#it doesnt do it exactly like this it just reminded me of it

[centipedetea]

its killing me that spamton is going thru that situation where people hate woobifying fanon so much that they lean too far in the opposite direction and create fanon 2 where he's cartoonishly evil for no reason

[depresseddepot]

started planning out an actual real budget to see what sort of housing I could afford if I lived alone and it is. not great !

[terrorbirb]

:((((((((( boss didn't buy me lunch like they normally do on people's last day. Commence absolute minimal effort to finish out this job.

[nowendil]

hm. might have just felt the first flutters incoming of gender plate tectonics

[marzs-jrwi-thoughts]

ouguhguhuhg rosewater qpr :((( im gonna be sick, if hes the traitor im never gonna mentally recover because… oughghgh all of their history and all what they went through and if hes the traitor, it makes all the emotional weight of their relation away because. well. how can you live with knowing that. that who you thought was your other part is just someone set up by the navy to spy on you, and all of it was just a lie

[mbat]

i cant believe its been almost 5 years since su ended aughhh how has it been so long

[lvrspiastri]

can i request an op81 smut where she’s landos best friend and he starts to have a crush on her but he doesn’t know if her and lando like each other. but she thinks oscar doesn’t like her because he doesnt really make conversation with her whenever they’re alone but it’s only because he gets so nervous and it comes out weirdly and then lando figures he likes her. but oscar is jealous of their interactions but then lando sets a situation up where oscar n his girl bestie are alone n they have a confession and then fuck.

Earned It. ᵒᵖ⁸¹

sorry for the time this took. exams fucked me up. hope you like it

reminder that requests are open just check out the guidelines :)

masterlist

✧. ┊     PAIRING: jealous!oscar x fem!reader

✧. ┊    WORDS: 3k

✧. ┊    TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+, smut, jealousy, coarse language, fingering, squirting, unprotected vaginal sex, orgasm. wrap it before you tap it pls

He just observes. Silently. With his teeth clenched. Lando squeezes her shoulders, voice smooth as he laughs about some cheesy shit. She's got that distinctive laugh when he's with her. That laugh that rings through a room. And she throws her head back, hair cascading down her shoulders. It's not fucking fair only he can have evoke that within her. Oscar knows they'd been each other's best friends since they were old enough to say the words. Doesn't make it any damn better.

And it was he who had won. Oscar. He who'd gotten pole and kept the lead all the way through. He who fended off his own experienced teammate. He who should get the attention. Why the fuck was she making heart eyes at Lando, then?

They manage to separate. Somehow. He stares on with a clenched jaw and Lando, the bastard, sends a smirk his way before heading out to see his parents. She walks over, chipper, none the wiser to his inner turmoil. He'd always avoided speaking to her. Mainly because he knew she had no feelings for him whatsoever. So why bother? Why bother falling for her, knowing in the end....she's gonna choose Lando. But also because his tongue gets tied. And he can't stop staring at her when she speaks. But he can't escape this, trying to keep his eyes off her figure as she saunters.

"You did so well today, Osco," she drawls, smile twisted up in a charming manner. Fuck. The way she calls him that dreaded nickname...

"Thank you," he nods, arms crossed so his biceps flex. It was always on purpose, contrary to popular belief. "Couldn't have done it without the team."

"Must you be so humble?" she chuckles, leaning on the wall in front of him. No. In fact he wasn't. He knew it was all his own doing. The team didn't exactly help in keeping Lando behind him for 52 laps. He wasn't their second fucking driver. He knows he's just...better. But he forces an innocent grin.

"Ah, it's the car, really. But I appreciate the sentiment." She nods, tucking her soft hair behind her ear. It was almost dusk. Golden hour. So the fiery light floods the room, highlighting one side of her face, darkening the other. Like the moon. Gorgeous...

"How you celebrating?"

"Honestly?" he sighs, scratching his neck, tilting it in the perfect position so she could see just how thick his neck was. "Might just treat myself to some Maccas and watch a movie." He never was the partying type of man, contrasting his teammate. He found no pleasure in seeing men and women get drunk and grind on each other to shitty house remixes of pop songs. And he certainly never looked for a girl to take home. The only girl he wanted to fuck was standing right in front of-

No. Fuck no.

"That's boring, don't you think? Let me take you out." The offer was tempting, to say the least. Wherever she was gonna take him, he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off her. Or his hands. He wouldn't be able to do it. He wouldn't be able to resist.

"Ah, that's kind, really. But I have a flight to catch a 4 AM." Lie. It fucking hurt to lie to her like that. But it was better than potentially jumping her like a wild animal and ruining everything he'd worked so. Damn. Hard. To. Build. She frowns, sighing. It's clear she doesn't buy the lie.

"That's too bad. Some other time, then." He nods in agreement, making a mental note to pack protection for the so-called 'other time.' "I'll see you next week, then?"

"Yeah, yeah, you will. Yeah. You'll see me on the top step again." He hides the cocky smirk daring to embrace his face and just laughs instead.

"Sure. Have a good night."

"And you," he nods, swallowing thickly. His hands are trembling but he hides him by shoving them in his pockets. And the look on her face isn't happy as she leaves. Great. Fucked up. Again.

He's in his room drunk when he sees the videos.

Of them out. Clubbing. They're intoxicated.

Classic.

Singing "Titanium" on top of their lungs (reminding Oscar of the shitty music that frequented clubs and why he would never visit one again), holding each other while making fierce eye contact.

And he damn near breaks the phone.

They're way too close to just be motherfucking friends. In a lapse of judgement, he switches to iMessages, shooting a quick text to Lando.

It's unlike Oscar.

He doesn't call.

He doesn't wake up until there's a loud knock on his hotel room door. The beer clouds his mind, legs feeling like jelly as he makes his way to open the door. Lando leans against the doorway, jaw clenched.

"Mind explaining what that was last night?" Lando lets himself in, gaze steely, voice an eerie calm. Oscar hasn't a fucking idea of what Lando's talking about.

So all he manages in reply is a dumb "Huh?"

While rolling his eyes, Lando takes our his phone out of his pocket and shows Oscar the texts that he sent. Apparently. Must've been piss drunk.

"What...What's this in reference to?"

"Well, you didn't exactly say when you called me a 'cunt' but i'm guessing you saw something from last night." He pockets his phone, crossing his arms.

And then it rushes back. The close lips. The drunken singing. The fucking holding.

"You're fucking her, aren't you?" It just comes out. It's crude but it sums up his thoughts. And he realises his mistake because Lando's eyes widen.

"Are you fucking insane? Seriously? You think I'm fuckin' sleeping with her?"

"Yeah, you know what? Yeah. You think I don't see the eyes you make at each other? The media's accepted her as your WAG, about time I do too-"

"Shut your bloody mouth." He whispers. Low. Dangerous. "She's my best friend and that's all she'll ever be. And I know you're angry but that doesn't give you a right to spew bullshit at me." Oscar looks away. He knows Lando's right. Of course he is. They're better than this. But fuck, that girl has him feeling things he shouldn't. Acting like he shouldn't. He's a damn monster because of her.

"What else do you want me to think? Hm? When I see you and her singing in each other's mouths? Dancing with each other? Do you have any idea how much it stings-"

"Then talk to me, Osc. You never told me you liked her. I figured it out on my own. And honestly, I'm getting sick of being the damn owl in between you two."

Fuck.

Now he feels bad. Lando had always been there for him. Through it all. Through the lows of McLaren he started out with. Through the dumb team orders. He didn't deserve Oscar's selfish episodes. But he doesn't apologise. He just stares at the carpet until Lando speaks.

"I'm gonna bring her here tonight-" Oscar cuts him off.

"I told her I had a 4 AM flight." He mutters.

"Yeah, no shit you lied, she knew it the moment you told her," Lando scoffs. Oscar rolls his eyes, knowing it was a dumb move. Now she probably thinks he hates her for rejecting her invitation... "I told her it was because you're an idiot. I'm gonna ask her to come here. Say you want to apologise. And...you take it from there." He swallows thickly, nodding. He could damn near kiss Lando for his kindness.

"Thanks. Thanks a lot." He fiddles with his maroon shirt.

"If you fuck this up..."

"I won't. Swear. Not this time." He reassures Lando. He'd be the biggest idiot in the world to fumble this opportunity. Which Oscar isn't. Sometimes. They wrap up the formalities and Lando leaves. He's just grateful he didn't cause a rift between them. After Logan left, Lando's the only true friend Oscar had.

He waits the whole day.

He counts every second.

Ever minute.

Every hour.

He irons his shirt twice. Brushes his teeth enough to destroy his toothbrush. Polishes his shoes so one could use it as a mirror. And spends an hour trying to figure out how many buttons of his shirt should be undone so he would look hot but not desperate.

And then he hears the knock, her sweet voice ringing. "Oscar? It's me." She's early by five minutes. He didn't even get to check his cuffs. He breathes deeply, opening the door, putting on his nonchalance act.

"Hey, come in," she steps into his suite. And god, she smells like a dream. Looks like one too. With that lace dress he can see her bra through, the fucking bare legs carrying her. Oh, he was done for. "T-take a seat, yeah, think of it as your own house." Why the fuck did he say that? Idiot!

