⥀ twentyone — black american princess — they/he/she — thigh kisser enthusiast — lover of light, whimsy, & unruly yet soft men | i write everyone freaky I'm not sorry — my ao3 — my wattpad | updated on 07/19/2026
recent works :
⥀ battered & bruised (hiromi higuruma x reader), valentine sweetheart (gojo x reader), conflict of interest (clark kent x reader), over the counter (dr. john shen x reader), clark kent loves your thighs 18+, bucky's vibranium hand (steve rogers & james barnes) 18+
fandoms :
⥀ JUJUTSU KAISEN — DCU — MARVEL — HEATED RIVALRY — ORIGINAL WORKS — ARCANE — TED LASSO and more...
- requests : not open.
rules :
- be polite while on my blog; if you see something you do not like here dni &/or block me
- i prefer if only 18+ blogs interact with my more mature stories
- i do not write stories including rape/noncon, incest, racism/homophobia (including other slurs) & yandere [will be updated as i write]
- stories will be tagged appropriately especially if they include sexual content, diving into mental illnesses, darker themes (mafia/graphic depictions of violence)
- do not feed my works into ai or reupload on any other sites
my intention with this blog is to write whatever i want, whenever i want, for myself, and to have fun. so keep it chill & i appreciate you reading!
a short freaky intimate moment between you, bucky, & steve | 18+
You had always been curious about how it would feel to have James' vibranium hand gently find its way in between your legs and cup and rub up against your clothed wet cunt. How your legs would tremble at the cold touch of his fingers as his metal thumb lightly makes a circle motion on your clit. But to actually have him now laid across your bed—his vibranium digits slowly pump in and out of you—while Steve's chest presses against your back has your mind in a daze and your breathing quickening. Steve, being the ever steady presence he is, caged you in your current position: your legs up & spread as they lay against his own widened legs, with his chin on top of your right shoulder, and his large hands firmly placed on your waist. When you told him and James about your little curious thought, Steve knew you might try to squirm and run away from the intoxicating feeling of heat pooling inside of you. And he was right to think so, as you did try to pull away—moaning and gasping for air—because of James, but Steve could never let you. He would never let you escape from the layers of ecstatic laced tension steadily multiplying over and over one another, until your body wouldn't be able to handle it any longer that his best friend was giving you. You had asked for this, of course, as Steve & Bucky would make sure they delivered on satiating your curiosity.
Clark is absolutely obsessed with your thighs. And yes, I think there would be a time when Clark would want you to try your damndest to suffocate him while he eats your pussy out as you ride his face. The pure euphoria that finds him as his arms wrap around your waist while you squeeze and grind against his head & tongue makes his heart beat rise just as much as his dick does in his briefs. You can always feel the smile gracing his lips underneath you as your body rubs back and forth; seeking out the best point and pattern of pleasure for yourself. Even still, Clark knows that you are kind. Your pussy may be on his mouth and your ass in his face, but your thighs instinctively leave an opening for him as if he needs air to breathe. As if. One of his hands slides down from your waist to your thigh as he gives it a quick smack—more loud than painful—as to bring your attention back on him. You both have had conversations about this little habit of yours. Clark has expressed his needs thoroughly: that he wants to be nothing more than your chair when he eats you out in this particular position. No thinking, no worrying, and no doubting from you that you're "too heavy" or that "you'd hurt him". All the man wants is for the love of his life to grip the ever loving life out of his face with your thighs and to taste your orgasm all over his tongue like the fucking reward it is to be the man underneath you. To be the man that you chose to be this vulnerable & comfortable with. To help bring you this great amount of pure and carnal pleasure that erupts all throughout you. Your body jolts from his smack, and you remind yourself of what he's told you before. Clark's smile returns to his face as he feels the pressure of your thighs come around his head; more permanently. His hand leaves its place on your thigh and returns back to your waist, but not without an accompanying kiss he gives to your asshole that makes a moan leave your lips. He enjoys the smothered feeling. He enjoys the act of this privilege that you've bestowed upon him. Clark is honored that you can use him as your own personal toy to bring yourself to one of the highest forms of pleasure. Fuck, the gratification of it all is so intense that it makes him cum in his briefs; hands free.
