Two Sentence Horror

Easter falling on 4/20 again this year means all those old 420 praise it vines from 2014 are once again relevant

i loved grumpy x sunshine! can we get more of it? bucky’s just a big doberman who loves his sweet precious baby girl more than anything

yes I absolutely love their dynamic and BIG DOBERMAN energy is so spot on!! here’s protective Bucky *wink wink*

Sink in

grumpy!bucky barnes x sunshine!reader

summary: you go on an undercover mission with Bucky who gets overprotective and… jealous?

word count: 2771

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, dirty talk, praise kink, PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, mirror sex, breeding, possessive behavior, mutual desperation, fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated.

You didn’t need to be told twice to smile — it came naturally to you.

Even undercover in a tight red dress and uncomfortable heels, walking into an event filled with arms dealers and corrupt diplomats, you smiled like you had nothing to fear.

Bucky hated it.

“You’re drawing attention.” he muttered under his breath, large hand on the small of your back. “You walk in like that and every asshole in here’s gonna think you’re available.”

You bumped his hip with yours. “That’s kind of the point, grump. You’re supposed to look like you’re here with your arm candy.”

“I don’t like the idea of being bait.” he muttered.

“You’re not bait,” you said with a smile that could melt titanium. “I am.”

Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s even worse.”

Your relationship with Bucky wasn’t simple. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t tease. He grunted. He rolled his eyes. He glared at anyone who looked at you too long. You weren’t dating. Not officially. You hadn’t kissed, hadn’t crossed that line.

But you’d shared motel rooms. Shared food. Watched old movies on scratched discs in safehouses, shoulders brushing in the dark. You’d woken up more than once with your legs tangled under a too-small blanket and his arm slung heavy across your stomach.

You called him “grump” and he let you. You made him coffee just the way he liked it — Black, one tablespoon of sugar— even when he never asked.

He called you doll once, under his breath, when he didn’t know you were listening. And when things got dangerous, when missions got ugly, when people came too close — Bucky stopped being silent. He turned brutal. Fierce.

Protective.

Of you.

You weren’t sure what that meant. You weren’t lovers. But you weren’t just teammates either.

Sometimes, when you caught him staring too long — at your mouth, at your bare shoulder, at your smile — you thought maybe… maybe he felt it too.

The pull.

The way the air shifted between you like something unsaid was pressing against both your ribs.

But he never made a move.

Never crossed the line.

So you didn’t either. You stayed in that strange in-between — close, but not close enough.

But tonight?

When he was here with you in that goddamn tailored suit? Gods be good — it was getting difficult. Very difficult to not get close.

You continued your undercover mission, glancing at Bucky who was watching just from around the corner.

Everything was going fine — until it wasn’t.

You were halfway through your flirtatious distraction with a smug suit named Anton when something shifted. You felt it before you saw it — the way Bucky stiffened across the room, how his gaze locked onto yours like a damn hawk.

Anton’s hand brushed your bare arm. Too high.

Bucky moved.

Not walked. Not jogged.

Moved. Like a fucking missile.

By the time Anton leaned in to whisper something vile in your ear, Bucky was already there.

His metal arm was around your waist before you could blink, yanking you back against his chest as his other hand slammed Anton back into the velvet booth.

“She’s not yours to touch.” he growled, low and deadly.

Anton sputtered, caught off guard. “She said—she was just—”

“I don’t care what she said,” Bucky snapped. “You don’t lay a hand on her.”

“Bucky—” you started, cheeks warm, heart hammering. You weren’t sure If you felt embarrassed or flustered… or maybe it was both?

“No.” His voice was sharp, eyes never leaving the guy’s face. “You don’t touch her unless she asks you to. Got it?”

Anton nodded, wide-eyed, hands raised. Bucky didn’t let go of your waist.

Not even when the man scurried away like a kicked dog. Not even when the music returned to full volume and the mission resumed.

He held you tight against him, breathing hard.

You looked up at him, that same soft smile on your face. “You okay, soldier?”

His jaw was clenched tight. “Don’t do that again.”

“What?”

“Let someone else put their hands on you.”

You blinked, voice lowering. “It was part of the mission.”

“Don’t care.” His grip tightened slightly. “Next time anyone tries that, I’m breaking more than their pride.”

And just like that — it was silent between you.

Hot.

Tense.

Buzzing with a line you hadn’t crossed yet, but you were so close.

