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#dumb!reader
tw-inkl-e-tit-s · 2 years
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you guys are not ready for my new fic I'm posting in a couple of days it honestly is the smuttiest shit I've ever written in my life and I'm posting it on here before I post it on Wattpad, if you wanna be tagged just let me know so you can be notified when I post it.
Mr.Ghostface
Dom!Perv!Ghostface!Eddie x Sub!Dumb!Bimbo!Reader
be ready and I hope yall bring some holy water! xoxo - Azura
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writingsofwesteros · 6 months
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I love how you and @marvelmusing sometimes go on with a story in reblogs. Ever wondered about a collab?
Miss Musing and I already have an unofficial collaboration going with our dumb reader-verse, with her part, Off to the Races, being the latest installment with the ball currently in my court for epic retaliation 😁
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sttoru · 1 month
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“tsk. has nobody taught you how to eat?” sukuna scoffs, gnawing on a big of piece of meat whilst watching you eat your own meal next to him. the corners of your lips are very messy.
you can’t help it. the food the maids had prepared is too delicious to eat without gusto. you’re alone with sukuna so you don’t mind your table manners all that much. nor does he.
“right back at you, my lord.” you retort in a sassy tone. a hand reaches out to tug at your hair before firmly flicking your forehead. a reminder of your place.
sukuna yanks off a piece of meat from the bone with his sharp fangs. he glances down at you with an amused yet dangerous look, “get too bratty with me ‘n you’ll end up as my dinner next.”
you chuckle. you’re used to his threats by now, knowing he won’t go that far, though you don’t push your luck any further.
the unexpected feeling of a wet tongue sweeping off the sauce from your mouth makes you cringe. you notice how sukuna had formed a mouth on one of his hands and decided to just clean you up that way, “ew. get that away.”
“ew? you should be grateful for that, woman.” sukuna huffs, continuing to eat nonchalantly whilst you’re struggling to fight off his hand from your face. “i can also use somethin’ else to clean up y’r dirty mess.”
the king of curses grins menacingly as the huge tongue on his abdomen rolls out. you shiver at the mental image of that massive thing slobbering all over your face to get the sauce off.
“yeah no.. err, thank you. i’ll just get a napkin.”
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thatgrlnany · 5 months
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𝘊𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴/𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘵 :((.
𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘰𝘰! 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦, 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳.
"𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢." 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺. "𝘛-𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶..." 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴, "𝘚𝘰 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."
𝘏𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶! 𝘔𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 :((.
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵!
"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘢' 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢?"
"𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."
"𝘎𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰! 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨!
"𝘊𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."
"𝘊𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."
"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."
𝗦𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗻'𝘀 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗯𝗶𝗴 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀/𝗼 𝗮 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗺𝗮𝗺𝗮! <𝟯𝟯
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theorphicangel · 7 months
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satoru would be so obsessed with kissing you, trying to work on your laptop on the couch is no longer any without you being bombarded with pecks across your cheeks, nose and lips.
“satoru…”you warned, starting to get annoyed at all the typos you were making.
“jus’ give me five minutes baby, only five and I’ll leave you alone forever.”
you know a trap when you spot one.
last time he said that it ended up with him between your thighs with your clothes discarded on the floor, not to mention the amount of unfinished work you had left to catch up on.
you shook your head, muttering under your breath, “I can remember the last time those words came out of your mouth satoru.”
gojo simply smirks, “oh yeah? since you enjoyed it so much last time how about—“
“no satoru. I really need to finish this.”
“can I help you then?”
you let out a sigh, “unless you know some shit about biotechnology, then I don’t see why not.”
satoru streched put his arms, his shirt riding up a little, “don’t underestimate the brains of the stongest.”
“mhmm, remember when you thought people in Australia could predict the future just because they were 20 hours ahead?
“I didn’t know back then!”
“yeah, yeah excuses excuses.”
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cantarelaria · 3 months
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🕺 
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hurthermore · 19 days
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Alastor: Can you dance?
Reader: Ya, watch this- *proceeds to break dance*
Alastor: …Fascinating.
