but daddy, i love him.

twenty-three || leo || she/her i have a weird obsession with older men.

[tteotlma]

MASTERLIST: last updated - 1/14/25

*18+ MDNI

Steve Rogers

Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes

> Midnight Mischief* > Dangerous Affection* > Craving Control* Series: > Sugar and Skin: one two

Deadpool

> Dialed In*

Wolverine

> Panic and Proximity > Blurred Lines & Bright Screens > Whiskey and Wishful Thinking* > Missed Every Inch * > Silk and Submission * > Tastes of Temptation * > Body and Soul * > Unspoken * > Edge of Redemption * - Priest!Logan > Trust in the Tension *

Multi.

> D&W: Katana & Claws*

Sam Winchester

> Brewing Emotions

Soldier Boy

> Corrupted Obedience*

Chris Evans

> A Lesson in Longing*

Steve (Fresh 2022)

> Hunted Desires*

A/N: if you don't see a character/group you wish you saw feel free to let me know! I'd be more than happy to challenge myself

[tteotlma]

it is sunday after all (n.k.)

A Summer Sunday w/ a responsible partner || MDNI 18+

Nanami x Reader || 3.6k

I started rewatching jjk after two years so it’s only natural that my kindling yearn for older men has been set ablaze by none other than the manimal himself… nanami kento — and im a sucker for sexual tension    P.s.: i like a lil meat on the bones, i reread this 1.5 times to edit and it's been about a year since i've last written so just a silly little drab. engoy. tw: no actual sex, just HEAVY tension, heavy petting, kissing, lots of kissing, lots of touching, heavy on the devotion, brief mentions of anxiety, afab!reader but i left it as ambiguous as i could

The vibes: (house) 1 ; 2 : 3 ; 4 || (ur fit) 1 ; 2 ; 3 || (nk fit) 1

Beads of sweat pooled at the back of your neck as you sat out on the sun lounger, the umbrella above you did little to block out the heat but provided enough shade to make it somewhat bearable.

Truth be told, even if there was no umbrella you’d still be out here willingly frying away just to watch the sight before you. 

Your hunk of a boyfriend was a few yards away in nothing but a (slutty) pair of jeans, mowing the lawn. 

It was a hot August Sunday, a day clearly meant for staying cool indoors but if Nanami was going to be anything… it was going to be a workaholic. 

You spent the better part of the morning begging him to stay in bed, but he only spared you an extra ten minutes— something about beating meat heat. Oops.

“It is Sunday after all,” He called out from the closet, as he changed his shirt. You’re pretty sure he went on a tangent after that about household chores but you were definitely distracted by the view of his muscles from the mirror to really pay attention to anything. 

Now here you were, too desperate to leave the view— yet too stoic to make a move. 

You shook your head, waving the folding fan beside your face to try and stave off the heat (or the impure thoughts at this point you couldn’t really tell.) 

You watched as Nanamie reached the end of one side of the lawn, his arms tensing as he repositioned the bulky machine in his hands. The new position had him at a new angle that gave you a side view of his godlike build, and you watched the muscles beneath his skin contracted as he bent over the lawn mower, you watched as his bare skin grazed metal when his hip nudged the handlebar. His jeans were tantalizingly low, with each shove of the mower, the denim snug against his hips slid ¼ an inch exposing more and more each second. 

You realize you’re gawking and remember to blink, getting the urge to bite the inside of your lower lip trying your best to keep a poker face hoping your sunglasses hide most. Though it’s probably obvious to NASA at this point that you’re only staring at one thing. 

Looking away you fan yourself faster, you clear your throat, very aware of how dry your mouth is. 

“You should go inside,” You turn back and suddenly Nanami is in front of you, stalking closer in all his glory. “You’ll burn up.” He's a little breathless as he comes closer. He bends down kneeling in front of you, you don’t move as he grabs your calves. It’s when he does that do you realize that’s the only part of your body that’s been in the sun this entire time, his hands doing their best to provide little relief. 

You scoff a laugh in return. 

“Yeah, like you’re one to talk,” You gesture to his bare torso with your hand, but make no effort to move. His thumb slightly caresses your skin before he’s standing again, towering over the chair. You think he’s about to make some smart comment. 

“You’re right,” He reaches into his back pocket, “Do you think you can help?” he pulls out a small bottle of sun screen and he holds it out to you. “I need to reapply.” 

It takes every molecule in your body to not bite off your tongue. Knowing who Nanami is, he’s probably being 99.999% serious, but on the off chance he’s playing the .001 today well… two can definitely play that game. 

Your heartbeat quickens as a smirk stretches your lips, while sliding your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, you give him a slow once over. Your gaze is as entrancing as you can muster, as you look in his eyes. The corner of his lip twitches. 

“I’d love to.” you go to grab the bottle and he pulls you to your feet, placing a hand on your hip as he swiftly changes your positions so he can sit at the edge of the lounge chair... He places you between his open thighs, hands ghosting your legs. 

A shiver runs down your spine as the beads of sweat start sliding down your neck. 

Without warning he runs his hands up the back of your thighs, pulling you even closer. He presses the side of his face into your stomach as he palms just beneath your ass. Your stomach dips, as you feel him relax into your form. 

“Now, how am I supposed to do anything with you like this?” You ask, choking down the giddy climbing your throat.

“You can figure it out.” He mumbled into your shirt. You didn’t say anything, you just stood there looking down at him watching his back ripple with each breath he took. A small squeeze of your ass brought your attention back. “Just let me take a quick break~” 

Is he whining?  Uncapping the bottle, you squirt some of the cool cream into your hand tossing the bottle to the side.

“Yeah, yeah,” You huff in fake annoyance, but really you’re absolutely buzzing silently praying he can’t feel you literally vibrating with excitement. What can you say? You’re a sucker for hot men. 

“Please?” He pulls his face away from your stomach as you rub your hands together. Looking up at you through his sunglasses, you scoff. He’s really putting it all out there today… Maybe it’s the heat. 

“I said yes already. Close your eyes.” the words fly out of your mouth, a little harsher than intended but with the way Nanami happily complies you can tell he didn’t take any offense. He just really knows how to push your buttons. 

You take the glasses off his face, and swipe a cream covered finger down his nose. He twitches. Next you take three fingers on both sides of his face, methodically placing the cream. Stepping back you look at your work and let out a laugh. You tried giving him sunscreen whiskers but it looked less endearing than you’d hoped. 

Nanami doesn’t say anything though, his eyes stay closed but his hands stay heavy as his fingers  begin to lightly caress your leg. You will yourself to stay serious and calm as you continue to dabble the cream across the rest of his face, down his neck and shoulders. 

The cicadas buzz while beez whiz by as delicate fingers slide across his cheeks, under his eyebrows, along his jaw before you bring your thumbs to his ear gliding across the sensitive skin before running your hands down the side of his neck and to the nape of his neck, nails grazing his skin lightly. 

He lets out a small sigh that gets caught in his throat when you drag your thumb across his clavicle, pressing into the area above the bone your fingers wrapping around his shoulder kneading the muscle, you do the same to the other side essentially giving him a shoulder massage. 

“Ah.” It’s when you give the edge of his shoulders a particularly hard squeeze does a small sound leave his lips. The leaves in the tree rustle. 

“You gotta stand.” You say softly, running your hands down his arms coating them in a thin sheen, grabbing his fingers with yours, before reaching for the bottle again. 

He listens, of course, but when he stands the space he leaves between you two is next to nothing. When you look up at him he’s already looking at you, face closed off to any emotion, but it's the way his thumb caresses your hip before standing tall that makes your cheeks burn. 

Birds circle by, again you uncap the bottle, squeeze the liquid into your hands, and rub them together. As you spread out your hands, aligning them with the bare chest before you hesitate suddenly feeling sheepish. 

You’re all of a sudden very aware of the half naked man in front of you. Not just any man, Nanami Kento the man of all men—hands find your hips again. 

You take a small breath— that’s right he’s not just a man— he’s your man in all his godlike glory standing in front of you (with his chest out!)

 You don't know how you got him… but boy do you have him.

Biting your lip to stop yourself from smirking, you place heavy hands on the pecs in front of you a small clapping sound resonating lightly around you. 

Nanami grunts. 

“Sorry, lost my balance.” You snicker, sliding your hands around his taut supple skin fighting every ounce in your body to squeeze your fingers. You slide your palms down his chest to his abdomen, the muscles firm and warm with each swipe of your hand. 

“Like playing the washboard.” You whisper out loud, mesmerized at how anyone can get their body in such top condition. Nanami’s abs ripple under your touch as he lets out a small chuckle. 

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” you push his side. “Turn around.”

Of course, he listens. Again the sunscreen is squeezed onto your hands and with less hesitation than before you slather his backside prodding and kneading when you could, whether it was to offer some sort of massage or to just hear the small noises he made you kept going until you reached the dimples down his back. 

Pressing your thumbs in the dips of his back, you drag your fingers along the waistband of his jeans starting from the middle back belt loop all the way around nice and slow, practically pulling him into a back hug. 

“Just gotta make sure I covered everywhere.” You hum as your fingers toy with the area below his belly button. Your thumbs tuck into his jeans, almost as if you’re going to unbutton them but instead you bring them back out like a tease.

Nanami stays rigid, as if waiting for your next move. 

With your cheek pressed against his shoulder blade you wondered if he could feel you smirking. Your fingers splay across his stomach, slithering down his happy trail, nails scratching his skin. You feel his body hitch as he holds in his breath. Again, you barely slide your fingers past the waistband letting the heat be felt from the both of you before he’s suddenly pulling away from you. 

A stray cloud covers the sun.

“Are you all done?” He asks, clearing his throat. 

“Just about—” You say, about to reach for him again when he quickly turns around. 

“Great,” He grabs your shoulders “You should head inside now.” He says quickly giving you a short peck on your temple

Umm. What? 

“I–” 

“It’s hot out, don’t want you to overheat.” He turns you around giving your backside a small nudge towards the house. 

“Wait I–” before you could get a full sentence out you were cut off by the sound of the lawn mover. 

Always the 99.999% with this guy. Huffing in frustration, you give him another once over before twirling around and stomping away hoping each click of your heel against rock could be heard. 

—

Pacing around the kitchen, the edge of your thumb wedged between your teeth. You feel like a child… Daddy said no and now you’re pouting. 

Daddy…? You snort, shaking your head leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Staring out the kitchen window you see Nanami standing straight again. He takes his glasses off and wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. There’s no doubt he must be sweating, the clouds passed as well as the shade they offered. The sun burns brighter now that the afternoon is in full swing. Just thinking about how hot it is makes your throat a little dry. 

With a sigh you reach for the fridge when it’s as if a lightbulb goes off in your head. 

Who doesn’t love a little T.L.C? You snicker as you grab the serving tray off the counter. 

—

Stepping out no less than ten minutes later, you're giddy with excitement as you hold out a refreshment tray. Ice clinks against crystal as the juice sloshes back and forth within the pitcher. You place the tray on your patio table, a smirk is plastered on your face as you walk towards the edge of the pergola. 

You see Nanami on the other end of the yard. Your plan was to stand there until he noticed you, but as soon as you stepped into the sun Nanami was already switching off the motor. 

You wave him over, absolutely buzzing, watching as he abandons the mower and heads your way. Stepping back to serve him a glass of lemonade you watch him step forward. 

“I thought I told you to wait inside.” 

“Mmyeah, but I figured you could use a drink,” turning around, holding out a glass for him, you lift your shades resting them on your head. “You look a little… hot.” You catch his eye as he takes the cup, giving him a once over as he lifts the drink to his lips. 

You continue to watch as his throat bobs up and down as he gulps down the juice, your eyes trace the outline of his neck, then his jawline, and finally his face all the way up to his eyes. 

Realizing he’s already staring, you give him a cheeky smile before raising your glass in a small salud and taking a sip holding his gaze. 

You watch as his eyes flick to your lips as a stray drop of liquid escapes the corner of your mouth and slides down your chin, trailing your throat. 

“Oops.” you’re coy as you wipe your chin, licking your lip you place the cup down on the table. 

He doesn’t say anything. He just continues to watch, like you did him. You lean back against the edge of the table, he unconsciously steps closer.

The air is thick with heat as you stand there under the slatted roof. A pair of birds flit by. 

“You’re almost done right?” You ask, very aware of the fact that he definitely is now hovering over you. Your eyes trail up his chest for what seems like the millionth time, to his eyes, then to the now noticeable blade of grass stuck in his hair. 

He nods.

“Okay.” Without thinking, you reach forward and rake your hands through his hair, while attempting to tuck the short sides behind his ear, you realize he’s leaning into your touch with his eyes closed. You pull away. 

“Hmm, well I think I’ll head inside now,” You suggest coyly, patting his shoulder. Your skin rises as he loses his composure for a split second, his brows furrowed in confusion.  

“You know, it is Sunday and all…’” You repeat the words he’s said to you twice now, giving him a little nudge to step away and he scoffs. 

You’re about to move away when you hear him smack his teeth and next thing you know he’s got you back against the table, both hands on either side of your body. 

“You know how to get what you want, don’t you?” he leans in close so you’re face to face. Smirking, you throw your arms around his neck.

“Yeah.” is the only word that comes out of your mouth before you’re finally kissing. 

Neither of you knew which broke first but now it didn’t matter cause he was right where you wanted him. Without any shame at all your fingers snake through his hair at the base of his neck, as you deepen the kiss, tongue licking his lips. You sigh when he opens his mouth just a little, happy he’s giving you more access to him but you can’t help but hold him even closer to the point that it almost hurts. 

Nanami hooks his hands beneath your thighs to sit you on the table causing the glass behind you to clink, but no one pays any mind. He squeezes the meat on your hips as his hands travel up your curves, entangling them in your hair giving a gentle tug. 

A soft sound leaves your lips which he quickly eats up, since this new angle he’s got you in makes it easier to devour you. He takes over at his point, practically suffocating you with himself as he licks your mouth, his tongue sensually sliding against yours. 

Blood rushes to your head and be it for the lack of oxygen or the overwhelming energy, a feeling of anxiety fills your chest. 

Your hands slide out his hair and down his chest, giving him a small tap which he quickly notices and pulls back, a string of saliva between your mouths. 

“What’s the matter?” The concern etched on his face mimics yours, but embarrassingly enough, you’re at a loss for words — or rather you’re being shy.  

You can only look at him as his eyes search yours for an answer, as heat climbs your spine, your fingers clammy against his skin. With one arm still wrapped around your body, the other finds your jaw caressing your skin in a calming manner. God, he’s so hot. 

“I think–” You start talking, but your voice dies in your throat when he leans down to pepper kisses along your jaw, trailing your neck. Your heart thumps wild against your chest, and you’re wondering if he can hear it too — A gasp breaks the silence as you feel the warm wet velvet of his tongue lick a thick stripe up the side of your neck, and you hear him hum in delight. The heat in your chest drops straight below your stomach like a drop tower when you realize he’s just licked the juice you spilled on yourself earlier. 

“God. I want to devour you.” is all you can think as your head lulls back, closing your eyes you breathe a moan. 

“Is that not what you were begging for?” 

Your eyes snap open, “I didn’t say anything.” 

“Don’t act shy now,” his breath tickles the angle of your jaw, while his hands roam your backside. 

“You’re ridiculous.” It's your turn to scoff, absolutely frustrated at the anomaly in front of you. 

“Yeah,” is all he says before he comes in to kiss you again. His hands find the meat above your hip, massaging your ass while your hands run across his chest and stomach, loving the way his muscles move beneath your touch. Your fingers find his belt loops and you pull him in even further, widening the space between your legs, till he’s pressed flush against you. 

Chests heave together, as his tongue moves with yours, rarely coming apart for air. Your bodies start moving against each other as your fingers start toying with the button of his jeans. 

The back of your finger grazes the outline of his bulge and he pulls back, letting out a hiss. He doesn’t say anything, he just watches as you palm him through his jeans. 

“‘s been like that all day.” his honesty catches you off guard, and you can tell it caught him off guard too by the way he stills. Nanami usually isn’t one to be so forthcoming but when he’s vulnerable… he can’t help but be honest. 

“awe, the poor thing,” you give him a small pout, but your hand moves harder. He chokes out a groan, losing his grip, he holds you flush against him. “Do you want me to fix it?” He bucks his hip into your hand. 

The way his ears turn red you can tell he’s losing his composure.

“Cause I can,” You continue to tease him, both verbally and physically except now your fingers just barely ghost any part of him. “I bet I can make you feel so good.” You press your chest into his, walking your fingers from his obvious hard on, up his stomach as you look up at him, batting your eyelashes. 

His eyebrows are furrowed, but he barks out a laugh. 

“Don’t tempt me.” He warns, you look at him confused. 

He grabs both your wrists with one hand, holding them close to his chest. 

“The only thing that can fix this,” he grabs his dick through the denim, “might be too much for you.” His other hand on the curve of your ass, gives a nice squeeze. Your mouth is watering at this point, eyes glazing over. 

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him in closer, “I can take it.” You look at him, probably a little too hopeful but the way he puffs his chest forward, a smirk growing on his lip as his hips twitch. 

He gives you one more kiss, except this one was more desperate than the rest. His teeth clacked against yours as saliva swirled between the two of you. He pulls away with your bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Should we go inside?” He gives a wet smooch to the side of your neck as you nod. He picks you up off the table, and heads towards the door with you in his arms.

“Good girl.”

--

just love me some hamster wheel stories

drop a comment/like/reblog

[tteotlma]

it is sunday after all (n.k.)

A Summer Sunday w/ a responsible partner || MDNI 18+

Nanami x Reader || 3.6k

I started rewatching jjk after two years so it’s only natural that my kindling yearn for older men has been set ablaze by none other than the manimal himself… nanami kento — and im a sucker for sexual tension    P.s.: i like a lil meat on the bones, i reread this 1.5 times to edit and it's been about a year since i've last written so just a silly little drab. engoy. tw: no actual sex, just HEAVY tension, heavy petting, kissing, lots of kissing, lots of touching, heavy on the devotion, brief mentions of anxiety, afab!reader but i left it as ambiguous as i could

The vibes: (house) 1 ; 2 : 3 ; 4 || (ur fit) 1 ; 2 ; 3 || (nk fit) 1

Beads of sweat pooled at the back of your neck as you sat out on the sun lounger, the umbrella above you did little to block out the heat but provided enough shade to make it somewhat bearable.

Truth be told, even if there was no umbrella you’d still be out here willingly frying away just to watch the sight before you. 

Your hunk of a boyfriend was a few yards away in nothing but a (slutty) pair of jeans, mowing the lawn. 

It was a hot August Sunday, a day clearly meant for staying cool indoors but if Nanami was going to be anything… it was going to be a workaholic. 

You spent the better part of the morning begging him to stay in bed, but he only spared you an extra ten minutes— something about beating meat heat. Oops.

“It is Sunday after all,” He called out from the closet, as he changed his shirt. You’re pretty sure he went on a tangent after that about household chores but you were definitely distracted by the view of his muscles from the mirror to really pay attention to anything. 

Now here you were, too desperate to leave the view— yet too stoic to make a move. 

You shook your head, waving the folding fan beside your face to try and stave off the heat (or the impure thoughts at this point you couldn’t really tell.) 

You watched as Nanamie reached the end of one side of the lawn, his arms tensing as he repositioned the bulky machine in his hands. The new position had him at a new angle that gave you a side view of his godlike build, and you watched the muscles beneath his skin contracted as he bent over the lawn mower, you watched as his bare skin grazed metal when his hip nudged the handlebar. His jeans were tantalizingly low, with each shove of the mower, the denim snug against his hips slid ¼ an inch exposing more and more each second. 

You realize you’re gawking and remember to blink, getting the urge to bite the inside of your lower lip trying your best to keep a poker face hoping your sunglasses hide most. Though it’s probably obvious to NASA at this point that you’re only staring at one thing. 

Looking away you fan yourself faster, you clear your throat, very aware of how dry your mouth is. 

“You should go inside,” You turn back and suddenly Nanami is in front of you, stalking closer in all his glory. “You’ll burn up.” He's a little breathless as he comes closer. He bends down kneeling in front of you, you don’t move as he grabs your calves. It’s when he does that do you realize that’s the only part of your body that’s been in the sun this entire time, his hands doing their best to provide little relief. 

You scoff a laugh in return. 

“Yeah, like you’re one to talk,” You gesture to his bare torso with your hand, but make no effort to move. His thumb slightly caresses your skin before he’s standing again, towering over the chair. You think he’s about to make some smart comment. 

“You’re right,” He reaches into his back pocket, “Do you think you can help?” he pulls out a small bottle of sun screen and he holds it out to you. “I need to reapply.” 

It takes every molecule in your body to not bite off your tongue. Knowing who Nanami is, he’s probably being 99.999% serious, but on the off chance he’s playing the .001 today well… two can definitely play that game. 

Your heartbeat quickens as a smirk stretches your lips, while sliding your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, you give him a slow once over. Your gaze is as entrancing as you can muster, as you look in his eyes. The corner of his lip twitches. 

“I’d love to.” you go to grab the bottle and he pulls you to your feet, placing a hand on your hip as he swiftly changes your positions so he can sit at the edge of the lounge chair... He places you between his open thighs, hands ghosting your legs. 

A shiver runs down your spine as the beads of sweat start sliding down your neck. 

Without warning he runs his hands up the back of your thighs, pulling you even closer. He presses the side of his face into your stomach as he palms just beneath your ass. Your stomach dips, as you feel him relax into your form. 

“Now, how am I supposed to do anything with you like this?” You ask, choking down the giddy climbing your throat.

“You can figure it out.” He mumbled into your shirt. You didn’t say anything, you just stood there looking down at him watching his back ripple with each breath he took. A small squeeze of your ass brought your attention back. “Just let me take a quick break~” 

Is he whining?  Uncapping the bottle, you squirt some of the cool cream into your hand tossing the bottle to the side.

