handcuffed restraint.

“You’re not grabbing me unless I say so,” you reminded, voice low against his ear.

“I know,” he panted. “I won’t. Promise.”

You climbed onto his lap—reverse—your back to his chest, your thighs straddling his, both of your bodies now reflected in the full-length mirror ahead.

You spread your legs a little wider. Let your soaked cunt hover just above his cock.

“Look,” you whispered. “Look at how fucked out you are. Face still wet from me.”

He moaned—soft, overwhelmed—and you reached between your legs to stroke his cock, teasing the flushed head through your folds.

“Please,” he whispered, broken already. “Please ride me.”

You paused. Let your cunt hover, slick just barely kissing the tip of him.

“You want to feel useful again?” you asked. “Wanna be good for me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed.

You turned your head slightly, catching the way his cheeks flushed deeper at the title.

“I remember how quiet you were with my panties shoved in your mouth,” you murmured. “All that strength, and you still let me silence you.”

A whimper escaped him—high, needful.

“I still have them, you know,” you added, reaching to the side where you’d carelessly tossed them earlier. They were crumpled now. Damp. Twisted and glistening from your slick.

You looked at him through the mirror.

“Open.”

He obeyed.

You shoved them back into his mouth—slow, sensual, like you were crowning him in devotion. The cotton disappeared between his lips.

“Now you can be good and quiet for me again.”

You finally sank down onto him.

Slow.

Tight.

Deliberate.

His cock filled you perfectly, forcing a moan from your throat as you seated yourself fully in his lap. Your reflection said it all—your spine arched, your slick glistening around the base of his cock, your thighs trembling slightly from overstimulation, and him?

Head tipped back. Arms straining behind him. Panties in his mouth. And his eyes locked on your body like he couldn’t look away if he tried.

You stayed still. Just like before.

“You want me to ride you, soldier?” you asked, voice honeyed. “Want me to use your cock like the good little fucktoy you are?”

He groaned behind the soaked fabric.

But then—you felt it.

His hips twitching, restrained. The slight pull at the knot behind his back. He was trembling again.

You turned your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

He was trying to speak.

So you tugged the panties gently out of his mouth, slick with spit and heat.

“Say it,” you murmured.

His voice cracked.

“Did I—did I do good?” he asked, almost whispering. “Please… I need to hear it. Need to know I was good for you. That I made you feel good. Please, ma’am.”

Oh, fuck.

Your cunt clenched tight around him. The desperation in his voice. The vulnerability. The fact that this super soldier—this goddamn wall of a man—was begging for praise from the woman who just rode his face into ruin.

You leaned back against his chest, fingers cradling his jaw gently as you made him look at the mirror.

“Look at you,” you whispered. “Face still covered in me. Body tied down. Cock aching. All because you let me have every inch of you.”

He moaned—soft, shattered.

“You were perfect, baby,” you said, hips starting to rock again, slow and firm. “You made me feel so fucking good. Let me take what I needed. You stayed right where I told you. You didn’t even try to flip us.”

His breath hitched.

“You’re such a good boy, James. You ruin me.”

A deep, trembling sound left his chest—almost a sob of relief.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, ma’am.”

And you smiled—because he meant it.

You started to ride in earnest now—hips moving smooth and slow, your slick pulling wet sounds from where your bodies met. His cock pulsed deeper inside you with every grind, and his voice was wrecked when he breathed:

“God, you look so good. So perfect taking me like this—please don’t stop—please use me—”

You locked eyes in the mirror.

“Keep talking, baby,” you whispered. “You praise me, I’ll keep fucking you.”

—

His breath stuttered behind you, chest heaving like his lungs were working overtime just to keep up. Your soaked cunt gripped him so tight, pulsing around every inch of his cock—and he couldn’t stop twitching inside you.

But you didn’t move.

You just sat there—perched on him like a throne—making him look in the mirror. Making him see you. The way your curves framed his lap. How your spine arched in perfect, devastating rhythm. The slick dripping down his thighs. His cock, buried so deep in your cunt it was obscene.

“I said,” you repeated, calm and low, “worship me.”

He whimpered. Actually whimpered.

Then swallowed hard, voice cracking.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he rasped. “Look at you. Look how good you look on me, baby. I’ve never—never seen anything like it.”

“I love when you ride me. I love how you hold me down, like I’m yours. I love—fuck—I love how strong you are. How you make me feel like I’m nothing but yours to play with.”

“I never thought I’d like being restrained again. Thought it’d fuck me up forever. But this—” his breath shuddered again, eyes flicking to where your cunt was stretched around his cock. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else. I want it to be you. Always. Want to come for you, please—just you.”

You clenched around him.

Hard.

“That’s more like it,” you murmured. “Now shut up and take it.”

And then you moved.

You started slow—rolling your hips in wide, deliberate circles, letting every inch of your pussy stroke over his cock like velvet. The wet sounds echoed off the mirror. His head dropped back with a strangled groan, fists clenching behind him against the tie.

“You watching, baby?” you teased, grinding down harder. “See how pretty I look? Bouncing on your cock like it belongs to me?”

“Fuck—yes—ma’am,” he choked. “You’re so fucking gorgeous—I can’t—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you snapped, slamming down harder. “You’ll take it like the good boy you are.”

Your rhythm sharpened—pace fast and punishing now, wet skin slapping loud against muscle as you bounced in his lap. His cock drove deep, again and again, dragging moans from both of you.

He pulled tight against the restraints—but didn’t fight them.

Didn’t even try.

You reached back, grabbed a fistful of his damp hair, and yanked his head upright.

“Eyes on me,” you growled. “Watch how I break you.”

He whimpered like it hurt to obey—and kept his eyes wide, locked on the mirror.

You fucked him harder.

Riding. Grinding. Letting your ass smack into his thighs with every thrust. His cock hit that perfect spot again and again, your own climax building fast as your slick poured down both of you.

“Please,” he gasped. “Please let me come—I can’t—I’m so close, I can’t hold it—baby, please—”

“Beg for it.”

“Please,” he sobbed. “Let me fill you—please let me come in your pussy—I need to—need to come inside you—fuck, I’ll be so good, just let me—please—”

You slammed down one final time and froze.

“Now.”

His scream tore out of him like a live wire. His body seized, twitching beneath you as his cock jerked and pulsed, thick spurts of cum filling you deep, so deep, like he’d been saving it for hours. His back arched, legs trembling under your thighs. He was shaking—completely fucked out.

And you were right behind him.

“Fuck—fuck—Bucky—” you moaned, body collapsing forward slightly as your own orgasm hit hard. Your cunt squeezed him so tight you felt every last pulse of him. Your vision blurred, hips trembling through the waves of pleasure until you collapsed against his chest, both of you breathless.

You stayed like that.

Panting.

Your heat still wrapped tight around his cock.

His forehead pressed against your back. Hair damp. Breathing ragged.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered hoarsely. “You… you ruined me.”

You turned your head, kissed the corner of his jaw, and smirked.p

“You begged me to.”

He let out a soft, delirious laugh.

“I did. I’d do it again. You—” his breath caught. “You made me feel so fucking safe.”

You reached behind, loosening the tie at his wrists gently, brushing his forearms as they slowly relaxed from the strain.

“You were perfect, baby,” you whispered. “Obedient. Beautiful. Ruined just the way I like you.”

His lips pressed to your shoulder, soft and warm. Then a quiet, cheeky hum.

“You think next time,” he murmured, “you’ll stuff those panties back in my mouth and fuck me even harder?”

You laughed, breathless.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you purred, glancing at your soaked reflection in the mirror.

“You haven’t seen hard yet.”

—

Your breath was still slowing as you leaned backward, fingers working gently at the robe tie knotted around Bucky’s wrists. The fabric had left soft red lines against his skin—proof of how tightly he’d held back for you.

He let his arms drop with a groan, slumping back like every muscle had given out.

You slipped off his lap, stretching your thighs with a quiet hiss, and bent to kiss the side of his head.

“Still breathing?”

“Barely,” he rasped. His voice was cracked, all gravel. “Pretty sure you broke my spine in five places.”

You grinned. “But did you die?”

That made him laugh—a soft, ruined sound that cracked open into something real and warm. His head lolled back against the bench, sweat dampening the strands of hair clinging to his neck. His chest rose and fell in slow waves. His cock, spent and glossy, gave a lazy twitch between his legs.

“I can’t believe I liked that,” he muttered to no one in particular. “All of it. Being tied up. Letting you do whatever you wanted. Being used.”

You turned your head, eyes soft.

“You didn’t just like it, Buck. You begged for it.”

A lazy smirk crept onto his lips. “Can you blame me?”

You leaned down and kissed him again—this time slower. Gentle. A kiss that tasted like sweat, slick, and trust. Your fingers found his jaw, tracing along the rough edge of his stubble, then drifted down to cup his throat—not tight, just resting there, tender.

“After everything you’ve been through,” you whispered against his lips, “you deserve to feel safe in someone’s hands.”

You kissed his neck.

“And baby… these hands?”

Another kiss, this one just below his ear.

“These hands made you come so hard, I think you blacked out.”

He groaned and threw both hands over his face like he was trying to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. But he was smiling. Laughing, even.

“You’re the greatest damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I know,” you teased, nudging his thigh with your knee. “And now your slutty little cock knows it too.”

“Jesus Christ,” he wheezed.

“Say thank you.”

He peeked out from behind his hands, eyes sparkling, then grinned like a man who’d just sold his soul and had zero regrets.

“Thank you, my queen,” he said solemnly. “May your thighs crush me again sometime soon.”

You snorted, climbing up onto the bench and curling beside him. The two of you lay there tangled in sweat and afterglow, your head on his shoulder, his arm lazily wrapping around your back.

The silence was warm.

The stillness earned.

And then he murmured, lips brushing your hair:

“For the record? You can ruin me like that anytime.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering closed.

“I plan to.”

#by elle.ᐟ #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes one shot #mcu!bucky fic #mcu!bucky smut #mcu!bucky #sub!bucky #sub!bucky kink exploration

2K notes · View notes

dilf-docs · 5 months ago

Text

My Baby's Fit Like A Daydream

husband!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: your relationship is finally out to the world. now, pedro and you will explore what it feels like to have your love out in the open.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, FLUFF, the empire of bad humor strikes again, hurt/comfort bc all roads lead back to angst, a brief mention of bodyshaming, this is lowkey pwp my bad, dirty talk, fingering, p. in v., bathroom sex ijbol, exhibition kink (they be fucking everywhere but in a bed), degradation kink (he calls her a slut twice), the one and only creampie (twice), so naturally: breeding kink, ALSO pls stop the husband!pedro reqs, i beg. a delulu girl can only take so much 💔

word count: 10,991 words

side note: not one but two requests to be fullfilled! this is as a sequel to call it what you want. also, spam time: i happen to write in wattpad as well, and i have a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) but it's on spanish tho. if u speak the language and would like to tune in, read it here AND spam again but speaking of the ptwt dynamic, why don't we become moots? check my (new) stan twitter account here (i had one in 2022 that i had since 2016 but entered a crisis and deleted it lol)

part: prev | masterlist | next

The news had spread like wildfire.

As soon as you hit the red carpet, hand on hand, rings finally on display―shining under the spotlight, your phone had been blowing up nonstop: every show, podcast, tabloid, news outlet and social media had been talking about it. California had turn into an easter egg playground; everyone was eager to know it all.

(They had found the church where you married, the dress boutique, jewelry shop where Pedro bought the rings―the employees ratted him out, even sharing pictures of the moment, your husband posing with them without knowing of the future treason. They too had found the place where the reception took place, and even the name of the priest who had married you, but he refused to give the hungry press any details. God Bless)

In short, it had been a hell of a week. You figured dissapearing for a while was for the best, but with some interviews still left, that option had been discarded. Still, doesn't mean you couldn't retreat for a couple of days to the tranquility of your home while it was time to show up again. Well, as peaceful as it could get, since reporters were camping near your house and roaming around Hollywood Hills like vultures; the neighbour's nagging was just another layer of problems in your shit cake.

"I'm sorry, Louis. Walks will be postponed for a while" you talk to your cat, but the lazy bastard just stretches and lays down again. "Yeah, I can see you're affected. Don't cry"

"It's not the cat's fault" Pedro emerges from behind, "don't take it out on him"

He takes a sit next to you, two mugs in hand. He gives you the one with a chocolate steam, a souvenir he bought when you visited your home country last summer. You wonder if that's a trip you'll ever be able to make again.