She smiles sweetly and sits on the edge of the bed. "Lando said you had something you wanted to say to me." He sits beside her. Cautious. Careful not to touch her or the dam of desire he was keeping locked inside him would break.

“Yeah, I did.” He looks anywhere but at her. One look at her perfect mascara-covered lashes and all he’d wanna do is make the mascara run down her cheeks. “Sorry for, uh… blowing you off.” The words scrape out, rough and inadequate.

She doesn’t say anything right away. Just tilts her head, arms crossed, like she’s trying to decide if he’s worth the effort. Again.

“You had a plane,” she says, voice carefully neutral. “That’s what you told me.”

“I didn't,” he lies again, softer this time, and immediately hates himself for it. He exhales, rubs the back of his neck. “Okay. I was. I just… I didn’t think I could handle seeing you.”

Her lips part, confusion flashing across her face before it hardens into something unreadable. “So instead you lied to me. Classy.”

“I didn’t lie...,” he says too fast, too defensive. “I just...needed space.”

“Funny. I offered you dinner. Not a proposal.”

That shuts him up.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Uncomfortable. And all he can think about is how close she is, how good she smells, how stupid he is for missing that dinner—for missing her.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, this time quieter. Real.

“I didn’t come,” he says suddenly, voice low, “because I like you.”

She blinks. The anger in her eyes falters, just slightly.

He exhales, finally looking at her. “I lied about being busy because I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t want to come over and—mess it all up. Say the wrong thing. Or worse, jump you like some idiot with no self-control.”

Her brows draw together, confused now. Not angry. Just trying to figure him out.

“I wanted it too bad,” he says. “You. I wanted you too bad.” He laughs bitterly, eyes on the floor. “So yeah. I lied. Because I liked you. And because I’m a coward who didn’t know how to handle it.”

She doesn’t speak right away.

Just watches him. With a different perspective. Like the sharp edges of her anger have dulled under the weight of something warmer. Softer.

“I liked you too, you idiot,” she says quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I invited you out. What did you think that was about?”

He huffs out a laugh, eyes flicking up to meet hers. There's disbelief there. Relief. Want. "Yeah, well, I thought you wanted Lando."

She laughs in a way that makes him feel like an idiot. "Are you serious?"

"You're always so fucking close. But he came in here this morning. Told me I was being a dick."

"You were," she leans in, whispering.

His gaze drops to her lips. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

She leans in just a fraction, eyes half-lidded. “I wore mascara for you, you know.”

His jaw tenses.

“Wouldn’t mind if it ran a little,” she adds, barely audible.

Something in him snaps—not violently, but with aching restraint. His hands hover at her waist, like he's asking for permission even though his body is already leaning into the answer.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps.

“I won’t.”

His hand splays over the fabric, gripping her dress like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. And then—he yanks her forward, mouth crashing into hers with a groan that sounds more like a growl.

There’s nothing soft about it. It’s messy. All teeth and tongue and desperation. Like he’s starving and she’s the first thing he’s been allowed to touch in months.

She barely has time to gasp before he’s pressing her into the bed, one arm braced beside her head, the other gripping her thigh and hitching it up around his waist. The dress rides up. He doesn’t even care. Doesn’t think.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he snarls against her jaw, lips dragging along her pulse. “I didn’t come over because I wanted to rip this fucking dress off the second I saw you.”

His teeth graze her throat. Not gentle. Not playful. Claiming.

She moans, fingers in his hair now, nails raking his scalp, and it only spurs him on. Makes him insane.

“You invited me over like it was nothing. Like you didn’t know I’ve been going insane thinking about you.”

He kisses her again, harder, his body pressed flush against hers, hips locking into the space between her legs like he was meant to be there.

“I lied because if I came over, I would’ve taken you right there on the goddamn dinner table.”

Her breath stutters.

He laughs darkly, hand curling around her neck—not tight, just enough for her to feel the tremble in his fingers.

“You want mascara to run?” His mouth is on her ear now, voice low, wrecked. “Say the word and I’ll have you crying in five minutes, pretty girl.”

And the worst part?

She wants him like this.

God help them both.

So she nods.

Small. Slow. But there’s something in her eyes. A glassy, reckless glint , that sends lightning straight through his spine.

His breath catches like it hurts.

Because fuck, she means it.

And she knows exactly what she’s agreeing to.

He laughs. Sharp, disbelieving, half-mad. His fingers dig into her hips, grounding himself before he does something he won’t come back from. But he’s already past that point. Already gone.

“God, you’re gonna ruin me,” he whispers like a prayer, forehead pressed to hers, his voice wrecked with need. “One little nod and I’d burn down the whole fucking world for you.”

She tilts her head, lips parted, panting, daring.

So he does what any man completely gone would do — he takes that nod as gospel.

He drags her to the floor like gravity means nothing, lays her out like she’s sacrament. Worship and destruction all in one. His hands tremble with how hard he’s holding back.

“I want everything,” he breathes, eyes blazing. “Every sound, every tear, every breath you’ve got left.”

He grabs her legs roughly, placing them over his legs. His hands hook into the waistband of her panties and pulls them off so quick they rip. He doesn't apologise. Hell, he doesn't fucking care. He tosses them somewhere before spreading her wide and pressing his tongue against her core. His eyes flutter shut and she tastes like everything he'd ever dreamed of. Whines spill out of her. Whimpers. He eats. Sucks. Licks. Slurps.

His hands grip her inner thighs bruisingly, holding her apart despite her trembles and squirms. Her hand lands in his hair, pulling so hard it hurts. But in all honestly, it just makes him hornier. It takes him a while to realise she's screaming. Spasming. Worried, he pulls away.

"Fuck, you good?" She heaves, breasts bouncing through the dress.

"I just came 3 times in a row, what the fuck do you think?" Three times? Holy fuck, he's going on like a man possessed. He lets out a light chuckle, licking her sweetness one final time before moving to his knees and placing his middle finger on her tongue. He shoves it so far down she nearly gags before snugly fitting in his ring too.

"That's right, pretty girl. Suck."

His fingers get coated in slimy wet. He pulls out of her mouth, teasing her clit with it, earning a sweet sweet groan out of her.

He doesn't give any warning.

Then he sticks his fingers in, making her jerk and tremble.

"Ngh!" she screams and he places a hand over her mouth.

"Careful, my angel. Wouldn't wanna have the hotel staff complaining?" She nods sweetly, fluids dripping out of her and sticking to the carpet. He makes a mental note to clean that later. The repercussions would be embarrassing, to say the least.

A flash and she squirts. She fucking squirts. Screaming. Aching.

He laps up the squirt almost immediately, savouring the sour tang on his tongue. All she does is lie there pathetically, groaning.

"Need...dick inside you..." he heaves, eyes glazed over. He pulls away, lips wet with her fluids. "Is that okay?" She lets out a soft whine as permission, hearing the gentle thud of his belt hitting the carpet. His veins already throb, swollen tip leaking. He's been wanting to intertwine their souls together for far too long. Wanting to leave an imprint on her no one could erase. He slaps his dick on her clit a few times before sliding into her, letting out a throaty growl. "My love..."

"Mghfh!" her hands desperately cling onto something. Anything. For leverage. She settles on his shirt, an iron-clad grip bound to leave dirty nail marks on his skin.

The sounds they make are erotic.

Skin slapping skin.

Whines.

Groans.

Wet squelching.

And fuck, mixed with her pussy, it's all too much.

So much.

Fuck.

"I'm gonna..." she doesn't finish her sentence before he's already spilling inside her, wet bursts filled with cum spoiling the hotel room carpet. He couldn't give a single shit.

His eyes fixed on her. The hair strands that clung to her face. Her flushed cheeks, sweaty neck. Fuck. He could cum right then and there.

"You okay?" He asks, voice raspy. She softly nods, brains fucked out. He knows it's time to stop, time to lay in bed with her, talk about everything he loves about her. Until he hears another squeak.

"Another round?"

[whambamsami]

private show pt.2

summary: what happens in the private showroom, stays in the private showroom...stripper!bucky pt.2

pt. 1 pt.3

warnings: 18+ language, alcohol, almost smut! i promise theyre gonna fuck like bunnies in the next part of this lmao

note: if this doesnt flow super well im sorry, i didnt proofread and i did rush it a bit! i also dont totally understand how tag lists work so forgive me if i messed that up too haha, small chance i delete this and try to make it a bit cleaner!

taglist!: @sebastians-love @marianastudiesart @bowscale @staley83 @opheliabbarnes @hhyukasworld @unicornqueen05 @defn0tonyourleft <3

If the bouncer noticed your nerves, he didn’t let on. He just pulled back the plush red curtain and waved you in. 

You stepped inside before you could decide against it. 

The door shuts with a soft click.

The room smells like leather and cologne. Dim lights flicker warm over plush velvet seating. Your heart’s pounding in your chest. And you’re frozen where you stand.

Because in the center of the room, the man you’d seen on the stage was leaning against a pole, shirtless now, glistening faintly in the warm, low light. One silver chain resting against his collarbone, made of the same metal that made up his left arm. Tattoos dotted his chest and abs, thin black ink delicately drawing your eyes lower. A dangerous smirk on his lips. 

Bucky, they had said his name was.

Wonder if that was his real name.

“Oh.” You breathed.

His smirk turned wolfish. 

“So you’re the girlfriend,” he said, voice low and deep as he stepped closer. “Didn’t expect you to say yes.”