“Yeah, yeah,” You huff in fake annoyance, but really you’re absolutely buzzing silently praying he can’t feel you literally vibrating with excitement. What can you say? You’re a sucker for hot men. 

“Please?” He pulls his face away from your stomach as you rub your hands together. Looking up at you through his sunglasses, you scoff. He’s really putting it all out there today… Maybe it’s the heat. 

“I said yes already. Close your eyes.” the words fly out of your mouth, a little harsher than intended but with the way Nanami happily complies you can tell he didn’t take any offense. He just really knows how to push your buttons. 

You take the glasses off his face, and swipe a cream covered finger down his nose. He twitches. Next you take three fingers on both sides of his face, methodically placing the cream. Stepping back you look at your work and let out a laugh. You tried giving him sunscreen whiskers but it looked less endearing than you’d hoped. 

Nanami doesn’t say anything though, his eyes stay closed but his hands stay heavy as his fingers  begin to lightly caress your leg. You will yourself to stay serious and calm as you continue to dabble the cream across the rest of his face, down his neck and shoulders. 

The cicadas buzz while beez whiz by as delicate fingers slide across his cheeks, under his eyebrows, along his jaw before you bring your thumbs to his ear gliding across the sensitive skin before running your hands down the side of his neck and to the nape of his neck, nails grazing his skin lightly. 

He lets out a small sigh that gets caught in his throat when you drag your thumb across his clavicle, pressing into the area above the bone your fingers wrapping around his shoulder kneading the muscle, you do the same to the other side essentially giving him a shoulder massage. 

“Ah.” It’s when you give the edge of his shoulders a particularly hard squeeze does a small sound leave his lips. The leaves in the tree rustle. 

“You gotta stand.” You say softly, running your hands down his arms coating them in a thin sheen, grabbing his fingers with yours, before reaching for the bottle again. 

He listens, of course, but when he stands the space he leaves between you two is next to nothing. When you look up at him he’s already looking at you, face closed off to any emotion, but it's the way his thumb caresses your hip before standing tall that makes your cheeks burn. 

Birds circle by, again you uncap the bottle, squeeze the liquid into your hands, and rub them together. As you spread out your hands, aligning them with the bare chest before you hesitate suddenly feeling sheepish. 

You’re all of a sudden very aware of the half naked man in front of you. Not just any man, Nanami Kento the man of all men—hands find your hips again. 

You take a small breath— that’s right he’s not just a man— he’s your man in all his godlike glory standing in front of you (with his chest out!)

 You don't know how you got him… but boy do you have him.

Biting your lip to stop yourself from smirking, you place heavy hands on the pecs in front of you a small clapping sound resonating lightly around you. 

Nanami grunts. 

“Sorry, lost my balance.” You snicker, sliding your hands around his taut supple skin fighting every ounce in your body to squeeze your fingers. You slide your palms down his chest to his abdomen, the muscles firm and warm with each swipe of your hand. 

“Like playing the washboard.” You whisper out loud, mesmerized at how anyone can get their body in such top condition. Nanami’s abs ripple under your touch as he lets out a small chuckle. 

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” you push his side. “Turn around.”

Of course, he listens. Again the sunscreen is squeezed onto your hands and with less hesitation than before you slather his backside prodding and kneading when you could, whether it was to offer some sort of massage or to just hear the small noises he made you kept going until you reached the dimples down his back. 

Pressing your thumbs in the dips of his back, you drag your fingers along the waistband of his jeans starting from the middle back belt loop all the way around nice and slow, practically pulling him into a back hug. 

“Just gotta make sure I covered everywhere.” You hum as your fingers toy with the area below his belly button. Your thumbs tuck into his jeans, almost as if you’re going to unbutton them but instead you bring them back out like a tease.

Nanami stays rigid, as if waiting for your next move. 

With your cheek pressed against his shoulder blade you wondered if he could feel you smirking. Your fingers splay across his stomach, slithering down his happy trail, nails scratching his skin. You feel his body hitch as he holds in his breath. Again, you barely slide your fingers past the waistband letting the heat be felt from the both of you before he’s suddenly pulling away from you. 

A stray cloud covers the sun.

“Are you all done?” He asks, clearing his throat. 

“Just about—” You say, about to reach for him again when he quickly turns around. 

“Great,” He grabs your shoulders “You should head inside now.” He says quickly giving you a short peck on your temple

Umm. What? 

“I–” 

“It’s hot out, don’t want you to overheat.” He turns you around giving your backside a small nudge towards the house. 

“Wait I–” before you could get a full sentence out you were cut off by the sound of the lawn mover. 

Always the 99.999% with this guy. Huffing in frustration, you give him another once over before twirling around and stomping away hoping each click of your heel against rock could be heard. 

—

Pacing around the kitchen, the edge of your thumb wedged between your teeth. You feel like a child… Daddy said no and now you’re pouting. 

Daddy…? You snort, shaking your head leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Staring out the kitchen window you see Nanami standing straight again. He takes his glasses off and wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. There’s no doubt he must be sweating, the clouds passed as well as the shade they offered. The sun burns brighter now that the afternoon is in full swing. Just thinking about how hot it is makes your throat a little dry. 

With a sigh you reach for the fridge when it’s as if a lightbulb goes off in your head. 

Who doesn’t love a little T.L.C? You snicker as you grab the serving tray off the counter. 

—

Stepping out no less than ten minutes later, you're giddy with excitement as you hold out a refreshment tray. Ice clinks against crystal as the juice sloshes back and forth within the pitcher. You place the tray on your patio table, a smirk is plastered on your face as you walk towards the edge of the pergola. 

You see Nanami on the other end of the yard. Your plan was to stand there until he noticed you, but as soon as you stepped into the sun Nanami was already switching off the motor. 

You wave him over, absolutely buzzing, watching as he abandons the mower and heads your way. Stepping back to serve him a glass of lemonade you watch him step forward. 

“I thought I told you to wait inside.” 

“Mmyeah, but I figured you could use a drink,” turning around, holding out a glass for him, you lift your shades resting them on your head. “You look a little… hot.” You catch his eye as he takes the cup, giving him a once over as he lifts the drink to his lips. 

You continue to watch as his throat bobs up and down as he gulps down the juice, your eyes trace the outline of his neck, then his jawline, and finally his face all the way up to his eyes. 

Realizing he’s already staring, you give him a cheeky smile before raising your glass in a small salud and taking a sip holding his gaze. 

You watch as his eyes flick to your lips as a stray drop of liquid escapes the corner of your mouth and slides down your chin, trailing your throat. 

“Oops.” you’re coy as you wipe your chin, licking your lip you place the cup down on the table. 

He doesn’t say anything. He just continues to watch, like you did him. You lean back against the edge of the table, he unconsciously steps closer.

The air is thick with heat as you stand there under the slatted roof. A pair of birds flit by. 

“You’re almost done right?” You ask, very aware of the fact that he definitely is now hovering over you. Your eyes trail up his chest for what seems like the millionth time, to his eyes, then to the now noticeable blade of grass stuck in his hair. 

He nods.

“Okay.” Without thinking, you reach forward and rake your hands through his hair, while attempting to tuck the short sides behind his ear, you realize he’s leaning into your touch with his eyes closed. You pull away. 

“Hmm, well I think I’ll head inside now,” You suggest coyly, patting his shoulder. Your skin rises as he loses his composure for a split second, his brows furrowed in confusion.  

“You know, it is Sunday and all…’” You repeat the words he’s said to you twice now, giving him a little nudge to step away and he scoffs. 

You’re about to move away when you hear him smack his teeth and next thing you know he’s got you back against the table, both hands on either side of your body. 

“You know how to get what you want, don’t you?” he leans in close so you’re face to face. Smirking, you throw your arms around his neck.

“Yeah.” is the only word that comes out of your mouth before you’re finally kissing. 

Neither of you knew which broke first but now it didn’t matter cause he was right where you wanted him. Without any shame at all your fingers snake through his hair at the base of his neck, as you deepen the kiss, tongue licking his lips. You sigh when he opens his mouth just a little, happy he’s giving you more access to him but you can’t help but hold him even closer to the point that it almost hurts. 

Nanami hooks his hands beneath your thighs to sit you on the table causing the glass behind you to clink, but no one pays any mind. He squeezes the meat on your hips as his hands travel up your curves, entangling them in your hair giving a gentle tug. 

A soft sound leaves your lips which he quickly eats up, since this new angle he’s got you in makes it easier to devour you. He takes over at his point, practically suffocating you with himself as he licks your mouth, his tongue sensually sliding against yours. 

Blood rushes to your head and be it for the lack of oxygen or the overwhelming energy, a feeling of anxiety fills your chest. 

Your hands slide out his hair and down his chest, giving him a small tap which he quickly notices and pulls back, a string of saliva between your mouths. 

“What’s the matter?” The concern etched on his face mimics yours, but embarrassingly enough, you’re at a loss for words — or rather you’re being shy.  

You can only look at him as his eyes search yours for an answer, as heat climbs your spine, your fingers clammy against his skin. With one arm still wrapped around your body, the other finds your jaw caressing your skin in a calming manner. God, he’s so hot. 

“I think–” You start talking, but your voice dies in your throat when he leans down to pepper kisses along your jaw, trailing your neck. Your heart thumps wild against your chest, and you’re wondering if he can hear it too — A gasp breaks the silence as you feel the warm wet velvet of his tongue lick a thick stripe up the side of your neck, and you hear him hum in delight. The heat in your chest drops straight below your stomach like a drop tower when you realize he’s just licked the juice you spilled on yourself earlier. 

“God. I want to devour you.” is all you can think as your head lulls back, closing your eyes you breathe a moan. 

“Is that not what you were begging for?” 

Your eyes snap open, “I didn’t say anything.” 

“Don’t act shy now,” his breath tickles the angle of your jaw, while his hands roam your backside. 

“You’re ridiculous.” It's your turn to scoff, absolutely frustrated at the anomaly in front of you. 

“Yeah,” is all he says before he comes in to kiss you again. His hands find the meat above your hip, massaging your ass while your hands run across his chest and stomach, loving the way his muscles move beneath your touch. Your fingers find his belt loops and you pull him in even further, widening the space between your legs, till he’s pressed flush against you. 

Chests heave together, as his tongue moves with yours, rarely coming apart for air. Your bodies start moving against each other as your fingers start toying with the button of his jeans. 

The back of your finger grazes the outline of his bulge and he pulls back, letting out a hiss. He doesn’t say anything, he just watches as you palm him through his jeans. 

“‘s been like that all day.” his honesty catches you off guard, and you can tell it caught him off guard too by the way he stills. Nanami usually isn’t one to be so forthcoming but when he’s vulnerable… he can’t help but be honest. 

“awe, the poor thing,” you give him a small pout, but your hand moves harder. He chokes out a groan, losing his grip, he holds you flush against him. “Do you want me to fix it?” He bucks his hip into your hand. 

The way his ears turn red you can tell he’s losing his composure.

“Cause I can,” You continue to tease him, both verbally and physically except now your fingers just barely ghost any part of him. “I bet I can make you feel so good.” You press your chest into his, walking your fingers from his obvious hard on, up his stomach as you look up at him, batting your eyelashes. 

His eyebrows are furrowed, but he barks out a laugh. 

“Don’t tempt me.” He warns, you look at him confused. 

He grabs both your wrists with one hand, holding them close to his chest. 

“The only thing that can fix this,” he grabs his dick through the denim, “might be too much for you.” His other hand on the curve of your ass, gives a nice squeeze. Your mouth is watering at this point, eyes glazing over. 

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him in closer, “I can take it.” You look at him, probably a little too hopeful but the way he puffs his chest forward, a smirk growing on his lip as his hips twitch. 

He gives you one more kiss, except this one was more desperate than the rest. His teeth clacked against yours as saliva swirled between the two of you. He pulls away with your bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Should we go inside?” He gives a wet smooch to the side of your neck as you nod. He picks you up off the table, and heads towards the door with you in his arms.

“Good girl.”

--

just love me some hamster wheel stories

drop a comment/like/reblog

[tteotlma]

I’m so so sorry you’re struggling, love. I know exactly how you feel, and I wish i had something more poetic or encouraging to say. But all I can offer is that you’re not alone in feeling this way. I would give you a big hug if I could. I hope all of your tomorrow’s are kinder than the last <3

bby 😭😭 thank you so much — i’m sorry i’m being so dramatic i just hate the teetering of back and forth things it messes with my vibes LOL but i really appreciate your words and i honestly think about you and everyone every day i really wish i had more to write but i just am so heartbroken by my day to day it’s hard to get over some times

[tteotlma]

i’ve been m.i.a. and i really wish i wasn’t.

but i’m going to be honest because… there’s nowhere else i can be and this has been weighing heavy on my chest lately.

i’m 23 and i’ve never been in love, in a relationship, etc. and clearly that’s why i write about it — to try and create this hope and fill this gap in my life that is clearly a crucial element to living.

I ‘ve always wanted so badly to believe in love. I want to believe in love. I wrote about romance and partnership to grow the idea of love in my mind and that just because I don’t have it in my hands right now that doesn’t mean it wont ever come to me… i mean look at all these scenarios where love can exist.. it’s bound to happen for me… right?

that’s what i was putting into my work. god, i wanted love to be real of course i knew it came with a mess but the kind of mess you laugh about as you clean up the pieces. not the kind that leaves tiny shards of glass and cracks in the fragments.

i’ve spent the last ten years of my life actively trying to convince myself that love… romance… is out there and it’s real.

instead if I’ve learned anything from the life around me it’s that love and the promise of being with someone has genuinely turned into a joke. and I mean that with all sincerity and i hate it. I hate that i no longer look at love with yearning and affection instead i’m filled with rage and disgust and a fear that no longer feels like butterflies but instead like im being turned from the inside out.

This feeling started slowly.. which is why i took a break but then things escalated and I can no longer see love in the light I saw it before. The want i used to feel is replaced with dread. I can no longer see love in my eyes and I’m so sorry.

I.. am so sad. and I am so lost. love wasn’t meant to be this ugly.

[tteotlma]

lunch break

a quickie???? w/ congressman barnes???? 

Congressman!Bucky x Reader 3.4k w/c

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw established relationship. Unprotected sex. Size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, filthy language, overstimulation, cockwarming adjacent. desperation-fueled sex, grinding, rough thrusting, handjob through clothing, dry humping, minimal undressing (partially clothed sex). manhandling. breeding kink language, mild body insecurity (Bucky's softened body), affirming partner praise. slight dubcon. Slight dom!Bucky energy, clingy/submissive reader energy.

a/n PLS reblog to support

Okay, but imagine… It's like 3 a.m. in the morning. Your dream has been interrupted by this incessant buzzing beside you. Blindly reaching for your phone and finding it underneath your body (bad habit), you peeled your eyes open enough to answer the call, putting the phone to your ear. 

“Doll—“ 

“Do you know what time it is, Congressman Barnes?” you immediately interrupted him. 

“I know, gorgeous, but—“ 

“This better be an emergency,” you feign annoyance. You had no issue with him calling you anytime; you just liked teasing him about it. 

“I wouldn’t call unless it were dire,” he murmurs, voice low and warm with sleep. “I just… I’ll finally be back home in D.C. tomorrow.”

You hum sleepily, not quite hiding your smile.

“And that couldn’t wait ‘til morning?”

“Not when I’ve only got an hour free.” There’s a pause, then he adds, quieter, “Figured I’d see if you wanted to spend it with me.”

Another beat.

“Lunch. Or…” His voice trails off, thick with suggestion, “We could just... spend it.”

“Fine, but until then, you need to rethink what you consider an 'emergency.’ " You flopped onto your side, getting comfortable under the blanket. The sound of his voice accidentally lulling you back to sleep. You yawned. 

“Making sure my girl gets put into my schedule is an emergency.” He caught you mid-yawn, mouth left open. Trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks, you scoffed, rolling your eyes, but you were ultimately speechless. 

“Sing a song to me, Barnes.” You whisper, your eyes are no longer able to remain open. There’s a pause. 

“Are you serious?” A soft laugh leaves your lips. 

“No, I'm just messing with you,” you said, fixing your head on the pillow, wondering if he could hear the smirk in your voice. Never in all your relationship had you ever asked him to do that, but you wanted to get him back for calling at such an ungodly hour. 

“Funny. Go back to bed, Doll.” He says softly into the phone. 

“See you soon, Congressman.” You replied before hanging up.

—-

You didn’t think he’d make it.

You’d half convinced yourself it would be another postponed lunch, another promise made with good intentions and a guilty follow-up text. Politics kept him tethered to everyone but you lately, and while you understood, it didn’t mean you liked it.

So when the front door clicked open just before noon, you froze, your hand hovering over the stove, and your whisk still dripping pancake batter.

“Bucky?” you called over your shoulder.

Footsteps. A pause. And then—

“Told you I’d find time for you.”

His voice was low, almost sheepish, but it hit you like a warm rush. You turned just in time to see him set down his coat and keys, still in his work clothes, eyes locked on you like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“You’re early.”

“I didn’t want to waste any free time.” He says, stalking towards you. He removes the spatula from your hand, placing it on the stove, wrapping his other hand around your waist, and pulling you close. 

You don’t even get the chance to respond. 

His mouth is on yours, gentle at first—just the brush of lips and breath—but it doesn’t stay that way. It deepens fast, like he’s making up for every second he’s been away. You can taste how much he missed you in the way his hands press into your waist, thumbs dragging slowly over your lower back like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you all over again.

“Hi,” He says softly as he pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and give him a quick peck on the lips. 

“Hi.” 

He smiles softly, and you kiss him again, slower this time, like you don’t have to rush now that he’s finally here. His hands drift under the hem of your shirt, fingertips tracing the warm skin just above the waistband of your pajama shorts. You sigh into his mouth, tilting your head to deepen the kiss as your fingers slide into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

His hands grip your waist, thumbs stroking over the dip of your hips. “Missed you,” he mumbles, his voice thick, his lips brushing yours between words.

You smile into the kiss, one leg curling around his calf, pulling him closer.

 “You hungry? I was about to make pancakes.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyes half-lidded as his hands roam your waist.

 “Starving.”

But he doesn't move toward the stove. He kisses you again—hungrier now, messier—his mouth opening over yours like he can’t help it, like he’s been thinking about this too long to take it slow. His hands roam lower, gripping, pulling, like he needs to feel all of you at once.

You laugh softly against his mouth. “Not what I meant, Barnes.”

“It’s what I meant.”

His hands drop to your thighs, lifting you with ease. A surprised gasp leaves your lips as he sets you down on the kitchen island, the cool granite making you shiver—but he’s already moving in, settling between your legs like he belongs there because he does.

Your knees part for him instinctively, his hands spreading over the backs of your thighs as he leans in again, kissing you deeper this time. His tongue brushes yours, slow and lazy, like he has all the time in the world—even if you both know he doesn’t. 

He pulls away, both of you breathless. Your hands are still splayed in his hair, your thumbs caressing his ears. He kisses your lips again, adding a few more to the sides of your face, overwhelmed with enamour. You let a soft breath leave your lips in place of a laugh, as Bucky places a final peck on the side of your neck. 

His gaze flicks down to your shirt, the way it hangs off your shoulder, no bra in sight. Then lower to how your pajama shorts have ridden up from how you’re sitting. One of his hands drifts, fingers brushing against the soft skin of your thigh, just below the hem, where your cheeks start to curve and spill against the counter’s edge.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes dark. “You’re not real.”

You huff a quiet laugh, hand slipping between you to tug at his loosened tie. “You gonna keep looking at me like that or do something about it?”

He doesn’t answer. He just kisses you again—somehow even hungrier this time—while your hands start working open the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling as heat begins to radiate through the fabric of his clothes.

You stripped him down to his undershirt, hands roaming his body, loving his newly softened physique. Politics wasn’t as physically demanding as crime fighting or space wars, so ever since he took office, he’s managed to gain a few pounds. To Bucky, it was a nuisance, but to you, it was mouth-watering. 

Of course, you had no issues with hard-toned abs either, but seeing him with more love to handle somehow made Bucky more domesticated, almost like he was keeping true to his word that he was trying to live a softer life with you. Your hands circled his waist, gripping his hips, dragging him in closer, and he tensed, almost pulling away. 

“Why?” You whined between kisses, pinching and tugging the fabric of his shirt to keep him from moving further. 

“Just not used to being this soft,” He said, against your lips. 

You pull back to look him in the eyes. They are hooded, and his pupils are blown wide. A soft whine left your lips. 

“Mmm, but Baby, I love it.” You slowly drag your finger down the plane of his chest peaking above his undershirt. 

“You do?” He asks, his curiosity temporarily breaking his sex motivated trance. You flatten your palms against his pecs and nod, biting your lower lip. 

“Mmhmm,” You hum, fighting not to squeeze his body. He places his hands above yours, and he smirks slightly. 

“Yeah?” he smirks, hands settling on your hips, his pinkies slipping just beneath the hem of your shorts, what little fabric is left now that they’ve ridden up, exposing the soft curve of your cheeks. His fingers graze the plush skin there, slow and deliberate.

“Yeah, it makes me so hot,” you breathe, the words slipping out as your back arches, hips instinctively rolling forward to meet his, your thighs bracketing his waist against the cool granite beneath you.

His breath hitches, but he doesn’t move. Just watches you with dark, unreadable eyes, fingers flexing at your hips.

“How?” he asks, voice low and rough. “Tell me, baby… What about it gets you like this?”

You smile softly, eyes flicking down to his lips as your hips roll again, slow, unhurried, just enough to make him feel it.