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deunmiu-dessie · 2 months
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innocent!commoner reader who diligently gathers berries in the forest every day for the village children. innocent!commoner reader who happens to stumble upon a wounded soul along their customary route through the woods. innocent!commoner reader whose pure heart and selfless nature guides them to tend to him. innocent!commoner reader who prattles to the unconscious man every day when they check up on him. innocent!commoner reader who ought to be frightened of the monstrous being. innocent!commoner reader who should've just left him there. ˙◠˙
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injured!minotaur who wakes up to the sight of a tiny human nestled at his hip, sleep. injured!minotaur who accidentally startles you awake with a pained rumble. injured!minotaur who thanks you begrudgingly for tending to his injuries. injured!minotaur who gradually becomes accustomed to your presence and your chatter as the days pass while he waits for a full recovery. injured!minotaur who finds your naivety cute. injured!minotaur who suddenly finds himself wanting to corrupt you in every possible way. injured!minotaur who mischievously tells you that the only way for him to get better is by using your body. injured!minotaur who forcefully removes your clothing despite your whiny protests. injured!minotaur who promises he'll be all better after using your tiny human hole. injured!minotaur who groans as you willingly part your legs for him, with wide, innocent, tear-filled eyes. "i-if you're sure it'll help." ˙ᵕ˙
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
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plaguechyld · 2 months
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"You can do it, angel... There we go, so pretty all for me."
God those words ruined him every time you said them. His legs shook like a newborn fawn as you pumped your fingers in and out of his precious little pussy, occasionally spreading his wetness around.
"HNYAH-! [N-Name] please pl- MNGHHH!♡~ 's too MUCH!!" he cried over and over again, arching his back as you tended to him so sweetly. It was really too much, he's going to die! He swears on it! If you could just listen; oh god what are you doing now-
"[N-Name], [N-Name], [NAME]!~♡" he swore he could see stars once you started moving them faster, pressing right against that nice spot nestled deep inside him.
Slick dripped down his quivering thighs, pooling on the sheets below him as his hands scrambled to hold onto anything, anything at all.
"HNGAHHH!!!~♡" he fucking squeals when your fingers make him squirt, his release drenching his thighs and your hand. Oh the poor baby is shivering, eyes shut tight as his hands ball up into tight fists, gripping the sheets as if its the only thing keeping him alive.
"Pleashe- P-PleASEEE~" oh but you don't stop at his desperate little pleas, no. You keep going, thrusting your fingers deep into his little pussy as he wails and squirms, crying about how its just too much.
"Hush, baby. You got yourself here, this is your punishment." All he could do was sob and beg for your mercy.. But it didn't look you'd give in anytime soon... ♡
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CHILDE, DR. RATIO, Dazai, Xiao, NIKOLAI, Neuvillette, Chuuya, Dottore, Pantalone, Kaveh, KAEYA, Muzan, Obanai, AVENTURINE, Zhongli, your favs...
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l3viat8an · 5 months
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You can never tell Mammon you’re cold because he can’t act fucking normal for five minutes- rather then giving you his jacket he tries to zip you in with him, telling you to put your arms in the sleeves with his and that his body heat will keep you warmer anyway :)
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cadavercowboy · 4 months
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Just Friends
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: A night of drinking makes Bucky bold and a harmless text makes him bolder.
Word Count: 3.6k+
Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only). Alcohol consumption. Thigh fucking. Orgasm denial. Cum play (microscopically). Oral sex (implied).
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The tip of one finger prods gently at your lower lip, eyebrows scrunching with a wince when a burst of pain emanates from the slightly swollen flesh. A narrow, reddened cut dissects the once smooth surface and you lean closer to your streaked mirror to get a better look. Carefully, you press your lips together as if you’d just applied a layer of lipstick and the sting worsens.
You swear you can feel your pulse throbbing beneath the superficial wound and you sigh. It has ached all day, even more so when you split the small wound open while eating dinner earlier. Yanking open a drawer, you dig around in search of your scarcely-used tub of Vaseline, hoping the sticky goop will prevent your scabbed lip from cracking open again. With a soft touch, you apply a thin layer to your tender lip as well as its uninjured mate, having to stop yourself from habitually rubbing them together. 