“...And if I had said no?” 

“Then I guess I would have had to come out there and ask in person,” he said, eyes raking over you. “And that could’ve gotten messy.”

You sputter just for a second before catching yourself.

“I- yeah. Thanks for the rescue. I really appreciate it.”

He tilted his head. “The rescue?” 

“Yeah. Saved me from my asshole boyfriend and his gross friends. I owe you.”

That made him pause for a beat. Considering. Calculating. 

Then he’s back in control like nothing happened.

“Is that what you think this is?” he smiled gently, stepping even closer.

You blink. “Um. Yeah? You got me away from Nick and made him look like a jackass. Not exactly a hard thing to do, but still-credit where credit’s due.”

Bucky laughed-low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. He had a nice laugh, you thought. 

“Sweetheart”- and you do a great job of showing how that nickname doesn’t affect you one bit, you’re sure of it- “I didn’t save you. I picked you.”

Your stomach did something traitorous as he popped the champagne, and you didn’t miss the evil glint in his eyes when the head of the bottle was swallowed by frothy foam before he could capture it with the flutes. 

He handed you a glass. 

You needed it. 

“What does that mean?” 

He leaned in, his voice dropping to something that wrapped around your spine like silk.

“It means I saw you sitting out there, looking like you were five seconds from either crying or setting the place on fire, and I figured you could use a reminder that not everyone in the room is a complete asshole.” 

Great. More pity. Just what you needed.

But then he continued.

“And I could see your thighs squeezing together when you saw me. All the way from up on the stage.”

You let out a soft breath, surprised at how much that hit you.

But he wasn’t done. 

“It also means,” he added, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind your ear, “I wasn’t gonna let some sweaty, insecure little prick keep looking at you like you were an object. Not when I know exactly how a woman should be treated, how you deserve to be treated.”

“Wow,” you breathe, almost to yourself, “you’re like… dangerously good at this.”

He grins. Like he had you right where he wanted you.

And suddenly the room around you felt like it was shrinking. You instinctively go to tug your dress down a bit, feeling overexposed. But he’s quicker, catching your hand in his own. 

“Don’t,” he murmurs, “you’re perfect like this.”

You should laugh it off. You should roll your eyes.

But you don’t.

Because the way he says it- like he means it-makes something deep inside you clench.

“I liked your show.” and it feels like a confession, like something you weren’t allowed to say out loud. 

“I know.” and you roll your eyes playfully before he cuts you off with, “So did your thighs.” 

You choke on your laugh.

“Confident, aren’t we?”

Bucky tilts his head a bit, and you can’t tell if he’s getting a better look at you or analyzing exactly where he needs to touch to make you weak.

“Don’t act shocked. You started it. Squeezing your thighs together while I was on stage? That’s flirting.”

“That’s called crossing my legs.”

“Cross them around my head next time, and we’ll call it even.”

You blink.

“Are you always this subtle?”

“Sweetheart,” he grins, “subtle gets you half the fun. You want subtle, go back to your boyfriend.”

You roll your eyes. “Ex-boyfriend.”

He takes another step forward. Then another. Gently leads you to sit on the red couch, so soft it felt like you were being sucked into it. God, you didn’t even want to think about what this room would look like if you turned on a blacklight- 

He straddles your lap.

And you forget how to breathe.

His knees bracket your legs, not quite touching you. His hands rest on his own thighs, muscles flexing just slightly, forearms thick and inked. 

He’s shirtless. You were clever enough to have noticed that when you first entered, but now, up close, it was all-consuming.

The glow of the lights dances across his chest, down his stomach, and whatever oil he must have used on himself amplifies every divot of his toned body. He must have spent years eating clean and hitting the gym to get this kind of figure. Every inch of him screams control.

He looks like a god. 

“You ever had a dance like this?” he asks softly. 

You shake your head, sure that it’s the last move you’ll make before you become paralyzed forever. 

“Good,” his voice is raspy, like he’s almost whispering, “I want to be your first.”

He leans forward, lips grazing the shell of your ear. 

“And your favorite.”

Then he moves.

His hips roll slow and deep, grinding just above your center, close enough to feel the heat of him through your clothes. His hands rest on the couch on either side of your shoulders, caging you in.

“How do you want this to go, doll?” he murmured, voice low and sinful “You want me slow? Gentle?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He was close-too close. You could smell him. Feel the heat coming off his skin.

“Or…” His metal hand gripped the back of the couch behind your head. “You want me to show you what your asshole boyfriend never could?”

He doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

But he doesn’t need to.

Because the way he watches your reaction-how your lips part in a silent gasp-it’s like he’s memorizing you.

You exhaled shakily.

“That one.” you say before your brain can catch up to your mouth, “That one sounds- sounds good.”

“Good,” he coos, “let’s make your boyfriend nice and jealous. Show him how a woman like you deserves to be treated.”

“God, can we please not talk about my boyfriend right now?” you mutter, doing your best to keep your hands rooted at your sides like you’re cuffed there.

Not a bad idea. 

He chuckles wickedly above you.

“You’re right, pretty girl. Sweet little thing like you, and he’s taking you to a dirty place like this? Doesn’t he know what happens when you don’t take care of your things?” he purrs, rolling his hips once more, closer this time, “Someone might take them away. Take better care of them. Someone like me.”

You hear a soft, pathetic whine pass your lips before you can stop yourself.

His mouth curls. 

“That’s my girl, let me hear it. Let me hear how much you want this.”

He’s licking up your neck, biting gently at your shoulder, sucking the sensitive spot where your neck and collarbone meet, nibbling at your earlobe.

“Bet he’s never touched you like this, doll. Never had you whining, begging for him, not like I do. And I haven’t even shown you my best moves.”

“What, the ones that require me to buy two drinks minimum?”

“Mmm. The ones I really want to try on you. The ones that might get me fired.”

Then he moved-really moved.

His hips were flush against yours. His abs brushed your chest as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. And then he finally brought his hips to yours.

Slow. Deep. Grinding down like he already knew exactly where you needed him most.

You gasped.

Your hands shot out on instinct, landing on his thighs, hard muscle under your palms. Just as quickly as you touched him, you pull away, internally cringing at your lack of control. 

“Sorry, I-”

“What are you sorry for, doll? Touch me all you want.” and he’s grabbing your hand in his, the vibranium arm still rooted behind your head. He brings your shaking fingers to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he gives your fingers a soft kiss, and then he’s dragging your hand down his chest, letting you feel every smooth valley and crevice of his delicious body, still rolling his hips into yours. 

Your fingers curled around his legs as he rocked into you again-slower, rougher, the friction making the growing heat between your legs grow more intense, drawing a gasp from you. 

“God, the sounds you’re making,” he growled, pressing his forehead to yours. “You ever been this wet with your clothes still on?”

“Jesus, Bucky-” and he’s back to his attack on your neck.

You’re gonna think about this later, aren’t you?” he said against your skin. “Gonna lie in bed and replay this in your head…fingers between your thighs… wishing it was me.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, rocking your hips up to meet his.

“There she is.”

You’re not even sure when it happens.

One second, Bucky’s hips are rolling slow and smooth against yours, his hands slipping beneath your dress in ways that definitely broke some rules, his voice wrecking you in your ear.

“You feel that, baby?”, he rasps, “That’s all me. For you.”

You’re just about to cave, to beg for him to just take you right there.

Then the door slams open.

“What the fuck?”

[manmuncher777]

Visiting kuna while he’s in prison. Eughhhh 😈😈😈 especially if he gotta go buzz 😩

Awh hell yeah nonnie, you just like me fr. Enjoy my love🌟🌟

18+ MDNI SMUT

“I-I” you stuttered out, unable to come up with an explanation that might soothe the feral man beneath you. Nothing good coming to mind

“You-You. You what sweetheart?” His gruff voice rings in your ears, snapping you out of your brain fog. Visiting your boyfriend in prison had it benefits. Especially when hes a well known gang member. It allows for certain perks. Like him being allowed to have your visits in his room, a room that he doesnt have to share. For this you were very glad, seeing as you were straddling sukuna on his bunk, having a very private conversation.

“Come on baby, use that big girl brain of yours and tell me, I wanna know.” Sukuna had been in prison for months now, and each night you were getting lonelier and lonelier. And of one of the nights you were missing him… badly. Deciding to write him a letter, describing exactly how badly you needed him, what you wanted him to do to you, and if that wasnt enough you included a few photos of yourself to show him how much you missed him. Only that had now backfired on you as you realised you had riled up an imprisoned man, and now you were going to have to face the consequences

“ I wanna know exactly what you were thinking when you sent that to me.” Huge hands that previously rested on your hips now travelling to your ass, holding the flesh tight through your skirt. Pressing you down onto his growing buulge that was highly visible in his orange jumpsuit

“Because to me, thats just not fair, teasing me with those fucking Polaroids, looking all pretty and shit when you come and see me.”

“Kuna…” your voice trailed off, unsure of what to say. No actual words flowing though your minds, only filthy thoughts of the man beneath you. Face flushing as he speaks. All you can do is try and focus on what hes saying to you, but that same feeling if need you had the other night is now crawling up your spine, soaking your little panties.

But Sukuna wasnt happy with that reaction, he wanted more from you. He wanted to get you as needy as you had made him that night.