Then he leaned down, mouth brushing your ear.

“You’re mine to protect. You get that?”

Your breath caught.

You nodded.

And from the way his hand slipped down your hip, lingering like he needed to feel you were safe, you knew the mission wasn’t the only thing getting dangerously close to explosive.

You watched him leave and soon as you made sure Bucky made his way back to his spot, talking with some other men you rushed to find the bathroom, your breath still caught in your throat, panic raising with every passing moment.

The second the door to the staff’s restroom clicked shut behind you, you exhaled.

Not calmly. Not softly.

You practically collapsed against the sink, palms flat on the cool porcelain as your shoulders slumped forward.

Your heart was still racing, and it wasn’t just the mission.

It was him.

God, it was always him.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the bass from the club thudding through the floor beneath your heels.

You looked like yourself.

The flirty dress. The soft smile still trying to recover. But inside, you were buzzing. And tired. And confused. And a little bit angry.

Because Bucky had done it again.

The jealousy, the possessiveness — the way he’d shoved that man like he was seconds from pulling the trigger, growling like a feral thing with the words that basically said “don’t touch what’s mine.”

But then, as always, he’d walked away like nothing had happened. Like he didn’t just claim you in front of a room full of people and then leave you standing there, heart pounding, body still warm from his hands.

You felt like a fool. You closed your eyes. Let out a slow breath. You weren’t weak. You weren’t. You’d handled worse.

But not this.

Not him.

You had no idea what the hell you were to Bucky Barnes.

Some days, he looked at you like you were his only peace in this godforsaken world. Other days, he barely spoke — only snapped when you got too close to danger or when someone else looked at you too long. He’d touch you — your waist, your back, your wrist when he needed to pull you out of the way — but he never stayed.

Never kissed you.

Never said anything.

You opened your eyes again and muttered to your reflection:

“Just say it, man. Just say it. Either you want me or you don’t.”

Your voice cracked, and you hated it.

Because you were tired. Tired of feeling like you belonged to someone who didn’t want to belong back.

You didn’t even hear the door open. You only felt it — the sudden shift in the air behind you. The presence. Heavy. Quiet. Familiar.

Then the low voice:

“Why’d you run?”

You turned slowly. Bucky stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, filling the frame like a storm you hadn’t seen coming.

“I didn’t run.” you said, trying for casual. It came out thin.

“You disappeared.”

“I needed air.”

“You could’ve told me.”

Your hands clenched. “Oh, so now I’m supposed to tell you where I go, too?”

His jaw ticked. “That’s not what I—”

“God, Bucky, what are we?”

The words exploded out of you before you could stop them. Your voice trembled, but your spine stayed straight. “Because one second you’re pushing guys off me like you own me, and the next it’s like nothing happened. You look at me like you… like you want me. But you never say it. Never do anything. And I’m so – so damn tired of guessing!”

Silence. It pressed thick between you, heavy enough to crush. His stare didn’t waver. But his shoulders had dropped just slightly, and something vulnerable flickered behind his eyes.

You swallowed hard, chest rising and falling. “Do you even know what you want from me?”

He didn’t move for a second. Then he stepped forward — slow, deliberate.

“I want you safe.” he said quietly.

You scoffed. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I can say without crossing a line I can’t come back from.”

Your heart skipped. “So cross it.”

His jaw clenched.

“Cross it.” You repeated, as If you were daring him.

He was in front of you in a breath, eyes wild, hands reaching out and gripping the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in. His body hovered, close but not touching. You could feel the heat of him. Smell the leather and sweat and something so distinctly him that your knees nearly buckled.

His hands left the counter and grabbed your waist instead, yanking you flush against his chest. You barely had a second to gasp before his mouth was on yours — rough, devouring, starving. He kissed you like a man possessed. Like he’d been holding this in for months. Maybe he had.

You whimpered into his mouth, hands fisting the front of his suit as he pushed you back until your spine hit the cold bathroom wall.

“Fuck,” he muttered between kisses. “You don’t get it, do you?”

You gasped as his lips moved down to your neck, sucking a mark right under your ear. “G-Get what?”

His grip tightened on your hips. “That every time someone touches you, I want to break their fucking hands. That I can’t sleep unless I know you’re okay. That I’ve been dying to do this.”

He ground his hips into yours and you felt it — thick, hard, desperate. You moaned.

“This what you wanted, doll?” he growled against your throat.