"I'm not. Just- It's horrible that I can't even go outside my own house and walk the same roads I've walked in four years because the press is hidden with cameras in, I don't know, bushes!" you exclaim, quiet rage carried within your words. "It's unfair, really. All I want is to walk my damn cat without a flash up my ass"

Pedro nestles his face in your neck, nose carressing the skin. Giggles leave your lips, the sensation ticklish.

"It'll pass. It always does" he says, voice assuring, probably because he's used to the violation of privacy, but you're not. Getting bigger, is this the price to pay for making a name for yourself and claiming out loud who you love?

"I hope so" you murmur above the quietness of your home, a sound as eerie as fake, devoid of it's tranquil nature as a world of invasion awaits outside.

"Do you trust me?" Pedro speaks, voice unwavering. He holds your gaze, steady brown challening your shaky orbs.

"I do" you speak up, yet you wish you could believe it. You believe in him, there's no question to that, but do you believe in yourself? That the love you'd put out to the world would be treated with the same care and respect you have treated it in secret? For a fleating moment, you miss the secrecy.

"Then trust me this will be over sooner than expected" he presses a kiss to your lips, soft and sweet, feeling remanents of chocolate he licks away, as you mockingly yell ¡Qué sucio! but it's devoid of malice. "In time, this will become another anecdote we'll share with our kids, and laugh with our grandkids when we get older"

You smile, feeling tears in the corner of your eyes. Oh, doesn't he turn you into a pathetic sappy wife?

"Well" you sniffle, giggling to push back the tears away. "About the old part..."

He playfully kicks your side. "Uno ya no puede ser romántico, que le salen con estas cosas. Your generation could use some respect, you know?" (one can't simply be romantic anymore)

Pedro gets up, picking the mug from your hands as both rings brush together, the gold shinning under the morning Californian sun.

"And your generation could take a joke" you quip, lips curled up like you hadn't in weeks.

"Very funny, y/n. Thought you loved me" but then he's pressing a kiss to your temple like kissing you once isn't enough, promising to return after washing down the mugs.

"I do!" you shout to his dissapearing broad frame as he enters the kitchen, and he playfully makes a dissmissing move with his palm.

The laughing dies when your phone chimes next to you.

You shouldn't really, but the curiosity that draws you in is as intense as a magnet. The phone burns on its position, screaming for you to open it, despite being told by your husband that the best was choice was to ignore it until the buzz had died down, but you're afraid the turmoil isn't nowhere to be finished. Comments can be mean, he'd said, they can hurt you. Pedro said he'd learn with time to ignore it, but he was experienced. You weren't, so naturally, as your husband and protector, he wanted to shield you from the pain.

Although, both of your fandoms had been pretty supportive of your relationship, some user even claiming to suspect it, making threads full of easter eggs and connections that validated the theory which was now a reality. I've connected the dots, followed by pictures of you sharing wardrobe, slips on interviews, similar backgrounds in your posts across social media, and of course, the two Gladiator Ii interviews. Many resorted to making edits or screaming over your pictures in the premiere, demanding for more content you had yet caved in to share (there was a gigantic carpet of evidence sitting heavy in your cloud).

So, in a way, this support made it hard for you to truly dimension the hate Pedro warned you about: all you saw was fans being happy and showering you with love, making paparazzi to be the only problem as for now.

That's it.

You cave in, turning the phone on as you bite your lip, searching first your Instagram: a bunch of new followers, many with variations of ispunk on their usernames, as well as a swarm of comments on your recent posts. There's a small voice in your head telling you to turn away, but your thumb moves without thinking, clicking on pictures of the red carpet―a carrousel of you and then a picture of you both at the end, one fans had been gushing about the last couple of days, rings on display, practically up their noses. You were smiling, and Pedro was looking at you fondly, his other hand holding Lux but his gaze never leaving yours; he was too perfect to be real―yours.

You unconsciously smile at the captured moment, love obvious on your faces, so you open the comments, thinking it would be the same support or love radiating of the comment.

But boy, weren't you wrong?

It was all the same, support lost between waves of hate. Variations of bodyshaming, age shaming and even gold digger claims were on full display across the comment section. "She's ugly" "In it for the money, am I right?" "I thought Pedro had better taste, lol" "She got the role in Gladiator II because of nepotism. Or cocksucking" and then a cruel answer that read "Right, threesome with Ridley. Ew, what a whore!"

Worst of it all, some even had Pedro profile pictures, or usernames and accounts dedicated to him.

Your heart was beating like crazy, chest heavy and hollow, face red with emotions you couldn't quite place (embarrasment? fear? rage? sadness?) as you kept searching across Twitter*, doing a quick skim of the trendings that included you. The same hate speech pattern was all over the timeline, some betting for divorce in a couple of years (even months!), while others took their time dissecting your looks and relationship. As if they knew. Long gone were the edits and harmless threads: the hate wave was here to stay. Some where even being a bit racist, the irony of it all, being Pedro himself was latino and didn't shy away from it, rather proud as he didn't miss an opportunity to shot out his dear Chile. Or any social issue, as a matter of fact, very vocal on his political beliefs.

This was fucking ridiculous, and if the cameras were an issue, this swarm of negativity is what really took a toll on you, the flashes as you went grocery shopping now barely a scratch. No, this was worst. All you wanted to do was cuddle in a blanket while wearing one of Pedro's shirts and dissappear. Too much noise. Too much hate. You can feel it creeping up your body, tainting your soft curves, wrinkles, acne scars and face. It's like rough hands, tugging harsh, ripping your vocals because you can't scream; no words to express this pain.

You knew one day it would come, but never imagined the hurt and to what extent people were capable of. Cruelty. Dissecting your life and body like it was a show for them to be entertained: your marriage was a circus and your body a joke.

It hurt their condescending dismiss of your love, questioning as if the gap were only numbers and not a pillar of your relationship that made you and Pedro closer, despite the bridge in age. You were reduced to a middle-age crisis, and he to a filthy man pinning for a younger girl. Your body was turn apart, despite no real flaws existing. Humans are meant to be so, not perfect, but real, and that was the problem: you had turn into an object―a target for their dards to pierce through.

Your body shakes violently with cries, deafening your ears that you don't hear when Pedro walks in.

"Why are you crying?" he rushes to your side, panic on his voice. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

You barely manage to shake your head, and then his eyes scan all over your features, until they land on the phone on your hands. The worry turns to anger as he asks:

"You looked at them, didn't you?"

He isn't yelling, but it would be better if he did. This contained fury, fading into dissapointment, as if you were a naive child scolded by their parents makes you feels small and stupid, as if you knew no better.

"I'm sorry-" you manage to choke out among tears, "I know you told me-"

"I told you" he interrupts, words laced with wrath, "so this wouldn't happen. See what happens?"

"Why are you talking to me like it's my fault?" you yell, and Pedro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I didn't ask to receive all this! Do I deserve the death threats, shame and hate?"

He walks past you, and it's like a slap to your face. Was he going to behave like this? Didn't it matter how you felt, or was it something childish that could be brush to the side like nothing? Insecurities you hadn't even think of come crashing down on you, doubts creeping up and attacking you from all sides. It's horrible. You try to hold onto the good memories, praying you don't loose him. You can't. You just can't.

"Answer!" you demand, tears spilling like a broke dam.

"I was just closing the windows. Or do you want to fuel the talk, huh? Give the hungry hoard more to bite?" Pedro then stands to hold your gaze, and you hate that you can't place his emotions. Anxiety corrodes your brain: was this really the beginning of the end?

"Do I?" you dare to speak up, and even if its loud, it comes out drowned, the exhaustion from the emotional turmoil taking its toll on you. "Do I deserve it?"

"No, you don't, carajo!" Pedro bursts. "You don't deserve any of that, which is why I didn't want you looking at those things!"

He sighs, realizing the anger is misdirected.

"I'm sorry"

Your broken wails are the only thing to be heard. He hates himself for being a part of it, even if not the biggest.

"No, I'm sorry for being so stupid" you sob. "I-I just wanted for people to be as happy for us as I am with you"

"Come here" but he's the one cutting the space to embrace you.

His scent calms a part of you, body still rocking with violent shakes.

"You're not stupid. Nor ugly, or any of those things people are calling you. No, mi amor. You're beautiful, smart and talent. They fail to realize I'm the lucky one. So please, don't be hard on yourself, yeah? I can't bear to see it. Less if I know it's not true. You didn't ask for it; you don't deserve all that bullshit"

He presses a kiss to your temple, arms that hug you tighter holding you close close up to the point his heartbeat melts within your own.

I won't let you go. You won't fall as long as I got you.

"We'll get through this, yeah? Think of the future, and what's to come. It's hard, that I know, but let us enjoy the moment. Life is too precious to waste it away" he brushes stray tears with his thumb, softly and full of love that words aren't enough to express. "I'm here" the out loud, "and I'm not going anywhere. That's a promise"

Later that day, Pedro posts a carrousel of unseens, even one of your wedding (a video of your first dance), telling people to leave you alone. That he loves you, and that no malicious news, fans or comments will ever change that―suck it energy laced within his rageful statement.

Safe to say, in the next weeks, hate is barely a small voice whispering in the back of your neck, one that hushes down with each kiss and/or words uttered by your one and only devoted husband.

mandoshoney: y/n protection squad pull up, we ride at dawn starlightt180: unhing3dprincess WHERE ARE U??? PTWT IS IN SHAMBLES AND NEEDS U MY SHAYLAAAAAAAAAA elysyannemimi: i feel like a kid scolded by their dad. pedro has achieved the ultimate daddy status bobgirlll: is no one going to talk about how rageful/protective pedro sounded in that story????? NEED MORE FERAL PEDRO RN GRRrrrr ps. photos so cute, wish that was me lol pyramiidsf: i hope y/n is okay, ppl can be so cruel sometimes but at least she's got pedro on her side <3 he's such a perfect man :,)

It had been days since your fight.

In an sweet attempt to cheer you up, Pedro had taken you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant you can't remember the name of. If they'll snap pictures of my wife without my permission, I might as well show you off. So, per his petition, you had wore a little black dress that hugged every curve of your body perfectly and pushed your tits to the top. Stunning, he had growled, and it had been hard to push him off as he devoured your mouth in your house's doorstep.

"Let's give them talk" you had agreed.

So now you sat at the restaurant, Pedro filling your cup of wine for the third time in a row, talking about all and nothing: about politics, the weather, your siblings, Louis the cat, upcoming gigs around your home you wanted to go to, how support had risen and the hate had dwindled, the numerous calls of job offers and interviews to keep on milking your relationship... life had never been more hectic.

"You know, maybe the dress was a bad idea" he takes a bite of his meat, tone nonchalant.

"Yeah?" you challenge, cheeks flushed with alcohol, "why's that? I thought I had to look good. What changed your mind?"

"Turns out" he looks at you, gaze piercing through your body, brown warm eyes darkening, "I figured something"

You know your husband. It's still fresh in your mind the first day you took a notice of it: jaw clenching, gaze fixated at nothing and white fists balled up on to the sides, arms swinging while fingers itched. A vein on his forehead would pop, and brows would melt together in a furrow. It happened when you got recognized by a fan, on your early days, and he had taken a picture of you, uploading it to social media. Dating Pedro had been going on for little to five months, and the way this guy hugged you from behind, hand resting above your ass, had made your then-boyfriend see red. His posture stiffened, demeanor changed and face adquired all the characteristics above. There was only one correct answer: Pedro was jealous, so fucking jealous.

So here he is now, jealous to the bone, alcohol increasing the rage.

"And that is?" you push his buttons, something you normally wouldn't do, but you're drunk and God, so sex-starved. His possesive side was always hot, yet now? It had a layer of allure it didn't have before, the idea of calming him down long lost.

"You know what it is" he answers, but you tilt your head to the side, acting confused. Pedro growls, clenching the glass a bit too tight; you fear it'll break.

"No, I don't" you serve more wine in your glass, savouring the liquid. Some spills into your mouth, and you lick it while not breaking eye contact. "Enlighten me"

"Turns out" the words come out strained, a whirlwind of emotions burning in the tip of his tongue, "that I wanted people to look at my wife, but I looked their looks and realized I don't like how they look at her"

He rambles the words out, speech pattern slurred and ideas clashing into one another, clearly drunk.