need more fics where toji is absolutely fucking smitten with reader and loves to be walked like a dog because that's who he is! THAT'S MY MANS TRUE & REAL NATURE!
you could never get tired of admiring your husband heian era!sukuna ♡
most people couldn’t look at him for long.
the moment they caught sight of him, their eyes dart away. some out of fear, or some out of disgust. they believe a creature like him isn’t meant to be looked at.
you think they are all blind.
the evening is quiet, lantern light casting a warm glow across the room. it has become part of your nightly routine before bed, these quiet moments spent with your husband after the day has settled.
sukuna sits against the bed frame, one pair of arms folded while the other rests loosely across his lap.
his crimson eyes follow you as you crawl toward him. you sit down beside him and gently take one of his hands, then another.
his brows rise as he looks at you expectantly.
you compare them, turning them over in your palms. thick fingers, calloused skin, veins running beneath flesh capable of tearing apart crowds.
yet you trace them carefully, as if they are something precious.
“four arms..“ you murmur.
“you say that as if you’ve only just noticed,” he says, clicking his tongue after.
you move closer, inspecting the markings that wind around his skin. your fingertips follow the dark lines traveling over his wrist and shoulders.
“they’re beautiful.”
he looks at you, and you swear there’s a faint blush adoring his cheeks, even though he’s heard you say so many times before.
beautiful? no one has ever used that word for him before you.
you continue before he can respond.
your hand slides to his chest, tracing the markings there as well, and you can feel his gaze burning into you.
then your attention lowers— to the second mouth resting on his stomach. the feature that causes most people to recoil.
you start to lean forward, but sukuna’s eyes narrow. “what are you doing?”
“hm?”
his stomach mouth opens slightly, revealing sharp teeth, just to close again.
you examine it with genuine curiosity— it is quite the most strange part of him, and therefore something you want to understand even more.
without hesitation, you press a small kiss on top of it.
“…why are you looking at me like that?” you ask after coming back up.
for perhaps the first time in centuries, the king of curses looks genuinely caught off guard.
“what was that for?”
you tilt your head, and one of your hands come up to trace his lower lip.
“i do kiss these as well, no?”
a low, strange sound escapes him, a little similar to a low laugh.
you shift your attention upward again, this time toward the smaller eyes beneath his main pair.
you‘ve always found them quite interesting.
carefully, you brush your thumb beneath one. “so you can see from them as well?”
“obviously.”
you continue to examine him shamelessly.
the shape of his face, then the markings crossing his cheeks. the extra eyes.. the sharp angles of his features.
every detail. every part others fear— you love looking at them, love memorizing them.
when you finally look up, sukuna is already looking at you, a little amusement written over his expression.
“what’s so amusing?” you ask.
two of his hands rise, and two large palms settle against your cheeks. the contrast between his size and yours is almost comical.
“just why are you so different?” his thumb brushes across your cheek.
for a moment, neither of you speaks, then you lean forward and kiss one of the markings on his face.
“wouldn’t be here if i was like everyone else, hm?” you reason.
You were in Gemma’s office, sifting through a stack of invoices and receipts, when the low, rolling thunder of engines came from outside. Not just one an entire pack.
Gemma pulled the blinds back, narrowed her eyes, and said flatly:
“Mayans.”
Curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned over to look. A line of black bikes rumbled through the gate, chrome catching the sunlight, the smell of gasoline drifting in. And at the head of the pack was a face you recognized instantly, even after all these years.
Ezekiel Reyes.
The meeting with the Sons was quick firm handshakes, tight words, the kind that sound like either the closing of a deal or the final polish on a fragile peace. When the Mayans started heading back to their bikes, Ez spotted you. His expression softened, lips twitching into a shy smile, and he gave the smallest wave.
You stepped toward him.
“Didn’t know you were riding with the Mayans now…”
“Yeah… it’s been a while since we saw each other. I haven’t been with them that long.”
“Not that short either,” you said with a wry smile, “if you’ve already got the president’s patch.”
He gave a little grin.
“Look… this isn’t exactly the place, but maybe we could meet somewhere, talk?”