This is all Bucky’s fault.
Last night had been a normal outing, no different from any other you’ve shared among your small group of friends. Music pumped from speakers, alcohol flowed from an array of bottles and cocktails, fun and laughter filled the evening. Normal, that is, until Bucky backed you into a dark corner of the bar and kissed you harder and more fiercely than any man or woman ever has.
It wasn’t the kiss that surprised you so much as the kisser. Admittedly, Bucky is a good-looking guy and sure you’ve had less-than-appropriate thoughts about him a time or two, but it’s not as if you’ve ever had a truly serious interest in him beyond what some might consider a crush. Not that it matters much. Although you consider him a friend, Bucky is rather reserved and — prior to last night — you’d have bet any amount of money that he’s certainly never had a second thought about you. 
And yet, the ghost of his warm lips devouring yours still haunts your mouth. The way he’d cradled your head and caressed your tongue with his own has you feeling light-headed even after all these hours. Bucky licked and sucked hungrily at you, at one point seeming to grow so overwhelmed with an untamed need that he’d nipped rather harshly at your mouth and left you with a memento of your shared moment of passion.
You shake your head and flip off the bathroom lights before heading back to your bedroom. Stripping down, you throw on a comfortable outfit to sleep in and climb under the covers. With your head burrowed comfortably deep in your pillows, you shut your eyes and beg your brain to stop replaying the memory of last night on a loop. You have to stop thinking about Bucky. And about Bucky’s lips. And about kissing Bucky. 
But you can’t.
Your eyes flick open, hardly able to see anything in the darkness of your room and you sigh. You huff and flop onto your side, hoping the change of position will usher you off to sleep faster. The niggling thoughts pervade. You still can’t believe he kissed you like that. Ignoring the pinch of pain you feel, your tongue sweeps repeatedly over your bruised lip and you swear you can still taste Bucky there. 
In all honesty, you want to simply blame it on the alcohol or the heated tension you’d created on the dancefloor together just so you won’t have to admit that your broody, handsome friend might actually be attracted to you. Hell, you’d blame it on something as trivial as the full moon if it means you can avoid having to think about what last night’s kiss might mean for your meager friendship. Is it too much to hope that Bucky had been overly inebriated and forgotten about it altogether? 
As if able to hear you thinking about him, the once silent phone sitting on your dresser lights up and vibrates. Propped up on one elbow, you can just barely make out Bucky’s name popping up with a succinct ping. You stare at the screen for a long moment, hoping that if you don’t look at his text, it will somehow go away. It doesn’t. In fact, an accompanying message joins the first and your curiosity finally forces you to reach for the device. 
Bucky: Tried to order a shot at the bar and they’re all out of tequila. I think we did serious damage last night
You smirk and release a quick snort of laughter at Bucky’s text, all the while wondering how in the world he’s managing to go out drinking after last night. It’s been an entire day and you’re still feeling the effects of your overindulgence, your head evidently doing its best impression of a balloon full of concrete. Before you can respond, the screen indicates that Bucky is typing something else. 
Bucky: Sorry about kissing you by the way. We have to be as awkward as possible around each other now FYI
So much for forgetting. Sensing Bucky’s attempt to make light of the strange situation while also trying to suss out how you’re feeling about it, you decide to take it easy on him. You have no hard feelings about the kiss and you’d hate for him to feel badly over something so trivial. 
Sitting all the way up, you switch on the bedside lamp and open the camera app while you bring your phone close to your face. You open your mouth slightly so the aftermath of Bucky’s kiss is more visible, take a photo, then send it his way with a sarcastic text about how he should be sorry for how he’s maimed and massacred you. 
It doesn’t even occur to you how the thoughtlessly snapped picture might be misinterpreted. There had been no purposeful intention in the sensual way your lips were parted, nor had you meant to capture your cleavage in the image. You’d simply sent the picture as a joke and locked your phone, but seconds later — even before you’ve managed to set the device back down — Bucky’s number and the goofy group picture you have saved as his contact photo are lighting up your screen. The phone vibrates steadily in your hand as you stare in surprise. 