"I see" you draw out, demeanor calm, but your panties have started to get wet.

"No" he hits the table, making your eyes go wide and people turn to your table. You should be embarrased, but you're only aroused. "You don't see what I see. And I hate it, I fucking hate it" he seethes, words spit out over your unfinished meal.

"Dessert?" the waiter appears from seemingly nowhere, menu on hand.

Pedro doesn't even look when he answers, "Sure. Bring your best"

"The chef's suggestion is Soufflé, a classic dessert from his country"

"That'll do" Pedro looks at you, but his brain seems to be somewhere else. Like he's thinking. "How long will it take?"

The waiter ponders the answer, yet doesn't think any weird of it.

"About twenty to thirty minutes. Would that be alright? Or would you prefer to switch to one of our quick-fixes? They're as delicious as our fresh and-"

"No" your husband interrupts, eyes shinning with something akin to dangerous. "We'll take the soufflé. Just want my wife to eat the very best"

The waiter smiles. "Sure, will be back in a few. More wine?"

Pedro stops the action, removing the bottle's neck from pouring more red liquid in your glass.

"Won't be needed"

They excuse themselves, leaving both of you alone. The restaurant bubbles with chat and instrumental music from a band playing on a corner, but all you hear is his heavy breathing and your heart.

"I wanted more wine" you pout, not even knowing why you said it.

He smiles devilishly. "I'll give you something better than that"

How does it happen, you have no idea, but then Pedro gets up with a brash move, chair making a sound that draws attention. He smirks, his auburn reflecting on the candle glowing in the center with a light that's menacing.

"I'm going to the bathroom" an announcement that feels like a threat that runs through the newfound tension; it could be cut with even a butterknife.

You sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Your phone chimes in what feels like an hour (it's been a few minutes, probably three). You open the notification, a single text from Pedro.

I'm waiting.

So this was his plan all along, huh? Maybe he's gotten bored of sex on a bed and room like normal couples, because ever since that time you sucked his dick in his trailer, Pedro has shown an appetite for public sex. Well, more like just shown but never done. Guess that changes as of tonight.

I'm coming.

Truth is, after the reveal and fight, you hadn't had sex since that time before the London premiere. Press tour hadn't finished, and the movie was still playing in theathers, but it feels much longer the time you had gone without having his dick rearranging your insides. That changes as of tonight.

You practically leap out of your sit, rushing to the restroom, which is too fancy for your liking. You're unsure how to proceed, and it should be because you realized how stupid and reckless this is, but it's more because you don't know which door Pedro is behind: men or women.

You knock softly on the ladies room first. "I'm here" you speak, voice small.

After a few seconds, a muffled voice from behind replies: "Me too"

You giggle as he pulls you inside, mouth devouring yours in a hot kiss.

"The lock!" you squeal, yet Pedro is busy buring his face between your breasts, pulling the dress down until he's nipping at the skin before licking the spot with his tongue. Your back is pressed against the tiled white wall, cold meeting your now heating skin.

"Mmm, missed this" he mumbles in a drunken state. "Needed my girls so bad"

His words elicit a moan out of you, a way to comunicate that your body too had been aching for this.

"Please, Pedro-" you whimper, trying to get rid of the pretty dress. He doesn't say it, but his movements command for power, big hands dragging your dress down until the black cloth falls to the floor in a sound filled with grace, it feels merciful.

"Black panties? But I thought I was a man with a plan" he groans, calloused digits ghosting over the wet patch in the middle. He smells your arousal off his fingers, and this is so nasty but you're so into it.

"Two can play" is all you answer, eager fingers unbuckling his belt as you unbutton the formal pants and pull them down to his knees, so with his underwear.

"Sure thing" he chuckles darkly. "Just look at you, baby. So loud, but you gotta be quiet. ¿Quieres que alguien entre y te vea así? Fucking slut, begging for my cock" (do you want someone to come in and see you like this?)

He's always been sweet-talking you through sex, and you know he doesn't mean it aside from being lewd words, but you also didn't know you could be aroused by it. Change is welcome, to say the least.

His hard dick is immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs, like he's got no time to loose, kissing you roughly like he hasn't eat and your mouth is his meal.

"Twenty minutes" he grumbles, groaning.

"Or thirty" you add, whining when his cock brushes dangerously close to your dripping folds.

"Can't believe you're this wet already" he chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathy sigh, lost in the inside of your mouth.

"I've been wet since before we left the house and you kissed me"

"And I kissed you" he adds. "No sé ni por qué putas te traje si sólo quería quedarme en casa y comerte" (i don't know why the fuck i took you out if all i wanted was to stay at home and eat you out)

You moan at his dirty mouth, clicking your tongue as a way to say so.

"You dirty old man-" it dies in your throat when he glides inside your folds with ease, a finger slipping in, then two, as he curls them. Your head rolls back, landing against the door with a hollow thud.

"Dirty? But you enjoy this, don't you?" his fingers buried up your hilt. Your eyelids flutter, whimpering drowned by your lips, bitten so deep you think you start to taste blood. "Bad news, mami. You're as dirty as me"

You choke in your words. "No-"

"No what?" Pedro mocks, sliding his digits out of you and shoving them inside his mouth, sucking on them while looking at you. You whine at the display and loss of them, knowing he's tauting you for fun. "Don't tell me you don't want someone to come in here and see you acting like a dirty slut? To see you almost coming here and now with just two of my fingers"

"Fine. What if I want to, huh? Just give me your damn cock already and quit teasing"

Words were lewd, but Pedro smiles with adoration.

"That's my girl"

His length springing free to slap against his now smooth stomach, your mouth drooling.

"Sit"

He glares back, "in the toilet?"

"Well, do you happen to see a couch or bed?" you quip. "That's right: you were the one who chose the bathroom, desperate old man. So needy, aren't you?"

You see your husband turning around, ashamed, and you laugh. "I didn't think it through" and you avoid to add a that's quite obvious snarky type of reply.

"Want me as much as I do?" Pedro doesn't protest anymore, grunting some spanish curses before sitting on the cold surface. "Good. Then comply"

You swing a leg over his lap, not afraid if the thing breaks, dragging your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, biting at your lower lip to hide a growl that seems to erupt from deep within his chest.

"Gonna ride you, baby. Is that okay?" you take the lead, and Pedro gets frustrated that you're taking up a plan that was originally his. Despite such, he just finds himself nodding wordlessly like a fool.

You line up, desperate to have him inside of you. But you go slowly down, taking his size, maybe because you're drunk or because you'd never fucked in a bathroom before. Because, really, how will you even try to explain your PR team a broken bathroom?

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push. His strong arm cages your waist, as he moans in your ear, bodies going up and down in sync. His slides are smooth across his length, helping you find your pace.

"Fuck" you whimper, legs starting to shake. "I think I-"

"I know" he interrupts you, a quick kiss to your earlobe. "It's okay; I've got you, linda"

He thrusts upwards, toilet creaking as Pedro keeps you in place.

You bury your teeth into his shoulder to muffle your moans, skin slapping against skin loudly, his movements becoming faster. The pressure keeps on adding, until the tightness on your walls is too much, and you're collapsing over his chest, folds spasming as he empties his load inside of you, seed deep in your walls, dripping down your legs.

"Oh, shit" you gasp, "Pedro!"

"Perdón!" he shouts, then covers his mouth. "Mierda, no quise ser tan ruidoso. Ay, carajo. Didn't want to spill all over you-" (sorry! didn't mean to be so loud. oh, fuck)

"There's a sink" you start, "and toilet paper. We'll manage"

"Right" he looks at his watch, "we got about ten minutes"

You smile, cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck. "If the chef took the whole thirty"

"There's only one way to find out" he gasps for air. "Pero, ¿no estás llena? Still up for dessert?" his big hand finds it's way to your tummy, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. It lingers, and when you look into his eyes, he averts his gaze, ashamed of whatever he thought. (but, aren't you full?)

"After this, I need some sugar to make it home" your eyelids drop. "I'm starving"

He presses a loud kiss to your head, "that's my girl"

"Yours" you pull back to rest your forehead against his. "Just yours"

He jolts forward, capturing your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it.

"Good. Now, I'll give my good girl what she deserves" he takes some toilet paper to clean his spilling load out of you, kisses running from your face to neck. Then, gently so, lets you dress in again, exiting the bathroom first to give you some cleaning up space. When you come back to your table, the Soufflé is there.

"Eat" he commands, voice thick and rough. You smirk, giving it a bite as you look into his eyes: hair disheveled, puffy lips and droopy eyes. The bite mark seems to shine, or maybe you need to lay down for a while. "Y no mires atrás, ¿sí? We got ourselves a crowd" (don't look back, yeah?)

That night, you upload a story with a picture of the dessert with a caption that reads: best meal I've ever had. The context is lost until news of your bathroom affairs hit headlines next morning, but you don't notice: your phone happens to be dead, and you're too busy getting railed in what could count as round two to charge it.

pompeiianbollockr: hello just woke up and saw the pictures WTF TMZ??? did they really do #that 😭 bring back public shaming unhing3dprincess: i bet my grandma they fucked in that fancy ass restroom ㅤㅤmostannoyingbillioner: unhing3dprincess QUEEN U ARE BACK 😭 BETTING UR GRANDMA AGAIN? OH IKTR WE WERE LOOSING THE ANCIENT TEXTS poppysplayground: ohhhhh they're so nasty (do u want a third) ㅤㅤann-gell: poppysplayground fr like INVITEN

The interview for Entertainment Weekly's behind the cover for Gladiator II was supposed to just include Paul and Pedro, but taking advantage of the free publicity and buzz your announcement made, they added you. Especially after the news about your restroom affair had hit, courtesy of TMZ; the rumor wasn't taken into account in the beginning, but now added gasoline to the gossip fire. Just what the movie needed: free promo.

You're sat in the middle of the two men, dressed in white as well, to match their attires with a flowy dress that loosely resembles that of Rome's. Then, Paul begins to speak.

"I saw the film for the first time when I was about 13 with my dad" he talks about the original movie.

"I saw it in the movie theater when it came out" you imagine a young Pedro lined up to see Russell Crowe's magnetic performance and let out a small smile. "I saw it twice, because of how emotional the movie was. Obviously it's incredibly visceral, and epic and the kind of movie you rarely get to see made, uh, these days"

You look at him, elbow resting on the arm chair as your body is all turned to his side. Truth is, you love listening to him, especially when he seems so invested, love for the subject rooted in each word.

Pedrito, you'd affectionally call. Ésto es una conversación, no un monólogo. And he'd blush embarrased, only for you to laugh it off, saying you would turn mute if that meant for him to continue speaking. (this is a conversation, not a monologue)

"It had an impact emotionally. I remember that, I guess, sadistically I was drawn to a second time go back again because, weirdly, it was very comforting. I remember it perfectly came out in year 2000. Right?" he asks, and Paul and you agree with a yeah. "I can remember what theater I was in and everything-"

"What theater was it?" Paul interrupts his passionate talking.

Pedro stops, "It, uh-" he rambles, before you all laugh.

"What about you, y/n? Were you even born?" Paul jokes, making you roll your eyes at his antics and deliberate desire to keep nagging you like some older annoying brother.

"I was like, born a year after you, Paul. But I didn't watch the movie until I was fifteen" you feel the gaze of both men fall upon you. "The first Ridley Scott movie I watched was Thelma and Louise, as you all know. Then my dad insisted I should watch it, and finally, at fifteen, when I had given up on my dreams to go on one last epic trip to the Grand Canyon, he played it. My eyes, they were, like, glued to the screen. I couldn't stop thinking about it for a while" you leave a small lingering touch on Pedro's arm, "just like he said: epic and emotional. Also, I had a huge fat crush in Joaquin Phoenix that lasted until I was twenty"

"That was like, seven years ago!" Pedro yells, making Paul snorts. "I feel deceived"

"Qué dramático. We're both married, you big baby!" you laugh, then make a joke before the next conversation starts: "You wouldn't think he plays an epic Roman General, would you?" (how dramatic)

They film some shots of you and the boys before moving to the next talk.

"I was doing a play in London at the time. I'd met with Doug and Lucy who are the producers of the film in LA, and then a zoom was set up and I spoke to Ridley for about 5 minutes about what Gladiator was going to be about. And then we spoke for the next 25 minutes about like, gaic football and dogs, and then I thought we'd do like camera tests and- but no, he just-" he shrugs. "I found out about two weeks later"

Now it's Pedro's turn.