The air in Sukuna’s cell is thick, charged, the tension palpable. His hands, lazily resting on your ass, don’t move—but his smirk? That deep, knowing smirk is a weapon in itself. He lounges against the cold wall like a king on his throne, utterly at ease.

And yet, it’s you who feels trapped.

Because his eyes, dark with amusement and something far more dangerous, trace the curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes, the way your breath hitches every time he exhales against your skin. He’s enjoying this—enjoying you—and he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

If you weren’t going to talk about the letter, he was just going to have to tease it out of you.

“So,” he purrs, tilting his head. “A little bird tells me you’ve been thinking about me.”

Your body tenses at his words, mind buzzing with so many thoughts, but you force yourself to answer him, doing your best to cling onto he little resolve you have left. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His chuckle is low, taunting. “Oh, don’t play coy now, sweetheart. Not after that filthy little letter you sent me.” His fingers flex against your thighs, not quite gripping, just there, a reminder of how easily he could control the situation if he wanted to. “What was it you said? You couldn’t stop thinking about me—” he drags the words out, watching your reaction closely, “—about my hands on you?”

Your stomach twists, heat rushing up your neck. “I—I didn’t—”

“Oh, you did.” His grin widens, razor-sharp. “You even described exactly what you wanted me to do to you.” His eyes darken as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Such a dirty little thing, putting it all in writing. You wanted me to read it and ache for you, is that it?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you try to push away, but his hands slide up to your waist, keeping you firmly in place. Not squeezing, not forcing, just holding—a warning.

He tilts his head, feigning concern. “Look at you. All flustered. You weren’t so shy when you were begging on paper.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His lips are so close now, brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Should I remind you exactly what you wrote? Word for word?”

You shake your head quickly, a rush of embarrassment flooding through you, but he just hums in amusement.

“Mm. No? Shame. It was my favorite bedtime story.” His tongue clicks, mock disappointment laced in his tone. Then, with deliberate slowness, he exhales against your neck, letting his breath ghost over your skin. “I wonder… if I touched you now, would I find you as eager as you claimed to be?”

Your breath stutters, thighs instinctively pressing together, pressing yourself onto the bulge beneath you. And that’s all the reaction he needs.

His smirk sharpens. “Ahh… There she is.”

And you realize—he’s not done playing with you yet. Not even close.

“Now what was it you said?…:His hips subtly shifting upwards into your, pressing himself deeper into you. Knowing it was driving you wild. Fake pondering as he recalled your writing “You wanted my fingers, because yours couldn’t stretch out that pretty little pussy like mine do.”

“I- um” your eyes flit about the room, struggling to stay locked on his, his predatory gaze watching your every move

“How badly you missed my cock, deep inside” One of his hands trailing around to press on your tummy gently, right where his cock would show when he fucked you.

The words dying in your throat as he gives you a Cheshire Cat like grin. You were fucked.

“Tell me girl, did I get that right?” His pearly white teeth flashing as he spoke, fully aware he already knew the answer.

A small nod was all you could muster. But that was enough for him.

Sukuna’s hands slide lower, skimming the hem of your skirt, and you feel the ghost of his touch against your thighs—light, teasing, deliberate. He hasn’t even moved to lift it yet, but you swear your breath is already hitching, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach.

“What’s this?” he murmurs, dragging the tips of his fingers along the fabric. “Wearing something so short to see me… were you hoping I’d take it off?”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his grip finally tightening, just enough to make you squirm. “Come on, sweetheart. You had all that confidence when you wrote to me. Tell me…” His fingers inch under the fabric, knuckles brushing against your bare skin. “Did you get wet thinking about me touching you like this?”

A sharp gasp escapes you as he pushes your skirt up, exposing more of your thighs. The cool air kisses your overheated skin, and you reflexively grab his wrist, a weak attempt at stopping him.

He laughs at the gesture—deep, rich, cruel.

“Oh? Now you want to act shy?” His other hand trails up your back, slow and possessive. “Should I stop?” His voice is a mockery of innocence, but the look in his eyes is pure hunger.

Your silence betrays you.

His smirk deepens. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And then—so agonizingly slow—you feel him peel your skirt down, the fabric dragging over your thighs, your knees, your ankles until it’s gone, discarded on the floor.

Sukuna leans back against the wall, gaze devouring the sight of you. “Now, that’s better.” His hands settle on your now-bare thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. “You look much prettier like this, trembling in my lap.”

His lips curl as he watches you, his next words laced with dark amusement.

Sukuna hums, dragging his palms up your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. He spreads his legs a little wider beneath you, making sure you feel the hard press of him beneath you, and fuck, you can’t stop the way your body tenses at the realization.

His smirk deepens. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His fingers skim higher, brushing over your inner thigh—light, teasing, barely there. “You were so bold with those little Polaroids… don’t tell me you’re already getting shy?”

You bite your lip, trying to glare at him, but it only makes his smirk widen.

Sukuna leans in close, lips ghosting against your ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, voice dropping into something dark and syrupy, “when you wrote that letter… were your fingers between your legs?”

A sharp inhale. Your whole body heats at the question, and the moment you hesitate, his hand slides up—fingers just grazing over the heat between your legs.

Your hips jolt instinctively, and he fucking laughs. You can feel your mind slowly slipping with each passing moment, struggling to keep composure

“Ohh, you were, weren’t you?” He clicks his tongue, amused. “You really laid in bed, all alone, spreading your legs and touching yourself while thinking about me?”

You should deny it. You should push away that smug grin of his, but the way his fingers press a little firmer against your clothed core makes any coherent thought vanish. Prickles of pleasure flow up your skin as you finally get the touch you had been missing.

He watches you struggle, loves how easily he’s unraveling you. “Didn’t even have me, and you still came all over your own fingers, huh?” His voice is so mocking, so cruelly sweet, and then—without warning—his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear.

Your breath stutters.

Sukuna exhales a low tch the second he feels it. “Holy fuck.” His fingers slide through the slick heat of your needy cunt, languid, slow, as if testing just how drenched you are for him. His smirk sharpens. “You’re soaking.”

You bite back a whimper as he drags his fingers through your folds, spreading your wetness, moving in agonizingly slow strokes that make your thighs twitch. His free hand grips your waist, keeping you still in his lap

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he mutters, mostly to himself, the edge of a chuckle laced in his words. “Knew you’d be a mess for me.”

And then, just when your body starts to tense, when you need more, he pulls his hand away.

You make a noise of protest before you can stop yourself, and he grins. “Oh? You want more?” His slick fingers trace teasing circles against your inner thigh, refusing to give you what you so clearly need. “Then ask for it, sweetheart.”

Your pride fights against the growing, unbearable ache. You try to grind against his thigh instead, desperate for any kind of friction, but his hands are there, holding you in place.

“Ah, ah,” Sukuna tuts, dragging his tongue over his teeth. “You’re not getting shit until I hear you beg for it properly.”

His fingers stroke your thigh again—so fucking close, but still not enough.

You shudder, swallowing your pride. “Please.”

His smirk darkens. “Louder.”

You glare at him, breath shaky. “Please, Sukuna—”

And fuck, that’s all he needed.

He shoves his hand back between your legs, two fingers sliding inside you in one slow, deep stroke—so smooth, so effortless, your walls stretching around him as if your body was made to take him.

You choke on a gasp, clenching down around his fingers, and he groans against your ear. “Ohhh, there it is,” he mutters, voice thick with satisfaction. “That pretty little cunt was just waiting to be filled, huh?”

His fingers pump into you at a leisurely pace, dragging along every sensitive spot inside you, curling slightly with every deep stroke. Your head tips back, breathless, aching, because it’s still not enough.

Sukuna’s fingers work you open slowly, deliberately, making sure you feel every deep stroke, every lazy curl of his fingers against that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble. His other hand is firm on your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you don’t squirm away from his relentless teasing.

“Fuck,” he groans, watching the way your body reacts to him, the way your walls clench around his fingers every time he drags them out just to push them back in, deeper, rougher. “You’re so tight. Haven’t been properly fucked in a while, huh?”

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders, your thighs tensing around his hips. He smirks. “Poor baby,” he muses, voice dropping, “Makin me feel bad for not being there to fuck you properly”

He buries his fingers inside you to the knuckle, pressing against the soft, spongy spot deep inside you that has you gasping, nails digging into his skin.

“Ahh, there it is,” he laughs. “That’s the spot, huh?” His fingers curl again, harder, pulling a sharp cry from your lips. “Yeah. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. You gonna cum for me already?”

Your head tips back, your body rocking forward instinctively, chasing every stroke of his fingers, aching for more. But Sukuna sees it, sees you getting desperate, and instead of giving you what you need, he slows down.

Your breath stutters, a frustrated whine spilling from your throat as he deliberately drags out every motion, keeping you right on the edge without letting you tip over.

Sukuna grins against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “Tch. Look at you,” he murmurs, amused. “So fucking needy.”

He presses a kiss to your pulse, almost mockingly sweet. Then, with a slow, devastating thrust of his fingers, he curls them just right—just deep enough, just sharp enough—

And you break.

Your whole body tenses, pleasure ripping through you as your walls flutter around his fingers, your breath coming in broken, stuttering gasps as the tension inside you snaps. Your thighs shake against his hips, your nails scraping down his arms as you ride it out, grinding helplessly into his hand as he works you through it.