“The weight of you,” you whisper, leaning forward, brushing your mouth against his. “When we’re asleep…” You kiss the side of his jaw, trailing slowly to his ear. “when we’re fucking... feeling you on top of me.” You give a teasing nip to his ear, squeezing his hips with your thighs, “between me.”

A quiet groan rumbles in his throat as your words sink in, his grip on your hips tightening. You drag your hand down his stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of his pants, but stopping just above the fabric of his boxers.

Your palm presses gently over him, fingers curling slightly, slow, deliberate, like you’re feeling him for the first time all over again.

He jerks beneath your touch, hips rolling up just a little, like his body’s acting before he can think.

“Shit,” he mutters, eyes fluttering closed. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Wasn’t aware there were rules,” you murmur, lips brushing his jaw as your fingers squeeze around him through the fabric. Your thumb strokes over the thick line of him, lazy and mean.

He groans again, lower this time, rougher, his hand sliding from your waist to your thigh, gripping tight like he’s trying to ground himself.

You keep working your palm over him, slow circles, soft pressure, then firmer when he starts to push into it, rutting against your hand like he can’t help it.

“God, look at you,” you whisper, dragging your teeth along the shell of his ear. “Grinding like you need it.”

“I do need it,” he huffs, forehead falling to your shoulder for a second, breath hot against your skin. “You’ve been in my head for two weeks. Couldn’t even jerk off without thinking about this mouth.” He grabs your jaw in his hand. 

You smile, biting your lip as your hand slips lower, fingers teasing along the seam of his boxers now, pressing just enough to make him twitch. He bucks into your touch again, harder this time, and your breath catches.

He kisses you again, rough and messy, hand sliding up under your shirt, groping at your chest with none of his usual patience. Palm full, thumb brushing over your nipple until you're arching into him, gasping into his mouth.

You shift your hips forward, dragging yourself against the hard line of him, both of you partially dressed, barely thinking.

He groans when you grind down forward—slow, steady, filthy—and this time he moves with you, fucking into the friction, hands everywhere, mouth dragging from your lips to your neck.

“You keep doing that,” he mutters, breathless, “and I’m gonna come in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

“So? Better make it count.” You smirk, rolling your hips again, slower this time—just to tease. Just to hear him groan again.

And he does. Louder. 

“Sorry, doll. On a tight schedule.” His voice is ragged, almost hoarse. He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand from the front of his pants, but not before pressing a messy kiss to your palm—like he’s thanking you and telling you to behave all in one.

Then he tosses your arm over his shoulder and locks his gaze on you, dark and intent, his hand already working at his belt. The metal clinks, loud in the space between your bodies, and he doesn’t break eye contact even as he unzips his trousers with one hand, the other braced on the counter beside your thigh.

You feel the weight of him against your inner thigh the second his pants drop—thick and hot even through his boxers—and your breath catches.

He doesn't waste time. Just hooks two fingers into the waistband of your shorts and drags them to the side, yanking them taut against your hip, not even bothering to take them off.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, dragging the head of his cock through your folds once, twice, groaning when he finds you soaked and ready. “Always so wet for me. You don’t even make me work for it.”

“You’re the one on the clock,” you bite back, voice trembling.

That earns a smirk. “Right. Better not waste it, then.”

He thrusts in with one sharp push, splitting you open on a thick stretch that makes your whole body jolt. You gasp—loud, desperate, fingers scrambling for the edge of the counter behind you as the breath punches from your lungs.

“Shit— Bucky—” But he doesn’t stop. Just grips your hips hard enough to bruise and fucks into you deep, each stroke rough and deliberate, the kind of rhythm that says he’s missed this, missed you, and he's trying to make it count.

The sound of skin slapping, your wetness, both of you panting—it fills the kitchen like a secret neither of you are trying to hide.

“You feel that?” he growls against your mouth, hips snapping forward again. “Tight little pussy takin’ all of me—fuck—always so fuckin’ good.”

Your head tips back, thighs shaking around his waist as you cling to his shoulders.

“God—your cock, it’s—fuck, it’s thick—” You can barely get the words out, the pressure building fast, your nails digging into his back as he pounds into you, grinding just right at the end of every thrust like he knows exactly what you need.

“Yeah? You love this fat fuckin’ cock stretchin’ you open in the kitchen, huh?” His voice is all gravel and heat now, hand gripping your jaw, holding you there, watching every reaction.

“Love it,” you gasp, already spiraling. “Fuck, Bucky, don’t stop—”

He pulls out just enough to make your walls clench down in protest, makes you whimper as the tip of his cock catches at your entrance again, already slick, already fucking soaked with how ready you are for him—and then he grips you hard, arms flexing as he lifts you right off the counter like it’s nothing, like you weigh less than the need clawing at both of you.

Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, but he’s already shifting your weight, already bending your knees over his forearms, locking your thighs wide open as he stands. You’re suspended there, back arched, tits bouncing with every ragged breath you take beneath your shirt, your shorts still tugged to the side and his cock already driving back into you so fucking deep your vision goes spotty.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, his jaw pressed to your neck, biting down over your pulse while his hips slam up into you, hard, fast, no buildup now—just pure drive, frantic and raw, fucking you like he’s been aching for it, like he hasn’t felt anything this good in weeks and he’s making up for every second.

You’re just gasping now, hands gripping the back of his undershirt, fingers twisting in the fabric like you need something to anchor you, but it’s no use—your body’s jolting with every brutal thrust, your feet kicking helplessly in the air, your voice catching on every breathless moan he punches out of you.

“Jesus—fuck—Bucky—” your head drops back for a second, unable to hold yourself up, but one particularly deep, hard thrust makes your whole body jerk, your spine snapping upright as a sharp cry tears out of your throat.

Your arms fly up, locking around his neck, your cheek pressing to his temple, smothering him in your chest as you cling to him, holding on like your orgasm depends on it—and it fucking does.

He groans loud at the pressure, at the feel of your tits pressed against his face, at your thighs squeezing around his arms and the way your cunt clamps down on him like it never wants to let go.

“That’s it,” he pants, lips dragging across your collarbone, sucking and biting and making his way back up to your jaw, “fuck—knew you missed it—missed me—pussy’s chokin’ me, baby, fuck, you feel that? You feel how deep I am?”

You nod, crying out, hips rocking helplessly against his rhythm now, barely able to meet his thrusts with how completely he’s taken over, how perfectly he fills you.

“God, yes—yes, I feel you, you’re so—fuck—you’re so fucking deep, Bucky, you’re gonna make me come—” your voice cracks, body tensing, thighs trembling as the pressure hits white-hot.

He kisses you then, teeth dragging your bottom lip into his mouth as he starts to lose rhythm, his hips stuttering, his thrusts turning desperate—short, hard, rapidfire—machine-gun pace pounding up into you until you're wailing his name into his neck, until your pussy spasms around his cock and he grunts something broken and filthy as he spills inside you.

“Fuck—fuck, baby, I’m coming—shit, look at me—look at me—”

You do, barely, eyes fluttering open just enough to catch the way his brows knit, the way his mouth parts around a gasp, the way he buries himself as deep as he can go and stays there, thick cock twitching, pulsing inside you while you clench around him, greedy for every last drop.

His breath stutters out in a choked groan, arms shaking slightly as he holds you up, your thighs still hooked over his forearms, your cunt fluttering around his cock as your orgasm pulses through you in waves.

And then he kisses you.

Sloppy, wet, open-mouthed—like he needs it, like it’s the only way to keep from unraveling completely. His tongue is in your mouth before you can catch your breath, tasting you, groaning into you, teeth scraping soft and messy against your lip like he’s too far gone to care what it looks like.

You moan into it, arms tightening around his shoulders, clutching fistfuls of his undershirt like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered. You can still feel the slow pulse of his cock inside you, the fullness, the stretch—your pussy sensitive and twitching with every little shift of his hips.

He pulls back just enough to mutter against your lips, breath hot and uneven.

“Missed you so fuckin’ bad,” he pants, kissing the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, the shell of your ear. “Thought about this every fucking night—jerking off to the memory of your pussy dripping down my cock, fuck—nothing like it.”

You're still gasping, your voice high and broken when you whimper, “I can feel you leaking out of me already—”

That makes him groan again, low and wrecked, his hips rolling just once more like he’s trying to push it back in, like he doesn’t want to waste a drop.

“Shit,” he mutters, glancing toward the stove clock behind you. You’re too far gone to look.

“...how long’s it been?” you whisper, half-dazed, your head dropping to his shoulder.

He shifts, still inside you, pants tangled around his ankles, your legs hanging limp off his arms.

“Fifteen minutes.”

You blink.

“That’s it?”

He laughs—deep and satisfied—pressing a wet kiss to your throat, then your collarbone, biting just enough to make you squirm.

“You think I rushed home for one fuck?” Another kiss, filthier this time, his tongue dragging lazy over the skin just above your shirt collar.

“Round one, baby.” He presses a kiss to your throat. “You think I came home just for that? Round two’s already fucking loading”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, lips grazing his ear as your fingers tug lightly at the collar of his wife beater, still clinging to him, full of him.

“Mm.” You smile, voice low and teasing. “Wonder if your constituents know how their Congressman spends his lunch breaks.”You press a lazy kiss to the corner of his mouth, still catching your breath. “Hope they’re getting their money’s worth.”

—

a/n: PLS REBLOG TO SUPPORT — when you reblog it shares my post meaning many more can see and then it won’t flop like my past writings

[tteotlma]

i think when i reach the next big followers milestone ill finally do a pt. 2 for craving ctrl :p

[tteotlma]

sit pretty, ride hard

-- the only thing that can fix a rough day is a pretty boy to come home to.

Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader 3.2kwc

tw: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content, dom!reader x sub!Bucky Barnes, power exchange, praise kink, leash/belt kink, overstimulation, crying during sex, use of “puppy” and “good boy,” begging, cock worship, possessive behavior, degradation (light), soft aftercare, mild manipulation/teasing, creampie, dirty talk, mildly obsessive undertones, language, semi-public implications (thin walls/neighbors) a/n: just heard someone say i was in the room doing hw… JOKES ON THEM I ALREADY DID HW___I WAS WRITING THIS HEHEHE

DEAD, OK IMAGINE THIS… It’s been a particularly rough day, you know the kind where you couldn’t find your left shoe this morning, or you couldn’t remember where you threw your keys last night, or the fact that this week in general was a kick in the ass, what with the end of the second quarter coming around—We can only go up from here! —replayed in your head as you recounted your boss’s efforts during the biweekly quarter meeting and every pass in the hallway since a month ago. And to make matters somehow worse, a flash flood blew in out of nowhere, and now your white blouse is practically soaked. 

All you want is to be inside your home, in your pajamas, in bed, and maybe your gorgeous beau to make it all feel better. 

You give the door to your house a hard shove, rushing in, throwing your stuff on the floor, and toeing off your flats. 

“Hi, baby, rough day?” You look up to see your handsome lover standing at the entryway, leaning against the wall. Your shoulders subconsciously droop in relief as he comes into view. 

“You have no idea,” you sigh, immediately walking towards him, arms outstretched, which he meets halfway. His arms find your body while your fingers find the hairs at the nape of his neck. He gives you a quick peck on the lips, and when he pulls away, you find yourself quietly wishing for more. 

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, and you shake your head, taking a deep breath. 

He smelled like laundry detergent and pine soap. Must’ve showered recently– you thought as your hands came to rest on the swell of his chest. 

“No, I don’t think so,” you say softly, as you tiptoe to try and get a kiss, which he happily accepts. His lips are soft against yours and —God, you didn’t realize how much calm he brought you… It was kinda nauseatingly sweet. You feel him pull away and find yourself again wishing he hadn’t. 

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” He says, into your hair before he pulls back, and takes you in. You watch his eyes dip to your blouse, the soaked fabric clung to your chest, turning translucent, and Bucky’s breath hitched slightly as the outline of soft lace, barely-there blush in color, ghosted through. Not obvious. Not intentional. But enough to make his fingers twitch at your sides. He quickly shifts his gaze back to your face. 

“Well…” You suddenly turn coy, knowing just the right buttons to push after all these years. “I can think of something.” You say softly, a hand comes to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear before slowly ghosting your finger from the hollow of your throat down toward where your wet blouse clings to the top of your chest, fabric sticking to skin in a way that makes Bucky’s eyes drop instantly. 

You stop where your cleavage disappears into lace, dragging your finger over the seam where damp cotton ends and soft, barely-there blush starts, and God, the way his throat works when he swallows almost makes you laugh. Wide-eyed, jaw slack, Bucky’s mouth opens like he wants to speak, like maybe go towel off, change into warm, dry clothes, or get cozy under a blanket on the sofa – like he’s trying to take care of you like he always does, in that warm, soft, respectable way he does. And frankly, you’re way too wound up for soft tonight. 

“W-What are you thinking?” He clears his throat in an act of fake nonchalance, but the way his hands tighten against your hips proves you and he are riding the same brain wave. 

“Hmmm…” You look down like you need a minute to think, “you wanna fuck me harder than my day did?” you asked like it was any normal question out there and Bucky froze. 

He stares at you, eyes darkening, breath caught somewhere in his throat. “You—what?”

You step closer, your wet blouse still clinging to your skin, the faint outline of your bra now an afterthought to how much heat instantly crackles between you. “You heard me, baby,” you purr, fingers climbing up his chest until they hook into the collar of his shirt. “Or do I have to repeat myself for your pretty little brain?”

Bucky stared at you like you’d just slapped him, his mouth opening then closing again, lost somewhere between short-circuiting and combusting.

You tilted your head, feigning sweetness. “Well?” you pouted, hands slowly reaching for the buckle that sat against your stomach. “You gonna let today win, or you gonna remind me who I belong to?”

He made a wounded little sound, like the words physically hit him, and you swore you saw his knees wobble.

“I—shit, doll,” he breathed, blinking rapidly. “Do n’t—don’t say things like that unless you mean it.”

“For you, baby,” You stepped in closer, chest brushing his as your hand unbuckled the leather belt looped around your waist. “I always mean it,” you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You gonna be good and make me feel better, lover? Or do I need to make you?”

That belt came off with one smooth tug.

Bucky’s breath hitched as he audibly swallowed, and you swore it went straight to your spine. His eyes stayed locked on yours as you held the belt up, looped it gently around his neck, tugging just enough to pull him down to you. 

You press your fists into his chest and lean up, brushing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth—just a little taste, a whisper of what’s waiting for him if he gives in. His breath stutters, lashes fluttering, but he doesn’t move. Not yet. So you do it again, this time slower, lips brushing his skin like a promise, a coaxing little nudge that has him swaying toward you. When he hesitates, you pull back just enough to tilt your head again, brows lifting like you’re daring him not to.

And that’s when he moves.

He leans in, just barely, like his body chooses before his mind, chasing your mouth like instinct. And the second his lips part, you meet him with a kiss that’s pure filth—wet, messy, tongue sweeping into his mouth, teeth dragging against his bottom lip until he moans and stumbles forward. You kiss him like you want to eat him alive, like you know precisely how to unmake him, and he melts into it with this quiet, desperate little sound that makes your toes curl.

“Mmm, there’s my good boy,” you hum against his lips, tugging lightly on the belt still looped around his neck. “That’s it. Come on, baby.”

And like the perfect little puppy he is, he follows. You lead him backward with the belt like a leash, step by step through the house toward the bedroom, and he never once breaks eye contact. His eyes are heavy, lidded with want, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding it together. When you reach the edge of the bed, you give the belt a tug and push—just enough to guide him onto the mattress, where he sits back on his elbows, pupils blown wide as you crawl into his lap. 

He watches you from where you sit in his lap, belt still dangling from his neck like a collar, and it’s almost too much. His chest rises in these shaky, uneven waves like he’s struggling to keep his composure, and you adore it all— the tension, the restraint, the way he’s trying so hard to be good, to sit still and wait for your touch, for your approval, when everything in his body is screaming to move. You grind forward just slightly, the seam of your soaked slacks dragging across the hard outline of his cock, and he lets out this strangled sound, one that’s not quite a moan, not quite a gasp, something helpless and sweet and so fucking pretty that it makes your cunt pulse with want.

You do it again, slower this time, grinding your hips in a slow circle over the thick bulge in his pants, and his head drops back with a thud, Adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out the softest, most pitiful little whimper you’ve ever heard.

“Aww, look at you,” you croon, one hand dragging up his chest, the other cupping his jaw and guiding his flushed face back toward yours. “Already shaking, baby? I haven’t even taken your cock out yet.”

“Please,” he breathes, lips parted, eyes glassy. “Fuck—please, I need—just need to feel you.”

“I know, I know,” you coo, fingers ghosting down his torso until you’re palming him through the fabric of his pants, watching his thighs twitch as you rub over the thick head. “My poor baby. All pent up. You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you? My sweet little puppy. Just sitting here, letting me play with you.”

His hips buck again, instinctive and frantic, and you pull your hand away with a pout.

“Ah ah,” you tsk. “That’s not how good boys behave.”

“I’ll be good,” he swears, voice cracking. “I am good—please, please, just—hngh, fuck—”

You lean forward, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, breath warm and thick with praise. “You are,” you whisper. “You’re so good for me. So perfect. So obedient. So fucking pretty when you beg.”

You reach down again, finally undoing the button of his jeans and dragging the zipper down with agonizing slowness. His cock strains against the fabric of his boxers, pulsing, the wet patch of precum already staining through. You pull him out carefully, deliberately, and the moment your hand wraps around the base of him, he moans full-bodied and broken, like he’s been waiting hours for this. He’s thick, flushed, gorgeous, and you stroke him once, then again, watching the muscles in his stomach twitch with every little flick of your wrist.

And still, you don’t climb him. Not yet.

Instead, you push yourself up, undo your slacks with one hand while keeping your gaze locked on his, letting him watch every movement, every inch of skin you reveal. When you slide the fabric down your legs, revealing the scandalously thin pair of underwear that’s long since soaked through, you hear his breath stutter. He’s looking at you like he’s in a trance, like you’re not real, like he’s watching a dream he’s terrified to wake from.

You stand there for a moment, thighs glistening, hips cocked to the side, and tilt your head with a smile.

“Actually,” you say slowly, dragging one finger along the hem of your panties, “maybe I don’t need a good fuck tonight. Maybe I just need some air. A little walk. Something to clear my head.”

His whole body jerks.

“No—no, please,” he chokes, voice thick with panic, eyes going wide. “Don’t—don’t leave, please, fuck—I’ll be so good, I’ll fuck you so good, baby, you won’t even remember what stress is, please, I need—need to be inside you, please—”

“Mmm,” you hum, stepping forward and climbing back into his lap, rubbing the dripping heat of your pussy along the thick length of his cock without taking him in. “I don’t know, lover. You talk a big game.”

He groans deep and guttural and bucks his hips, trying to catch your entrance, but you lift just enough to keep him from sliding in. You grip his jaw, guiding his eyes to meet yours.

“You want it that bad, puppy?” 

“Yes,” he whispers, trembling. “Yes, I—I’ll do anything.”

Your smirk softens, darkens, turns into something almost loving as you lean in, eyes locked on his, the heat between you ready to snap. And then you kiss him — filthy and messy and all tongue and teeth, lips crashing into his like you’re trying to climb inside his mouth. You swallow his broken little moan as your tongue presses deep, licking into him while your hips roll and your cunt smears slick all along the length of his cock, not giving him anything he needs and everything he wants. His hands twitch like he’s going to reach for you again, but he doesn't — he knows better. So he just grips the sheets, groaning into your mouth, letting you take and take and take.

You pull back only when you’re breathless, your lips wet, your mouth still hovering so close that your exhales blend into his. “Good boy,” you whisper, dragging your nails down his chest. “Now hold still.”

You press your pussy down on him again, slower this time, letting your soaked folds glide along the underside of his cock, catching on the head, teasing the tip, and he whimpers, hips twitching so hard beneath you it makes the bed creak.

“Oh baby,” you sigh, voice going soft and filthy, your nails dragging through his hair, tugging his head back. “You’ve already made me feel so good. You’re doing so well. I’m already forgetting how fucking awful today was, just from this fat cock rubbing against me.”

“Please,” he gasps, one tear sliding down his flushed cheek, breath catching as you finally — finally — line yourself up and sink down onto him, inch by aching inch, until you’re seated fully in his lap and he’s buried so deep it feels like he’s splitting you in two.

Both of you moan, raw and sharp and needy, like it’s been days instead of minutes. His head drops forward, pressing to your chest as you clench around him, and he just breathes, shaking with how hard he’s trying to hold it together while you ride him slow, cruel, and perfect.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, head tipping back, your hands coming up to squeeze your breasts through your bra as you bottom out on him. “Oh my fucking God, that’s it, that’s what I needed. You feel so good, baby. So deep, so fucking thick, stretching me just right.”

He cries out beneath you, loud and ragged, like the sound's been ripped straight from his lungs. You swear it punches straight through you. his hands still pinned to the mattress, his hips rocking up in tiny, stuttered movements like he’s trying to be good, trying to hold back the way you told him to, but his body’s betraying him with every flex of his thighs, every desperate twitch of his cock buried thick and throbbing inside you. You start slow — like you always do — hips rolling in deep, grinding circles, letting him feel every fucking inch of how tight you are, how wet you are, how perfectly his cock fills you. His abs tense, stuttering with every pass of your cunt over the swollen head, his throat bobbing hard as his mouth falls open, head tilting back, and the whine that escapes him is so pretty it almost makes your vision blur.

“My pretty boy,” you murmur, voice wrecked but full of pride, leaning in to kiss the tear sliding hot down his cheek. “My perfect little puppy. You take such good care of me, don’t you? Look at you. Letting me use this cock like it’s mine. Giving me everything I need.”