You nodded, breathless. “Yes—God, yes—”

He spun you around, pressing your front against the sink as his hand shoved your dress up roughly over your hips. You let out a breathy gasp, the cool air hitting your thighs.

“No more running,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. His hand cupped between your legs through your soaked panties, his fingers rubbing your wet heat. “You’re mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you breathed. “I’ve always been yours—”

He growled something filthy under his breath — you only caught good girl — and then he was pulling your panties down and freeing himself from his pants. You looked up just in time to see your own wrecked reflection in the mirror.

He caught your eye there. Held it. One hand flat on your stomach, the other guiding himself to your entrance.

He teased your slick folds with his cock first, making you moan and gasp, your body moved in anticipation and he let out a dark chuckle.

“Please,” you whispered. “Need you, Bucky—just… need you.”

That was all it took.

He thrust into you in one sharp motion and you cried out, hand slamming against the mirror to steady yourself. He filled you completely, thick and pulsing inside, and didn’t give you a second to adjust — just started pounding into you like he was making up for every moment he hadn’t touched you before.

“Fuck—tight little pussy—been dreamin’ about this,” he groaned, metal hand gripping your hip so hard you’d have bruises tomorrow. His other hand grabbed your jaw, making you look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect.”

Your moans bounced off the walls — you barely cared who heard. His thrusts were deep, punishing, filthy.

And he wouldn’t shut up.

“Not letting you flirt with those assholes again,” he snarled, eyes locked on yours in the mirror. “You wanna act like bait? Fine. But I’m the one who gets to fuck you after.”

You clenched around him at his words and he felt it.

“Oh, baby. You like that, huh? You like when I get mean for you?”

“Y-Yes—fuck, Bucky—please—”

He brought his hand down and smacked your ass, not hard, just enough to make you yelp. “That’s right. This pussy’s mine.”

“Yours,” you sobbed. “All yours—”

He reached around and rubbed tight circles on your clit, hips never faltering. You were unraveling fast, so fast, the pleasure built from weeks — months — of wanting this.

You came hard, body shaking against the sink as he kept fucking you through it, murmuring praises into your ear. Good girl. So sweet. So fuckin’ good for me.

When he was close, he pulled out just long enough to flip you around and lift you onto the sink. You gasped as your back hit the mirror, legs spreading on instinct.

He slid back in easily, growling into your mouth as he kissed you again — slower now, but no less intense.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered against your lips. “Mine, doll. Say it again.”

“Yours,” you gasped. “Only yours.”

He came with a groan, forehead pressed to yours, hips twitching as he filled you deep, his seed spreading inside of your walls.

And then — silence.

Just breathing. Just heat. Just the faint bass of the music still thumping beyond the door, as if none of it mattered. The rush, the blinding pressure of it all started to fade — and Bucky was the first to come down from it.

You were still boneless, leaning back against the mirror with your legs dangling over the edge of the sink, dress wrinkled, panties somewhere on the damn floor.

And Bucky… looked like he’d seen a ghost.

His hands were still on your thighs, but barely. Like he was afraid to touch you now.

His chest was heaving, jaw tight, eyes flickering between your face and the door behind him, like he wasn’t sure whether to kiss you again or bolt.

You gave a small, lazy smile. “Hey.”

His eyes locked onto yours.

You reached up, brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “You okay?”

“I—shit,” he mumbled, stepping back just enough to give you space. “Shit, I—did I hurt you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? No—”

“I was rough. Too rough.” His metal hand hovered near your waist but didn’t land. “You didn’t even—fuck, we didn’t talk, I didn’t even ask, I just—”

“Bucky,” you said, soft but firm. “Look at me.”

He did. Slowly.

Your smile was still there. Warm. Safe.

The look on your face didn’t match the apocalypse going off in his head. If anything, you looked… happy. Messy, flushed, glowing — and happy.

“I would’ve stopped you,” you said gently. “I would’ve said no if I didn’t want it this way.”

He exhaled hard, running a hand down his face like he didn’t believe you could possibly be real.

You reached for him again and tugged him back between your knees. “Bucky. I wanted it,” you said, more seriously now. “I’ve wanted you. For so long. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His hands settled on your hips, gentler this time. His head bowed.

“…I’ve never had anyone like you,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to… be.”

Your heart squeezed.

You brought his hand — the flesh one — to your cheek, nuzzling into it. “I know… You were perfect, Bucky.”