"I knew that the project existed. I knew that Paul was doing it. I think it started with an actual like meeting with Ridley to go and sit down with him and I, whether or not the movie was going to happen for me or not, I was like I'm going to go meet Ridley Scott" he jokes, making you both chuckle. "It wasn't even about getting the job, it was like I'm going to go and sit down maybe five minutes, ten, twenty, as many minutes as I can"

"It was in LA" you speak up, "in his offices"

"Yeah, and thankfully he was willing to talk about all the things I wanted to know about, in terms of other movies, and that's what it really turned into"

"He's a wonderful Storyteller" Mescal compliments. "You could sit down with Ridley for-"

Pedro makes a joke, speaking over him. "Give me another one, give me another one-"

You still kind of hate the guy after his supposed comments on your husband's weight, but won't talk bad about a man who gave you work and your biggest role to the date yet, so you explain how it happened to you.

"I wasn't even planned to appear on the movie. As a matter of fact, my character was squeezed in last minute. Ridley is, just as they said, indeed, a storyteller" you smile. "The truth is, I worked with Cuba, his granddaughter, on a proyect together, a photography one. I was in London at the time, auditioning for a movie, when we met"

"London?" Paul asks.

"Yes" you laugh, ashamed. "I traveled to London with some of my savings, because you know what they say about not doing and then regretting. But I do regret it; I cried for my money to be back!"

"You didn't get the part" Pedro adds, barely containing a snicker.

"I didn't" you sigh, "Cuba saw me sitting alone on a café, eyes red with tears of failure and talked me into capturing such vulnerable moment. She didn't know me but made my day better, and she took some of the most beautiful pictures I've seen of myself. So, in a way, I won. I mean, she's the reason I got the role: my name came up on a phone call with Scott, as I had already made a name for myself, and showed him the pictures. He got in contact with my agent and I got the role after auditioning. Call that friendship nepotism"

"Didn't Pedro tell you about it? I find it funny that he was in the movie and didn't get you in" Paul comments, curiously.

"We were supposed to remain a secret, and the sudden connection when we had barely interacted according to the public, would've been weird. So no, Pedro rubbed his role on my face and then I came home with the new script as he received his. We both won our roles separately, and until we got it both, we realized just what it would mean"

"But now we're here" Pedro speaks fondly, taking your hand. "Rome conquers it all"

You can only hold his and stare back lovingly.

"Oh" the Irish man feigns disgust, "don't get all lovey dovey on me!"

The topic changes again, as Paul speaks.

"We meet early in the film, and this is again kind of Ridley's genius. He shoots it in a way that it feels plausible, but in like- the real action of that there's no way-"

They start talking ovwe each other excitedly about the process of filmaking, Pedro listing all the settings were the epic action takes place.

"We lock eyes" Pedro jests, "we lock eyes"

"All right" Paul plays along. "Three, two, one"

"i'm right here" you say, pushing your body to the front. "You got me third wheeling in my own marriage"

Paul laughs, breaking contact.

"Time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. You've made the rest of this press tour unbearable!" he protests, but his tone is devoid of complain.

"Marcus Acacius represents like-" Mescal then speaks about your husband's character, "he's a Roman general"

"No, he is the general of Rome" you correct, smirking.

"Be careful, princess. Don't let the emperor see you all over his General" the blue-eyed man next to you mocks, and you roll your eyes again.

"Will you ever let me live?"

Paul then talks about his character. "I'm like a lieutenant in the numidian Army. I kind of see Acacius as this, he- he represents everything that I hate about, uh, the Roman Empire"

"Well, the Roman Empire is expanding and expanding" Pedro takes the word, "and invading Numidia just to gain more and more power, and we realize that there really is kind of no ceiling to the lust of that power"

"And that's to do with the Emperors, right? Like, played by Joe and Fred who are wonderful" Paul adds, complimenting both actors in the process. "And let's not forget our Empress too"

You make a face at that, feeling in the need to defend your character.

"Empress Alba is tragedy. I think she embodies well the feelings of helpnessless all women felt during that time. She's an object, another shiny possesion subjected to her husband's amusement, so she drowns in all pleasure available to forget her existence. Lucius hates her because he sees all the filth of Rome in her, like, this whole debauchery and squandering while the people beg for scraps. But it's a pattern seen across history, isn't it?" you pause. "I think it's interesting to compare her to Lucilla, because she's loved by the people, seen as human- despite being noble. It's sad because it's until too late that Lucius realizes she's a victim of the system he hates"

Pedro smiles at your little intervention, loving the way you explain a character you'd play so graciously. One of your favorite movies is Marie Antoinette, by Sofia Coppola, so probably it felt personal to you in some level. God, hadn't you made him watch it at least ten times?

"It unravels through the film that I've kind of miscalculated who I think Acacius is, just as with Alba" Paul comments.

"His character misunderstands my character just like Paul misunderstands us" Pedro quips, making both of you laugh.

"Then it kind of culminates in a big fight that we have in the-"

"Doesn't it always?" you add. "Wouldn't be an epic without it"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Paul dares, jokingly.

"No we're not talking about it" he cuts him off.

"Who's the better fighter'" Paul asks after some silence. Pedro dares him with a go on.

"I would say I'm better the better share. What you think?"

"I would say Lucius is the better fighter"

"Lucius is the better fighter" Pedro repeats slowly, incredulous. "Do you want us to fight? Lucius is a better fighter than the general of Rome, who survived decades and conquered" Paul tries to defend himself but Pedro doesn't let him. "I fight four men before I get you, and I call it off!"

"Yeah, but I think if you hadn't called it off -"

"You don't think I would have do some sort of mature aged learning-"

They end up discussing a bit more until you clear your throat.

"Why don't you ask for a third party to break your tie?" and you point towards yourself, mouthing a cute me with your painted pink lips.

"No!" Paul immediatly opposes, "It would be biased, silence her!"

"Have you seen Acacius' arms?" you gauge Pedro's arms, biceps flexing under the white attire. "It definitely isn't biased, at all"

The conversation carries on after some more shots. In some, you pose seriously, but in between such, you laugh along with them, Pedro even hugging you and Paul from behind in one of both. No kisses yet, but you know fans will be rabid just with the lingering touches and flirty undertones in your interactions.

"We began together in Morocco, and I think seeing that set and the scale of the production so quickly, desensitized me to the scale of the of what- Malta was in the Coliseum, and Ridley moves at such a pace, which I actually think really helped me because you don't have time to kind of sit there and and kind of bask in the wonder of it" Paul talks. "Because you're shooting three or four scenes, build your expectations of how to meet the size of, it or anything 'cuz 'cause it's impossible" Paul looks at Pedro and asks: "and I think Ridley; did I tell you what Ridley said first day of shooting to me? He came out to the tent while they were dressing the set, thousands of extras, everything fire, camels and he comes in, and he's- he's smoking a cigar, and we're all stood around and he's like Are you nervous? and we're all like No and he slaps me on the back and goes Your nerves are no good to me, before we filmed anything. But I think it was like- it's funny, but it's this idea that this is your playground, and you have to kind of step into it and own it. So, I-I don't actually really remember my first walking into the Coliseum, 'cause I feel like I lived in the Coliseum for about three or four weeks"

"You lived in the Coliseum of your mind" Pedro quips, making Paul laugh.

"I do remember, you know, when I first walked into the Coliseum, you know. It- it gave me chills. Like, literally chills. Look! I still get the goosebumps" you point your arm. "Honestly, all of it felt just too real, and I couldn't help but for a moment, think I actually was in Rome- that I belonged to nobility"

Pedro takes your hand and kisses it gently. "That's because you do, princesa"

"One of the things that I have never experienced on a movie before, is that there was so little left to the imagination" Pedro expresses. "Me and the rest of the ensemble are together in the emperor's box, and there's this enormous battle that's taking place, and Ridley composed all of the off camera for us in the emperor's box, with Paul leaping from one ship to another taking two men down what would you call that?"

"A cloth line flying" Paul answers.

"Clothes line?" you try.

"A flying- a flying clothes line" Pedro decides, carrying on "just so that we could know what we were looking at. I couldn't f*****g believe it"

"That's true" you remark. "The result goes so hard- I mean, it looks amazing" you sheepily laugh. "The action, the violence, the epic... it all shines through. It just- it makes sense"

The conversation shifts again.

"The legacy of the first film is so profound, and has such a strong place in so many people's, like, hearts and minds, it's inescapable, but I was looking at it- and I was like" Paul shares. "The screenplay does a lot of that work for you in terms of like, the rubbing the dirt between the hands. the kind of DNA and the genetics that Lucius inherits. I remember reading the script and there's like, a moment in the script where it's Lucius puts on the breastplate and it's written like Lucius now becomes Maximus"

"But Lucius, despite being a son, is also a man" you counter. "He isn't Maximus"

Paul agrees.

"I kind of tried to park that to one side, because ultimately, where Lucius is coming from at the start of the film, he has a very different journey than Maximus does, and I was hoping that whatever DNA- and even just the physical gestures, was going to be one part of- a kind of small part of the performance" he explains. "What I tried to do is figure out exactly who Lucius was and where those differences lay between Lucius and Maximus"

"One of the things that I loved most about my character is that he's introduced in the beginning of the movie, in this very epic battle sequence, that I think in its own way homages the first film" Pedro shares. "But even better, because we follow him back to Rome and discover his direct connection to one of the only characters that is living and with us from the first movie, and I loved being a a kind of thread, an invitation, into what we know from the first movie by being Connie Nielsen's man"

Paul looks at you silently, before poking your side: "Someone is real quiet with that comment"

You narrow your eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about"

"I am Connie Nielsen's man as Marcus Acacius, but as Pedro Pascal, I'm all y/n's"

Your face goes red at how easily you are to be understood, your husband answering just what you wanted to listen.

"Ha! Look at your face, I was right!" Paul ridiculises you.

But after such an embarrasing moment, he shifts the conversation again.

"There's a moment where Pedro has this, uh- it's so clever from a- from an acting standpoint, but also in the in the script like, you see this brutalizing Force come into Numidia, and there's this section where there's the burning of the bodies, and that it's one of my favorite shots in the film" Paul muses. "It's this closeup on Pedro, when he says Vae Victis to the conquered, and you feel like it's a really difficult thing to communicate in one line, that you see: Oh, this General is, kind of wearing this responsibility with great difficulty and shame"

"I wasn't doing that at all" your husband deadpans. You stiffle a giggle.

"You were very good in it" Paul argues back with a smile.

"That wasn't what I was playing" he insists, serious but Paul asks What were you playing? and you all laugh.

"If I had a favorite scene, I'd say it'd be naval fight" you mention. "The colliseum is filled with water, and it's this- it feels like a thing that has never been done before, and with the people cheering and the buzz, and the announcement and echo of the drumming, it's as if you were there, in the crowd. The tension is palpable, the violence is thrown at your face but the scariest one, is the one that lies underneath. Uh, Lucius character tries to attack the General while we, you know, the royals and especial guests, are sitting at our box, and he gets so close, it serves, I think the bottom climbing the ladder to bite the ankles of the top. Obviously, that before we know who Lucius actually is, but I think it's kind of cool"

The interview is ending, the last of your twelve-minute conversation being filmed now.

"I am really excited for everyone to see Paul" Pedro beams, making the younger one laugh. "I'm sorry but it has to be said. You are sensational in the movie" then adds, "and pretty easy on the eyes"

"Everyone in this movie is easy in the eyes" you quip, looking at your side. Pedro coughs a bit before speaking again, even if a faint blush is coating his cheeks.

"-And he worked so hard, and I got to see that happen like, in front of me, and on the day and just lead with Ridley, this enormous crew and this enormous cast... To get to see that, on the big screen, is really exciting and I think people are going to- they're going to love it"

"That's very kind" you exclaim softly with a smile, then add. "I'm sure of it, especially if you were a fan of the first. Both are very interwined, although each film is its own thing" you comment.