“Please,” he sobs, the word trembling on his lips. “Please, touch me, please, I need—I need—”

You hum like it’s nothing, like you hadn’t been waiting for that moment, and finally you grab his wrists and drag his hands up to your chest. He moans when his palms land there, when you arch into his touch, and he grabs you like he might die if he doesn’t, fingers squeezing your tits, mouth open gasping, holding on like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the bed. And still, you ride him—faster now, rougher, bouncing in hard, slick snaps of your hips that make the mattress creak beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall, the wet smack of skin on skin echoing around the room like it’s trying to tell the neighbors you’re being fucking ruined in here.

Bucky’s whining now, full-on, high-pitched and desperate, beautiful… every thrust drawing out a broken little cry from his throat as you fuck yourself on him like you’ve been waiting all day for this, like the only way to exorcise your frustration is to wring every drop of pleasure from his cock.

 And God, his cock. It’s so thick, so deep, dragging against your walls in a way that makes your back arch, your toes curl, your mind go fucking blank. You can feel him twitching inside you with every bounce, the veins pulsing against your walls, the ridge catching on every spot that makes you clench and moan and shudder with how close you already are.

And Bucky? He’s gone. Babbling beneath you, trying to form words between the choked gasps and sobs, his abs quivering under your palms, his eyes glassy and wild like he’s never been fucked like this in his life.

“Say it,” you growl, grinding down so deep it punches a grunt out of him. “Say what you are.”

“I’m yours,” he gasps, the words falling out in one breath. “I’m your puppy—I’m your good boy, please, please, don’t stop, fuck—please—”

And that raw, wrecked, please breaks something in you. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear, and whisper it softly, filthily, and finally.

“That’s my good puppy. You make me feel so good.” 

And he shatters.

He bottoms out inside you with a cry that cracks in his throat, hips jerking uncontrollably as he spills into you, hard, one pulse after another of hot, desperate cum flooding your cunt as he grabs at you like he needs to hold you down, keep you there, make sure you don’t leave, like he needs you to take it all. You gasp, head falling back, and it hits you just as hard — your orgasm tearing through you like lightning, making your whole body seize around him, your thighs shaking, your cunt milking him as you ride every wave of it out on his cock, moaning his name over and over like it’s the only word that still makes sense.

And still he holds you. Still he grinds up into you, chasing every last bit of your orgasm even as he sobs into your skin, even as he cries from how fucking much it is. You press your hands to his chest, panting, slick dripping between your thighs, your body twitching from aftershocks, as you let him squeeze your tits again, let him grab you, hold you, pull you down tight to him as his cock softens inside your fluttering cunt.

You stay like that for a long moment, a mess of slick and sweat and sobbing breath, skin stuck together, limbs tangled, your forehead resting against his as you both try to come down. His eyes are still wet, his lips kiss-bitten and red, and you kiss him again, soft this time, slow, just the press of lips and breath.

And you smile.

Because he earned it. Every last fucking drop.

--

a/n: hope u enjoyed PLS REBLOG TO SUPPORT <3

asks are open :)

[tteotlma]

breathe you in

Dead,, needing to SMELL your lover to be okay????– GETTOUTTA HEREEEE

joel miller x reader imagine 2kwc

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, post-panic attack intimacy, intense emotional vulnerability, scent as grounding, emotionally driven sex, power dynamics (consensual), begging, praise kink, desperate and talkative!Joel, soft domination, slow grinding, unprotected sex, deep emotional dependency, cockwarming adjacent energy, physical clinging, overstimulation potential

a/n: Also i’m def trying to bring back the casuality of what used to be posting on here…. There are many layers to this, which i could talk abt all day, but for now  Bc i still love Joel, so very much 

Imagine it’s late at night, you and Joel have gone to bed. You’re wrapped in the heat of your shared duvet, blanket tucked under your chin just how you like it. Joel had fallen asleep with his arm wrapped tightly around you, but that was hours ago, and… a man’s gotta spread. He’s sprawled out on the bed beside you, both fast asleep. 

Suddenly, the bed creaks with an aggressive shake, and loud mumbling turned panic fills the room. You’re ripped from your sleep when the sounds of his gasps break through your dream barrier, and you realize Joel must’ve had another nightmare. 

Throwing the blanket off your body, you sit up and reach over to touch his face, soft shushes leaving your lips. 

“Hey, hey,” you cooed, “Joel, Baby—” You tried to pacify his cries, warming your hand against the curve of his jaw as you leaned into his side of the bed. He was frantic as he looked around the room, trying to reorient himself. 

“Sweetheart,” getting on your knees, you move to straddle one of his legs, trying not to become frantic. “It was just a nightmare, look at me.” This had come out more stern than previous, and it seemed to break through whatever trance Joel seemed to find himself in. 

His sounds softened as you continued to coax his attention towards you. Soon, the only sound that left his lips turned into heavy breathing as his hand shakily grasped your wrist against his skin. His eyes widen as he finally turns to look at you. 

Cupping his face in both hands, you lean in, “Just Breathe—” his eyebrows curled, a hand on his ches,t “In and out,” your chest mimics your words. 

“I—I—I—” He tries to talk, but you gently hush him.

“It’s okay; you don’t have to talk; just…” The hand on the center of his chest pressed deeper against the warmth of his shirt, silently reminding him where to focus. His hand came to rest atop yours, and he nodded. You locked eyes, and you noticed his pupils were blown wide. 

You stay like that, still and close, for what feels like hours, though only minutes pass—as he slowly pulls himself from the fog of his nightmare.  Then, without a word, his eyes drop to his lap. One hand drifts to your hip, the other settling at the bend of your arm, his chest still rising and falling in uneven waves.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers, voice rough and low. 

You hook a finger beneath his chin, gently guiding his face to yours. “For you,” you whisper, tucking a stray salt-and-pepper curl behind his ear, “anything.”

Your thumb grazes his cheek, tender and steady as you hold his face in your hands. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

The hand on your hip slides to your lower back, his palm warm and deliberate as he draws you into his chest. You go easily, folding into the hug, your cheek resting against the curve of his neck. He holds you there, solid, quiet—like the act of touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded. 

His face finds the crook of your neck while your chin rests on his shoulder. You feel him breathe you in. At first, it’s subtle and slow, his nose brushing your skin, chest rising against yours as he inhales deeply. He sighs.

Then he does it again. Slower. Longer. His nose drags across the slope of your neck, and his breath leaves him shakier this time.

You feel the edge of his teeth when he speaks, his voice low against your skin, the rough scrape of his stubble trailing higher as he nuzzles along your jaw. You tilt instinctively, baring more of your neck. His hand slides up your spine, fingers splayed, holding you firmly against him.

His lips hover near your skin—not quite kissing, but close enough to make you shiver. The coarse drag of his stubble follows the curve of your jaw as his nose nudges higher. You tilt again, offering more without thinking.

That’s all it takes.

His mouth finds your pulse. One soft kiss. Then another. Then one just beneath your ear that lingers a little too long.

When you turn your face toward his, his eyes drop to your mouth.

And then he kisses you.

It starts slow, careful, almost hesitant. His lips part against yours, and one hand moves higher on your back, holding you steady. The tension breaks when you sigh into him and your fingers tighten in the back of his shirt.

The kiss deepens. His mouth moves over yours like he’s hungry for it, like this is the only way he knows how to speak. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw. His tongue brushes yours, coaxing, tasting. You whimper softly, and he groans into your mouth like the sound unravels him.

Like, he’s not just kissing you.

Like he’s trying to hold on to the only thing that, to him, feels real. 

“Every time I breathe you in, I want more.” He pulls back, eyes hooded as he stares at your now swollen lips.

“Please, baby… let me have more.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and warm, watching the way your chest heaves beneath him. He sees it—the way your breath catches, the flicker of doubt in your eyes—and he doesn’t wait.

“Only if you want it,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “I’ll take my time. I’ll be gentle. Just… I need to be close. Closer than this.”

Another kiss, softer this time, pressed just below your ear.

“I don’t want to fuck. I want to feel. Want to be in your skin and know what it’s like to come home and mean it.”

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in again like it’s the only thing that calms the storm in his chest.

Your hands come up to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping across the stubble at his cheeks. You nod slowly, silently, teeth caught between your lips—and that’s all it takes.

Joel exhales like he’s been underwater, like he’s just come up for air. He shifts his weight and turns you both over in one smooth motion, laying you gently beneath him. His hands don’t leave your body, not once, as your thighs part instinctively to cradle his hips. He settles there, warm and solid, his full weight pressing you into the mattress. His chest hovers just above yours, his forearms braced on either side of your head, eyes locked on yours like he’s still asking for permission, even without the words.

He leans in, kisses you again—slower this time. His lips are warm and sure, his breath steadying against your cheek. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear the second he looks away. His hips roll forward, a slow drag of pressure right against the heat between your legs, and your back arches to meet him.

Even through the layers, you can feel the thick weight of him, already hardening as he grinds against you. The pressure is deliberate, controlled, but needy. Like he’s not chasing pleasure, but grounding himself in it.

"That’s it," he murmurs into your mouth, voice thick. "Just wanna feel you, baby. That’s all I need."

He shifts again, just enough to work one hand down between your bodies, tugging at the waistband of his sweats. You feel the soft brush of his knuckles against your stomach as he pushes them low, and then you reach for him too, helping him slide them off. The soft sound of fabric rustling fills the space between your breaths. When his cock presses against your bare thigh—hot and heavy—you both shudder.

“Take these off for me, sweetheart,” he breathes, thumb hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

You lift your hips, and he pulls them down slowly, carefully, like you’re something breakable. His hands linger on your thighs when he tosses them aside, calloused palms dragging back up the insides until you’re spread open for him again.

He settles between your legs and lines himself up, the thick head of his cock dragging through your folds, already wet and aching. One hand rests at your waist, the other steadying himself against the mattress.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll stop. I swear. I’ll stop if you need me to."

You shake your head immediately, breathing hard.

"Don’t stop, Joel. I need you."

He presses forward slowly, easing into you inch by inch. The stretch steals the breath from your lungs, your fingers curling into the muscles at his back as he sinks deeper. His body shudders above you when he bottoms out, buried completely.

“Fuck—Jesus Christ,” he groans, the words broken against your neck. “You feel like heaven. So warm… fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.”

He stays there for a moment, unmoving. His body presses flush to yours, his hand slides under your back, palm flat between your shoulder blades like he’s holding you there, grounding both of you. When he starts to move, it’s slow, deep, grinding strokes that have you gasping softly beneath him.

Each roll of his hips pulls a quiet sound from your throat. Your body clenches around him, clinging, wet, and pulsing as you fall into his rhythm.

“Needed this,” he whispers. His voice is hoarse, raw. “Felt like I was gonna fuckin’ lose it tonight.”

His forehead presses to yours as he keeps moving inside you, languid, like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You’re the only thing that feels real right now.”

He holds you so close. One hand cupping the back of your head, the other gripping your thigh, spreading you wider, deeper. His mouth grazes your temple, your jaw, and your lips between every breath.

“Only time I can breathe is when I’m buried in you.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, your heel digging into the curve of his ass as you pull him in harder. He groans, thrusts faltering for half a beat before he finds his rhythm again, slightly rougher now, more desperate.

His mouth drops to your shoulder, breath shaking against your skin.

“Let me cum inside you,” he pants. “Wanna feel you wrapped around me when I cum.”

Your answer is a whimper, your nails dragging down his back. He kisses you again—messy and open-mouthed, tongue sweeping against yours like he needs to taste every part of you.

“Let me give it to you, baby—let me fuckin’ give it to you.” He thrusts hard with each syllable. 

You nod, eyes fluttering closed, thighs shaking. His thrusts grow more frantic, deeper, like he’s chasing the edge with every desperate breath.

"That’s it," he groans. "That’s it, darlin’. You take me so fuckin’ well—always do. My good girl."

He spills inside you with a broken, guttural moan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his whole body trembles above you. You feel every twitch, every pulse of release, warm and deep and grounding.

"Thank you," he whispers into your skin, over and over, voice crumbling. "Thank you. Thank you. Didn’t know how much I needed this until you. Until you."

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move except to press soft kisses to your neck, your jaw, your cheek.

“Gonna hold you now, alright?” he murmurs. “Just wanna hold you for a while. That okay, baby?”

You nod, barely able to breathe.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest like he’s afraid to let you go. And for a long time, neither of you says anything at all.

--

a/n: pls don't let another one flop -- REBLOG TO SUPPORT <3

[tteotlma]

full of you

 Mueheueheuheheuehe

werewolf! joel x reader 2.4k/w

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, werewolf knotting, full moon sex, supernatural elements, rough sex, size kink, overstimulation, deep penetration, cock-drunkenness, fluid play (drool/slick/cum), consensual power dynamics, light choking, intense scent marking, possessive behavior, knotting/breeding kink, primal desperation, marking with teeth (non-breaking skin), manhandling, muscle worship, emotionally charged dominance, begging, praise kink, brief emotional vulnerability, post-orgasmic clinging, knot-induced lock-in, mild somnophilic undertones (reader too fucked out to respond), feral!Joel, soft aftercare in context of overstimulation

a/n: everybody say thank u shmeed!

Okay, imagine, but imagine werewolf Joel with a fat knot… It’s a full moon, so he’s a little—okay, a lot—worked up. You guys have been in bed for the better half of an hour at this point. The room reeked of sex, joel’s promise of opening the windows long gone, beads of sweat trailed down the side of his face while sweat pooled in the crevice of your collarbones. 

“Fuck, that’s it baby.” Joel grunted. His hands were practically bruising your hips, his fingernails leaving crescent moon indents onto your plush skin. He had you on top of him (one of his many fave positions) legs spread on both sides of him. He’d currently been spending the last then minutes trying to get you to take his full cock but he’s only been able to get his tip past your tight hole despite the amount of precum that was leaking from the tip. 

You couldn’t help it. It was just too good. 

Once you’d feel the ridge of his penis slip through your folds the stretch would overwhelm you and you’d clench up causing Joel to hiss. 

“Ah,” He jolted beneath you, as you rested your palms on his softened stomach. “You gotta relax, baby.” He would say through gritted teeth. You’d hum in response, your eyes clenched shut as his nails left light scrapes against your skin, your flesh molding beneath his command. 

“I-I’m trying,” you’d hiccup, moan caught in your throat. Small whimpers left your lips as the burn of your thighs from holding yourself up above him was getting to you. The sting and stretch of it all wash pushing you to the edge. “But I can’t, I…” You clenched your thighs around your wrist, almost willing to crush his chest with your knees. You were close, your hands subconsciously tightened around the course curls beneath his belly button. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but that ain’t gonna happen,” he said, voice gruff. He quickly sat up, throwing you off balance while he placed a hand behind your head, and wrapped the other around your throat, “If you’re gonna come,” he pulls you close, breath on your lips. “You’re gonna come cause I stuffed you full of my cock.” Despite the desperation of it all, he lays you gently on your back before mounting you—not once letting his dick slip from your cunt. All you could do was mewl beneath the weight of his body. Tears filled your eyes. 

“I tried,” you whined softly, “I really did.” You sniffed. You didn’t know why you were getting emotional, but it was probably out of frustration. Joel quickly moved his hand from your throat and brushed the hair out of your face. He shushed you, placing a small kiss on the corner of your lip. 

“I know you did, baby,” he whispers, his thighs warm against the back of your legs. But I can’t have you do all the work, can I?” You shake your head softly, and he smiles, his teeth peeking through his lips. 

He leans down to kiss you, as you throw your arms around him. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hands roam around your body, grabbing at your curves, and he squeezes particularly hard at the flesh of your thigh, causing you to whine into his mouth. He takes that opportunity to explore your mouth. 

When his tongue enters your mouth, your breath hitches. One of the many indicators that Joel was teetering between the edge of lycanthropy and sentience was how his mouth flooded with saliva, and his teeth began to sharpen, aching like something beastly was trying to break through. You guys would never fight for dominance; instead, Joel would always deepen the kiss by putting a hand at the nape of your neck and pulling you close like he was minutes away from devouring you. 

You never voiced this, but somehow, he found out that you liked the feel of tracing his sharpened canines against your tongue. At the same time, your hands would pull at the hair at the base of his neck, loving the way he grew rougher, heavier, more beast than man with every second. Animalistic. 

“Plus,” he murmurs, pulling back, leaving a string of saliva between your lips, “we both know I like you better this way.” He slides out, dragging a moan from your throat, then flips you onto your stomach with ease. Suddenly, you're facing the end of the bed, heart racing. 

Before you can even respond, he’s already lining the tip back up to your hole—then he pauses. Doesn’t move. You push up onto your elbows, glancing back at him, only to find his eyes fixed between your legs. He lowers himself, slowly, deliberately his large hands coming to spread your cheeks before he gently opens his mouth. 

The tip of his tongue slips out, and a warm trail of saliva drips from it—falling onto your quaking cunt, sticky and slow, like he wants you to feel every drop. You let out a soft mewl, and he watches your pussy clench as his drool drips between your folds. A dark chuckle leaves his lips and he grabs at the base of his dick, sliding it between your newly soaked heat. A low grunt escaping his chest as his other hand grabs at your curves. 

You subconsciously pull forward, away from him and he pulls you back slapping his cock against your cunt. Your body jolting with pleasure, each soft drag of his sac against your clit. 

F-fuck, Joel,” you whimper, and he leans forward, pressing his hairy chest against your back, the heat of him anchoring you in place. 

“Nuh-uh, baby,” he’d murmur, a smirk in his voice. His hand on the curve of your back slides up to your neck, guiding you down into the mattress as he presses a soft kiss to your bare shoulder. Once you were face down in the mattress, your voice muffled against the sheets, he wasted no time lining himself back up to your heat. His cock ached—so hard and swollen he barely had to touch your cunt to feel the pulse of need between you. 

“Now, sit nice and pretty for me,” he growls, voice low and rough with restraint. He waits for your nod—barely—before landing a sharp smack to your ass, the sound echoing in the heat-thick air. His hand lingers, squeezing a fistful of flesh, watching it jiggle under his touch like he owns it. Then he drags the swollen head of his cock along your clit, slow and deliberate, and the sound you both make is animal—raw, guttural, hungry. 

“Fuck, wolfie—” you whisper, breath hitching as he lines the tip up with your entrance. He slides in easily at first, until he reaches the thick ridge of his head, where your body resists with a trembling squeeze. 

“Come on, pretty girl,” he groans, leaning into you, his chest pressed flush to your back. His voice is low in your ear. “I know you can take me.” One hand moves to sweep your hair away from your face, while the other wraps around you, fingers sliding down to find your heat, slow and certain. His middle finger hooks beneath your clit and you cry out, and he’s able to inch further. 

“That’s it, good girl,” he murmurs in your ear, the scrape of his stubble grounding you. His fingers keep working you open, slow circles around your clit before pressing right onto it—pulling waves of pleasure from deep in your belly. It’s that flutter, that perfect tension, that lets him sink in deeper. With a grunt from him and a cry from you, the thick ridge of his cock finally slips past as your hand reachs out and clecnehs around the blanket beneath you. 

“Fuck, yes,” he groans, throwing his head back, mouth slack. “Good puppy.” 

“S’big,” you drawl, breath hitching, your hands scrambling to grasp anything that might anchor you—anything to hold onto as sanity slips through your fingers. 

Joel chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest, pressed firm against your back. His lips brush your ear as he murmurs,

“I know, baby. It’s too much, ain’t it? But you’re takin’ it so fuckin’ well,” Joel grits out, voice thick and breathless, his chest smothering your back as his fingers keep working your clit—slow, tight circles that make your cunt flutter around him, sucking him in deeper with every pass.

His thrusts are still shallow, still trying to be careful, but he’s struggling. You can feel it in the way his hips twitch, the way his cock throbs inside you like it’s begging to be buried to the hilt. And he doesn’t stop touching you, rubbing and teasing every slick, swollen part of you because he knows the more he makes you feel good, the more your body gives. The more you open up for him.

You’re losing it. Hands scrambling at the sheets, at the loose clothes, at your chest, absolutely anything to anchor you as the pleasure crests and crashes through you again and again. You’re gasping into the mattress when you glance up and see it—the moonlight spilling through the window, painting you both in silver-blue, catching the sweat and the way your bodies shine.

And Joel’s panting above you, gritting his teeth, chest heaving against your spine. He’s barely holding it together. You can feel it.

Your hand reaches back blindly, dragging along the hard line of his stomach, down to where his pelvis meets your ass—and then your fingers brush something hot, swollen, throbbing.

His knot.

He hisses, loud and sharp. “Baby—baby, don’t,” he groans, voice damn near cracking. You can feel him trembling, feel how bad he wants it—how close he is to losing the last thread of control.

And suddenly, it hits you: he’s been struggling just as much as you have. Maybe more.

You glance back, lips parted, breath ragged.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, voice shaky with want. “You can move. I can take it, Wolfie.”

That name alone almost makes him come.

You shift your hips, adjusting to take him deeper, your body sore and aching and drenched, but desperate for more. He growls low in his throat, hands grabbing your hips, tight enough to bruise.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Fuck—yes.”

He doesn’t wait. His lips fall to your back, kissing, biting, panting into your skin. Then he starts moving. Not gentle. Not restrained. Just raw, deep, hungry.

“God, yes—unh—so good,” he groans, fucking you harder now, his hips slapping against your ass, cock stretching you wide, the thick swell of his knot grinding harder with every thrust.

“Goddamn, this pussy—fuckin’ delicious, baby girl—fuck.”

His fingers are still playing with your clit, now rougher, sloppier, dragging the slick that’s escaped your hole around and teasing every tender spot like he’s trying to make you fall apart on purpose.

You’re a mess beneath him. “Fuck—fuck—yes, Joel—oh my god—so fuckin’ big—are you gonna come in me?” Your voice is wrecked, your legs shaking, drool on your lips, and tears in your eyes. 

“Yes, baby—fuck yes—I’m gonna come,” he growls, rutting into you like he’s lost his mind.