Sukuna groans, his free hand gripping your waist as you tremble against him. “That’s it,” he murmurs, drinking in the sight of you coming apart in his lap. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. So fucking messy.”

His fingers don’t stop until your body jerks from oversensitivity, and only then does he pull them out—slow, teasing, dragging it out just to watch you shudder.

Then he brings them to his lips.

You watch, dazed, as he licks the slick from his fingers, humming thoughtfully as he tastes you. His eyes darken, tongue dragging over the pad of his thumb as he smirks.

“Always miss your taste sweets.”

He tilts his head, gaze flickering over your wrecked expression. “Think you’re ready for my cock now?”=

Sukuna’s fingers leave you aching, your thighs still trembling from the aftershocks, but he doesn’t give you a moment to recover. No, he just smirks, eyes burning as he watches you struggle to catch your breath, utterly wrecked in his lap.

Then, with a sharp grip on your hips, he grinds up against you, letting you feel just how painfully hard he is beneath you.

You whimper, hips jerking forward instinctively, and Sukuna groans low in his throat, his fingers tightening against your skin. “Ohh, fuck,” he drawls, head tipping back for a second before his gaze snaps back to you, hungry, dark with something ravenous. “You feel that, sweetheart?”

You can barely think, let alone answer.

He chuckles, teeth flashing. “Of course you do. You’re already rocking against it, huh?” His hands guide your hips, forcing you to grind against his length, the thick heat of it pressing between your slick folds. “Tch. So fucking desperate.”

Your breath shatters as he moves your hips again, forcing more friction against your already aching clit, and the sensation sends lightning through your veins.

“You gonna let me fuck you now?” Sukuna mutters against your ear, voice thick with amusement, but fucking starving at the same time. “You got me so hard, you better be ready to take it.”

He shifts beneath you, one hand reaching down to free himself, and when you feel the hot, heavy weight of his cock slap against your slick folds—thick, unrelenting, already leaking at the tip—your whole body shudders.

Sukuna smirks. “Ohh, I know you’re wet enough for it, but—” He grips his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick but not pushing in. “—I wanna hear you beg for it first.”

You whimper, grinding down against the head of his cock, desperate, but he just laughs.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be a good girl and tell me how bad you want it.” He presses his tip just against your entrance, teasing, mocking, but refuses to give you more. “Or else I’ll make you sit here and fucking wait for it.”

His free hand tightens in your hair, yanking your head back slightly, his mouth grazing your throat.

“You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

His cock nudges at your entrance again, but still—still—he doesn’t push in.

And with the way your body is aching, the way his fingers are digging into your hips, the way his breath is so fucking heavy against your skin—

You know.

He’s going to make you beg for it.

And he won’t stop until you’re screaming his name

But you can’t help it—your body is on fire, still desperate for him, and every breath feels like it’s drawing you closer to the edge again. Sukuna leans back, his smirk never fading as he watches you struggling to even form a coherent sentence at this point

“Missed your cock so bad Kuna~” you whine out pathetically, hoping he would show you mercy and give you exactly what you had been craving

Sukuna chuckles, low and dark. “You really thought I’d let you get off that easy? Tch, you’re adorable.” His hand snakes around to your back, fingers digging into the soft skin there, and he pulls you closer—pressing your body flush against his. The heat of his skin, the weight of him, it drives you wild all over again.

His lips brush against your ear, his voice a gravelly whisper. “You’re going to take every inch of me, aren’t you?” His words send a shiver down your spine. “All that teasing? I’ve been waiting for you to beg for me. You wanted me, now you’re going to take it.”

With a sudden, fluid motion, he grips your thighs, pushing you higher up his lap. You feel the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing, just barely brushing you. His smirk is cruel as he watches your face flush with the need. “Go on, sweetheart. Show me how much you want me.”

You don’t need him to say it twice. With a sharp, needy gasp, you push down onto him, feeling his length stretch you, fill you as you sink down slowly, painfully, inch by inch. The stretch is almost too much, but the ache is exactly what you’ve been craving.

Sukuna’s eyes close for a moment, his lips parting in a low groan as he feels you grip him. “Fuck, that’s it. Such a tight little cunt. So fucking perfect for me.”

You rock your hips, hands gripping his shoulders for support as you start to move, his body perfectly aligned beneath you. Each thrust you make is slow, deliberate, a mix of pleasure and need, the way his hands dig into your skin, urging you on. His grip tightens with every movement, guiding you, making you feel every inch of him as he shifts beneath you.

But he doesn’t let you forget he’s still in control. “You’re so fucking desperate,” he mutters, voice thick with lust. “Cumming on my fingers like that, and now you can’t even think straight. Pathetic.”

Your body shudders with each word, the way his cock fills you deep, pushing you to the edge of insanity. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time. You push harder, riding him, needing more, needing everything.

Sukuna’s hand finds your throat, squeezing lightly, not enough to choke you, but enough to make your breath catch in your throat as he pulls you forward. “Come on. You’re close, aren’t you?” His voice is low, commanding. “Beg for it. Tell me how much you need it.”

“P-Please! Kuna, need it so bad”

The way Sukuna’s hands grip your hips, guiding your movements as he watches you unravel, it feels like he’s claiming every inch of you—every piece of your will, your dignity, your ability to think straight. He’s controlling the rhythm now, forcing you to take him deep, making you feel every inch of him. His eyes are intense, burning with something darker than lust—something deeper, something possessive.

“Look at you,” Sukuna growls, his chest rising with every breath. “I’ve waited so long for this. You… you make me wait, tease me, and now you’re finally giving in. Isn’t that right?”

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind spinning, body on fire, each movement more desperate than the last. But Sukuna doesn’t care. He’s not slowing down. He’s chasing his own pleasure now, pushing you harder, deeper, rougher, making you feel every inch of his cock, every thrust.

“You like that, huh?” Sukuna snarls, pulling your body flush against his, his teeth grazing your neck as he watches you struggle to keep up. “You love to tease me while im locked up in here”

His words only seem to make it worse, your body clenching around him with the reminder of what started all this. He remembers, and now you’re paying for it.

“I’ve missed you,” he admits, almost as though he’s surprised by it himself. His voice drops low, and for the briefest moment, there’s a sincerity to his tone that almost makes you forget he’s the King of Curses. “Missed how you taste. How you feel. How good you are to me. How you stayed with me”

He doesn’t give you time to process the weight of his words. Instead, he slams into you harder, faster, your body shaking with each thrust. He’s relentless—determined to take every ounce of control, making sure you’re his.

Your body is a mess of sensation, the pressure building, rising higher and higher with every thrust, every growl of his voice. The way his hands are gripping your body—like he’s scared you’ll slip away, like he’s afraid of losing you all over again—pushes you to the edge.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispers against your ear, his voice thick with lust. “Tight. Perfect.” His grip tightens, and you feel him hit even deeper, the force of it pushing you toward the brink.

You can barely think now, only feeling—only craving the release that’s so close but seems just out of reach. His words—his confession of missing you, his twisted affection—sends something raw through you, unraveling every last shred of control you had left.

And then, without warning, he shifts his grip, pulling you harder down onto him, and that’s all it takes. The pressure inside you snaps. The orgasm rips through you in waves, overwhelming your senses, and you let out a ragged cry as you come apart in his lap. Your body shudders, spasms of pleasure wracking you as he holds you steady, refusing to let you go, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Sukuna doesn’t stop, though—his thrusts become more frantic, chasing his own release, but he doesn’t let go of you for even a second. His fingers dig into your skin, pulling you closer to him as he moves faster, his voice rougher now.

“Fuck,” he groans, his movements becoming more erratic. “You’re so fucking perfect. Cumming on my cock like the perfect girl you are”

And then, with a final, brutal thrust, he’s there, spilling inside you, his body shuddering as he grinds against you, his breath hot against your skin. For a moment, he just holds you, both of you tangled up in the aftermath, trying to catch your breath.

His hand slides to your back, holding you close. “I’m not letting you go,” he mutters, almost like a promise—or a warning.

You can barely respond, your body still trembling from the intensity, but you feel him stiffen slightly, his grip tightening even more possessively around you. His lips brush your ear again. “You’re mine, you know.”

[gamblersdoll]

heybae i got a request that’s been on my mind 😩 so like, imagine mha pro-hero boys s/o wearing pheromone perfume for their date and them not being able to get it together 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

+ their s/o being clueless to why theyre acting like that🗣️

teasing, heavy smut intended themes, grinding, groping, light shocking, mind control , daddy kink. denki, kirishima, izuku, bakugou, shinso

izuku had the best smell ever, sure you rolled it on your neck and wore the dress that he loves— and it only smells like shortcake to the naked eye and nose, but for him? you smelled different, his arks wrapping around your torso and nose buried into your neck.

“smells good.. which one is this?” he mumbled in your skin, softly nibbling at the flesh until you responded. “you best answer quickly—“

“its a new one, zuk.” you giggle, trying to pull away and look alright for the eyes of the public. what you worry is if izuku was all over you, would his rankings drop?

“well i gathered that, baby.” he sarcastically says, a hand on your thighs and he grips— hard. “we wont be out here for much longer, ‘kay?”