If you’d been sitting in the downtown bar with him, you would have watched as the content smile that accompanied the sight of your incoming message had been promptly swept away as Bucky’s eyes scanned what you’d actually sent. You would have seen the way he snatched his jacket off the barstool and how his hand nearly shattered the glass of his phone’s screen when he jabbed your contact with unnecessary force. You would have witnessed him lifting the phone to his ear, grinding his teeth as the dial tone droned while he strode through the thinning crowd and out the bar’s exit to the crowded street.
“Hello?” you drawl hesitantly upon answering the call.
You receive no greeting in return, only a terse demand.
“Send me your address.”
“What? Why?” you wonder, sitting up straighter in your bed at the serious sound of Bucky’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is you sending me that picture,” he retorts as if it is obvious.
“Bucky, what are you talking about?” you laugh nervously. “It was just a joke.”
“I’m not joking,” Bucky assures you seriously. “Send me the damn address.”
You repeat his name again with another uneasy scoff as you try to process his unexpected adamance. Heat blooms all across your body and you begin to chew nervously on your fingernail as you struggle to come up with a reason for him not to come over. There’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.
“Listen, I’m…I’m already in bed in my pajamas,” you offer lamely. “I’m not exactly in any state to receive company and…and…I haven’t cleaned in days! I was just kidding, Buck…you don’t need to—.”
“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t you dare.”
The argument sounds rather lacking even to your own ears. In actuality, you don’t care how you look or how your place looks if Bucky does come over. What you care about is what will happen if he does; specifically, what’s going to happen to you. But there’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.
“I’m going to hang up the phone and get a cab,” Bucky informs you impatiently. “By the time I do, I better have your address.”
Before you even have a chance to plead your case, the line goes dead. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you stare indecisively at the chat which remains open on the screen. The easiest solution would be to put the damn thing down, roll over, and go to sleep. But the cursor that flashes in the textbox taunts you, calling to you like a beacon. You’re suddenly feeling uncharacteristically weak. 
Your fingers move of their own volition, punching in the appropriate information before you toss your phone to the end of the bed and flop backwards with a closed-mouth scream. This man is going to show up on your doorstep. 
There’s something paradoxical to the notion that you aren’t close enough friends for Bucky to know where you live, yet he’s about to show up here to…well, you aren’t quite sure what he’s showing up for. His demand to know your address was alarming — if not somewhat enticing — and you allow your imagination to take over for a moment.
With damp palms dragging down your suddenly overheated face, your mind races and you begin to question your sanity. It would have been so easy to ignore Bucky’s demand and just go to sleep. You’d probably be saving yourself a lot of trouble. But deep down, you have to admit that this is something you’ve been secretly wanting since the very first day you met Bucky. However, that particular thought exists miles down a road you’re not quite ready to travel along.
By the time the resounding knock comes, you’ve paced about a mile and a half back and forth through your bedroom. Your heart is pounding and you’re practically shaking right out of the clothes you wear. A thick hoodie and a pair of loose cotton shorts hang off your vibrating frame, only because you decided wearing your sexy pajama set would seem a bit too presumptuous…perhaps even desperate. And it had definitely felt that way when you put them on earlier. 
Maybe you should change back. Maybe you shouldn’t care so much. The echoing knock is firmer this time and doesn’t give you time to think about it any longer. Because this man actually showed up on your doorstep.
You’ve hardly cracked the door open an inch and Bucky is already inside and shedding his leather jacket from his broad shoulders. He closes in on you until you’re forced to take several unsteady steps backwards into the dark, narrow hall. His hungry eyes look you up and down, sizing you up like a lion would its kill.
“What exactly are you doing here?”
Although you try to infuse some sort of playful, casual laughter into the question, the uncertain quiver of your voice gives you away. As does the way your eyes dart around, refusing to meet Bucky’s. He notes the anxious rubbing of your palms against your thighs and takes a slow step closer to you. 
Standing frozen before him, you gasp when he takes hold of your elbow and promptly marches you towards your bedroom. By the time you’ve turned around to face him, Bucky has already pulled his shirt up and over his head, the defined muscles of his torso rippling and on full display as he does so. Your mouth is dry and your brain is fuzzy.