 “This pussy’s so goddamn perfect—I can feel you every fuckin’ time I thrust—tight little thing, takin’ it all.”

“Yes—yes alpha’s in my guts—fuck—so deep—”

“Yeah, baby—puppy’s gonna make me come—fuck—”

“Come in me, Joel, please—I can take it—I can whatever you give me, Wolfie!”

“Yeah, you can, baby.”

He grabs your hips hard, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, and yanks you back into him with a brutal, unforgiving snap. The momentum lifts your knees partway off the bed, toes barely grazing the sheets as he slams forward, rutting deep with a single, savage thrust.

That’s when you feel His knot—fat, swollen, pulsing— forces its way in with a filthy, wet squelch, your cunt stretching wide around the thick mass of him. It burns and splits, a slick, obscene pressure that makes your back arch and your jaw drop, but your body takes it. Fucks itself open around it. Locks him in.

Your scream catches on the edge of your breath, stuck somewhere between a sob and a moan as your entire body seizes. Your pussy clenches down in frantic, desperate spasms, locking around him like it’s never going to let him go milking, twitching, sucking at him so tight it’s like your body is begging to be filled again and again.

You're trembling, gushing, mouth falling open with a silent cry as pleasure rips through you like lightning, all heat and sharp-edged need.  

“I’m coming—I’m coming—fuck—I’m coming—Joel!”

And that’s all it takes.

Joel snarls, hips jerking as he buries himself fully, knot swollen tight and locked, his cock twitching deep inside as he comes hard, endless, hot. You feel it flood you, feel it leak out around where he’s stretched you to the limit, feel it pulse through every nerve ending like a live wire. And then his teeth sink into your shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to claim, to mark. He groans against your skin, still grinding slowly, stuck deep inside you as your bodies pulse together, knotted and messy and trembling in the moonlight.

You’re both panting—ragged, uneven. The only sound in the room is the slick, obscene squelch of his cock grinding in slow, shallow rolls and the wet drip of his cum leaking out around the knot that still stretches you wide, still keeps you full.

“Fuck…” Joel breathes against your skin, voice hoarse and heavy with everything he just gave you. “You did so fuckin’ good for me, baby.”

You can’t even speak. Your cheek is pressed into the sheets, eyes half-lidded, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, completely wrecked. Your thighs twitch every time he moves, a shiver running down your spine when he licks the bite on your shoulder slowly and reverently.

His knot is still locked tight inside you, keeping your hips pressed together, his cock still twitching, pulsing deep in your overstimulated cunt. Every little movement sends a fresh wave of slick dripping down your thighs.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you there, still, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, he might unravel.

“Just stay like this,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “Let me keep you full a little longer.”

And you do because you don’t want to move, either. Not when you’re this warm, ruined, and full of him. The moonlight glows soft and cold against your skin, but between your bodies, everything’s heat.

-----

PLS REBLOG TO SUPPORT <3

a/n: asks are open; also do u guys notice reoccurring themes lol oops

kitty go meow?

[lovehappyloki]

[tteotlma]

tbh i still can’t believe i wrote this

[tteotlma]

full of you

 Mueheueheuheheuehe

werewolf! joel x reader 2.4k/w

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, werewolf knotting, full moon sex, supernatural elements, rough sex, size kink, overstimulation, deep penetration, cock-drunkenness, fluid play (drool/slick/cum), consensual power dynamics, light choking, intense scent marking, possessive behavior, knotting/breeding kink, primal desperation, marking with teeth (non-breaking skin), manhandling, muscle worship, emotionally charged dominance, begging, praise kink, brief emotional vulnerability, post-orgasmic clinging, knot-induced lock-in, mild somnophilic undertones (reader too fucked out to respond), feral!Joel, soft aftercare in context of overstimulation

a/n: everybody say thank u shmeed!

Okay, imagine, but imagine werewolf Joel with a fat knot… It’s a full moon, so he’s a little—okay, a lot—worked up. You guys have been in bed for the better half of an hour at this point. The room reeked of sex, joel’s promise of opening the windows long gone, beads of sweat trailed down the side of his face while sweat pooled in the crevice of your collarbones. 

“Fuck, that’s it baby.” Joel grunted. His hands were practically bruising your hips, his fingernails leaving crescent moon indents onto your plush skin. He had you on top of him (one of his many fave positions) legs spread on both sides of him. He’d currently been spending the last then minutes trying to get you to take his full cock but he’s only been able to get his tip past your tight hole despite the amount of precum that was leaking from the tip. 

You couldn’t help it. It was just too good. 

Once you’d feel the ridge of his penis slip through your folds the stretch would overwhelm you and you’d clench up causing Joel to hiss. 

“Ah,” He jolted beneath you, as you rested your palms on his softened stomach. “You gotta relax, baby.” He would say through gritted teeth. You’d hum in response, your eyes clenched shut as his nails left light scrapes against your skin, your flesh molding beneath his command. 

“I-I’m trying,” you’d hiccup, moan caught in your throat. Small whimpers left your lips as the burn of your thighs from holding yourself up above him was getting to you. The sting and stretch of it all wash pushing you to the edge. “But I can’t, I…” You clenched your thighs around your wrist, almost willing to crush his chest with your knees. You were close, your hands subconsciously tightened around the course curls beneath his belly button. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but that ain’t gonna happen,” he said, voice gruff. He quickly sat up, throwing you off balance while he placed a hand behind your head, and wrapped the other around your throat, “If you’re gonna come,” he pulls you close, breath on your lips. “You’re gonna come cause I stuffed you full of my cock.” Despite the desperation of it all, he lays you gently on your back before mounting you—not once letting his dick slip from your cunt. All you could do was mewl beneath the weight of his body. Tears filled your eyes. 

“I tried,” you whined softly, “I really did.” You sniffed. You didn’t know why you were getting emotional, but it was probably out of frustration. Joel quickly moved his hand from your throat and brushed the hair out of your face. He shushed you, placing a small kiss on the corner of your lip. 

“I know you did, baby,” he whispers, his thighs warm against the back of your legs. But I can’t have you do all the work, can I?” You shake your head softly, and he smiles, his teeth peeking through his lips. 

He leans down to kiss you, as you throw your arms around him. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hands roam around your body, grabbing at your curves, and he squeezes particularly hard at the flesh of your thigh, causing you to whine into his mouth. He takes that opportunity to explore your mouth. 

When his tongue enters your mouth, your breath hitches. One of the many indicators that Joel was teetering between the edge of lycanthropy and sentience was how his mouth flooded with saliva, and his teeth began to sharpen, aching like something beastly was trying to break through. You guys would never fight for dominance; instead, Joel would always deepen the kiss by putting a hand at the nape of your neck and pulling you close like he was minutes away from devouring you. 

You never voiced this, but somehow, he found out that you liked the feel of tracing his sharpened canines against your tongue. At the same time, your hands would pull at the hair at the base of his neck, loving the way he grew rougher, heavier, more beast than man with every second. Animalistic. 

“Plus,” he murmurs, pulling back, leaving a string of saliva between your lips, “we both know I like you better this way.” He slides out, dragging a moan from your throat, then flips you onto your stomach with ease. Suddenly, you're facing the end of the bed, heart racing. 

Before you can even respond, he’s already lining the tip back up to your hole—then he pauses. Doesn’t move. You push up onto your elbows, glancing back at him, only to find his eyes fixed between your legs. He lowers himself, slowly, deliberately his large hands coming to spread your cheeks before he gently opens his mouth. 

The tip of his tongue slips out, and a warm trail of saliva drips from it—falling onto your quaking cunt, sticky and slow, like he wants you to feel every drop. You let out a soft mewl, and he watches your pussy clench as his drool drips between your folds. A dark chuckle leaves his lips and he grabs at the base of his dick, sliding it between your newly soaked heat. A low grunt escaping his chest as his other hand grabs at your curves. 

You subconsciously pull forward, away from him and he pulls you back slapping his cock against your cunt. Your body jolting with pleasure, each soft drag of his sac against your clit. 

F-fuck, Joel,” you whimper, and he leans forward, pressing his hairy chest against your back, the heat of him anchoring you in place. 

“Nuh-uh, baby,” he’d murmur, a smirk in his voice. His hand on the curve of your back slides up to your neck, guiding you down into the mattress as he presses a soft kiss to your bare shoulder. Once you were face down in the mattress, your voice muffled against the sheets, he wasted no time lining himself back up to your heat. His cock ached—so hard and swollen he barely had to touch your cunt to feel the pulse of need between you. 

“Now, sit nice and pretty for me,” he growls, voice low and rough with restraint. He waits for your nod—barely—before landing a sharp smack to your ass, the sound echoing in the heat-thick air. His hand lingers, squeezing a fistful of flesh, watching it jiggle under his touch like he owns it. Then he drags the swollen head of his cock along your clit, slow and deliberate, and the sound you both make is animal—raw, guttural, hungry. 

“Fuck, wolfie—” you whisper, breath hitching as he lines the tip up with your entrance. He slides in easily at first, until he reaches the thick ridge of his head, where your body resists with a trembling squeeze. 

“Come on, pretty girl,” he groans, leaning into you, his chest pressed flush to your back. His voice is low in your ear. “I know you can take me.” One hand moves to sweep your hair away from your face, while the other wraps around you, fingers sliding down to find your heat, slow and certain. His middle finger hooks beneath your clit and you cry out, and he’s able to inch further. 

“That’s it, good girl,” he murmurs in your ear, the scrape of his stubble grounding you. His fingers keep working you open, slow circles around your clit before pressing right onto it—pulling waves of pleasure from deep in your belly. It’s that flutter, that perfect tension, that lets him sink in deeper. With a grunt from him and a cry from you, the thick ridge of his cock finally slips past as your hand reachs out and clecnehs around the blanket beneath you. 

“Fuck, yes,” he groans, throwing his head back, mouth slack. “Good puppy.” 

“S’big,” you drawl, breath hitching, your hands scrambling to grasp anything that might anchor you—anything to hold onto as sanity slips through your fingers. 

Joel chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest, pressed firm against your back. His lips brush your ear as he murmurs,

“I know, baby. It’s too much, ain’t it? But you’re takin’ it so fuckin’ well,” Joel grits out, voice thick and breathless, his chest smothering your back as his fingers keep working your clit—slow, tight circles that make your cunt flutter around him, sucking him in deeper with every pass.

His thrusts are still shallow, still trying to be careful, but he’s struggling. You can feel it in the way his hips twitch, the way his cock throbs inside you like it’s begging to be buried to the hilt. And he doesn’t stop touching you, rubbing and teasing every slick, swollen part of you because he knows the more he makes you feel good, the more your body gives. The more you open up for him.

You’re losing it. Hands scrambling at the sheets, at the loose clothes, at your chest, absolutely anything to anchor you as the pleasure crests and crashes through you again and again. You’re gasping into the mattress when you glance up and see it—the moonlight spilling through the window, painting you both in silver-blue, catching the sweat and the way your bodies shine.

And Joel’s panting above you, gritting his teeth, chest heaving against your spine. He’s barely holding it together. You can feel it.

Your hand reaches back blindly, dragging along the hard line of his stomach, down to where his pelvis meets your ass—and then your fingers brush something hot, swollen, throbbing.

His knot.

He hisses, loud and sharp. “Baby—baby, don’t,” he groans, voice damn near cracking. You can feel him trembling, feel how bad he wants it—how close he is to losing the last thread of control.

And suddenly, it hits you: he’s been struggling just as much as you have. Maybe more.

You glance back, lips parted, breath ragged.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, voice shaky with want. “You can move. I can take it, Wolfie.”

That name alone almost makes him come.

You shift your hips, adjusting to take him deeper, your body sore and aching and drenched, but desperate for more. He growls low in his throat, hands grabbing your hips, tight enough to bruise.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Fuck—yes.”

He doesn’t wait. His lips fall to your back, kissing, biting, panting into your skin. Then he starts moving. Not gentle. Not restrained. Just raw, deep, hungry.

“God, yes—unh—so good,” he groans, fucking you harder now, his hips slapping against your ass, cock stretching you wide, the thick swell of his knot grinding harder with every thrust.

“Goddamn, this pussy—fuckin’ delicious, baby girl—fuck.”

His fingers are still playing with your clit, now rougher, sloppier, dragging the slick that’s escaped your hole around and teasing every tender spot like he’s trying to make you fall apart on purpose.

You’re a mess beneath him. “Fuck—fuck—yes, Joel—oh my god—so fuckin’ big—are you gonna come in me?” Your voice is wrecked, your legs shaking, drool on your lips, and tears in your eyes. 

“Yes, baby—fuck yes—I’m gonna come,” he growls, rutting into you like he’s lost his mind.

 “This pussy’s so goddamn perfect—I can feel you every fuckin’ time I thrust—tight little thing, takin’ it all.”

“Yes—yes alpha’s in my guts—fuck—so deep—”

“Yeah, baby—puppy’s gonna make me come—fuck—”

“Come in me, Joel, please—I can take it—I can whatever you give me, Wolfie!”

“Yeah, you can, baby.”

He grabs your hips hard, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, and yanks you back into him with a brutal, unforgiving snap. The momentum lifts your knees partway off the bed, toes barely grazing the sheets as he slams forward, rutting deep with a single, savage thrust.

That’s when you feel His knot—fat, swollen, pulsing— forces its way in with a filthy, wet squelch, your cunt stretching wide around the thick mass of him. It burns and splits, a slick, obscene pressure that makes your back arch and your jaw drop, but your body takes it. Fucks itself open around it. Locks him in.

Your scream catches on the edge of your breath, stuck somewhere between a sob and a moan as your entire body seizes. Your pussy clenches down in frantic, desperate spasms, locking around him like it’s never going to let him go milking, twitching, sucking at him so tight it’s like your body is begging to be filled again and again.

You're trembling, gushing, mouth falling open with a silent cry as pleasure rips through you like lightning, all heat and sharp-edged need.  

“I’m coming—I’m coming—fuck—I’m coming—Joel!”

And that’s all it takes.

Joel snarls, hips jerking as he buries himself fully, knot swollen tight and locked, his cock twitching deep inside as he comes hard, endless, hot. You feel it flood you, feel it leak out around where he’s stretched you to the limit, feel it pulse through every nerve ending like a live wire. And then his teeth sink into your shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to claim, to mark. He groans against your skin, still grinding slowly, stuck deep inside you as your bodies pulse together, knotted and messy and trembling in the moonlight.

You’re both panting—ragged, uneven. The only sound in the room is the slick, obscene squelch of his cock grinding in slow, shallow rolls and the wet drip of his cum leaking out around the knot that still stretches you wide, still keeps you full.

“Fuck…” Joel breathes against your skin, voice hoarse and heavy with everything he just gave you. “You did so fuckin’ good for me, baby.”

You can’t even speak. Your cheek is pressed into the sheets, eyes half-lidded, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, completely wrecked. Your thighs twitch every time he moves, a shiver running down your spine when he licks the bite on your shoulder slowly and reverently.

His knot is still locked tight inside you, keeping your hips pressed together, his cock still twitching, pulsing deep in your overstimulated cunt. Every little movement sends a fresh wave of slick dripping down your thighs.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you there, still, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, he might unravel.

“Just stay like this,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “Let me keep you full a little longer.”

And you do because you don’t want to move, either. Not when you’re this warm, ruined, and full of him. The moonlight glows soft and cold against your skin, but between your bodies, everything’s heat.

-----

PLS REBLOG TO SUPPORT <3

a/n: asks are open; also do u guys notice reoccurring themes lol oops

kitty go meow?

[tteotlma]

full of you

 Mueheueheuheheuehe

werewolf! joel x reader 2.4k/w

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, werewolf knotting, full moon sex, supernatural elements, rough sex, size kink, overstimulation, deep penetration, cock-drunkenness, fluid play (drool/slick/cum), consensual power dynamics, light choking, intense scent marking, possessive behavior, knotting/breeding kink, primal desperation, marking with teeth (non-breaking skin), manhandling, muscle worship, emotionally charged dominance, begging, praise kink, brief emotional vulnerability, post-orgasmic clinging, knot-induced lock-in, mild somnophilic undertones (reader too fucked out to respond), feral!Joel, soft aftercare in context of overstimulation

a/n: everybody say thank u shmeed!

Okay, imagine, but imagine werewolf Joel with a fat knot… It’s a full moon, so he’s a little—okay, a lot—worked up. You guys have been in bed for the better half of an hour at this point. The room reeked of sex, joel’s promise of opening the windows long gone, beads of sweat trailed down the side of his face while sweat pooled in the crevice of your collarbones. 

“Fuck, that’s it baby.” Joel grunted. His hands were practically bruising your hips, his fingernails leaving crescent moon indents onto your plush skin. He had you on top of him (one of his many fave positions) legs spread on both sides of him. He’d currently been spending the last then minutes trying to get you to take his full cock but he’s only been able to get his tip past your tight hole despite the amount of precum that was leaking from the tip. 

You couldn’t help it. It was just too good. 

Once you’d feel the ridge of his penis slip through your folds the stretch would overwhelm you and you’d clench up causing Joel to hiss. 

“Ah,” He jolted beneath you, as you rested your palms on his softened stomach. “You gotta relax, baby.” He would say through gritted teeth. You’d hum in response, your eyes clenched shut as his nails left light scrapes against your skin, your flesh molding beneath his command. 

“I-I’m trying,” you’d hiccup, moan caught in your throat. Small whimpers left your lips as the burn of your thighs from holding yourself up above him was getting to you. The sting and stretch of it all wash pushing you to the edge. “But I can’t, I…” You clenched your thighs around your wrist, almost willing to crush his chest with your knees. You were close, your hands subconsciously tightened around the course curls beneath his belly button. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, but that ain’t gonna happen,” he said, voice gruff. He quickly sat up, throwing you off balance while he placed a hand behind your head, and wrapped the other around your throat, “If you’re gonna come,” he pulls you close, breath on your lips. “You’re gonna come cause I stuffed you full of my cock.” Despite the desperation of it all, he lays you gently on your back before mounting you—not once letting his dick slip from your cunt. All you could do was mewl beneath the weight of his body. Tears filled your eyes. 

“I tried,” you whined softly, “I really did.” You sniffed. You didn’t know why you were getting emotional, but it was probably out of frustration. Joel quickly moved his hand from your throat and brushed the hair out of your face. He shushed you, placing a small kiss on the corner of your lip. 

“I know you did, baby,” he whispers, his thighs warm against the back of your legs. But I can’t have you do all the work, can I?” You shake your head softly, and he smiles, his teeth peeking through his lips. 

He leans down to kiss you, as you throw your arms around him. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hands roam around your body, grabbing at your curves, and he squeezes particularly hard at the flesh of your thigh, causing you to whine into his mouth. He takes that opportunity to explore your mouth. 

When his tongue enters your mouth, your breath hitches. One of the many indicators that Joel was teetering between the edge of lycanthropy and sentience was how his mouth flooded with saliva, and his teeth began to sharpen, aching like something beastly was trying to break through. You guys would never fight for dominance; instead, Joel would always deepen the kiss by putting a hand at the nape of your neck and pulling you close like he was minutes away from devouring you. 

You never voiced this, but somehow, he found out that you liked the feel of tracing his sharpened canines against your tongue. At the same time, your hands would pull at the hair at the base of his neck, loving the way he grew rougher, heavier, more beast than man with every second. Animalistic. 

“Plus,” he murmurs, pulling back, leaving a string of saliva between your lips, “we both know I like you better this way.” He slides out, dragging a moan from your throat, then flips you onto your stomach with ease. Suddenly, you're facing the end of the bed, heart racing. 

Before you can even respond, he’s already lining the tip back up to your hole—then he pauses. Doesn’t move. You push up onto your elbows, glancing back at him, only to find his eyes fixed between your legs. He lowers himself, slowly, deliberately his large hands coming to spread your cheeks before he gently opens his mouth. 

The tip of his tongue slips out, and a warm trail of saliva drips from it—falling onto your quaking cunt, sticky and slow, like he wants you to feel every drop. You let out a soft mewl, and he watches your pussy clench as his drool drips between your folds. A dark chuckle leaves his lips and he grabs at the base of his dick, sliding it between your newly soaked heat. A low grunt escaping his chest as his other hand grabs at your curves. 

You subconsciously pull forward, away from him and he pulls you back slapping his cock against your cunt. Your body jolting with pleasure, each soft drag of his sac against your clit. 

F-fuck, Joel,” you whimper, and he leans forward, pressing his hairy chest against your back, the heat of him anchoring you in place. 

“Nuh-uh, baby,” he’d murmur, a smirk in his voice. His hand on the curve of your back slides up to your neck, guiding you down into the mattress as he presses a soft kiss to your bare shoulder. Once you were face down in the mattress, your voice muffled against the sheets, he wasted no time lining himself back up to your heat. His cock ached—so hard and swollen he barely had to touch your cunt to feel the pulse of need between you. 

“Now, sit nice and pretty for me,” he growls, voice low and rough with restraint. He waits for your nod—barely—before landing a sharp smack to your ass, the sound echoing in the heat-thick air. His hand lingers, squeezing a fistful of flesh, watching it jiggle under his touch like he owns it. Then he drags the swollen head of his cock along your clit, slow and deliberate, and the sound you both make is animal—raw, guttural, hungry. 

“Fuck, wolfie—” you whisper, breath hitching as he lines the tip up with your entrance. He slides in easily at first, until he reaches the thick ridge of his head, where your body resists with a trembling squeeze. 

“Come on, pretty girl,” he groans, leaning into you, his chest pressed flush to your back. His voice is low in your ear. “I know you can take me.” One hand moves to sweep your hair away from your face, while the other wraps around you, fingers sliding down to find your heat, slow and certain. His middle finger hooks beneath your clit and you cry out, and he’s able to inch further. 