“we just got here… why do you wanna leave so early?”

bakugou knows of the pheromone perfume that went viral, yet he doesnt know what it smells like exactly. all he smells on you is something savory in his nose, even if it was sweet. “nope.”

“no what?” you innocently ask, leaning against his shoulder and holding his hand. you know he smells it, his knee bouncing when he gets nervous or aroused.

“you know fuckin’ what, brat.” he growled to you, trying his best to keep his composure and not eat you up here— because thats all hes thinking about. “you wore the good smelling perfume you got, and you know damn well you smell too good.”

“what perfume? most of the perfumes i have are mists or oils.” you giggle, putting a hand on his knee.

“you better move your hand or im going to fuck you up.” he deadpans, his hand gripping your hip and sliding up to the side of your breast. “if yer’ gonna play dumb, fine— but let’s remember i dont care about fuckin’ in public.” he reminds.

denki just shifts all the time, pulling his sweats or jeans down and hes got a fist on this lap, every now and again hes softly punching his lap when youre not looking (he does this because ‘it helps the boner go away.’)

“you okay, honey?” you asked, holding his hand and kissing his cheek, he never not responds, but he feels like hell when you get so much closer.

he tilts his head back away from your face, watching his adams apple bob when he swallows. you get into his lap, he groaning and putting his hands on your hips. “denkiiiiiii, whats the matter, baby?”

“we gon’ fuckin fight.” he looks to you through his lower eyelids. “you got that phe-pheromone shit, didnt you?” your core tightens, his voice becoming deeper when he keeps his head back.

“what for? im not even wearing perfume.” you giggle, cradling him and having each leg on his side.

“oh, so im delusional?” he shoots his eyes to your face, hands groping your breasts pulling the shirt and licking his lips. “if you think im delusional, say that.”

“kaminari— we in public!” you whisper shout, trying to move his hands but he swats you away.

“oh, nowww we’re in public?” he dramatically says, tilting his head back up and sucking on your collarbone. “always touchin me and shit.. now im going to touch you, mama.”

you hiccup, a whimper from your throat and he presses his hips up against your heated folds. “kami—“

“fuck, smell so good, sweet thing..” he growls, taking his finger and a small zap hits your thigh. “hehe, feels good, doesnt it?” he asks, licking his hickey that he left on you. “finally got cher’ zing, ma.”

kirishima is a mutt, anything that smells good on you, he bites and drools on your skin to see what smells good. usually he would try and do that— but this time he had to keep his hands to himself. “pleasepleasepleaseplease..”

“hm?” you turn, peering your eyes away from the movie.

“please let me bite you, please beautiful. promise i wont bite so hard again, i swear.” he whines, getting closer to you in the movie theater seats. “you smell so good, pretty please?

“i smell good ?” you question, him shaking his head yes fast and he reaches in for a bite, but you pull away. “what do i smell like, kir?”

he pauses, not really knowing how to describe the scent, but he swallows thickly. “.. i dont know how to describe it.” he whines, pressing his hands on his lap and he groans. “please, just one bite.”

“if you cant tell me what i smell like, do you think you deserve it?” you tease, getting a little mean with him and he pouts.

“you smell like pears.”

“still not getting one.”

shinso has stolen your perfume before and tested it on himself, but he didnt realize you had also worn it around him. it makes sense, one day on a coffee date you both get stares from people around you.

“do you have something on you?” he asks, drinking his own hot coffee versus your frozen. “i can know when you’re lying.”

“mmm..” you hum, slurping through the straw and looking away.

“princess,” he says, activating his quirk and having a hand on your thigh. “are you wearing that perfume that got you ravaged last time?”

“yes.” you say, feeling his quirk disappear and bite your lip. damnit all, and his stupid manipulative quirk. “you dont have to always use your quirk on me, meanie.”

“you like when i do though, princess. especially when i have you tell me how you want to get fucked.”

“shinso— in public!” you remind, him shrugging and smirking to you. “keep your voice down at least!”

he gets into your ear, a hand on your tummy. “do i have to remind you who your talking to?” he warns, watching your head shake no. “oh, because what i think is you’ve forgotten who i am.” you try to open your mouth, but he clicks his tongue. “whats my name again?”

“sir.”

“no, no, no..” he coos, a hand in your hair and his fingers scratch your scalp— a warning he might pull your hair. “whats my name , or do i have to have another session with remembrance?”

“daddy.” you mumble, a heat to your face and you turn your head away. “youre a fuckin perv.”

[juliettejwnewinesa]

HIIII I REALLY LIKE YOUR WRITING! CAN I REQUEST SOMETHING WITH SEONG JE??

where reader is baekjin's sister and shes so different than baekjin like so innocent but not naive or dumb innocent kind but shes like pureee and demure and girly and too bubbly, lets just say she came home to sokor from states and met seongje and she kept bothering him wanting to be his friend but seongje kept rejecting her and said something hurtful that made her stop bothering him then one night he was walking on an alley and found reader being cornered or about to get beaten up bc of some of baekjin's enemy i mean like the word of baekjin having a sister spread, then seongje beat the shit out of those guys and they had a closureeee

Also reader doesnt know about the union or aything she found out when she was cornered because she asked baekjin or seongjeeee

Anwww ill ty in advance if u ever accept this req!!! I hope u always get inspired!

- 🐯

Title: Cherries and Cigarettes

seongjae x reader

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

The first time Seong Je saw her, she was skipping down the steps of the convenience store in a pastel pink cardigan, humming to herself with a cherry lollipop sticking out of her mouth.

She had no business being that bright in a place like this.

Baekjin’s sister had just come back from the States, rumor had it. The whole neighborhood had already started whispering about her: "Too pretty for her own good," they said. "Too soft. She won’t last a month in this town."

Seong Je agreed.

He never liked girls like her. The bubbly kind. The ones who asked too many questions, who smiled like the world never bit them back. Girls like her got eaten alive here.

And yet.

"You’re Seong Je, right?" she asked him that same afternoon, cheeks flushed from the heat, a glossy smile plastered across her face. "I heard you're Baekjin oppa’s friend. I just moved back, do you want to be friends too?"

Seong Je didn’t even look up from his phone.

"No."

She blinked. "Huh?"

"I don’t like fake people."

That wiped the smile clean off her face.

He didn’t say it because he believed it. He said it because it was easier to cut off a rose before it bloomed. Girls like her didn’t belong anywhere near someone like him.

She stopped talking to him after that.

No more cheerful greetings in the hallway, no more shy glances in his direction when she came to bring Baekjin food. Not even a smile when they passed each other in the apartment complex.

It should’ve been a relief.

So why did it gnaw at him at night?

Why did he keep remembering how her voice had cracked just slightly after he said that?

Three weeks later, he found her in the alley behind the PC bang, trembling.

Three guys had her backed into a wall. They weren’t from the area—he could tell by their shoes, cheap knock-offs pretending to be tough. The tallest one had her wrist in a bruising grip.

"Hey," Seong Je said, tone flat.

The thugs turned.

"Piss off," one of them spat.

"That’s Baekjin’s sister."

They laughed. "Exactly. We’ve got beef with him. She’s just a little reminder."

He didn’t wait.

It took under a minute.

One of them went down with a broken nose. Another crumpled after a knee to the gut. The last tried to run—Seong Je dragged him back by the collar and drove his fist into his face until he stopped twitching.

The alley smelled like blood and fear and cigarette smoke.

"Y/N," he said, voice low. "Are you hurt?"

She was crying. Not sobbing—just silent, scared tears, streaking her cheeks while she tried to keep her composure.

"Wh-who were they?" she whispered. "They said... they said something about Union. About Baekjin oppa... I don’t—"

He stepped closer, and she flinched.

Seong Je froze.

"Y/N," he said again, softer. "Look at me."

She did. Eyes glassy. Lashes wet.

"You weren’t supposed to find out this way."

They sat on the curb until the blood dried on his knuckles.

He explained it in pieces. The gang, the fights, the enemies. Why Baekjin was always busy. Why Seong Je never smiled.

She listened quietly, knees pulled to her chest.

"So you were trying to protect me," she said finally, "when you said I was fake?"

He didn’t answer right away.

"I was trying to push you away. Because you were too nice. Too... clean."

"You thought I couldn’t handle it."

He nodded.

She looked at him then, really looked. At the blood, the bruises, the shadows under his eyes.

"You’re stupid," she said.

He blinked.

"You could’ve just said you didn’t want me hurt. But you had to be dramatic."

"I’m not dramatic."

"You’re so dramatic," she said, almost smiling through the tears. "But thank you. For saving me."

There was a long pause.

Then—"Y/N. I’m sorry. For what I said. I didn’t mean it."

She tilted her head. "So you do want to be friends?"

He sighed. "More than that, if I’m honest."

The world paused.

She blinked slowly. Then smiled—soft, real, no cherry lollipop this time.

"Then you better start by walking me home, Seong Je."

He stood. Held out his hand.

"Let’s go."