“You changed,” he notes nonchalantly before gesturing at your outfit. “You’re gonna wanna take that off.”
Bucky utters the order so confidently and with no preamble that it nearly knocks you off balance. You know what’s happening, your brain just doesn’t seem to believe it. And so you stand stock-still, incapable of much more than staring. It isn’t until Bucky growls in frustration — clearly believing that you’re being coy or perhaps just stubborn — that you find your voice.
“You still haven’t said why you’re here.”
“Because…” he begins impatiently as he toes off his boots and kicks them aside. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night. And now…seeing how good I look on you is driving me crazy and making me wanna mark you all over.”
The admission is jarring. Almost as much as the cracking sound that shatters the silence in the room when Bucky unbuckles his belt and whips it free of his pants with one smooth movement. You choose to ignore his unashamed desire and opt to address the less detrimental part of his confession.
“Buck, c’mon,” you choke, somehow feeling even warmer. “It was just a kiss.”
“So?”
Your eyes meet his then, not sure how to respond to his unexpected challenge. The heat you find there nearly scorches you. You’re suddenly at a loss for an excuse that seems adequate enough to turn down the prowling man. Especially when you know you want this as much as he does, if not more. Still, you try.
“We were drunk,” you offer weakly.
It sounds like a question even to you and when Bucky quirks a dark brow, you know your reason has fallen flat. He regards you for a long moment, unbuttoning his jeans and revealing a trail of hair which dips below the illegibly branded waistband of his underwear.
“I wasn’t that drunk,” he assures, hair mussed and nostrils flaring. “Now, like I said…take that off.”
“Take…what off?” you mumble distantly.
You’re too distracted by the plethora of smooth, tanned skin to pay attention; too beguiled by the sight of his half-naked body and all that it promises to continue thinking. Bucky points a long finger in your direction, swirling it mid-air to specify that he’s referring to your baggy hoodie and rumpled shorts.
“All of it,” he barks. “Off.”
Ultimately, you obey Bucky’s request and though your limbs move as if filled with sand, they manage to shed your hoodie and shorts just the same. You’re left standing bare-chested in nothing but a pair of underwear that do very little to shield you from the lascivious perusal of Bucky’s hungry eyes. He mirrors your state, now standing before you statuesque and gorgeous in nothing but a pair of tight-fitting boxer briefs when he finally answers your earlier question. 
“I’m here to finish what I started.”
He breathes the words, his lips so close to your own that you can almost taste him. With barely an inch between you, Bucky’s eyes flicks to yours, silently asking permission. He shows no intention of closing the space between you, instead waiting for you to make that decision. You do so without hesitation and crash your lips into his with a sigh of relief at the familiar feeling of his mouth on yours.
In a flash, Bucky tears away and has you hauled into his arms to toss you easily into the middle of your soft mattress. You’ve barely stopped bouncing when Bucky’s strong body is braced above you. His hips settle perfectly in the space between your thighs; you can feel the heat of him there and the sensation is dizzying. Holding his weight on one hand, Bucky slips the other in the miniscule space between your torsos and hooks a finger along the elastic band of your panties. He tugs playfully at the material before letting it snap sharply against your hip.
“I did say all of it, didn’t I?” he taunts with a wry smirk.
“I didn’t have time,” you argue with a giggle that stops short when he allows his hips to drop so that you feel his hardness directly against your center. “I’m sorry.”
He hums against your skin as his lips trail from your jaw to your ear where he licks the sensitive lobe and nips gently at your skin.
“Shh…don’t worry,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. We can leave them on because if you take ‘em off right now, I am going to fuck the shit out of you.”
You’re uncertain whether the words are a promise or a threat, even more unsure which you’d prefer. With a pathetic whimper that curls warmly into Bucky’s ear, you feel his heavy cock twitch against your crotch. His lips latch hastily to the side of your neck and he suckles.
“Please, Bucky,” you mewl, wanting him to deliver on his threat. 
Threat…promise…you don’t care what it was, just so long as he follows through. To your dismay, Bucky puts a swift end to your hopefulness.