"For a lot of us, the actors, we haven't worked on a film on that scale" you violently shake your head "and I think, there's a little bit of trauma bonding that went on with, kind of having to- kind of feel like, total impostor syndrome within it all. But to see your friends operate at that level on a film of that scale, doing like incredible work. I think, across the board, I haven't seen a film on this scale for a long long time rhat's rooted it has the scale and the performances, and I personally think it's one of Ridley's greatest pieces of work"

senhoritamayblog: y/n was SO REAL holding pedro's arm and talking abt how he'd beat paul bc he's beefy ME WHEN moltisantiii: you know what i think ridley's greatest piece of work is? giving us this trio youlooklike-clarabow: y/n is truly a princess 🥹 i don't know if i want to be y/n to be with pedro or pedro to be with y/n ㅤㅤann-gell: youlooklike-clarabow well, she's the people's princess after all!

You haven't even left the room when Pedro is all over you, kissing your neck on that sweet spot of yours that elates a little breathy whine. Doesn't he know you well?

"What are you doing?" you manage to squeak out as his needy big hands grope your body, flesh soft under the flowy white dress. He grunts when he catches your panties, embarrasingly wet already at just a few sloppy kisses and eager touches.

"What do you think?" he whispers against your ear as you both try to walk away from where voices can be heard, and then Pedro is guiding you to a room, closing the door behind him. If he was able to walk to the room while kissing you, he must've seen it in a passing. Had your husband plan this all along? Greedy needy old man.

"What I think, baby, is you're forgetting something" you push him off, giggling. He makes a little pout, making it hard to keep your ground. "Now that everyone knows we're married and we suddenly both go misteriously missing at the same time, they'll just put two and two together. I mean, does it really take a smart person to figure it out?"

Pedro doesn't back down, still caging your frame against the locked door.

"So?" his annoyed and tense voice only makes you laugh more. That turned on was he? Pedro seems annoyed at your fit of laughter, his pants tight.

"What do you mean so? We almost got caught by Paul last time!" you chuckle amused. "And, are you seriously going to pretend TMZ didn't air our bussiness just about last week?"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about it before" he goes back at the task of attacking your mouth, words spewing in between hungry kisses. You mouth a little taunting innocent looking Before what? and then Pedro is talking while his gaze is glued to yours, tightening his arms around you, and the answer is just about that. "You should've thought about it before getting all flirty with me, grabbing my arm in front of the camera like the naughty girl you are. So fucking needy you can't hide it for a few hours, can't even go through an interview without touching me, looking at me, being possesive at a fictional marriage even" your face burns hot with embarrasment at that. Oh, was he being nasty on purpose? Why bring that up? "Haven't I taught you manners?"

It's hard to force yourself to hold his gaze while standing still. Taunting. Defiant.

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you chastise, "do you want people to know we are raw dogging in the dressing room? That's the manners you so badly talk about"

His face goes red, his demostrations stopping for a bit as he studies your now serious face.

"Wait, do you want to raw dog in the dressing room?" he gasps at the boldness in your words, which, to be fair, is kind of exaggerated, as you both have said worst stuff before. "That's not what I had in mind"

"That's not?" you arch an eyebrow. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. You can't just kiss my neck greedily and touch my body eagerly like a goddamn starved horny idiot, and then expect me to not act up on it, you old man"

There's silence before he speaks up again. "Y/n, you talked about manners"

You take a deep breath in, making sure the door is actually locked.

"Well, fuck them manners"

You capture his lips on a hungry kiss, same kind of force you had made fun of him, just minutes ago. He's pushing his tongue inside of you, as his hands move up to your shoulders and back down to your waist. You rub yourself against him, looking for some kind of friction, and his big calloused hands pulls your waist closer in an attempt to do the same.

"Manners maketh man" he's reciting, and such stupid proverb and line from one of his old works shouldn't turn you this much. Pedro lifts up the dress until your body is devoid of the cotton, murmuring about how unfair it was for you to taunt him with translucent cloth, tender flesh hiding under the white. So hard to focus on interviews, mami, when you're close to me or something like that, as you're too lost in the fire. No bra? Fuck, baby. Do you want to kill me?

"Sofa" you command, eyes darting to the furniture so you can show him where. "Now"

You take off your panties in a go, revealing the slick that's just a few seconds from running down your legs.

"I see, my legs won't be the only thing drooling" you mock his agape mouth. He takes off the blazer with shaking hands, sitting as you get on top of him. Pedro kisses his way down your neck, sucking on the skin. How will you get out of here without comfirming suspicions? Surely, there must be something inside here that could be of help.

"Well, I've wanted to do this for a while" he mumbles against the now red patches of before honey-ed skin. Again? you think.

"Have me or fuck again in public?" you ask out loud, and even if you're laughing, there's a layer of fondness in your voice. "I'm starting to wonder if you have an exhibition kink, papi"

He breathes a little no before biting right above your collarbones, his tongue then releaving the pain with a wet slick move over the flesh as you let out a whine.

"Busy schedule, mami. A husband's gotta find a way to make time for his pretty wife, even if it means fucking her in the goddamn dressing room" he says into your ear. Pedro had done more interviews than you, and between that and filming for his other projects, he's right. "So what if they find out? Need them to know who you belong to. I'm just a devoted husband, will you punish me for that?"

You caress his face, pristine hair now disheveled, the gel succumbing to the heat and sweat trapped in the room.

"Look at you, naughty boy. El burro hablando de orejas" you laugh, "but of course I won't. Need you too so bad" (look who's talking)

His finger wanders down to your pussy, big hand roaming around the area. His middle and ring finger run over it, the golden band starting to shine with your arousal. Fuck, that just made you wetter.

"Shit, baby. You're so eager... wasn't lying when you talked before"

"Needed you since you kissed me today, when you woke up" your teeth grit at his lingering digits. "Your dick rubbed against my bare thigh, fucking hard"

Truth is, you're always horny; being married to Pedro Pascal does that to you. But mornings? Waking up to that handsome face and girthy dick? You really be testing yourself sometimes.

"Jesus, mami" he whistles. "So fucking dirty, thinking about me all the interview because my morning wood grazed your skin, you dirty naughty girl"

Pedro finally slides his fingers inside of you, making you squirm under his gaze as your back archs. "So fucking beautiful, can't believe you're all mine" he moans and you squeeze his shoulders, nails digging and bruising his skin under the shirt that sticks to his skin, body heating up like a furnace.

"Please, Pedro" you plead, lip biting your under to supress a whimper. "Please curl your fingers, need to have you- feel you inside. Fuck-"

Your words cut off as he moves his fingers with learned ease, his thumb rubbing your clit as a treat.

"Mmm" you murmur with pleasure, back arched again, your tits too dangerously close to his face. Without much thought, he licks your nipple and then devours the whole breast with his mouth. All while looking at you, this absolute horndog. Your nails dig in deeper as you pronounce his name in a shaky exhale. Wanting more. Begging for more.

"Mmm? That's right" his palm on your waist squeezes lightly, more pressure on his grip. "Can't speak 'cause I'm making you feel so good, huh?"

You don't answer, instead throwing your head back, nails digging deep to the point he winces, making a face by the pain. You mouth an apology, but then he licks your nipple again, and teeth move to your nibble your earlobe―you're not sorry anymore.

"S-stop" you choke out, body shivering.

"What? Can't take what you asked for? No muerdas más de lo que puedes masticar, niña mala. Bad girl" (don't bite off more than you can chew, bad girl)

His lewd words elicit another moan out of you.

"I-I can. In fact, I want- no, need more. I don't want to cum on your fingers" you whisper in his ear, hot breath probably why he shivers. "Pull down your pants, pretty boy, because I want to cum on your dick"

"Fuck, mami. What a dirty mouth" he moans.

Eager hands try to lower his pants as your fiddle with the same feel, the borrowed wardrobe struggling to get off in the current position. His underwear goes next, and you squirm as he aligns his tip with your dripping entrance.

You moan and he grunts, as his dick enters your tight folds, sounds clashing onto each other as so do your bodies, fitting perfectly. His hands travel from your waist to ass, his head against the back of the sofa, your hands that were before on his shoulders now on his chest.

"Such a pretty view you're giving me, wifey" he tries to laugh, but the sound comes out strained along each powerful stride of his cock that buries inside of you, each bouncing harder, his hands pathethically running over your ass, back, hips, and legs, as his eyes devour the way your tits jiggle with each thrust, tongue burning with desire to suck on the skin again. "So beautiful, and all mine. Only mine. Mía"

His words drip with devotion and wordship; all the love in the world. Pedro calls you beautiful, goddess, and a string of spanish words crossed with adoration. Mami. Linda. Princesa. Diosa. Hermosa. It has your orgasm looming over, head spinning and pussy stretched, walls tightening.

"I'm close" you whisper, riding him with soft-paced movements as his turn sloppy.

You see stars, walls almost kicking his dick out as you coat it in your slick, arousal dripping down until it's coated his balls and smeared the white attire. Fuck. Now Pedro's moving his waist, hunting for his own orgasm.

"Me too" he breathes out, "stay with me"

His hands travel sloppily to your waist, lazily holding you still with his calloused digits.

"Quick, baby" you breath out, "I'm sensitive"

"I'm almost there. Just hold on a little longer" then a whine before shakily pleading. "Please, please, just wait for me"

You move your hips slowly, aroused by his needy pleads, robbing a moan out of him. "Cute" you praise, making his cheeks redden with sweat and blush.

He is cute: hair messed up, mouth red and puffy, and brown puppy eyes.

"I love you so much" Pedro let's out, and it sounds like a confession, despite being married for so long.

"I know, baby, I know" you reach for his face, removing some sweat beads from his forehead, and he leans on the touch, closing his eyes as another gutural growl erupts from his chest. "I love you too"

You keep on riding until you feel his dick twitch inside of your walls.

"We need to stop doing this" you pant out.

"Too late for that, bonita. At least no one found out this time" Pedro laughs. "But you like the talk, don't you? Gonna give 'em something to talk about" he pants, "will fill you up so good you won't be able to walk without my seed spilling from you" sweat beads from your face fall onto his. He obscenely licks the salty drops. "Te voy a dar tantos hijos, que no cabrán en la casa. That way they will know you're mine" (will give you so many kids, they won't fit in the house)

You moan loufly, folds now coated on thick ropes of hot cum, as his movements come to a stop, slowing down until all that can be heard is your uneven breaths trying to recover.

And on cue, there's a knock at the door. Shit. You both remain silent, as if it would stop, but the knocking turns persistent.

"Pedro, I know you're in there"

It's Paul freaking Mescal, again. You might just have to invite him next time if he keeps showing up like that.

"Should I go?" Pedro whispers, and you shrug, stating it would be weirder to pretend he wasn't if Paul knew he was. "How do I look?"

You eye him up and down, eye glistening with dissaproval, red cheeks giving away your thoughts as if the furrowed eyebrows and ashamed gaze didn't already.

"We are fucked"

"No" he giggles, "we just fucked"

"That's not funny!" you roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest. "Please, look into the mirror and try to fix yourself a bit. If not, we're doomed to be remembered as a horny couple. Oh, we were going so well! Fans will make fun of us and the press will call us horndogs" you lament, exaggerating your voice.

"Oh, shush. We wanted to be able to be in public. This is what it feels like"

You blush. "Maybe we can reduce the public aspect a bit..."

Pedro snorts before doing a quick fix to his appearance, walking to the door where Mescal patiently waits behind. Oh, of course; that little fucker. After the TMZ news dropped, he connected the dots and know that whatever happened in that trailer when Pedro told him to fuck off, wasn't holy at all. Now, he's probably laughing or scheming.

"Paul!" Pedro opens the door. "W-what's up?"

The younger man does a quick scan of his friend, barely able to hide a laugh.

"Looking radiant, my friend" he answers with a shit-eating grin. "They need to do some re-shootings. Have you happen to seen y/n? She just keeps dissappearing when you- oh, when you do!" he mocks. "Well, if you ever happen to find y/n, tell her you both need to get a good fix unless y'all want to show up on TMZ again. I'm pretty sure you can find something in this dressing room to cover those marks, yeah?"

He finally breaks down laughing in front of Pedro's shocked face.

"Ah, you guys are the absolute worst" he folds in a fit of laughter, "so fucking horny you end up fucking in bathrooms and dressing rooms!"

Your voice can be heard from inside as you growl, face red with fury and shame:

"Hijo de puta" (son of a bitch!), "don't make me bring Daisy Edgar-Jones into this!"

l-u-n-a-m: they're just milking their relationship atp for promo but i'm not complaining need more pictures of the photoshoot NOW vnightx: istg if they don't stop flirting in front of my single ass face. i need a gun at0michips: have i gone insane or does pedro have love bites ㅤㅤmybritishstyle: MI HIJO DOES NOT HAVE LOVE BITES. HE JUST FELL DOWN THE STAIRS

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @trashcora / *i'm never gonna call twitter as X. it's still twitter, and will always be. fuck that ugly bigot filthy billionaire hoe called elon-trump-cocksucker-musk.