You’d both noticed by now that the Sons were standing outside the clubhouse, clearly watching.
“I don’t know what about…”
“About how I’ve missed you all these years,” he said quietly. “I thought I’d moved on, but… seeing you now… I haven’t.”
“We were college kids, Ez,” you reminded him. “Then you went to prison… and that was it.”
“I know you’re with Jax now.”
“The Sons are my family. If I’d known you had anything to do with the Mayans, I never would’ve gotten involved with you.”
“I didn’t want this either… it just happened.”
“Y/N!” Chibs’ voice cut through the tension. You turned and walked away, feeling Ez’s gaze burn into your back.
***
Half an hour later, the Mayans were gone and the clubhouse talk had died down. Jax slid onto the couch next to you, flicked his lighter, and took a slow drag from a joint. (Gif)
“You wanna tell me what you were talking about with the president of the Mayans?”
“Nothing big,” you shrugged. “Just surprised they’ve got such a young president now.”
“World doesn’t stand still,” he said slowly, eyes locked on yours. “You know him?”
“Damn…” you sighed, knowing there was no point trying to lie to Teller. “We went to college together. Parallel courses.”
“What?” His brows pulled together, his voice suddenly carrying a sharp edge of jealousy.
“Yeah. He never said anything about liking bikes, let alone a club,” you added then immediately regretted it, knowing how fragile that new peace agreement was.
“Right,” Jax nodded. You started to relax until he narrowed his eyes and asked, “So what was the name of the guy you were dating back in college?”
you rolled your eyes, turning away from the computer to face mateo.
“still calling me that?” you queried.
he flashed you that infamous smirk, licking his lips before he replied, “if the shoe fits.”
you rolled your eyes again. you were used to being called the baby of the pitt; not only were you the newest student nurse, you were also the youngest, and this was also you first clinical.
you handed him the clipboard, “don't go acting all grown on me just because you have a beard now.”
he chuckled, nodding in approval at your snark before walking away to his patient.
+
“stop hovering, baby.”
you looked down at mateo’s handsome face. “it’s going to hurt.”
he chuckled softly, his grip on your thighs tightening as he seemed to draw you in closer. “it won’t hurt, baby.”
“i’m going to get carpet burn,” you mumbled.
his smile widened at that. “then i’ll make it up to you.” he said, rubbing soothing circles on your skin. “c’mon, baby.” he whispered.
you spared one last hesitant look before slowly settling on top of his face. you let out a sharp gasp when mateo pulled you down into him, his nose wedging perfectly against your bundle of nerves.
“mati,” you breathed out, clutching onto the headboard for support.
you could feel the delicious scrape of his beard against your skin. though it was mildly unpleasant, the pleasure of his mouth sucking on your clit and his tongue swiping between your folds greatly outweighed the negatives.
one of his hands strayed up to squeeze at your breast, making your hips stutter against his face.
“mierda,” he swore under his breath. “can’t get enough of you,” he buried his face deeper between your thighs, his tongue teasing the rim of your entrance.
your eyes squeezed shut, “m-mati…i’m so—”
that’s when he vigorously shook his head against you. the vibrations combined with the burn of his beard had you shaking, your hips bucked up to nudge his nose against that perfect spot until you came.
the rush left your lungs on fire, you slumped against the headboard, feeling the wetness pool in the space between your folds and his mouth.
mateo kept licking you through your high, helping you come down. he left one final kiss on your inner thigh before pulling away.
the sight of your climax coating his beard left you shuddering. you inched away from him, but you froze when he dragged you back into place.
The kind where devotion borders on obsession, where love isn't just tender—it's consuming.
"I'd do anything for you, love," he murmurs, voice smooth, unwavering. "Anything you desire, and it's yours."
And the other doesn't hesitate, voice laced with something raw, something desperate.
"I want her to split me open—dig her fingers into my ribs and pry them apart. To hold my heart in her hands, feel the pulse of it against her palms, my blood staining her skin. I want her to pick my bones clean, crack them open, suck the marrow dry. I want to be ruined by her, consumed until there's nothing left of me but the taste of her name on what's left of my tongue."
Because love, when it’s deep enough, is a hunger—one that begs to be fed.