“No no no, baby…don’t beg,” Bucky coos almost cruelly. “You’re not getting fucked tonight.”
He punctuates the lowly-spoken words with a pointed thrust of his hips, grinding firmly against your core and beginning to feel the dampness of your sodden panties through his own underwear. You gasp then, sharp and sudden — the sound only partially prompted by the pleasurable sensation he imparts upon you. It is the widening of your eyes that belies the other cause for the breathy noise: Bucky’s unexpected denial. The complete turnaround has you reeling. If he notices your disapproving reaction, he gives no indication and instead continues his inauspicious words.
“I’m gonna make you ache the way I’ve ached for you. Gonna make you go crazy wanting me,” he breathes, interspersing thrusts every so often between the syllables. “Make you so desperate that you’ll do anything just for a little taste.”
Bucky hisses the last word and you flinch just as the rigid head of his length brushes your swollen clit through the thin layers of material separating you. Even without touching you beyond this, he has you near tears and yearning. He watches the pathetic tilt of your hips and the pitiful way your face crumbles, in awe over the way your muscles quiver and your body moves restlessly beneath him. You haven’t even seen a fraction of what he has planned for you and already you’re falling apart; the very notion has him clenching his jaw as his cock hardens painfully.
“Buck. Please.”
You whine — breathless and high — though Bucky continues as if you haven’t said a word.
“I’m gonna take you right to the edge,” he cups your ass, lifting and grinding your hips into his with a dramatic pause, “and then…stop.”
Before you have a chance to lament Bucky’s refusal to give you what he’s made you want, his strong hands grip your bent knees to gather your legs and arrange them over one shoulder so that the backs of your thighs settle along the hard ridges of his abdomen. With your legs pressed firmly together, Bucky reaches down to take himself in hand. He inhales through his teeth, allowing a few indulgent strokes of his throbbing cock before he aligns the glistening tip between the soft flesh of your thighs.
A groan forms deep in his belly, bubbling up until it fights its way out when his lips part instinctively. You watch, trancelike, as Bucky glides his dick rhythmically between your legs. In and out, over and over. Sweat gathers where your skin meets and Bucky’s grip on you tightens as fucks your thighs, taking a smug sort of pleasure in his endeavor to continue denying you.
As his thrusts increase in speed and the veins in his thick neck begin to protrude, you hope Bucky is suitably distracted and dare to lift your hips in search of some much needed friction. Bucky’s reaction is swift, immediate, and infuriating. He presses his weight forward, shoving you back into the mattress and effectively pinning you in place just as a strangled sound pours from him. 
Without warning, his hips jolt forward and his body tenses before becoming still. A wet warmth splashes against your belly and Bucky lets out a rush of breath while his body convulses and another rope of cum rains down on you. 
Bucky finally allows your legs to fall to the side, each one bracketing his corded legs where he still kneels above you as he allows his orgasm to wash over him. The fog lifts for you before it does for him and with the dawning realization, your desperation ratchets up a notch. Feral for some sort of release, you thrash with need and whimper with embarrassing anguish. Your body vibrates with the tension that blazes through your veins and you reach for Bucky, fingernails grabbing and clawing at his hairy thighs while you beg and plead for him to take you, touch you, anything.
Bucky had come here tonight with every intention of teasing and torturing you — a sort of retaliation for the yearning he’s felt for you — but seeing you like this is pushing him dangerously close to giving in. To fucking you the way you both want him to. However, he vowed not to fuck you tonight and he’s a man of his word. Still, he’s willing to show a little mercy. 
With a huff and a quick sweep of his hand through his hair, Bucky is shushing you. He shifts his weight and slides down until his striking face hovers just above your pelvis. From here, he can smell you and the faint aroma has his mouth watering in a way he thinks he ought to be ashamed of. He drags his fingers through the pearlescent splatters that dot your stomach while his other hand eases your panties to the side before he brings the slickened digits to your folds. Warm breath puffs against you when he whispers.
“I said I wouldn’t fuck you, I never said I wouldn’t make you cum,” he concedes with a dastardly grin.