#dilfistwrites #gladiator II #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #taylor swift #reputation #call it what you want #paul mescal #call it what you want series

2K notes · View notes

kxsagi · 1 month ago

Text

“𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬”

a/n: for my bae @alexuhsbrainrots

absolutely suggestive content inside :P

you barely make it down the hallway before his hand wraps around your wrist.

his grip is firm, possessive in the way that makes your heart skip and your stomach knot. there’s a faint click behind you as the hotel suite door shuts, and then a moment of silence too thick to breathe in. outside, the paparazzi are still flashing bulbs and shouting your name like a chorus of vultures, but in here… in here it’s only him.

his back is to the door, chest rising and falling too slow to be calm. his eyes flick to you like they’re burning through every layer of clothing, every breath, every thought.

"you looked way too good out there,” sae says, voice low and rough, something undone lingering beneath it. “they couldn’t stop looking at you.”

"are you jealous?" you tease, but it’s barely a whisper, because your back’s already against the wall, and his body is dangerously close, the heat of him pressing in like a second skin.

"jealous?" he echoes, mouth brushing your ear as he speaks. “i’m fucking livid.”

you don’t get the chance to respond. one hand curls around your waist, dragging you against him, and the other cradles the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours – hungry, frustrated, full of all the restraint he had to hold back while in front of flashing cameras.

his kiss is messy. desperate. the kind that reminds you why he’s so dangerous even off the field. he kisses like he needs you, like he’s making up for every second your attention wasn’t on him tonight. like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that could ever satisfy the hunger.

"mine," he murmurs against your lips, hands already trailing lower, tugging your dress up with reckless urgency. “you’re mine. they can look all they want. but you…”

his breath is hot against your neck, voice dropping to something feral.

"you only fall apart for me."

you gasp when his thigh parts your legs, when his fingers dig into your hips like he’s trying to brand himself into your skin. he moves with purpose, with fire, with months of being too composed in front of the media and the world.

and now, now he’s snapping. unraveling. untucking your composure like he owns it.

"sae," you breathe, your voice wrecked already.

he huffs a laugh against your collarbone. "say it louder, baby," he whispers, lips grazing your throat. "i want the whole damn suite to hear who makes you feel this good."

your dress slides down your shoulder, your back presses harder into the wall, and his hands are everywhere – exploring, claiming, learning every inch of skin like a man who has no intention of ever letting you go again.

outside, the city buzzes with noise and light and cameras, but in this room, behind locked doors and blackout curtains, there is only the sound of your whimpers tangled in his name.

and sae, beautiful and untouchable to the public, is nothing short of sinful when he’s got you all to himself.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #behind closed doors

503 notes · View notes

bandsofmarv · 8 months ago

Text

Mine to keep

Bucky can no longer hold in his jealous and possessive side and finally claims you.

TW- Heavy smut, bucky angst , jealousy, possessive behaviour. Kinda long.

Side note // I’m also take requests of any character / theme.

Bucky’s blood had been boiling all night. Steve, the perfect All-American golden boy, basking in your attention, your laugh lighting up every damn corner of the bar. And Steve wasn’t even trying—he never had to. But that didn’t make it easier to watch.

Bucky’s drink sat untouched as he leaned against the bar, his jaw tight and his metal fingers twitching with restraint. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, couldn’t stop the jealousy crawling up his spine every time you smiled at Steve.

When Steve finally stepped away to grab another round, Bucky didn’t hesitate. He pushed off the bar and cut through the crowd, his determined strides carrying him straight to you.

“Hey,” you greeted, your voice light and playful.

Bucky didn’t return the smile. His eyes were dark, fixed on yours as he crowded into your space. “Having fun?” His voice was a low growl, sending a shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head, confused by the tension radiating off him. “Uh, yeah? It’s been nice to catch up with everyone. Steve’s been—”

“Yeah, Steve’s been the life of the party,” Bucky interrupted, his voice tight.

Your brow furrowed. “Are you jealous?”

Bucky’s jaw flexed. “Damn right I am.” His metal hand curled into a fist against his thigh. “Watching him make you laugh like that? Watching you light up for him? You’re mine.”

The intensity in his voice sent a bolt of heat straight through you, your stomach flipping at the raw emotion behind his words. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Bucky leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Let’s go,” he growled.

————————————————————————

The second your apartment door shut behind you, Bucky had you pinned against it. His lips crashed onto yours, hungry and demanding, his metal hand gripping your hip to hold you in place.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. “Sitting there looking so goddamn perfect, laughing at his jokes like you don’t know you belong to me.”

“I—” Your protest was cut off as he kissed you again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim you. His flesh hand slid down to your thigh, hitching it around his hip to grind his hard length against you.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need.

His lips curled into a dark smirk as he lifted you off the ground, carrying you to the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed, his hands already tugging at your clothes with a mix of urgency and reverence.

“Bucky,” you murmured, your breath hitching as his hands—both flesh and metal—explored your body, pulling away your layers one by one.

“Shh,” he whispered, pressing kisses to your bare skin as he worked. “I’ve got you. Just let me show you.”

When he finally had you naked beneath him, he sat back for a moment, his eyes raking over you with undisguised hunger. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So fucking beautiful. All mine.”

He didn’t wait for a response. His mouth found your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse point before he kissed his way down your body. His lips and tongue left a trail of fire in their wake, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open for him.

“Bucky,” you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

“I want to hear you,” he said, his voice dark and commanding. “I want everyone to know who’s making you feel this good.” And then his mouth was on you, his tongue sliding against your heat with practiced precision. You cried out, your hips bucking against him as he licked and sucked, his metal hand pinning you to the bed while his flesh hand teased your sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pressure built quickly, your body arching as his tongue drove you higher and higher. Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot.

“Bucky!” you gasped, your body shattering around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

He didn’t stop, working you through your orgasm until you were trembling beneath him. Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening as he smirked down at you.

“You’re not done yet,” he said, his voice rough with need.

He stripped off his clothes, his muscular frame glinting in the low light of the room. His cock stood hard and ready, and your mouth watered at the sight of him.

He climbed over you, his hands bracketing your face as he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “Turn over,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You obeyed, rolling onto your stomach as he positioned himself behind you. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you up onto your knees before he slid into you with one smooth thrust.

The stretch was perfect, and you moaned loudly, your hands fisting in the sheets as he set a punishing pace.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his metal hand sliding up your back to grip the nape of your neck. “So tight, so perfect. All mine.”

“Yours,” you gasped, the word spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back as he whispered in your ear. “I’ll never let you forget it.”

His thrusts grew faster, deeper, his cock hitting that perfect spot with every stroke. Your pleasure built quickly, and you felt yourself spiraling toward another release.

“Come for me,” he growled, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “Let me feel you.”

The command sent you over the edge, your body clenching around him as your second orgasm tore through you. Bucky groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he buried himself deep inside you, his own release following moments later.

You collapsed onto the bed together, your bodies slick with sweat and your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Bucky pulled you into his arms, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less certain.

“Always,” you whispered, your heart full as you melted into his embrace.

1K notes · View notes

alltimefail · 1 year ago

Text

Random thought that could could absolutely be nothing, an over-analyzation of sorts even, but I have always found it interesting that in the Devlin house episode Charles gets sucked into the loop starting from the point he snaps at Edwin about him "Not being the all-knowing expert on all things." It's especially interesting to me because after he does so, Edwin tells Charles that he's "...Not acting like himself at all."

In theory, Charles could have just reappeared when Mr. Devlin turns the corner or when he approaches Mr. Devlin here:

because if the point of repetition here is to show us that the abuse Charles suffered at the hands of his own father is what causes him to get trapped in the loop, either of those moments would have been sufficient in supporting that idea. The dialogue shared beforehand between him and Edwin has little to do with the point at hand...unless...

Charles feeling pain about his own father isn't the whole sum of why he gets trapped in the loop; his fear that he's just LIKE his father, that he's not a good person, that he's "Cruel for the shits," and capable of hurting the people he loves (and thus undeserving of their love) is also what traps him in the loop, and that's why his "loop" starts with him snapping at Edwin.

Even though we as viewers can empathize with and understand why Charles snaps at Edwin given the circumstances, it's very unlikely that Charles extends that same grace to himself. I would argue that we see the multi-faceted layers of his trauma explored in various ways from this moment on. Charles himself even later admits that all he feels is anger despite the fact that he wants to be "a good guy." Charles has yet to understand that it's possible to be good and feel anger, that anger in and of itself is not bad, and that feeling strong negative emotions like grief or anger does not make a person dangerous or abusive like his father was...nor does it guarantee that he would use his anger to harm others. So, with that in mind, of course Charles' loop would start with him lashing out at Edwin, as opposed to it just starting with him lashing out at Brandon Devlin; it's not just about feeling powerless to stop the abuse, it's about feeling like you play a role in it. It's about the deep-rooted fear that maybe you actually deserved the abuse you suffered because you are not good, and just by being related to an abuser you are damned to be just like them, or worse. Charles worries about who he truly is, deep down, and that maybe Edwin is wrong when he says that Charles isn't acting like himself: maybe the darkest parts that he works so hard to bury are actually who he truly is, and his ability to throw careless, harmful, biting words at someone he loves deeper than anyone else may be a reflection of this. After all, his father loved his mother, he loved Charles, and look what he did to them... how he hurt them beyond repair. What if he is the same?

OR: the trauma Charles deals with isn't only the violence his father enacted on him (shown through what Brandon Devlin does to his family), but it's also the violence he feels capable of enacting himself (shown through his ability to throw harsh words toward Edwin who Charles openly claims is the "most important person in the world" to him).

What furthered this idea even more for me (and added a bit of salt to the wound frankly) was Crystal and Edwin's reactions to Charles being pulled into the loop. Out of shock, confusion, and frustration Crystal immediately turns to Edwin for answers but for a moment he is just frantic and uncharacteristically frazzled, only able to say, "Charles was right, I don't know everything..." and OUCH, right? But it emphasizes that 1) what Charles said to Edwin was quite hurtful, 2) that it did have an (unintentional) impact on Edwin, and 3) that Charles himself very well might have realized it was hurtful as soon as it left his mouth thus, again, why it would make sense that his loop began there.

It takes a strong emotional reaction to be pulled into a loop; the possibly that this moment was written to work on two levels of Charles' inner turmoil is quite clever (and extremely heartbreaking).

Again, it could absolutely be nothing... but it's worth pondering!!

#Is this anything? Does this make sense? Idk! I've just been sitting on this for a while and needed to share my pain #dead boy detectives #dbda #the dead boy detectives #the dead boy detective agency #charles rowland #edwin payne #edwin paine #dbda analysis #payneland #painland #charles x edwin

647 notes · View notes

raekensluver · 7 months ago

Note

…dry humping in the club w/ Luigi…

sweating to the point the two of you have to take off some clothes…

masterlist | main masterlist

yum yum yum. (sorry i got a little carried away and didn't add the part where they removed a few layers but....)

contains: grinding, dry humping, public sexual acts

luigi mangione x fem!reader

the strobe lights flickered in rhythm with the bass-heavy music, casting sharp shadows across the crowded dance floor. you felt a warm familiar presence approaching from behind, and before you knew it, strong hands were gripping your hips, pulling you closer to a firm, muscular body. you looked over your shoulder to see you boyfriend luigi's gaze lock onto yours, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

his moves were anything but subtle as he began to grind against you, his hips moving in time with the pulsing beats of the club anthem that had everyone else in the room moving in a frenzied blur. you felt the heat radiating from his skin. the music washed over you in waves, the vibrations traveling through your body and resonating with every beat of your heart.

his breath was warm against your neck as he leaned in, whispering sweet nothings into your ear that made your skin tingle. the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint hint of sweat, a heady cocktail that sent a shiver down your spine. his hands began to roam, gliding over the curve of your waist and up to the small of your back, pressing you even closer to him. the fabric of your dress was thin, offering little resistance to his touch.

you turned around, chest to chest with luigi, your heart racing like a wild animal in a cage. his eyes were dark with desire, and the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the only person in the world. your breasts pushed against his firm chest, nipples tightening under the pressure of your bra as his hands slid down to cup your ass. the crowd around you melted away as the only thing that mattered was the sensation of his body against yours, moving in a dance as old as time itself.

his lips found yours, and his kiss was like a spark igniting a wildfire. it was hungry and demanding, yet filled with a tenderness that made you melt into him. your arms wrapped around his neck, and you felt the strength in his muscles as he held you closer. his tongue darted into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you as the bass thumped through your shared space. his teeth grazed your bottom lip, eliciting a gasp that was swallowed by the music and the passion of the moment. your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, not wanting the kiss to ever end.

his hands continued to explore, one sliding up your back to cradle the back of your head, the other slipping around to cup your breast over your dress. the fabric was no barrier to his touch as he rolled your nipple gently, sending jolts of pleasure down to your core. you could feel his erection pressing into your stomach, a clear indication of his arousal. the thought sent your own desire spiraling out of control, and you ground your hips against him, silently asking for more.