“That’s it, good girl,” he murmurs in your ear, the scrape of his stubble grounding you. His fingers keep working you open, slow circles around your clit before pressing right onto it—pulling waves of pleasure from deep in your belly. It’s that flutter, that perfect tension, that lets him sink in deeper. With a grunt from him and a cry from you, the thick ridge of his cock finally slips past as your hand reachs out and clecnehs around the blanket beneath you. 

“Fuck, yes,” he groans, throwing his head back, mouth slack. “Good puppy.” 

“S’big,” you drawl, breath hitching, your hands scrambling to grasp anything that might anchor you—anything to hold onto as sanity slips through your fingers. 

Joel chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest, pressed firm against your back. His lips brush your ear as he murmurs,

“I know, baby. It’s too much, ain’t it? But you’re takin’ it so fuckin’ well,” Joel grits out, voice thick and breathless, his chest smothering your back as his fingers keep working your clit—slow, tight circles that make your cunt flutter around him, sucking him in deeper with every pass.

His thrusts are still shallow, still trying to be careful, but he’s struggling. You can feel it in the way his hips twitch, the way his cock throbs inside you like it’s begging to be buried to the hilt. And he doesn’t stop touching you, rubbing and teasing every slick, swollen part of you because he knows the more he makes you feel good, the more your body gives. The more you open up for him.

You’re losing it. Hands scrambling at the sheets, at the loose clothes, at your chest, absolutely anything to anchor you as the pleasure crests and crashes through you again and again. You’re gasping into the mattress when you glance up and see it—the moonlight spilling through the window, painting you both in silver-blue, catching the sweat and the way your bodies shine.

And Joel’s panting above you, gritting his teeth, chest heaving against your spine. He’s barely holding it together. You can feel it.

Your hand reaches back blindly, dragging along the hard line of his stomach, down to where his pelvis meets your ass—and then your fingers brush something hot, swollen, throbbing.

His knot.

He hisses, loud and sharp. “Baby—baby, don’t,” he groans, voice damn near cracking. You can feel him trembling, feel how bad he wants it—how close he is to losing the last thread of control.

And suddenly, it hits you: he’s been struggling just as much as you have. Maybe more.

You glance back, lips parted, breath ragged.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, voice shaky with want. “You can move. I can take it, Wolfie.”

That name alone almost makes him come.

You shift your hips, adjusting to take him deeper, your body sore and aching and drenched, but desperate for more. He growls low in his throat, hands grabbing your hips, tight enough to bruise.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Fuck—yes.”

He doesn’t wait. His lips fall to your back, kissing, biting, panting into your skin. Then he starts moving. Not gentle. Not restrained. Just raw, deep, hungry.

“God, yes—unh—so good,” he groans, fucking you harder now, his hips slapping against your ass, cock stretching you wide, the thick swell of his knot grinding harder with every thrust.

“Goddamn, this pussy—fuckin’ delicious, baby girl—fuck.”

His fingers are still playing with your clit, now rougher, sloppier, dragging the slick that’s escaped your hole around and teasing every tender spot like he’s trying to make you fall apart on purpose.

You’re a mess beneath him. “Fuck—fuck—yes, Joel—oh my god—so fuckin’ big—are you gonna come in me?” Your voice is wrecked, your legs shaking, drool on your lips, and tears in your eyes. 

“Yes, baby—fuck yes—I’m gonna come,” he growls, rutting into you like he’s lost his mind.

 “This pussy’s so goddamn perfect—I can feel you every fuckin’ time I thrust—tight little thing, takin’ it all.”

“Yes—yes alpha’s in my guts—fuck—so deep—”

“Yeah, baby—puppy’s gonna make me come—fuck—”

“Come in me, Joel, please—I can take it—I can whatever you give me, Wolfie!”

“Yeah, you can, baby.”

He grabs your hips hard, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, and yanks you back into him with a brutal, unforgiving snap. The momentum lifts your knees partway off the bed, toes barely grazing the sheets as he slams forward, rutting deep with a single, savage thrust.

That’s when you feel His knot—fat, swollen, pulsing— forces its way in with a filthy, wet squelch, your cunt stretching wide around the thick mass of him. It burns and splits, a slick, obscene pressure that makes your back arch and your jaw drop, but your body takes it. Fucks itself open around it. Locks him in.

Your scream catches on the edge of your breath, stuck somewhere between a sob and a moan as your entire body seizes. Your pussy clenches down in frantic, desperate spasms, locking around him like it’s never going to let him go milking, twitching, sucking at him so tight it’s like your body is begging to be filled again and again.

You're trembling, gushing, mouth falling open with a silent cry as pleasure rips through you like lightning, all heat and sharp-edged need.  

“I’m coming—I’m coming—fuck—I’m coming—Joel!”

And that’s all it takes.

Joel snarls, hips jerking as he buries himself fully, knot swollen tight and locked, his cock twitching deep inside as he comes hard, endless, hot. You feel it flood you, feel it leak out around where he’s stretched you to the limit, feel it pulse through every nerve ending like a live wire. And then his teeth sink into your shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to claim, to mark. He groans against your skin, still grinding slowly, stuck deep inside you as your bodies pulse together, knotted and messy and trembling in the moonlight.

You’re both panting—ragged, uneven. The only sound in the room is the slick, obscene squelch of his cock grinding in slow, shallow rolls and the wet drip of his cum leaking out around the knot that still stretches you wide, still keeps you full.

“Fuck…” Joel breathes against your skin, voice hoarse and heavy with everything he just gave you. “You did so fuckin’ good for me, baby.”

You can’t even speak. Your cheek is pressed into the sheets, eyes half-lidded, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, completely wrecked. Your thighs twitch every time he moves, a shiver running down your spine when he licks the bite on your shoulder slowly and reverently.

His knot is still locked tight inside you, keeping your hips pressed together, his cock still twitching, pulsing deep in your overstimulated cunt. Every little movement sends a fresh wave of slick dripping down your thighs.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you there, still, like he’s afraid that if he lets go, he might unravel.

“Just stay like this,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “Let me keep you full a little longer.”

And you do because you don’t want to move, either. Not when you’re this warm, ruined, and full of him. The moonlight glows soft and cold against your skin, but between your bodies, everything’s heat.

-----

PLS REBLOG TO SUPPORT <3

a/n: asks are open; also do u guys notice reoccurring themes lol oops

kitty go meow?

[tteotlma]

breathe you in

Dead,, needing to SMELL your lover to be okay????– GETTOUTTA HEREEEE

joel miller x reader imagine 2kwc

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, post-panic attack intimacy, intense emotional vulnerability, scent as grounding, emotionally driven sex, power dynamics (consensual), begging, praise kink, desperate and talkative!Joel, soft domination, slow grinding, unprotected sex, deep emotional dependency, cockwarming adjacent energy, physical clinging, overstimulation potential

a/n: Also i’m def trying to bring back the casuality of what used to be posting on here…. There are many layers to this, which i could talk abt all day, but for now  Bc i still love Joel, so very much 

Imagine it’s late at night, you and Joel have gone to bed. You’re wrapped in the heat of your shared duvet, blanket tucked under your chin just how you like it. Joel had fallen asleep with his arm wrapped tightly around you, but that was hours ago, and… a man’s gotta spread. He’s sprawled out on the bed beside you, both fast asleep. 

Suddenly, the bed creaks with an aggressive shake, and loud mumbling turned panic fills the room. You’re ripped from your sleep when the sounds of his gasps break through your dream barrier, and you realize Joel must’ve had another nightmare. 

Throwing the blanket off your body, you sit up and reach over to touch his face, soft shushes leaving your lips. 

“Hey, hey,” you cooed, “Joel, Baby—” You tried to pacify his cries, warming your hand against the curve of his jaw as you leaned into his side of the bed. He was frantic as he looked around the room, trying to reorient himself. 

“Sweetheart,” getting on your knees, you move to straddle one of his legs, trying not to become frantic. “It was just a nightmare, look at me.” This had come out more stern than previous, and it seemed to break through whatever trance Joel seemed to find himself in. 

His sounds softened as you continued to coax his attention towards you. Soon, the only sound that left his lips turned into heavy breathing as his hand shakily grasped your wrist against his skin. His eyes widen as he finally turns to look at you. 

Cupping his face in both hands, you lean in, “Just Breathe—” his eyebrows curled, a hand on his ches,t “In and out,” your chest mimics your words. 

“I—I—I—” He tries to talk, but you gently hush him.

“It’s okay; you don’t have to talk; just…” The hand on the center of his chest pressed deeper against the warmth of his shirt, silently reminding him where to focus. His hand came to rest atop yours, and he nodded. You locked eyes, and you noticed his pupils were blown wide. 

You stay like that, still and close, for what feels like hours, though only minutes pass—as he slowly pulls himself from the fog of his nightmare.  Then, without a word, his eyes drop to his lap. One hand drifts to your hip, the other settling at the bend of your arm, his chest still rising and falling in uneven waves.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers, voice rough and low. 

You hook a finger beneath his chin, gently guiding his face to yours. “For you,” you whisper, tucking a stray salt-and-pepper curl behind his ear, “anything.”

Your thumb grazes his cheek, tender and steady as you hold his face in your hands. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

The hand on your hip slides to your lower back, his palm warm and deliberate as he draws you into his chest. You go easily, folding into the hug, your cheek resting against the curve of his neck. He holds you there, solid, quiet—like the act of touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded. 

His face finds the crook of your neck while your chin rests on his shoulder. You feel him breathe you in. At first, it’s subtle and slow, his nose brushing your skin, chest rising against yours as he inhales deeply. He sighs.

Then he does it again. Slower. Longer. His nose drags across the slope of your neck, and his breath leaves him shakier this time.

You feel the edge of his teeth when he speaks, his voice low against your skin, the rough scrape of his stubble trailing higher as he nuzzles along your jaw. You tilt instinctively, baring more of your neck. His hand slides up your spine, fingers splayed, holding you firmly against him.

His lips hover near your skin—not quite kissing, but close enough to make you shiver. The coarse drag of his stubble follows the curve of your jaw as his nose nudges higher. You tilt again, offering more without thinking.

That’s all it takes.

His mouth finds your pulse. One soft kiss. Then another. Then one just beneath your ear that lingers a little too long.

When you turn your face toward his, his eyes drop to your mouth.

And then he kisses you.

It starts slow, careful, almost hesitant. His lips part against yours, and one hand moves higher on your back, holding you steady. The tension breaks when you sigh into him and your fingers tighten in the back of his shirt.

The kiss deepens. His mouth moves over yours like he’s hungry for it, like this is the only way he knows how to speak. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw. His tongue brushes yours, coaxing, tasting. You whimper softly, and he groans into your mouth like the sound unravels him.

Like, he’s not just kissing you.

Like he’s trying to hold on to the only thing that, to him, feels real. 

“Every time I breathe you in, I want more.” He pulls back, eyes hooded as he stares at your now swollen lips.

“Please, baby… let me have more.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and warm, watching the way your chest heaves beneath him. He sees it—the way your breath catches, the flicker of doubt in your eyes—and he doesn’t wait.

“Only if you want it,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “I’ll take my time. I’ll be gentle. Just… I need to be close. Closer than this.”

Another kiss, softer this time, pressed just below your ear.

“I don’t want to fuck. I want to feel. Want to be in your skin and know what it’s like to come home and mean it.”

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in again like it’s the only thing that calms the storm in his chest.

Your hands come up to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping across the stubble at his cheeks. You nod slowly, silently, teeth caught between your lips—and that’s all it takes.

Joel exhales like he’s been underwater, like he’s just come up for air. He shifts his weight and turns you both over in one smooth motion, laying you gently beneath him. His hands don’t leave your body, not once, as your thighs part instinctively to cradle his hips. He settles there, warm and solid, his full weight pressing you into the mattress. His chest hovers just above yours, his forearms braced on either side of your head, eyes locked on yours like he’s still asking for permission, even without the words.

He leans in, kisses you again—slower this time. His lips are warm and sure, his breath steadying against your cheek. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear the second he looks away. His hips roll forward, a slow drag of pressure right against the heat between your legs, and your back arches to meet him.

Even through the layers, you can feel the thick weight of him, already hardening as he grinds against you. The pressure is deliberate, controlled, but needy. Like he’s not chasing pleasure, but grounding himself in it.

"That’s it," he murmurs into your mouth, voice thick. "Just wanna feel you, baby. That’s all I need."

He shifts again, just enough to work one hand down between your bodies, tugging at the waistband of his sweats. You feel the soft brush of his knuckles against your stomach as he pushes them low, and then you reach for him too, helping him slide them off. The soft sound of fabric rustling fills the space between your breaths. When his cock presses against your bare thigh—hot and heavy—you both shudder.

“Take these off for me, sweetheart,” he breathes, thumb hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

You lift your hips, and he pulls them down slowly, carefully, like you’re something breakable. His hands linger on your thighs when he tosses them aside, calloused palms dragging back up the insides until you’re spread open for him again.

He settles between your legs and lines himself up, the thick head of his cock dragging through your folds, already wet and aching. One hand rests at your waist, the other steadying himself against the mattress.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll stop. I swear. I’ll stop if you need me to."

You shake your head immediately, breathing hard.

"Don’t stop, Joel. I need you."

He presses forward slowly, easing into you inch by inch. The stretch steals the breath from your lungs, your fingers curling into the muscles at his back as he sinks deeper. His body shudders above you when he bottoms out, buried completely.

“Fuck—Jesus Christ,” he groans, the words broken against your neck. “You feel like heaven. So warm… fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.”

He stays there for a moment, unmoving. His body presses flush to yours, his hand slides under your back, palm flat between your shoulder blades like he’s holding you there, grounding both of you. When he starts to move, it’s slow, deep, grinding strokes that have you gasping softly beneath him.

Each roll of his hips pulls a quiet sound from your throat. Your body clenches around him, clinging, wet, and pulsing as you fall into his rhythm.

“Needed this,” he whispers. His voice is hoarse, raw. “Felt like I was gonna fuckin’ lose it tonight.”

His forehead presses to yours as he keeps moving inside you, languid, like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You’re the only thing that feels real right now.”

He holds you so close. One hand cupping the back of your head, the other gripping your thigh, spreading you wider, deeper. His mouth grazes your temple, your jaw, and your lips between every breath.

“Only time I can breathe is when I’m buried in you.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, your heel digging into the curve of his ass as you pull him in harder. He groans, thrusts faltering for half a beat before he finds his rhythm again, slightly rougher now, more desperate.

His mouth drops to your shoulder, breath shaking against your skin.

“Let me cum inside you,” he pants. “Wanna feel you wrapped around me when I cum.”

Your answer is a whimper, your nails dragging down his back. He kisses you again—messy and open-mouthed, tongue sweeping against yours like he needs to taste every part of you.

“Let me give it to you, baby—let me fuckin’ give it to you.” He thrusts hard with each syllable. 

You nod, eyes fluttering closed, thighs shaking. His thrusts grow more frantic, deeper, like he’s chasing the edge with every desperate breath.

"That’s it," he groans. "That’s it, darlin’. You take me so fuckin’ well—always do. My good girl."

He spills inside you with a broken, guttural moan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his whole body trembles above you. You feel every twitch, every pulse of release, warm and deep and grounding.

"Thank you," he whispers into your skin, over and over, voice crumbling. "Thank you. Thank you. Didn’t know how much I needed this until you. Until you."

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move except to press soft kisses to your neck, your jaw, your cheek.

“Gonna hold you now, alright?” he murmurs. “Just wanna hold you for a while. That okay, baby?”

You nod, barely able to breathe.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest like he’s afraid to let you go. And for a long time, neither of you says anything at all.

--

a/n: pls don't let another one flop -- REBLOG TO SUPPORT <3

[tteotlma]

breathe you in

Dead,, needing to SMELL your lover to be okay????– GETTOUTTA HEREEEE

joel miller x reader imagine 2kwc

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, post-panic attack intimacy, intense emotional vulnerability, scent as grounding, emotionally driven sex, power dynamics (consensual), begging, praise kink, desperate and talkative!Joel, soft domination, slow grinding, unprotected sex, deep emotional dependency, cockwarming adjacent energy, physical clinging, overstimulation potential

a/n: Also i’m def trying to bring back the casuality of what used to be posting on here…. There are many layers to this, which i could talk abt all day, but for now  Bc i still love Joel, so very much 

Imagine it’s late at night, you and Joel have gone to bed. You’re wrapped in the heat of your shared duvet, blanket tucked under your chin just how you like it. Joel had fallen asleep with his arm wrapped tightly around you, but that was hours ago, and… a man’s gotta spread. He’s sprawled out on the bed beside you, both fast asleep. 

Suddenly, the bed creaks with an aggressive shake, and loud mumbling turned panic fills the room. You’re ripped from your sleep when the sounds of his gasps break through your dream barrier, and you realize Joel must’ve had another nightmare. 

Throwing the blanket off your body, you sit up and reach over to touch his face, soft shushes leaving your lips. 

“Hey, hey,” you cooed, “Joel, Baby—” You tried to pacify his cries, warming your hand against the curve of his jaw as you leaned into his side of the bed. He was frantic as he looked around the room, trying to reorient himself. 

“Sweetheart,” getting on your knees, you move to straddle one of his legs, trying not to become frantic. “It was just a nightmare, look at me.” This had come out more stern than previous, and it seemed to break through whatever trance Joel seemed to find himself in. 

His sounds softened as you continued to coax his attention towards you. Soon, the only sound that left his lips turned into heavy breathing as his hand shakily grasped your wrist against his skin. His eyes widen as he finally turns to look at you. 

Cupping his face in both hands, you lean in, “Just Breathe—” his eyebrows curled, a hand on his ches,t “In and out,” your chest mimics your words. 

“I—I—I—” He tries to talk, but you gently hush him.

“It’s okay; you don’t have to talk; just…” The hand on the center of his chest pressed deeper against the warmth of his shirt, silently reminding him where to focus. His hand came to rest atop yours, and he nodded. You locked eyes, and you noticed his pupils were blown wide. 

You stay like that, still and close, for what feels like hours, though only minutes pass—as he slowly pulls himself from the fog of his nightmare.  Then, without a word, his eyes drop to his lap. One hand drifts to your hip, the other settling at the bend of your arm, his chest still rising and falling in uneven waves.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers, voice rough and low. 

You hook a finger beneath his chin, gently guiding his face to yours. “For you,” you whisper, tucking a stray salt-and-pepper curl behind his ear, “anything.”

Your thumb grazes his cheek, tender and steady as you hold his face in your hands. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

The hand on your hip slides to your lower back, his palm warm and deliberate as he draws you into his chest. You go easily, folding into the hug, your cheek resting against the curve of his neck. He holds you there, solid, quiet—like the act of touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded. 

His face finds the crook of your neck while your chin rests on his shoulder. You feel him breathe you in. At first, it’s subtle and slow, his nose brushing your skin, chest rising against yours as he inhales deeply. He sighs.

Then he does it again. Slower. Longer. His nose drags across the slope of your neck, and his breath leaves him shakier this time.

You feel the edge of his teeth when he speaks, his voice low against your skin, the rough scrape of his stubble trailing higher as he nuzzles along your jaw. You tilt instinctively, baring more of your neck. His hand slides up your spine, fingers splayed, holding you firmly against him.

His lips hover near your skin—not quite kissing, but close enough to make you shiver. The coarse drag of his stubble follows the curve of your jaw as his nose nudges higher. You tilt again, offering more without thinking.

That’s all it takes.

His mouth finds your pulse. One soft kiss. Then another. Then one just beneath your ear that lingers a little too long.

When you turn your face toward his, his eyes drop to your mouth.

And then he kisses you.

It starts slow, careful, almost hesitant. His lips part against yours, and one hand moves higher on your back, holding you steady. The tension breaks when you sigh into him and your fingers tighten in the back of his shirt.

The kiss deepens. His mouth moves over yours like he’s hungry for it, like this is the only way he knows how to speak. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw. His tongue brushes yours, coaxing, tasting. You whimper softly, and he groans into your mouth like the sound unravels him.

Like, he’s not just kissing you.

Like he’s trying to hold on to the only thing that, to him, feels real. 

“Every time I breathe you in, I want more.” He pulls back, eyes hooded as he stares at your now swollen lips.

“Please, baby… let me have more.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and warm, watching the way your chest heaves beneath him. He sees it—the way your breath catches, the flicker of doubt in your eyes—and he doesn’t wait.

“Only if you want it,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “I’ll take my time. I’ll be gentle. Just… I need to be close. Closer than this.”

Another kiss, softer this time, pressed just below your ear.

“I don’t want to fuck. I want to feel. Want to be in your skin and know what it’s like to come home and mean it.”

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in again like it’s the only thing that calms the storm in his chest.

Your hands come up to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping across the stubble at his cheeks. You nod slowly, silently, teeth caught between your lips—and that’s all it takes.

Joel exhales like he’s been underwater, like he’s just come up for air. He shifts his weight and turns you both over in one smooth motion, laying you gently beneath him. His hands don’t leave your body, not once, as your thighs part instinctively to cradle his hips. He settles there, warm and solid, his full weight pressing you into the mattress. His chest hovers just above yours, his forearms braced on either side of your head, eyes locked on yours like he’s still asking for permission, even without the words.

He leans in, kisses you again—slower this time. His lips are warm and sure, his breath steadying against your cheek. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear the second he looks away. His hips roll forward, a slow drag of pressure right against the heat between your legs, and your back arches to meet him.

Even through the layers, you can feel the thick weight of him, already hardening as he grinds against you. The pressure is deliberate, controlled, but needy. Like he’s not chasing pleasure, but grounding himself in it.

"That’s it," he murmurs into your mouth, voice thick. "Just wanna feel you, baby. That’s all I need."