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Sebastian Stan Masterlist ✦ Writing Masterpost
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sailorwritesstuff · 1 year
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(cw: light British slander)
"it's not funny, knock it." Hobie says holding your gaze. It was like scolding a child.
"yeah?" You mock, a faux accent deep in your throat, "S'not funny, 'Obie?"
"I hate you."
"I love you." You grin, He smiles and presses a kiss to your lips.
"doesn't feel like you hate me, luv."
He groans at your poor attempt to mock his accent and grumbles, "yeah well... I hate consistency anyhow."
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sttoru · 9 months
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“she’s my girlfriend,” “ah, my girlfriend got it for me, “my girlfriend recommended me this,” “oh actually, my girlfriend did this before,”
gojo satoru includes you in every possible conversation that he holds. the topics could be about the most boring stuff, but trust, that man will find a way to drop your name.
it happens subconsciously most of the time; that’s how deeply engraved your existence is in his brain. every single thing he does somehow reminds him of his girlfriend. satoru could be washing the dishes and he’ll still be able to think about you—probably about how your glossy lips looked when they were wrapped around the silver spoon he was now holding onto.
was it a bad habit? not that he thinks so. it just showed how strong his love for you was. although to others it may seem extremely bothersome or annoying. it’s partially understandable: all they want is to hold a normal chat, yet satoru always manages to ramble about how his girlfriend had done this or that. sometimes it’d actually be relevant to the topics being discussed, at other times he just drops your name because.. well, he simply can.
could it be considered pathetic to love someone that much? never to him. many of the people around satoru have noticed the changes he has gone through since meeting you; how he’ll turn into the quitest person alive just to be able to hear you speak more freely, how he’ll let you order him around which he usually dislikes, how he’ll ignore any important appointments simply for the sake of spending more time with you. the changes are there and they are definitely more than visible. both through his actions and words.
‘to be loved is to be changed,’ and apparently even the strongest cannot withstand the changes that the emotion called love brings along.
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l0v3tast3 · 6 months
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ghost with a cute lil succubus gf :3
mdni! f!reader
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simon loves having a succubus as his girlfriend. he loves when he's finally coming home from a mission and barely has the door closed before you're jumping into his arms— it's sweet and romantic at first, kissing him deep and slow and clinging to him, but it doesn't take very long to turn dirty. your legs are wrapped around his waist and it's just too easy to grind your soaked pussy against his growing hard-on, too easy to sink your nails (claws) into his shoulders and suck on and nip at his neck.
simon loves having a girlfriend with a long devil's tail topped with a heart and little horns poking out of the top of her head to match. he loves pulling your head back and rubbing around the bases of your horns, feeling you melt while he walks you both to the bedroom. you'll whine and beg for him to touch you more, more, more, and of course he obliges. simon lowers you to the bed and puts his hands and mouth everywhere. he sucks on your nipples while you're whimpering and (futilely) trying to push him down further. he leaves indents of his canines down your belly before he's kissing your thighs.
simon loves to get you desperate for him and especially loves how easy it is to do. it's basically your default setting around him— until he's rubbing the tip of his cock against your pussy. up and down from your hole to your clit and back, "y'think you deserve my cock? huh?" muttered while his free hand is keeping your hips from bucking up. you're nearly teary-eyed while you beg and plead until he shuts you up by finally pushing into you. you can take him, you're meant to take him, and still, by the time he's buried to the hilt inside of you, your eyes are rolling back and claws are leaving more scratches on him than he had gotten during his last deployment.
simon loves hearing your vocabulary reduced to whiney pleas and praise— "fu-ck- i missed your cock- missed it so much- ah-!"— and other mindless babbles. he loves how your capacity to speak noticeably diminishes with every new way he manhandles you; hunched over you with a hand on the headboard as leverage, then lifting your lower half to meet his hips as he kneels, then folding your thighs to your chest in a breeding press that makes you go nearly limp. "missed this cunt," he'll groan, "made just for me, right, princess?"
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(ノ´ヮ`)ノ*: ・゚ likes, comments n reblogs are always appreciated!!
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localapparently · 2 months
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shopping
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