"damn, you look so hot," luigi murmured against your neck, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. you could feel his hot breath on your skin as his teeth grazed your earlobe, and you knew he wasn't just referring to the way your body moved with the music. the compliment was a spark that ignited the fire burning in your belly, making you want him even more.

his hands grew bolder, sliding down to grip the hem of your dress and hiking it up. the cool air of the club caressed your thighs, sending goosebumps racing across your skin. you gasped as his hand slipped under the fabric, his fingers brushing the lace of your panties. the sensation was electrifying, and you knew that if you didn't get out of here soon, you'd be begging him to fuck you right there on the dance floor.

#luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione smut #uhc shooter #luigi mangione x reader #uhc assassin #real person fiction #rpf #luigi mangione fanfic #deny defend depose #luigi mangione imagine #mara's inbox *ੈ✩‧₊˚#mara's anons *ੈ✩‧₊˚

255 notes · View notes

tinkerbellknockoff · 6 months ago

Text

beautiful blue hair // jinx x fem! reader

jinx eased quickly into her new life at demacia, deciding to do something for the first time in her life- see a hair stylist.

-- a/n: had this idea after staring at s2ep9 jinx and realizing that haircut would probably grow out terribly. this was written at 3am, enjoy!

jinx found being at demacia good enough. it was a very different culture than the life in zaun that she was used to, but arguably, she thought that was great for her. she was free to be herself, with no repercussion because here- she had no weight of the past weighing her down.

the only thing? she mildly regretted the haircut of choice that ekko had given her. during her crisis back in zaun, ekko had came to her side- he helped her. and, even with jinx's hyperindependency, she knew she had bits to thank him for.

looking in the mirror, seeing the comically long bang hanging in front of her face compared to her bob length hair, she figured this was the one thing she wasn't going to thank him for.

it looked great when it was first cut, though, which was a bonus.

but jinx's hair grew freakishly fast. weekly in her workshop she'd give herself little trims to tame her hair. unfortunately for her, she grabbed a whole lot of things while packing her bag- one thing she didn't?

scissors.

jinx let out an annoyed huff, "oh, c'mon! seriously? out of all things?"

she spoke to herself, the walls echoing back nothing but the sound of her own voice. jinx's hands continued to brush through her hair, looking at the chopped layers in mild distaste. she had never been one to ever care about her appearance but for some reason, this peeved her. real bad.

during her examining, her eyes caught a glimpse of something. during her time walking and exploring demacia, she was given scattered flyers, business owners wanting to promote their stores. she chose not to throw them away, believing that since she was making a new life for herself, she might try to get out more. normally. without explosives, even though she'll find it significantly less entertaining.

"daffodil's," jinx muttered, the name slipping off her tongue as she picked up the flyer from the pile. she hummed in interest, eyeing the design, promoting a small salon that had recently opened.

jinx scanned it over one last time before sighing to herself, "... why not?"

☆☆

jinx slowly pulled open the door of the tiny salon. it was in the downtown area, tucked into a less busy area. she liked that a lot.

she was greeted with a soft smell of sandalwood, the sound of the heater in the building slightly humming, giving a background to the idle chattering of the few people that were inside.

a girl, possibly around jinx's age, sat at the front desk. the desk was a little bit to the side of the entrance, the person sitting there catching a glimpse of whoever entered first. but, the girl was too preoccupied.

the girl sat comfortably on a chair, slightly reclined back as she calmly chewed gum, occasionally popping a small bubble. her feet were elevated, resting on the desk, a magazine in her hands as she loosely flipped through the page.

jinx's eyes scanned her over, biting her lip almost nervously. why hadn't she just decided to go out and buy a damn pair of scissors? would've been much less work. she walked up to the front desk, her boots clanking against the floor in a rhythmic, melodic kind of way. this caught the girl's attention, causing her to look up from the magazine, her chewing stopping for a second.

as jinx finally got up to the counter, the girl adjusted, sitting upright and giving the blue-haired girl a grin. she tilted her head, her (h/c) hair tumbling to the side as she looks at jinx.

"hi there! how can i help ya? do you have an appointment?"

the girl's relaxed, bubbly demeanor was almost nauseating to jinx. she never once dealt with someone so... she doesn't even know. she took a deep breath in, calming her nerves she didn't realize existed, giving the girl a grin in return.

"hi! i was wondering if you could do... erm..." jinx's voice trailed off for a moment. she doesn't know terminology. an appointment? is that the word? no, those are in advance-

her thoughts stopped yelling at her as the girl gave jinx a soft smile. "we do walk-ins. you looking for a new do?"

the girl giggled at her own terminology, moving the chair back to stand up. jinx nodded, "yup, one of those."

"great. i'm free to take you back," the girl beckoned jinx with her hand, leading her to the furthest chair in the corner, patting the seat as she grabs an apron from the side. "what can i do for ya?"

jinx slipped into the chair. it was so comfortable to her, it almost felt foreign. it was wood but it was lightly cushioned, and had a slight modern feel. jinx's reflection greeted her, one that she only recently got used to with having a new unbroken mirror.

jinx cleared her throat, "just.. wanting it fixed. or whatever."

the girl lightly ran a finger through jinx's hair, bringing it up to assess the layers in her hair. jinx slightly tensed at the new touch, but didn't let it alarm her too much.

"at home hairdo, huh?" the girl spoke humorously, meeting jinx's gaze in the mirror. jinx huffed, refraining from giving the girl a glare. she didn't want to be made fun of for her decisions, and before she could make a retort, the girl started speaking again, "i get it. once i accidentally cut my hair up to my ears- wait i shouldn't be telling you that."

the girl cut herself off, and that got a laugh from jinx, giving you a lopsided grin in the mirror, "don't tell me that when you're gonna be chopping at my hair, toots."

the girl gave a sheepish shrug, before asking, "anything in particular in mind?"

jinx pursed her lips for a moment. did she? no. "just... whatever you want, yeah?"

the girl rose her eyebrows, "trusting a complete stranger with ya looks? bold. i dig it."

jinx found the girl funny. jinx watched the girl begin to even out the layers in her hair, chopping her hair to a length just right underneath her chin. jinx liked it so far.

eventually, the girl came around to the front, bending slightly to meet jinx's height as she grabbed at the long strand of hair, evening it out as she chopped a pair of bangs on jinx. the position got jinx to awkwardly clear her throat, looking away.

even with the avoidance, the girl started speaking up, "ya know, people say that hair holds memories."

jinx didn't know that.

"so what was so special about this one piece of hair?" the girl grinned in a playful manner, and jinxed watched the long strands fall onto her lap. she looked in the mirror and there were a pair of bangs just falling right above her eyebrows, nicely blending in with the rest of her hair.

"aren't you nosey?" jinx quips back, though without malice. jinx thought this girl was nice, even without knowing her for that long at all. and, seeing her new hair, she couldn't but have some approval.

"just makin' conversation, yeah?" the girl giggled. "let's get you washed?"

jinx hadn't realize how long it'd been since she washed her hair.

feeling the girl's hands and manicured nails shampoo at her scalp was almost a moan worthy, toe curling experience as the girl didn't speak, but only chewed on the piece of gum that had been in her mouth. she could tell jinx was enjoying it, but she didn't judge. I mean... who doesn't like getting their hair shampooed?

time passed quickly as eventually jinx ended up back in the salon chair, the girl eventually wrapping up blowing out jinx's hair, leaving her hair straight and soft, the heat nice against jinx's neck.

jinx couldn't believe who she saw in the mirror. this is what she needed. what she wanted. when she saw herself in the mirror, she didn't think "jinx" or "powder". she just felt.. like herself.

the girl eyed her expression in the mirror, giving a soft grin, "ya like it?"

jinx stopped admiring herself for one moment as she met your gaze in the mirror, nodding vigorously, giving you a grin, "love it, toots."

she paused for a moment, "what's your name?"

the girl tilted her head, telling jinx her name, "recommend me to your friends, yeah?"

jinx repeated your name, letting your name roll off her tongue. she wasn't going to let you know that she has no friends, but she gave you a grin, "definitely."

jinx became a regular after that.

#jinx x reader #jinx #powder #wlw #wlw post #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #arcane x female reader

263 notes · View notes

spicymambaae · 11 months ago

Text

The story is a continuation of Karina Moans II

----

Giselle stepped into their dorm, the cool air greeting her as she stepped out of her gym shoes. She was drenched in sweat, her muscles aching pleasantly from the day's workout. With a contented sigh, she made her way to the bathroom, ready to wash away the remnants of her exertion.

She stepped into the shower, the hot water instantly soothing her tired muscles after an intense workout at the gym. As the warm droplets cascaded down her body, her mind, still buzzing from the endorphin rush, inevitably wandered back to Karina and Winter. She couldn’t get the image out of her head—the video she had accidentally seen on Karina's tablet earlier that week.

Her thoughts drifted to the explicit video, the sounds of Karina's moans and gasps echoing in her mind. She recalled the sight of Winter, strap-on harness snugly fitted around her hips, dominating Karina with confident thrusts. Giselle's breath quickened as she pictured Karina's breasts jiggling with each thrust, her erect nipples begging for attention. The contrast of Winter's strong, purposeful motions and Karina's yielding, pleasure-filled responses sent a jolt through Giselle's body.

As she lathered her hair, her hands moved sensually over her own breasts, her fingers gently pinching her erect nipples. Her mind replayed the scene of Winter's tongue swirling and sucking on Karina’s breasts. Giselle's own breath quickened as she fantasized about being the recipient of such passionate oral devotion.

Her hands slowly traveled downward, her fingers gently brushing against her flat stomach and dangerously close to her core. She remembered the way Winter's fingers had danced up and down Karina's slit, making her shudder with anticipation. Giselle's thighs clenched involuntarily as she contemplated touching herself, her fingers itching to explore her own sensitive folds.

But suddenly, a wave of guilt washed over her, dousing the flames of desire that had threatened to consume her. "What am I doing?" she thought, her heart pounding. "They're my group members and my friends. This is so wrong. I shouldn't be fantasizing about them like this." She repeated the mantra to herself, trying to extinguish the fire that had ignited within her. “They’re my friends… they’re my friends… AND THEY ARE FUCKING EACH OTHER!?”

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. Giselle turned off the shower, stepping out and wrapping herself in a towel. She stood in front of the mirror, towel-drying her hair, her mind in turmoil. The image of Karina and Winter, locked in a passionate embrace, their bodies intertwined, refused to leave her mind. She tried to make sense of it all, her thoughts a jumble of arousal, confusion, and a hint of anger.

“They're my friends and freakin adults”, she reminded herself for the hundredth time. “If they want to fuck each other's brains out, it's their business. I shouldn't let it affect me like this.” She attempted to rationalize their actions, thinking of them as two grown women with healthy sexual appetites. “Horny asses”, she thought with a mix of amusement and frustration “can't even keep their panties on.”

But the fact that they were members of one of the biggest a K-pop groups together added a layer of complexity to the situation. Giselle knew the industry was filled with strict rules and expectations, and the thought of her group members breaking those rules aroused and angered her simultaneously.

“When did this even start?” she wondered. “How long have they been sneaking around behind everyone's backs?” She wanted answers, but a part of her also feared the potential consequences of digging too deep.