He shifts again, just enough to work one hand down between your bodies, tugging at the waistband of his sweats. You feel the soft brush of his knuckles against your stomach as he pushes them low, and then you reach for him too, helping him slide them off. The soft sound of fabric rustling fills the space between your breaths. When his cock presses against your bare thigh—hot and heavy—you both shudder.

“Take these off for me, sweetheart,” he breathes, thumb hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

You lift your hips, and he pulls them down slowly, carefully, like you’re something breakable. His hands linger on your thighs when he tosses them aside, calloused palms dragging back up the insides until you’re spread open for him again.

He settles between your legs and lines himself up, the thick head of his cock dragging through your folds, already wet and aching. One hand rests at your waist, the other steadying himself against the mattress.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll stop. I swear. I’ll stop if you need me to."

You shake your head immediately, breathing hard.

"Don’t stop, Joel. I need you."

He presses forward slowly, easing into you inch by inch. The stretch steals the breath from your lungs, your fingers curling into the muscles at his back as he sinks deeper. His body shudders above you when he bottoms out, buried completely.

“Fuck—Jesus Christ,” he groans, the words broken against your neck. “You feel like heaven. So warm… fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.”

He stays there for a moment, unmoving. His body presses flush to yours, his hand slides under your back, palm flat between your shoulder blades like he’s holding you there, grounding both of you. When he starts to move, it’s slow, deep, grinding strokes that have you gasping softly beneath him.

Each roll of his hips pulls a quiet sound from your throat. Your body clenches around him, clinging, wet, and pulsing as you fall into his rhythm.

“Needed this,” he whispers. His voice is hoarse, raw. “Felt like I was gonna fuckin’ lose it tonight.”

His forehead presses to yours as he keeps moving inside you, languid, like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You’re the only thing that feels real right now.”

He holds you so close. One hand cupping the back of your head, the other gripping your thigh, spreading you wider, deeper. His mouth grazes your temple, your jaw, and your lips between every breath.

“Only time I can breathe is when I’m buried in you.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, your heel digging into the curve of his ass as you pull him in harder. He groans, thrusts faltering for half a beat before he finds his rhythm again, slightly rougher now, more desperate.

His mouth drops to your shoulder, breath shaking against your skin.

“Let me cum inside you,” he pants. “Wanna feel you wrapped around me when I cum.”

Your answer is a whimper, your nails dragging down his back. He kisses you again—messy and open-mouthed, tongue sweeping against yours like he needs to taste every part of you.

“Let me give it to you, baby—let me fuckin’ give it to you.” He thrusts hard with each syllable. 

You nod, eyes fluttering closed, thighs shaking. His thrusts grow more frantic, deeper, like he’s chasing the edge with every desperate breath.

"That’s it," he groans. "That’s it, darlin’. You take me so fuckin’ well—always do. My good girl."

He spills inside you with a broken, guttural moan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his whole body trembles above you. You feel every twitch, every pulse of release, warm and deep and grounding.

"Thank you," he whispers into your skin, over and over, voice crumbling. "Thank you. Thank you. Didn’t know how much I needed this until you. Until you."

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move except to press soft kisses to your neck, your jaw, your cheek.

“Gonna hold you now, alright?” he murmurs. “Just wanna hold you for a while. That okay, baby?”

You nod, barely able to breathe.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest like he’s afraid to let you go. And for a long time, neither of you says anything at all.

--

a/n: pls don't let another one flop -- REBLOG TO SUPPORT <3

[tteotlma]

breathe you in

Dead,, needing to SMELL your lover to be okay????– GETTOUTTA HEREEEE

joel miller x reader imagine 2kwc

TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, post-panic attack intimacy, intense emotional vulnerability, scent as grounding, emotionally driven sex, power dynamics (consensual), begging, praise kink, desperate and talkative!Joel, soft domination, slow grinding, unprotected sex, deep emotional dependency, cockwarming adjacent energy, physical clinging, overstimulation potential

a/n: Also i’m def trying to bring back the casuality of what used to be posting on here…. There are many layers to this, which i could talk abt all day, but for now  Bc i still love Joel, so very much 

Imagine it’s late at night, you and Joel have gone to bed. You’re wrapped in the heat of your shared duvet, blanket tucked under your chin just how you like it. Joel had fallen asleep with his arm wrapped tightly around you, but that was hours ago, and… a man’s gotta spread. He’s sprawled out on the bed beside you, both fast asleep. 

Suddenly, the bed creaks with an aggressive shake, and loud mumbling turned panic fills the room. You’re ripped from your sleep when the sounds of his gasps break through your dream barrier, and you realize Joel must’ve had another nightmare. 

Throwing the blanket off your body, you sit up and reach over to touch his face, soft shushes leaving your lips. 

“Hey, hey,” you cooed, “Joel, Baby—” You tried to pacify his cries, warming your hand against the curve of his jaw as you leaned into his side of the bed. He was frantic as he looked around the room, trying to reorient himself. 

“Sweetheart,” getting on your knees, you move to straddle one of his legs, trying not to become frantic. “It was just a nightmare, look at me.” This had come out more stern than previous, and it seemed to break through whatever trance Joel seemed to find himself in. 

His sounds softened as you continued to coax his attention towards you. Soon, the only sound that left his lips turned into heavy breathing as his hand shakily grasped your wrist against his skin. His eyes widen as he finally turns to look at you. 

Cupping his face in both hands, you lean in, “Just Breathe—” his eyebrows curled, a hand on his ches,t “In and out,” your chest mimics your words. 

“I—I—I—” He tries to talk, but you gently hush him.

“It’s okay; you don’t have to talk; just…” The hand on the center of his chest pressed deeper against the warmth of his shirt, silently reminding him where to focus. His hand came to rest atop yours, and he nodded. You locked eyes, and you noticed his pupils were blown wide. 

You stay like that, still and close, for what feels like hours, though only minutes pass—as he slowly pulls himself from the fog of his nightmare.  Then, without a word, his eyes drop to his lap. One hand drifts to your hip, the other settling at the bend of your arm, his chest still rising and falling in uneven waves.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers, voice rough and low. 

You hook a finger beneath his chin, gently guiding his face to yours. “For you,” you whisper, tucking a stray salt-and-pepper curl behind his ear, “anything.”

Your thumb grazes his cheek, tender and steady as you hold his face in your hands. You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

The hand on your hip slides to your lower back, his palm warm and deliberate as he draws you into his chest. You go easily, folding into the hug, your cheek resting against the curve of his neck. He holds you there, solid, quiet—like the act of touching you is the only thing keeping him grounded. 

His face finds the crook of your neck while your chin rests on his shoulder. You feel him breathe you in. At first, it’s subtle and slow, his nose brushing your skin, chest rising against yours as he inhales deeply. He sighs.

Then he does it again. Slower. Longer. His nose drags across the slope of your neck, and his breath leaves him shakier this time.

You feel the edge of his teeth when he speaks, his voice low against your skin, the rough scrape of his stubble trailing higher as he nuzzles along your jaw. You tilt instinctively, baring more of your neck. His hand slides up your spine, fingers splayed, holding you firmly against him.

His lips hover near your skin—not quite kissing, but close enough to make you shiver. The coarse drag of his stubble follows the curve of your jaw as his nose nudges higher. You tilt again, offering more without thinking.

That’s all it takes.

His mouth finds your pulse. One soft kiss. Then another. Then one just beneath your ear that lingers a little too long.

When you turn your face toward his, his eyes drop to your mouth.

And then he kisses you.

It starts slow, careful, almost hesitant. His lips part against yours, and one hand moves higher on your back, holding you steady. The tension breaks when you sigh into him and your fingers tighten in the back of his shirt.

The kiss deepens. His mouth moves over yours like he’s hungry for it, like this is the only way he knows how to speak. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw. His tongue brushes yours, coaxing, tasting. You whimper softly, and he groans into your mouth like the sound unravels him.

Like, he’s not just kissing you.

Like he’s trying to hold on to the only thing that, to him, feels real. 

“Every time I breathe you in, I want more.” He pulls back, eyes hooded as he stares at your now swollen lips.

“Please, baby… let me have more.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and warm, watching the way your chest heaves beneath him. He sees it—the way your breath catches, the flicker of doubt in your eyes—and he doesn’t wait.

“Only if you want it,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “I’ll take my time. I’ll be gentle. Just… I need to be close. Closer than this.”

Another kiss, softer this time, pressed just below your ear.

“I don’t want to fuck. I want to feel. Want to be in your skin and know what it’s like to come home and mean it.”

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing you in again like it’s the only thing that calms the storm in his chest.

Your hands come up to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping across the stubble at his cheeks. You nod slowly, silently, teeth caught between your lips—and that’s all it takes.

Joel exhales like he’s been underwater, like he’s just come up for air. He shifts his weight and turns you both over in one smooth motion, laying you gently beneath him. His hands don’t leave your body, not once, as your thighs part instinctively to cradle his hips. He settles there, warm and solid, his full weight pressing you into the mattress. His chest hovers just above yours, his forearms braced on either side of your head, eyes locked on yours like he’s still asking for permission, even without the words.

He leans in, kisses you again—slower this time. His lips are warm and sure, his breath steadying against your cheek. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear the second he looks away. His hips roll forward, a slow drag of pressure right against the heat between your legs, and your back arches to meet him.

Even through the layers, you can feel the thick weight of him, already hardening as he grinds against you. The pressure is deliberate, controlled, but needy. Like he’s not chasing pleasure, but grounding himself in it.

"That’s it," he murmurs into your mouth, voice thick. "Just wanna feel you, baby. That’s all I need."

He shifts again, just enough to work one hand down between your bodies, tugging at the waistband of his sweats. You feel the soft brush of his knuckles against your stomach as he pushes them low, and then you reach for him too, helping him slide them off. The soft sound of fabric rustling fills the space between your breaths. When his cock presses against your bare thigh—hot and heavy—you both shudder.

“Take these off for me, sweetheart,” he breathes, thumb hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

You lift your hips, and he pulls them down slowly, carefully, like you’re something breakable. His hands linger on your thighs when he tosses them aside, calloused palms dragging back up the insides until you’re spread open for him again.

He settles between your legs and lines himself up, the thick head of his cock dragging through your folds, already wet and aching. One hand rests at your waist, the other steadying himself against the mattress.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll stop. I swear. I’ll stop if you need me to."

You shake your head immediately, breathing hard.

"Don’t stop, Joel. I need you."

He presses forward slowly, easing into you inch by inch. The stretch steals the breath from your lungs, your fingers curling into the muscles at his back as he sinks deeper. His body shudders above you when he bottoms out, buried completely.

“Fuck—Jesus Christ,” he groans, the words broken against your neck. “You feel like heaven. So warm… fuck, you’re takin’ me so good.”

He stays there for a moment, unmoving. His body presses flush to yours, his hand slides under your back, palm flat between your shoulder blades like he’s holding you there, grounding both of you. When he starts to move, it’s slow, deep, grinding strokes that have you gasping softly beneath him.

Each roll of his hips pulls a quiet sound from your throat. Your body clenches around him, clinging, wet, and pulsing as you fall into his rhythm.

“Needed this,” he whispers. His voice is hoarse, raw. “Felt like I was gonna fuckin’ lose it tonight.”

His forehead presses to yours as he keeps moving inside you, languid, like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You’re the only thing that feels real right now.”

He holds you so close. One hand cupping the back of your head, the other gripping your thigh, spreading you wider, deeper. His mouth grazes your temple, your jaw, and your lips between every breath.

“Only time I can breathe is when I’m buried in you.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, your heel digging into the curve of his ass as you pull him in harder. He groans, thrusts faltering for half a beat before he finds his rhythm again, slightly rougher now, more desperate.

His mouth drops to your shoulder, breath shaking against your skin.

“Let me cum inside you,” he pants. “Wanna feel you wrapped around me when I cum.”

Your answer is a whimper, your nails dragging down his back. He kisses you again—messy and open-mouthed, tongue sweeping against yours like he needs to taste every part of you.

“Let me give it to you, baby—let me fuckin’ give it to you.” He thrusts hard with each syllable. 

You nod, eyes fluttering closed, thighs shaking. His thrusts grow more frantic, deeper, like he’s chasing the edge with every desperate breath.

"That’s it," he groans. "That’s it, darlin’. You take me so fuckin’ well—always do. My good girl."

He spills inside you with a broken, guttural moan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his whole body trembles above you. You feel every twitch, every pulse of release, warm and deep and grounding.

"Thank you," he whispers into your skin, over and over, voice crumbling. "Thank you. Thank you. Didn’t know how much I needed this until you. Until you."

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t move except to press soft kisses to your neck, your jaw, your cheek.

“Gonna hold you now, alright?” he murmurs. “Just wanna hold you for a while. That okay, baby?”

You nod, barely able to breathe.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest like he’s afraid to let you go. And for a long time, neither of you says anything at all.

--

a/n: pls don't let another one flop -- REBLOG TO SUPPORT <3

[tteotlma]

sit pretty, ride hard

-- the only thing that can fix a rough day is a pretty boy to come home to.

Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader 3.2kwc

tw: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content, dom!reader x sub!Bucky Barnes, power exchange, praise kink, leash/belt kink, overstimulation, crying during sex, use of “puppy” and “good boy,” begging, cock worship, possessive behavior, degradation (light), soft aftercare, mild manipulation/teasing, creampie, dirty talk, mildly obsessive undertones, language, semi-public implications (thin walls/neighbors) a/n: just heard someone say i was in the room doing hw… JOKES ON THEM I ALREADY DID HW___I WAS WRITING THIS HEHEHE

DEAD, OK IMAGINE THIS… It’s been a particularly rough day, you know the kind where you couldn’t find your left shoe this morning, or you couldn’t remember where you threw your keys last night, or the fact that this week in general was a kick in the ass, what with the end of the second quarter coming around—We can only go up from here! —replayed in your head as you recounted your boss’s efforts during the biweekly quarter meeting and every pass in the hallway since a month ago. And to make matters somehow worse, a flash flood blew in out of nowhere, and now your white blouse is practically soaked. 

All you want is to be inside your home, in your pajamas, in bed, and maybe your gorgeous beau to make it all feel better. 

You give the door to your house a hard shove, rushing in, throwing your stuff on the floor, and toeing off your flats. 

“Hi, baby, rough day?” You look up to see your handsome lover standing at the entryway, leaning against the wall. Your shoulders subconsciously droop in relief as he comes into view. 

“You have no idea,” you sigh, immediately walking towards him, arms outstretched, which he meets halfway. His arms find your body while your fingers find the hairs at the nape of his neck. He gives you a quick peck on the lips, and when he pulls away, you find yourself quietly wishing for more. 

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, and you shake your head, taking a deep breath. 

He smelled like laundry detergent and pine soap. Must’ve showered recently– you thought as your hands came to rest on the swell of his chest. 

“No, I don’t think so,” you say softly, as you tiptoe to try and get a kiss, which he happily accepts. His lips are soft against yours and —God, you didn’t realize how much calm he brought you… It was kinda nauseatingly sweet. You feel him pull away and find yourself again wishing he hadn’t. 

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” He says, into your hair before he pulls back, and takes you in. You watch his eyes dip to your blouse, the soaked fabric clung to your chest, turning translucent, and Bucky’s breath hitched slightly as the outline of soft lace, barely-there blush in color, ghosted through. Not obvious. Not intentional. But enough to make his fingers twitch at your sides. He quickly shifts his gaze back to your face. 

“Well…” You suddenly turn coy, knowing just the right buttons to push after all these years. “I can think of something.” You say softly, a hand comes to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear before slowly ghosting your finger from the hollow of your throat down toward where your wet blouse clings to the top of your chest, fabric sticking to skin in a way that makes Bucky’s eyes drop instantly. 

You stop where your cleavage disappears into lace, dragging your finger over the seam where damp cotton ends and soft, barely-there blush starts, and God, the way his throat works when he swallows almost makes you laugh. Wide-eyed, jaw slack, Bucky’s mouth opens like he wants to speak, like maybe go towel off, change into warm, dry clothes, or get cozy under a blanket on the sofa – like he’s trying to take care of you like he always does, in that warm, soft, respectable way he does. And frankly, you’re way too wound up for soft tonight. 

“W-What are you thinking?” He clears his throat in an act of fake nonchalance, but the way his hands tighten against your hips proves you and he are riding the same brain wave. 

“Hmmm…” You look down like you need a minute to think, “you wanna fuck me harder than my day did?” you asked like it was any normal question out there and Bucky froze. 

He stares at you, eyes darkening, breath caught somewhere in his throat. “You—what?”

You step closer, your wet blouse still clinging to your skin, the faint outline of your bra now an afterthought to how much heat instantly crackles between you. “You heard me, baby,” you purr, fingers climbing up his chest until they hook into the collar of his shirt. “Or do I have to repeat myself for your pretty little brain?”

Bucky stared at you like you’d just slapped him, his mouth opening then closing again, lost somewhere between short-circuiting and combusting.

You tilted your head, feigning sweetness. “Well?” you pouted, hands slowly reaching for the buckle that sat against your stomach. “You gonna let today win, or you gonna remind me who I belong to?”

He made a wounded little sound, like the words physically hit him, and you swore you saw his knees wobble.

“I—shit, doll,” he breathed, blinking rapidly. “Do n’t—don’t say things like that unless you mean it.”

“For you, baby,” You stepped in closer, chest brushing his as your hand unbuckled the leather belt looped around your waist. “I always mean it,” you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You gonna be good and make me feel better, lover? Or do I need to make you?”

That belt came off with one smooth tug.

Bucky’s breath hitched as he audibly swallowed, and you swore it went straight to your spine. His eyes stayed locked on yours as you held the belt up, looped it gently around his neck, tugging just enough to pull him down to you. 

You press your fists into his chest and lean up, brushing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth—just a little taste, a whisper of what’s waiting for him if he gives in. His breath stutters, lashes fluttering, but he doesn’t move. Not yet. So you do it again, this time slower, lips brushing his skin like a promise, a coaxing little nudge that has him swaying toward you. When he hesitates, you pull back just enough to tilt your head again, brows lifting like you’re daring him not to.

And that’s when he moves.

He leans in, just barely, like his body chooses before his mind, chasing your mouth like instinct. And the second his lips part, you meet him with a kiss that’s pure filth—wet, messy, tongue sweeping into his mouth, teeth dragging against his bottom lip until he moans and stumbles forward. You kiss him like you want to eat him alive, like you know precisely how to unmake him, and he melts into it with this quiet, desperate little sound that makes your toes curl.

“Mmm, there’s my good boy,” you hum against his lips, tugging lightly on the belt still looped around his neck. “That’s it. Come on, baby.”

And like the perfect little puppy he is, he follows. You lead him backward with the belt like a leash, step by step through the house toward the bedroom, and he never once breaks eye contact. His eyes are heavy, lidded with want, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding it together. When you reach the edge of the bed, you give the belt a tug and push—just enough to guide him onto the mattress, where he sits back on his elbows, pupils blown wide as you crawl into his lap. 

He watches you from where you sit in his lap, belt still dangling from his neck like a collar, and it’s almost too much. His chest rises in these shaky, uneven waves like he’s struggling to keep his composure, and you adore it all— the tension, the restraint, the way he’s trying so hard to be good, to sit still and wait for your touch, for your approval, when everything in his body is screaming to move. You grind forward just slightly, the seam of your soaked slacks dragging across the hard outline of his cock, and he lets out this strangled sound, one that’s not quite a moan, not quite a gasp, something helpless and sweet and so fucking pretty that it makes your cunt pulse with want.

You do it again, slower this time, grinding your hips in a slow circle over the thick bulge in his pants, and his head drops back with a thud, Adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out the softest, most pitiful little whimper you’ve ever heard.

“Aww, look at you,” you croon, one hand dragging up his chest, the other cupping his jaw and guiding his flushed face back toward yours. “Already shaking, baby? I haven’t even taken your cock out yet.”

“Please,” he breathes, lips parted, eyes glassy. “Fuck—please, I need—just need to feel you.”

“I know, I know,” you coo, fingers ghosting down his torso until you’re palming him through the fabric of his pants, watching his thighs twitch as you rub over the thick head. “My poor baby. All pent up. You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you? My sweet little puppy. Just sitting here, letting me play with you.”

His hips buck again, instinctive and frantic, and you pull your hand away with a pout.

“Ah ah,” you tsk. “That’s not how good boys behave.”

“I’ll be good,” he swears, voice cracking. “I am good—please, please, just—hngh, fuck—”

You lean forward, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, breath warm and thick with praise. “You are,” you whisper. “You’re so good for me. So perfect. So obedient. So fucking pretty when you beg.”

You reach down again, finally undoing the button of his jeans and dragging the zipper down with agonizing slowness. His cock strains against the fabric of his boxers, pulsing, the wet patch of precum already staining through. You pull him out carefully, deliberately, and the moment your hand wraps around the base of him, he moans full-bodied and broken, like he’s been waiting hours for this. He’s thick, flushed, gorgeous, and you stroke him once, then again, watching the muscles in his stomach twitch with every little flick of your wrist.

And still, you don’t climb him. Not yet.

Instead, you push yourself up, undo your slacks with one hand while keeping your gaze locked on his, letting him watch every movement, every inch of skin you reveal. When you slide the fabric down your legs, revealing the scandalously thin pair of underwear that’s long since soaked through, you hear his breath stutter. He’s looking at you like he’s in a trance, like you’re not real, like he’s watching a dream he’s terrified to wake from.

You stand there for a moment, thighs glistening, hips cocked to the side, and tilt your head with a smile.

“Actually,” you say slowly, dragging one finger along the hem of your panties, “maybe I don’t need a good fuck tonight. Maybe I just need some air. A little walk. Something to clear my head.”

His whole body jerks.