[ivhmavie]

➴ Give me all of that ultraviolence ༶

characters: hwang in ho (player 001) and the salesman.

how would be being in a toxic relationship with them

warnings: toxic relationship, sexual content, a little of size kink, kinda yandere!salesman, mention of murder and harassment (not in a romanticized way), age gap OF COURSE ‘cause I love it.

hwang in ho (player 001)

∘ he’s not controlling type, you can go almost every place you want to, but he wants to know your every step

∘ some places, which he says are not suitable for you, are prohibited, but he will manipulate you to give you the false impression that you decided for yourself that it was not a good idea to go wherever it was

∘ also manipulate you saying that because you are younger, you should listen to his advices. This way he would be sure that you are always on a path that he doesn't have to worry about trying to control you, especially because he has other priorities as the frontman

∘ so, no matter what, he would make sure that you would always have at least two guards accompanying you to places

∘ it’s hard to have privacy, because the guards tell him exactly what you did during the day, with who you talked to

∘ as the frontman, he doesn't have much time to spend with you. So he tries to make up for his absence with gifts. He gives you his black card, and when he sees the notifications of the unimaginable amounts you spent, he knows you're angry, but doesnt care at all, later he will resolve it with sex later

∘ whem he wants to spend time with you, he will order his guards to take you to his room to watch the games with him

∘ it doesnt matter if you support the games, it’s his job and allows him to have a luxurious life, which extends to you

∘ ins’t really affectionate, but likes to have physical contact with you to remind you that you are there, under his careful view

∘ would never lay a finger on you to hit you, but I don't mind being rough during sex

“so, what you want me to do, darling?” he says while disinterestedly swirling the whiskey in his glass, a bored expression on his face as he struggled to keep a simple conversation with you, watching the bloodbath that took place in the large room where the players slept. Superb and selfish animals killing themselves for money, that's what he would say.

Your heels make noise as they hit the ground as you walk in circles, after taking a deep breath you look towards him and take two steps towards him.

“god, hwang, take this seriously, you’re not even listeng to me.” You say angrily, a hand running through your hair, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to speak with the man sitting on the couch. “I can’t keep pretending that I don't mind being alone for so long, you’re never around, always busy with your stupid guards, the miserable players or the fucking organ trafficking scheme, damn it.”You stop when you hear the sound of him scratching his throat, whem you look at him you see him calling you with a finger, making a sign to go to him.

taking heavy and quick steps, when you arrive in front of him you are surprised by a hand pulling you by the waist. As soon as you land on his lap, inho pulls your face towards his, a firm hand on your neck.

“If you wanted my attetion, good, you have it” he says as his other hand runs under your dress, passing through the lace of your panties and tracing circles.“Now, I'm going to give you enough attention so you understand your fucking place”

the salesman

∘ now, he’s the controlling type. Everything you do, everywhere you go, everyone you talk to, he knows everything

∘ doesn't bother to manipulate you, he just dictates the rules. Who you can't talk to, the guys he doesn't approve because he swears that if they had the chance, they would try every way to get you. He’s paranoid and extremist

∘ unlike inho, he doesn't use your youth against you, it's actually something he adores. He loves the fact that you are so vulnerable and inexperienced compared to him, for him, this gives him more power to control you

∘ If you were going out, he would like to accompany you himself, he would take you to the doctor, to go shopping, even to the beauty salon

∘ he thinks you won't be safe if you're not with him, so freedom is not an option

∘ while he goes out to recruit more people for the games and work, you stay at home, being able to go out rarely. He especially doesn't like it if you go out alone or with a man, even if it's a friend. Sometimes he lets you go work with him, you just accompany him and observe

∘ on the very rare occasions when you go out alone, he will want to keep in touch, sending you messages, receiving photos of you and calling you. He just wants to make sure nothing bad happens to you.

∘ he is a paranoid man when it comes to your safety, so he is afraid that you will be harassed or even killed if you go out alone

∘ he’s not clingy, but he's affectionate, in his own way. He treats you as if you were made of porcelain, always says how much he would blame himself if something happened to you, and wouldn't hesitate to kill someone for you if necessary

∘ he wouldn't be the type to hurt you, not on purpose, sometimes he can be rude in intimate moments, always wanting to be in control, leaving you at the mercy of his wishes

It had been a busy and difficult day, he was looking forward to getting home and meeting his girl. The sound of the front door opening woke you up from your nap, you see your husband entering the house and taking off the top of his perfectly pressed suit.

“You took a while today, I tried to wait for you but I was kinda tired”You get up from the sofa, heading towards him, approaching him from behind and running your hands over his broad back. The salesman sighs feeling his small hands lightly massaging his back

“did you spoke to any of your friends today?”

“you know I didnt” you say bitterly, pulling away from him a little and feeling the anger rise.

“oh, my love, don't be mad" he says turning to you and holding your waist firmly "you know it's just for your safety" you feel his breath on your neck, followed by kisses and some bites, you wrap your arms around his neck and move away so he can kiss your chest, feeling his hand reaching under your blouse and holding you tightly, it would definitely leave a mark

"Now come on, I need you to do something for me, I want to feel you around me"

[comet-forgot-you]

perhaps tara with jealous!reader ? overstim too if you’d like

smut. 18+ pls.

you seeing the way that wes is just all over her all the time. you hate it. he knows that shes your girl, she reminds him all the time, but that doesnt seem to stop him. you fucking hate him. tara knows it, and she also knows just what to do to get you riled up.

she knows that if she gets just a little too close to wes, touching his shoulder, looking at him instead of you, she knows it wont be long before youre dragging her out and fucking her brains out. she loves it, and thats exactly what she does.

you have her laid on her bed, vibrator pressed to her sensitive clit, fingers pumping inside of her. she looks so fragile underneath you, but you both know better.

her hips buck against the vibrator, to get away from it or to grind against it, you arent sure. you’ve already made her cum twice, and you dont plan on stopping until the vibrator dies.

“god tara, youre such a fucking slut.” tara whines at your words, head rolling to the side out of embarrassment. “no,” you tsk, pulling your fingers from her cunt to reposition her head to look at you. “eyes on me, yeah?”

your fingers swipe across her lips and she opens her mouth to take them in, licking them clean. you pull them out with a pop, trailing them down her bare body, pinching her nipples, before burying them back inside of her cunt.

shes cumming again the moment your fingers curl inside of her. a loud moan falling from her lips, hips bucking against you. she’s a whining mess underneath you. “god tara,” you whisper, fingers not stopping inside of her cunt.

“stop, no, t’s too much, fuck,” she whispers, hands flying to push you away.

“stop it.” tara whines, but she listens, digging her fingers into the mattress instead. “you wanted to get fucked senseless didnt you? thats why you were all up on wes, hmm?” tara doesnt respond, her eyes heavy as looks up at you, whines falling from her throat at the pleasure you give her. “answer.”

“fuck. yes, please. i just needed you so, fuck- i just needed you so fucking bad.”

“good girl,” you mumble out. tara clenches around your fingers. “thats what you want, so now you’re gonna cum until im done with you, kay?”

[killerlookz]

hiiiii i adore your writing soooo sooo much!! i was literally dancing in my room to joosts music and i thought of a new fic idea:3 can you write something where Joost comes back home and the reader is dancing to his songs in their apartment, the reader doesnt notice him at first, completely in the moment and when they do, they get all embarrassed and its all fluff and cute??(((:

awww this is so cute <33 ty sm anon!!!

Dance With Me? | Joost Klein

content: gn! reader, no warnings rlly! just fluff :-) the song in question for this fic is Joost Klein 2 btw! this fic contains rpf and has been tagged as such, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable

word count: 1.2k(just a wee little blurb!)

Sundays had always been your least favorite day of the week, a bleak reminder that the hours of the weekend were waning and you'd have to return to the monotony of the weekdays. Perhaps the worst part of Sundays was that they were your designated cleaning day, you would much prefer spending your last day free from work lazing on the couch or curled up in bed, but instead, once again you found yourself bouncing around your apartment straightening up whatever cleaning you had left unfinished throughout the week.

The silence of your empty apartment had been getting to you, bored out of your mind as you stood on a chair to dust off a bookshelf. The only thing you figured that would this slightly more tolerable was music at least the apartment wouldn't be so damn quiet.

You hop down from the chair, scurrying into the living room to turn on your speakers. It wasn't long until music was flowing into the apartment, loud, and probably obnoxious to the neighbors, but it hadn't been late enough to warrant a noise complaint- so they would just have to deal with it for now.

Among the many plusses of having a musician for a boyfriend, you had to admit being in possession of a stellar stereo system was definitely one of them. You had been able to hear the music just as perfectly as you pranced back into your bedroom, not exactly eager to get back to cleaning.

Though it would seem not much cleaning would get done after that point, more focused on the music than any of the tasks you had at hand.

"Joost Klein maar m'n stack die is groot!" You sang along with the lyrics that boomed over the speaker. Another plus of having a musician boyfriend was that he was a damn good musician., "De regering zoekt mij, maar ze vinden me nooit!"

You had found yourself jumping around to the music, a smile pressed onto your face as you swayed your head back and forth in time to the beat.

Still jumping, your arms in the air you start to spin around when suddenly the breath is knocked out of you at the sight of a figure in the doorway to your bedroom. Your body grows rigid, stopping dead in your tracks as your mind races to the worst-case scenario.

Luckily it hadn't exactly been the worst-case scenario, as your eyes focused and you were able to see your boyfriend leaning against the doorframe, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Why'd you stop?" He asks, clearly amused, "I was enjoying your performance. I think you might put me out of a job."