As she dressed, her movements were mechanical, her mind still reeling. Giselle's eyes drifted shut as she imagined Winter's tongue teasing Karina's clit, the sounds of their moans and gasps filling the room. She bit her lip, her breath quickening. "Damn it," she muttered, opening her eyes and shaking her head. "Snap out of it, Giselle. This is getting out of hand." She tried to push the thoughts aside, focusing on the upcoming rehearsals and promotions. But the image of Karina's tablet, hidden beneath the pillow, kept flashing in her mind, a constant reminder of the secret she now shared with her group members.

Giselle took a deep breath, she knew that ignoring the situation wasn't an option. The curiosity was eating away at her, and she needed to understand the dynamics between Karina and Winter. Maybe they're just exploring their sexuality, she thought. Maybe it's a one-time thing.

The rationalization brought her a moment of calm, but deep down, she knew that the truth might be more complicated. Giselle felt trapped between her loyalty to her friends and her desire to uncover their secrets. The thought of them together, their moans echoing in her mind, only added fuel to her conflicting emotions.

With a sigh, she ran her hands through her hair, accepting the inevitable. “I can’t believe this; I must be losing my mind.” She began to question her own sanity. “I need to see it again.”

Giselle stood at the threshold of her room. The clashing emotions battled inside her, but her desire to uncover the truth was winning.

She took a step back, leaning against the door frame, her mind racing. “I need to know more”, she thought. “I need to see it with my own eyes again.” The thought of witnessing her friends fucking both excited and scared her, but the pull was too strong to resist.

With a determined stride, Giselle entered her room and made her way to her bed. She knelt down and reached beneath the pillow, her heart pounding. Her fingers closed around the smooth surface of Karina's tablet, and she drew it out.

Holding the device in her hands, Giselle hesitated for a moment. “Am I really going to do this?” she asked herself. “What if they find out?” But the temptation was too great, and she swiped her finger across the screen, unlocking it with the password she had seen Karina enter.

She navigated to the hidden folder, her breath quickening as she recalled the explicit content within. Her thumb hovered over the play button, her heart racing as if she were about to uncover a forbidden treasure.

Giselle closed her eyes for a brief moment, steeling herself for what she was about to witness. Then, with a click, she pressed play.

The scene began with Karina setting the camera on a cabinet, the lens capturing the hotel room and the bed in the center. Karina plunged onto the bed, her legs dangling off the side, her back facing the camera.

As the camera focused on Karina, Giselle's breath caught in her throat. There, walking into the frame, was Winter, clad only in her panties, her perky breasts on full display as she towel-dried her hair. Giselle's eyes widened further, taking in the sight of Winter's toned body and the mischievous grin on her face.

"I can't believe we convinced Giselle to share a room with NingNing," Winter said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. As she slowly walked between Karina's legs, the camera captured the playful seduction unfolding. Karina let out a low laugh and agreed, "Especially knowing there's no bathtub in their room."

At this, Giselle scoffed. "You fucking bitches," she muttered under her breath. "I didn't get the bathtub because you two wanted to fuck?!?!"

Giselle's eyes narrowed, her curiosity battling within her. She watched, transfixed, as Karina made a move to slowly get up, her hands reaching for Winter’s waist. But Winter had other plans. She pushed Karina back down onto the bed and slowly climbed over her body, her movements deliberate and teasing.

"Ya, ya, ya" Karina gasped, her voice breathy as Winter settled comfortably on top of her.

Winter's grin widened as she looked down at Karina, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, come on," she purred, her voice a low, sultry murmur. "You didn't think I'd let you off that easy, did you?"

Karina's hands instinctively rested on Winter's hips, her fingers brushing against her thighs. "And what exactly do you have in mind?" she asked, her voice a mix of playful curiosity and genuine affection.

Winter's fingers traced light, teasing patterns along Karina's breasts, slightly squeezing. "You already forgot what you told me on the plane?" she teased, her eyes locked with Karina's.

Karina's breath caught in her throat, "Why don't you remind me?" she challenged.

Giselle's heart raced as she watched the flirtatious exchange, feeling like a voyeur to a private moment between her friends. She found herself leaning forward, her eyes glued to the screen, eager to hear Winter's response.

And Winter delivered. With a playful grin, she climbed up Karina's body until her clothed pussy was positioned directly over Karina's face. Giselle gasped at the bold move, her eyes widening as Winter slowly lowered herself, sitting on her friend’s face.

Karina didn't hesitate. Giselle heard her moans as her tongue teased the fabric of Winter's panties. Winter pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Do you remember now?" she asked, her voice thick with arousal.

Karina nodded eagerly, her hands reaching up to grasp Winter's waist. Without breaking eye contact, Winter hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slid them aside, fully exposing herself to Karina's waiting mouth.

Giselle bit her lip, holding her breath as Karina flicked out her tongue to taste Winter. But Winter quickly pulled back, denying her the pleasure. With a firm grip on Karina's chin, she asked again, "I didn’t hear you. Do you remember what you told me?"

Karina's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I remember," she said, "I remember telling you that I want you to cum all over my face and scream my name."

Giselle's breath caught in her throat as she listened to Karina's confession. She couldn’t believe the words coming from her friend’s mouth. She could feel the raw, unfiltered desire radiating from the video, and it sent a jolt of arousal through her own body.

Winter moaned as she lowered herself, feeling Karina's tongue flick against her clit. "Fuck, yes," she gasped, her hips rocking involuntarily. Without warning, Karina sucked Winter's clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it expertly.

Winter cried out, her hands tangling in Karina's hair as she pulled her closer. "Make me cum all over your pretty face," she panted, her body arching towards Karina's eager mouth. “Come on, taste me, baby.”

Karina moaned in response, the vibrations sending shivers through Minjeong's body. "You taste so fucking good," she mumbled between licks and sucks. "I could eat this sweet pussy forever."

The contrast between their public personas and their private lives was staggering, and Giselle found herself intrigued, aroused, and more curious than ever.

Giselle watched in disbelief, her eyes widening as the angle of the video suddenly changed. The scene now unfolded from Winter's point of view, as she held a camera in one hand while riding Karina's face. She couldn’t believe her eyes—the filthiness of her friends knew no bounds.

She felt a throb between her legs as she witnessed Karina's eyes staring directly into the camera, her tongue parting Winter's folds, lapping eagerly at her clit.

"You look so pretty with your lips wrapped around my pussy," Winter cooed, "Look at me while you eat me out." Giselle heard the lust in Winter's voice, the command laced with need.

Winter held Karina's head gently, guiding her movements. She started rocking her hips, gliding her wetness over Karina's mouth, the camera capturing the lewd sight of Karina's tongue flicking and teasing her clit.

"Look at me," Winter insisted, her hips moving in a slow, sensual grind. "Watch me as you make me cum." Karina obediently locked her gaze with Winter’s as she continued to pleasure her.

Giselle could hear the lewd, wet sounds of Karina sucking on Winter's pussy, the slurping noises filling her ears. The sight of Karina's tongue probing, delving, and the glistening wetness of Winter's folds was almost too much for Giselle to bear.

Winter moaned, her body convulsing in sheer pleasure. "Yes, baby, don’t stop," she breathed, her hips moving faster, grinding against Karina's mouth with abandon. "Suck my clit," she pleaded.

The camera, still held in Winter's hand, captured the moment in exquisite detail. Giselle watched as Karina swirled her tongue around Winter's engorged clit.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Karina parted her lips and sucked Winter's clit into her mouth, gently tugging and releasing it with a soft pop. Giselle could swear she could feel the suction.

Karina's tongue then ventured lower, nibbling on Winter's puffy pussy lips, her clit twitching and throbbing for attention.

Again, Karina wrapped her lips around Winter's clit, sucking gently while her tongue swirled relentlessly. Giselle could hear the wet sounds of Karina's tongue swirling and lapping at Winter's clit, the camera shaking slightly as Winter struggled to maintain her grip. Karina slowly pulled away, releasing it with another wet pop that made Winter gasp and arch her back.

Winter slightly pulled away, the overwhelming sensation causing her to catch her breath.

The angle of the video switched back to the original view, showing Karina stretching her neck, her tongue darting out to taste Winter once more. "I want more," Karina whined, her hands gripping Winter's thighs. Winter's eyes darkened with lust, her gaze fixed on Karina's eager face. "Are you ready?" she asked, her voice low and sultry.

Karina nodded eagerly, her heart racing. "Yes," she breathed, her eyes fixed on Winter's glistening pussy. "Please."

Winter slowly lowered herself, her eyes never leaving Karina's. "I'm going to smother you with my pussy, baby," she purred, her voice dripping with promise.

Karina's breath quickened as she felt Winter's weight settle on her face, her nostrils filled with the intoxicating scent of Winter's arousal. She moaned, the vibrations sending shivers through Winter's body.

"One," Winter started counting, her voice strained as she held her position, savoring the sensation of control. "You like being my pussy slut, don't you?" Winter continued, her hips rocking gently. "Being at the mercy of my pussy?"

Karina nodded, her mouth muffled by Winter's soft, swollen pussy. She moaned again, her tongue flicking against Winter's sensitive clit.

"Two," Winter whispered, her hips moving in a slow, sensual grind. "You want more, don't you, baby? You want me to fuck your mouth?" Karina whimpered in response, her body arching slightly, inviting Winter to take control.

Her tongue darted out, lapping at Winter's juices, tasting the sweet nectar that flowed freely. Winter pressed down harder, her pussy covering Karina's mouth and nose, depriving her of oxygen.

"Three," Winter breathed, her hips rocking faster, gliding her wet pussy over Karina’s mouth.

"Four," Winter continued, her breath quickening as the pleasure intensified. "I own your mouth, baby. It's mine to do with as I please." She kept riding Karina's face, her hips moving faster and faster.

Karina moaned in response, her tongue never slowing as she lapped at Winter's pussy.

"Five," Winter counted, her voice strained as the pleasure built. "Fuck, your mouth feels so damn good.”

Winter's body trembled as she relished the sensations, her hips moving faster, fucking Karina's mouth with abandon. "Fuck, yes," she gasped, her hands tangling in Karina's hair. "Keep licking, keep sucking. Make me yours."

Karina whimpered, her tongue never slowing, her hands caressing Winter's ass, urging her on. She tongue-fucked Winter's pussy, feeling the tight walls clench around her tongue. Winter's body started convulsing, her pussy trapped in the vice of Karina's mouth.

With a soft moan, Winter slowly lifted herself, allowing Karina a brief moment to catch her breath and savor the taste of Winter's essence on her tongue. "Good job, baby," Winter cooed, stroking Karina's hair. “You always eat my pussy so good.”

Karina's eyes fluttered open, her face flushed and her lips swollen from the passionate pussy-eating she had bestowed upon Winter.

"Please, don't stop," she begged, her voice hoarse and filled with need. "I need to taste you again, feel you, devour you…make you cum."

Winter smirked, her power over Karina intoxicating. She lowered herself again, her pussy covering Karina's mouth.

"One..." she started counting again, her voice shaking as she felt her own arousal building to a crescendo. "Make me cum, Karina. Put your fucking tongue inside my pussy and drink my juices."

Giselle was so engrossed in the scene, her breath coming in short gasps, that the sudden notification pop-up startled her. She cussed under her breath, frustrated that she never got to see the moment of Winter cumming. Just as she never got to see Karina cumming the last time. Then, she cussed again, realizing how absurd she sounded, getting annoyed about not fulfilling her voyeuristic desires.

"Jesus," she muttered, shaking her head as she tried to assimilate what she had just watched…AGAIN…ON HER OWN WILL. But the notifications kept popping up on the screen, distracting her from her thoughts. It was Winter, sending messages to Karina.

The notifications kept coming, and Giselle's fingers hovered over the screen, unsure what to do. But before she could decide, her phone suddenly started to ring. It was Winter. Giselle's heart stopped, her fingers frozen above the screen, contemplating whether to pick up. “These two are gonna give me have a heart attack.”

Little did she know that Karina and Winter were behind the door all this time, listening to her involuntary moans, smirks on their faces as they knew exactly what Giselle had just watched. They had staged this whole scenario, leaving the tablet for Giselle to find, knowing her curiosity would get the better of her.

---

Winter Moans I Karina Moans I Karina Moans II

#aespa #aespa smut #jiminjeong smut #winrina smut #aespa karina #aespa winter #kim minjeong #aespa giselle #aeri uchinaga #yu jimin #karina smut #winter smut #winter moans #aespa moans #kpop smut #love: aespa moans

710 notes · View notes