“No—no, please,” he chokes, voice thick with panic, eyes going wide. “Don’t—don’t leave, please, fuck—I’ll be so good, I’ll fuck you so good, baby, you won’t even remember what stress is, please, I need—need to be inside you, please—”

“Mmm,” you hum, stepping forward and climbing back into his lap, rubbing the dripping heat of your pussy along the thick length of his cock without taking him in. “I don’t know, lover. You talk a big game.”

He groans deep and guttural and bucks his hips, trying to catch your entrance, but you lift just enough to keep him from sliding in. You grip his jaw, guiding his eyes to meet yours.

“You want it that bad, puppy?” 

“Yes,” he whispers, trembling. “Yes, I—I’ll do anything.”

Your smirk softens, darkens, turns into something almost loving as you lean in, eyes locked on his, the heat between you ready to snap. And then you kiss him — filthy and messy and all tongue and teeth, lips crashing into his like you’re trying to climb inside his mouth. You swallow his broken little moan as your tongue presses deep, licking into him while your hips roll and your cunt smears slick all along the length of his cock, not giving him anything he needs and everything he wants. His hands twitch like he’s going to reach for you again, but he doesn't — he knows better. So he just grips the sheets, groaning into your mouth, letting you take and take and take.

You pull back only when you’re breathless, your lips wet, your mouth still hovering so close that your exhales blend into his. “Good boy,” you whisper, dragging your nails down his chest. “Now hold still.”

You press your pussy down on him again, slower this time, letting your soaked folds glide along the underside of his cock, catching on the head, teasing the tip, and he whimpers, hips twitching so hard beneath you it makes the bed creak.

“Oh baby,” you sigh, voice going soft and filthy, your nails dragging through his hair, tugging his head back. “You’ve already made me feel so good. You’re doing so well. I’m already forgetting how fucking awful today was, just from this fat cock rubbing against me.”

“Please,” he gasps, one tear sliding down his flushed cheek, breath catching as you finally — finally — line yourself up and sink down onto him, inch by aching inch, until you’re seated fully in his lap and he’s buried so deep it feels like he’s splitting you in two.

Both of you moan, raw and sharp and needy, like it’s been days instead of minutes. His head drops forward, pressing to your chest as you clench around him, and he just breathes, shaking with how hard he’s trying to hold it together while you ride him slow, cruel, and perfect.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, head tipping back, your hands coming up to squeeze your breasts through your bra as you bottom out on him. “Oh my fucking God, that’s it, that’s what I needed. You feel so good, baby. So deep, so fucking thick, stretching me just right.”

He cries out beneath you, loud and ragged, like the sound's been ripped straight from his lungs. You swear it punches straight through you. his hands still pinned to the mattress, his hips rocking up in tiny, stuttered movements like he’s trying to be good, trying to hold back the way you told him to, but his body’s betraying him with every flex of his thighs, every desperate twitch of his cock buried thick and throbbing inside you. You start slow — like you always do — hips rolling in deep, grinding circles, letting him feel every fucking inch of how tight you are, how wet you are, how perfectly his cock fills you. His abs tense, stuttering with every pass of your cunt over the swollen head, his throat bobbing hard as his mouth falls open, head tilting back, and the whine that escapes him is so pretty it almost makes your vision blur.

“My pretty boy,” you murmur, voice wrecked but full of pride, leaning in to kiss the tear sliding hot down his cheek. “My perfect little puppy. You take such good care of me, don’t you? Look at you. Letting me use this cock like it’s mine. Giving me everything I need.”

“Please,” he sobs, the word trembling on his lips. “Please, touch me, please, I need—I need—”

You hum like it’s nothing, like you hadn’t been waiting for that moment, and finally you grab his wrists and drag his hands up to your chest. He moans when his palms land there, when you arch into his touch, and he grabs you like he might die if he doesn’t, fingers squeezing your tits, mouth open gasping, holding on like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the bed. And still, you ride him—faster now, rougher, bouncing in hard, slick snaps of your hips that make the mattress creak beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall, the wet smack of skin on skin echoing around the room like it’s trying to tell the neighbors you’re being fucking ruined in here.

Bucky’s whining now, full-on, high-pitched and desperate, beautiful… every thrust drawing out a broken little cry from his throat as you fuck yourself on him like you’ve been waiting all day for this, like the only way to exorcise your frustration is to wring every drop of pleasure from his cock.

 And God, his cock. It’s so thick, so deep, dragging against your walls in a way that makes your back arch, your toes curl, your mind go fucking blank. You can feel him twitching inside you with every bounce, the veins pulsing against your walls, the ridge catching on every spot that makes you clench and moan and shudder with how close you already are.

And Bucky? He’s gone. Babbling beneath you, trying to form words between the choked gasps and sobs, his abs quivering under your palms, his eyes glassy and wild like he’s never been fucked like this in his life.

“Say it,” you growl, grinding down so deep it punches a grunt out of him. “Say what you are.”

“I’m yours,” he gasps, the words falling out in one breath. “I’m your puppy—I’m your good boy, please, please, don’t stop, fuck—please—”

And that raw, wrecked, please breaks something in you. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear, and whisper it softly, filthily, and finally.

“That’s my good puppy. You make me feel so good.” 

And he shatters.

He bottoms out inside you with a cry that cracks in his throat, hips jerking uncontrollably as he spills into you, hard, one pulse after another of hot, desperate cum flooding your cunt as he grabs at you like he needs to hold you down, keep you there, make sure you don’t leave, like he needs you to take it all. You gasp, head falling back, and it hits you just as hard — your orgasm tearing through you like lightning, making your whole body seize around him, your thighs shaking, your cunt milking him as you ride every wave of it out on his cock, moaning his name over and over like it’s the only word that still makes sense.

And still he holds you. Still he grinds up into you, chasing every last bit of your orgasm even as he sobs into your skin, even as he cries from how fucking much it is. You press your hands to his chest, panting, slick dripping between your thighs, your body twitching from aftershocks, as you let him squeeze your tits again, let him grab you, hold you, pull you down tight to him as his cock softens inside your fluttering cunt.

You stay like that for a long moment, a mess of slick and sweat and sobbing breath, skin stuck together, limbs tangled, your forehead resting against his as you both try to come down. His eyes are still wet, his lips kiss-bitten and red, and you kiss him again, soft this time, slow, just the press of lips and breath.

And you smile.

Because he earned it. Every last fucking drop.

--

a/n: hope u enjoyed PLS REBLOG TO SUPPORT <3

asks are open :)

[sunday-bug]

WHOOOOOOOO my switch and dom girlies are fucking WINNING with this one 🥵🐶❤️‍🔥

[tteotlma]

sit pretty, ride hard

-- the only thing that can fix a rough day is a pretty boy to come home to.

Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader 3.2kwc

tw: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content, dom!reader x sub!Bucky Barnes, power exchange, praise kink, leash/belt kink, overstimulation, crying during sex, use of “puppy” and “good boy,” begging, cock worship, possessive behavior, degradation (light), soft aftercare, mild manipulation/teasing, creampie, dirty talk, mildly obsessive undertones, language, semi-public implications (thin walls/neighbors) a/n: just heard someone say i was in the room doing hw… JOKES ON THEM I ALREADY DID HW___I WAS WRITING THIS HEHEHE

DEAD, OK IMAGINE THIS… It’s been a particularly rough day, you know the kind where you couldn’t find your left shoe this morning, or you couldn’t remember where you threw your keys last night, or the fact that this week in general was a kick in the ass, what with the end of the second quarter coming around—We can only go up from here! —replayed in your head as you recounted your boss’s efforts during the biweekly quarter meeting and every pass in the hallway since a month ago. And to make matters somehow worse, a flash flood blew in out of nowhere, and now your white blouse is practically soaked. 

All you want is to be inside your home, in your pajamas, in bed, and maybe your gorgeous beau to make it all feel better. 

You give the door to your house a hard shove, rushing in, throwing your stuff on the floor, and toeing off your flats. 

“Hi, baby, rough day?” You look up to see your handsome lover standing at the entryway, leaning against the wall. Your shoulders subconsciously droop in relief as he comes into view. 

“You have no idea,” you sigh, immediately walking towards him, arms outstretched, which he meets halfway. His arms find your body while your fingers find the hairs at the nape of his neck. He gives you a quick peck on the lips, and when he pulls away, you find yourself quietly wishing for more. 

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, and you shake your head, taking a deep breath. 

He smelled like laundry detergent and pine soap. Must’ve showered recently– you thought as your hands came to rest on the swell of his chest. 

“No, I don’t think so,” you say softly, as you tiptoe to try and get a kiss, which he happily accepts. His lips are soft against yours and —God, you didn’t realize how much calm he brought you… It was kinda nauseatingly sweet. You feel him pull away and find yourself again wishing he hadn’t. 

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” He says, into your hair before he pulls back, and takes you in. You watch his eyes dip to your blouse, the soaked fabric clung to your chest, turning translucent, and Bucky’s breath hitched slightly as the outline of soft lace, barely-there blush in color, ghosted through. Not obvious. Not intentional. But enough to make his fingers twitch at your sides. He quickly shifts his gaze back to your face. 

“Well…” You suddenly turn coy, knowing just the right buttons to push after all these years. “I can think of something.” You say softly, a hand comes to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear before slowly ghosting your finger from the hollow of your throat down toward where your wet blouse clings to the top of your chest, fabric sticking to skin in a way that makes Bucky’s eyes drop instantly. 

You stop where your cleavage disappears into lace, dragging your finger over the seam where damp cotton ends and soft, barely-there blush starts, and God, the way his throat works when he swallows almost makes you laugh. Wide-eyed, jaw slack, Bucky’s mouth opens like he wants to speak, like maybe go towel off, change into warm, dry clothes, or get cozy under a blanket on the sofa – like he’s trying to take care of you like he always does, in that warm, soft, respectable way he does. And frankly, you’re way too wound up for soft tonight. 

“W-What are you thinking?” He clears his throat in an act of fake nonchalance, but the way his hands tighten against your hips proves you and he are riding the same brain wave. 

“Hmmm…” You look down like you need a minute to think, “you wanna fuck me harder than my day did?” you asked like it was any normal question out there and Bucky froze. 

He stares at you, eyes darkening, breath caught somewhere in his throat. “You—what?”

You step closer, your wet blouse still clinging to your skin, the faint outline of your bra now an afterthought to how much heat instantly crackles between you. “You heard me, baby,” you purr, fingers climbing up his chest until they hook into the collar of his shirt. “Or do I have to repeat myself for your pretty little brain?”

Bucky stared at you like you’d just slapped him, his mouth opening then closing again, lost somewhere between short-circuiting and combusting.

You tilted your head, feigning sweetness. “Well?” you pouted, hands slowly reaching for the buckle that sat against your stomach. “You gonna let today win, or you gonna remind me who I belong to?”

He made a wounded little sound, like the words physically hit him, and you swore you saw his knees wobble.

“I—shit, doll,” he breathed, blinking rapidly. “Do n’t—don’t say things like that unless you mean it.”

“For you, baby,” You stepped in closer, chest brushing his as your hand unbuckled the leather belt looped around your waist. “I always mean it,” you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You gonna be good and make me feel better, lover? Or do I need to make you?”

That belt came off with one smooth tug.

Bucky’s breath hitched as he audibly swallowed, and you swore it went straight to your spine. His eyes stayed locked on yours as you held the belt up, looped it gently around his neck, tugging just enough to pull him down to you. 

You press your fists into his chest and lean up, brushing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth—just a little taste, a whisper of what’s waiting for him if he gives in. His breath stutters, lashes fluttering, but he doesn’t move. Not yet. So you do it again, this time slower, lips brushing his skin like a promise, a coaxing little nudge that has him swaying toward you. When he hesitates, you pull back just enough to tilt your head again, brows lifting like you’re daring him not to.

And that’s when he moves.

He leans in, just barely, like his body chooses before his mind, chasing your mouth like instinct. And the second his lips part, you meet him with a kiss that’s pure filth—wet, messy, tongue sweeping into his mouth, teeth dragging against his bottom lip until he moans and stumbles forward. You kiss him like you want to eat him alive, like you know precisely how to unmake him, and he melts into it with this quiet, desperate little sound that makes your toes curl.

“Mmm, there’s my good boy,” you hum against his lips, tugging lightly on the belt still looped around his neck. “That’s it. Come on, baby.”

And like the perfect little puppy he is, he follows. You lead him backward with the belt like a leash, step by step through the house toward the bedroom, and he never once breaks eye contact. His eyes are heavy, lidded with want, chest rising and falling like he’s barely holding it together. When you reach the edge of the bed, you give the belt a tug and push—just enough to guide him onto the mattress, where he sits back on his elbows, pupils blown wide as you crawl into his lap. 

He watches you from where you sit in his lap, belt still dangling from his neck like a collar, and it’s almost too much. His chest rises in these shaky, uneven waves like he’s struggling to keep his composure, and you adore it all— the tension, the restraint, the way he’s trying so hard to be good, to sit still and wait for your touch, for your approval, when everything in his body is screaming to move. You grind forward just slightly, the seam of your soaked slacks dragging across the hard outline of his cock, and he lets out this strangled sound, one that’s not quite a moan, not quite a gasp, something helpless and sweet and so fucking pretty that it makes your cunt pulse with want.

You do it again, slower this time, grinding your hips in a slow circle over the thick bulge in his pants, and his head drops back with a thud, Adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out the softest, most pitiful little whimper you’ve ever heard.

“Aww, look at you,” you croon, one hand dragging up his chest, the other cupping his jaw and guiding his flushed face back toward yours. “Already shaking, baby? I haven’t even taken your cock out yet.”

“Please,” he breathes, lips parted, eyes glassy. “Fuck—please, I need—just need to feel you.”

“I know, I know,” you coo, fingers ghosting down his torso until you’re palming him through the fabric of his pants, watching his thighs twitch as you rub over the thick head. “My poor baby. All pent up. You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you? My sweet little puppy. Just sitting here, letting me play with you.”

His hips buck again, instinctive and frantic, and you pull your hand away with a pout.

“Ah ah,” you tsk. “That’s not how good boys behave.”

“I’ll be good,” he swears, voice cracking. “I am good—please, please, just—hngh, fuck—”

You lean forward, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, breath warm and thick with praise. “You are,” you whisper. “You’re so good for me. So perfect. So obedient. So fucking pretty when you beg.”

You reach down again, finally undoing the button of his jeans and dragging the zipper down with agonizing slowness. His cock strains against the fabric of his boxers, pulsing, the wet patch of precum already staining through. You pull him out carefully, deliberately, and the moment your hand wraps around the base of him, he moans full-bodied and broken, like he’s been waiting hours for this. He’s thick, flushed, gorgeous, and you stroke him once, then again, watching the muscles in his stomach twitch with every little flick of your wrist.

And still, you don’t climb him. Not yet.

Instead, you push yourself up, undo your slacks with one hand while keeping your gaze locked on his, letting him watch every movement, every inch of skin you reveal. When you slide the fabric down your legs, revealing the scandalously thin pair of underwear that’s long since soaked through, you hear his breath stutter. He’s looking at you like he’s in a trance, like you’re not real, like he’s watching a dream he’s terrified to wake from.

You stand there for a moment, thighs glistening, hips cocked to the side, and tilt your head with a smile.

“Actually,” you say slowly, dragging one finger along the hem of your panties, “maybe I don’t need a good fuck tonight. Maybe I just need some air. A little walk. Something to clear my head.”

His whole body jerks.

“No—no, please,” he chokes, voice thick with panic, eyes going wide. “Don’t—don’t leave, please, fuck—I’ll be so good, I’ll fuck you so good, baby, you won’t even remember what stress is, please, I need—need to be inside you, please—”

“Mmm,” you hum, stepping forward and climbing back into his lap, rubbing the dripping heat of your pussy along the thick length of his cock without taking him in. “I don’t know, lover. You talk a big game.”

He groans deep and guttural and bucks his hips, trying to catch your entrance, but you lift just enough to keep him from sliding in. You grip his jaw, guiding his eyes to meet yours.

“You want it that bad, puppy?” 

“Yes,” he whispers, trembling. “Yes, I—I’ll do anything.”

Your smirk softens, darkens, turns into something almost loving as you lean in, eyes locked on his, the heat between you ready to snap. And then you kiss him — filthy and messy and all tongue and teeth, lips crashing into his like you’re trying to climb inside his mouth. You swallow his broken little moan as your tongue presses deep, licking into him while your hips roll and your cunt smears slick all along the length of his cock, not giving him anything he needs and everything he wants. His hands twitch like he’s going to reach for you again, but he doesn't — he knows better. So he just grips the sheets, groaning into your mouth, letting you take and take and take.

You pull back only when you’re breathless, your lips wet, your mouth still hovering so close that your exhales blend into his. “Good boy,” you whisper, dragging your nails down his chest. “Now hold still.”

You press your pussy down on him again, slower this time, letting your soaked folds glide along the underside of his cock, catching on the head, teasing the tip, and he whimpers, hips twitching so hard beneath you it makes the bed creak.

“Oh baby,” you sigh, voice going soft and filthy, your nails dragging through his hair, tugging his head back. “You’ve already made me feel so good. You’re doing so well. I’m already forgetting how fucking awful today was, just from this fat cock rubbing against me.”

“Please,” he gasps, one tear sliding down his flushed cheek, breath catching as you finally — finally — line yourself up and sink down onto him, inch by aching inch, until you’re seated fully in his lap and he’s buried so deep it feels like he’s splitting you in two.

Both of you moan, raw and sharp and needy, like it’s been days instead of minutes. His head drops forward, pressing to your chest as you clench around him, and he just breathes, shaking with how hard he’s trying to hold it together while you ride him slow, cruel, and perfect.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, head tipping back, your hands coming up to squeeze your breasts through your bra as you bottom out on him. “Oh my fucking God, that’s it, that’s what I needed. You feel so good, baby. So deep, so fucking thick, stretching me just right.”

He cries out beneath you, loud and ragged, like the sound's been ripped straight from his lungs. You swear it punches straight through you. his hands still pinned to the mattress, his hips rocking up in tiny, stuttered movements like he’s trying to be good, trying to hold back the way you told him to, but his body’s betraying him with every flex of his thighs, every desperate twitch of his cock buried thick and throbbing inside you. You start slow — like you always do — hips rolling in deep, grinding circles, letting him feel every fucking inch of how tight you are, how wet you are, how perfectly his cock fills you. His abs tense, stuttering with every pass of your cunt over the swollen head, his throat bobbing hard as his mouth falls open, head tilting back, and the whine that escapes him is so pretty it almost makes your vision blur.

“My pretty boy,” you murmur, voice wrecked but full of pride, leaning in to kiss the tear sliding hot down his cheek. “My perfect little puppy. You take such good care of me, don’t you? Look at you. Letting me use this cock like it’s mine. Giving me everything I need.”

“Please,” he sobs, the word trembling on his lips. “Please, touch me, please, I need—I need—”

You hum like it’s nothing, like you hadn’t been waiting for that moment, and finally you grab his wrists and drag his hands up to your chest. He moans when his palms land there, when you arch into his touch, and he grabs you like he might die if he doesn’t, fingers squeezing your tits, mouth open gasping, holding on like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the bed. And still, you ride him—faster now, rougher, bouncing in hard, slick snaps of your hips that make the mattress creak beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall, the wet smack of skin on skin echoing around the room like it’s trying to tell the neighbors you’re being fucking ruined in here.

Bucky’s whining now, full-on, high-pitched and desperate, beautiful… every thrust drawing out a broken little cry from his throat as you fuck yourself on him like you’ve been waiting all day for this, like the only way to exorcise your frustration is to wring every drop of pleasure from his cock.

 And God, his cock. It’s so thick, so deep, dragging against your walls in a way that makes your back arch, your toes curl, your mind go fucking blank. You can feel him twitching inside you with every bounce, the veins pulsing against your walls, the ridge catching on every spot that makes you clench and moan and shudder with how close you already are.

And Bucky? He’s gone. Babbling beneath you, trying to form words between the choked gasps and sobs, his abs quivering under your palms, his eyes glassy and wild like he’s never been fucked like this in his life.

“Say it,” you growl, grinding down so deep it punches a grunt out of him. “Say what you are.”

“I’m yours,” he gasps, the words falling out in one breath. “I’m your puppy—I’m your good boy, please, please, don’t stop, fuck—please—”

And that raw, wrecked, please breaks something in you. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear, and whisper it softly, filthily, and finally.

“That’s my good puppy. You make me feel so good.” 

And he shatters.

He bottoms out inside you with a cry that cracks in his throat, hips jerking uncontrollably as he spills into you, hard, one pulse after another of hot, desperate cum flooding your cunt as he grabs at you like he needs to hold you down, keep you there, make sure you don’t leave, like he needs you to take it all. You gasp, head falling back, and it hits you just as hard — your orgasm tearing through you like lightning, making your whole body seize around him, your thighs shaking, your cunt milking him as you ride every wave of it out on his cock, moaning his name over and over like it’s the only word that still makes sense.

And still he holds you. Still he grinds up into you, chasing every last bit of your orgasm even as he sobs into your skin, even as he cries from how fucking much it is. You press your hands to his chest, panting, slick dripping between your thighs, your body twitching from aftershocks, as you let him squeeze your tits again, let him grab you, hold you, pull you down tight to him as his cock softens inside your fluttering cunt.

You stay like that for a long moment, a mess of slick and sweat and sobbing breath, skin stuck together, limbs tangled, your forehead resting against his as you both try to come down. His eyes are still wet, his lips kiss-bitten and red, and you kiss him again, soft this time, slow, just the press of lips and breath.

And you smile.

Because he earned it. Every last fucking drop.

--

a/n: hope u enjoyed PLS REBLOG TO SUPPORT <3

asks are open :)