"Joost!" Your voice is sharp like you're scolding him for being in his own home. Your eyes widen at the shock, not having expected him to be home, much less having even heard him walk through the door, "I thought you said you'd be running errands all day."

Embarrassment begins to grow on your face, your eyes refusing to meet Joost's, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips as your body grows hot.

"I've actually been gone awhile," He chuckles, "I finished my errands."

"Hmm," You hum, looking down at your feet, "Time flies." You mumble.

"It does when you're having fun, which you looked to be having." Joost muses, an eyebrow-raising behind the thick rims of his glasses.

"Cleaning was getting boring," You shrug, still refusing to make eye contact out of sheer embarrassment.

Joost can clearly sense your unease as his smile still rests on his face, beginning to bob his head up and down, slowly walking towards you with some grove in his step,

"Maar ik blijf Joost en ik bleef in de derde zitten," Joost lowly sings along to his own voice over the speaker, his movements becoming livelier as he gets closer to you, "Soms haat ik kittens en haat ik ook science-fiction."

He grabs your hands, as to ask you to dance with him, but you're reluctant, only holding his hands in front of him as he dances on his own continuing to sing along to his own song.

"C'mon," He urges, "Dance with me?" An exaggerated pout rests on his lips as he stares down at you with big, blue, puppy-dog eyes. You can't exactly resist that look, slowly stepping back and forth to appease his request.

He pulls at your arms as he jumps up and down to the music, just about forcing you to move with more excitement, your embarrassment quickly subsiding as Joost dances in a manner similar to how you had been just moments prior.

"Joost Klein maar m'n stack die is groot!" Eventually, the two of you are singing, bouncing up and down in sync with each other and you can't believe you had ever been embarrassed in front of Joost in the first place. It had seemed so trivial now that the two of you danced together, after four years together you were sure you had seen each other in much more embarrassing situations, you knew better, that he would never pass any judgment on you, "De regering zoekt mij, maar ze vinden me nooit!" You practically yell to each other, oversized grins burned into both of your faces.

The song soon fades out, allowing for a song that wasn't Joost's to start playing.

"You've got some good music taste," Joost teases, the two of your movements dying down.

"Meh," You shrug, "Joost is kind of mid, I think Ski Aggu is better,"

Joost clicks his tongue, shaking his head in joking disapproval,

"You're lucky you're cute." A kiss is pressed against your forehead. The small gesture leaves you with butterflies in your stomach, despite the length of time the pair of you had been together, every touch from him seemed to feel like you were falling in love for the first time all over again.

"You get much cleaning done?" He pulls back

You look around the bedroom, the bed still unmade, clothes strewn upon your dresser, various items scattered around your desk. You feel yourself becoming stressed again at the task ahead of you.

"Not quite." You respond sheepishly, you sigh, "I should probably-"

"It can wait, relax, liefje," Joost cuts you off, "I think we should continue our little dance party."

"Easy for you to say when you've gotten everything you need to get done today,"

"Hmm," Joost puckers his lips, twisting his face into an expression that makes it obvious he's thinking, "How about..." He trails off for a moment, inching closer to you, "You stay here and dance with me, and I'll clean the whole apartment while you're at work tomorrow."

It's an easy proposition to accept, not having to clean? Fine by you.

"Deal?" He asks, smiling down at you.

"Deal," You quickly nod.

"Eh," he holds up a finger, "We need to seal the deal."

You raise your eyebrows up at him, waiting for what he's going to say next,

"You gotta give me a kiss to seal our deal,"

You giggle, standing up on your tip toes, placing both of your hands on Joost's shoulders as you reach up to press your lips to his.

He's quick to kiss you back, resting his hands on your waist as he engages you in a soft, passionate kiss.

"Okay," He nods, "Now it's a deal."

[4rinw]

eiypo and how to go through life on easy mode

what is eiypo?

eiypo or "everyone is you pushed out," is one of neville goddards teachings. it basically suggests that your external reality, including how people behave towards you, is shaped by your internal assumptions and beliefs about them.

now this does not imply that you are controlling others or that they lack autonomy and are soulless beings or whatever. rather, it means that your assumptions about someone determine how they appear in your 3d and how they will show up for you. your assumptions which are formed your by dominant and repetitive thoughts, act as the foundation for your reality.

for example, if you are constantly thinking, "my sp will never love me," or "i am not lovable or desirable," then these beliefs will solidify and will reflect in your 3d. from thinking about these things constantly youre slowly building up assumptions and internal beliefs about your sp and over time, your sp will mirror these assumptions by appearing indifferent or unresponsive to you.

to give one more example, if you assume that im kind and sweet, then thats how i will show up for you in your reality. however, if your friend assumes that im mean and rude, then im gonna show up in her reality as a mean old bitch. now this doesnt mean that my personality is constantly changing; its simply that i am reflecting the assumptions that each of you hold about me.

everyone is based on your assumptions about them > assumptions are your dominant and repetitive thoughts

so how do i apply this?

1. become aware and recognize your current assumptions. ask yourself questions like, "what do i assume about myself?", "what do i assume about life?", " what do i assume about my sp? ",etc. for example if you assume that you are undeserving or not good enough then your 3d will reflect exactly that. you might notice certain patterns like missed opportunities or self sabotaging behaviours that will align with this belief.

2. flip these assumptions about yourself. identify all of your negative assumptions and beliefs and replace them with postive and empowering ones.

3. maintain a strict mental diet and stick to your assumptions. if any limiting thoughts or negative ones arise, dont acknowledge them or resist them, just let them pass and remind yourself that its you that holds the power (you must also always remember that your intrusive thoughts do not manifest, your dominant thoughts do)

4. stop wavering and persist persist persist!!!

end thought. by recognizing and shifting your assumptions about certain things, you can transform how people and circumstances show up in your life. so trust in your power, stick to your assumptions and stay focused. your dominant thoughts shape your reality so think abundantly, act confident and let the universe deliver. and always remember that nothing is ever too big to manifest! youve got this!

xoxo

[thewertsearch]

JASPERSPRITE: Whats a timeline? :3 […] AC: :33 < ok imagine a long tempting strand of yarn […] AC: :33 < now imagine instead of being made of wiggly enticing stuff, its made of what lets you exist AC: :33 < and you are right at the twitching tip of it, dont you s33? […]

I like Nepeta's perspective here, that a timeline is made of 'what lets you exist'. She's saying, I think, that timelines are made out of reality - out of the firmament that distinguishes the multiverse from the Furthest Ring.

Her imagery suggests that she understands at least the basics of her world's deeper mechanics, despite not actually using this knowledge during her time on-panel. I would have liked to learn more about her perspective, but we're almost out of time. From where we're sitting, Nepeta's already dead.

AC: :33 < […] look at the sky! JASPERSPRITE: Meow yes i see the sky and can tell that indeed something is going on. JASPERSPRITE: But aside from that i dont really understand what you said being a cat and all.

Even though he’s a Sprite, the poor guy just doesn’t have the brainpower to use this information he's getting - and that's if Sprites are even told about Scratching.

The world’s being ripped to pieces, and he’s just going to watch the pretty colors until there is no more Jaspersprite. Someone please get this cat a ticket to the Yellow Yard.

AC: :33 < im a bit nervous for you, especially since you remind me so much of someone i already lost AC: :33 < but maybe youll be ok? i dont know

It’s difficult to say. The troll sprites were implied to have died when their session ended, but this session isn’t really ending; it’s being rebooted. Sprites might be doomed in a normal game, but we’re pretty far outside of normal parameters, so there may still be hope.

...right, Sburb? I'm right, aren't I?

...Sburb?

AC: :33 < did you ever have someone nice back on earth who you loved? […] AC: :33 < […] i bet lots of girl cats would have loved to be with you, if only there had b33n some around to hear your lovely meows :33 JASPERSPRITE: Youre really nice to say so nepeta what about you though? […] AC: :33 < […] yes i have liked somebody for quite some time, but alas he doesnt know it

Nepeta’s tale is one of missed opportunities. She never got to wax poetic about her love of shipping, never got to confess her feelings to to Karkat, and - let's be entirely honest with ourselves - never really got to be a character at all.

Now, if you’re an optimist, you could take this as evidence that Nepeta’s story isn’t over – that we’ll be expanding on her character in the Dream Bubbles, perhaps.

I'm... let's say I'm a realist.

I think Nepeta is simply a victim of Homestuck's enormous character roster. Ever since Hivebent started, it's become increasingly obvious that there are some 'important' trolls, and some less important ones. This isn't a bad thing - it's just how fiction works, and it would be borderline impossible to juggle rich, satisfying, 8000-page arcs for sixteen primary characters, no matter how quickly you're putting up panels.

Nepeta simply isn't a protagonist. She's a total sweetheart, but in the end, she didn't make the cut.

JASPERSPRITE: Maybe you can win his affection by rubbing your cheek against him thats what i would do. AC: :33 < ohhh no no no, im too shy even for that! […] AC: :33 < its hard to explain, maybe cats think diffurntly, but trolls tend to be pretty cautious about expressing their f33lings when it comes to the flushed quadrant JASPERSPRITE: Whats a quadrant? […] AC: :33 < a quadrant is a thing in a group of things that consists of four similar things JASPERSPRITE: Like paws? AC: :33 < EXACTLY like paws!!! :DD

But damn, if she isn’t a sweetheart.