A few moments passed in silence.

Then he cleared his throat. “You should… uh. Let me clean you up.”

You laughed softly. “What, getting shy now?”

He flushed. The Bucky Barnes blushing? You were keeping that in your pocket forever.

“I just—yeah, lemme take care of you, okay?” he muttered.

He grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser, ran one under warm water, and returned with a careful, almost reverent look.

He was quiet as he cleaned you up — too quiet. Focused. Gentle.

You tilted his chin up so he’d look at you again. “I’m not gonna break, Buck.”

“I know,” he said, smiling faintly. “But you’re still my doll.”

You blinked, surprised by how soft he sounded saying it out loud — like it slipped out without permission.

“…You’ve never called me that to my face before.”

He shrugged, looking away. “Didn’t want you to know how gone I was.”

He helped you off the counter and found your underwear with a grunt, slipping them into your hand with an adorably sheepish look.

You both fixed yourselves up, and when you opened the door, the gala still raged on like nothing happened.

But something had changed.

Because Bucky took your hand — not just to lead you out, not just for safety.

He held it.

And he didn’t let go.

NSFW CONTENT BELOW

you hear the soft whir of the vibranium arm before you see him. "kitchen’s closed,” bucky says behind you, voice quiet but firm.

you turn, caught halfway through raiding the fridge. “didn’t think you’d still be here.” he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. that arm glints under the low light, metal fingers tapping lightly against his bicep. "didn’t feel like sleeping.”

you nod slowly. “yeah… same.” his eyes hold yours for a little too long. there’s something unreadable in them, like he’s working something out. then he pushes off the wall, steps closer.

“you always make this much noise sneaking around?” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to the open fridge, “or just when I’m here to catch you?”

you close the fridge door slowly, the soft thunk of it echoing louder than it should. bucky’s still watching you, that unreadable expression etched into his face like it’s been there for years. "i wasn’t sneaking,” you say, trying for nonchalant. “i was hungry.”

“mm.” he doesn’t sound convinced. “middle of the night kind of hungry?”

you shrug. “the insomnia kind.”

recognition flickers across his face at that. understanding. he steps closer, not quite invading your space, but close enough that the air shifts. that vibranium arm brushes the counter as he leans just slightly. “you’re not the only one.”

for a second, silence stretches out between you, thick, a little charged. you notice the way his jaw ticks, like he’s holding something back. maybe a thought. maybe something else. you nod toward the cabinets behind him. “you guarding the tea now, or am i allowed to pass?” he doesn’t move. just looks at you for a second like he’s trying to read something in your face.

“you always come down here when you can’t sleep?”

“only when I’m trying to avoid people.”

his mouth twitches, more a shift than a smile. “guess i’m not people now?”

you raise a brow. “didn’t say that.”

his eyes flick away, then back. “i can move.”

“you could,” you say, stepping closer. he doesn’t back off. the air between you tightens. “but you’re not going to,” you finish, voice quieter now.

he shakes his head once. “didn’t really feel like being alone tonight.”

his mouth found yours like he'd been thinking about it for longer than he'd admit-slow at first, careful, but that didn't last. now, you're backed against the wall of the kitchen. one of his hands braced beside your head, the metal one gripping your thigh. his metal arm was warm from contact and strong-so strong. his touch both calculated and desperate, like he didn't know where to put his hands because he wanted to be everywhere at once. he’s holding you so tight it almost hurts, the line between rough and tender blurring and disappearing. the warm metal of his fingers slips under your shirt, against the bare skin of your stomach, and you realize your back is arched against the wall to keep him against you.

his mouth moves against yours desperately. his stubble scrapes lightly against your chin, a sharp contrast to the soft, warm feel of his lips. he moves again, the hand on your thigh shifting, sliding to your hip, his thumb brushing over the bone there. his breath stutters against your mouth at the same time you gasp softly, your fingers grasping at his shirt. his hand covers your left breast, the metal sending shivers through you, and you try to hold back another gasp.

he pulls back just a fraction, watching you as his thumb brushes over your nipple—once, twice, slow. he does it again, this time pressing harder, grinding his hips against you at the same time, and you whimper against his mouth. he kisses down to your jaw, his teeth scraping against your skin. “shh."

the sound of your breathing fills the room as he teases you, moving his hand in slow, maddening circles. one moment he’s kissing your jaw, the next, he’s sucking a path down your throat, his touch everywhere. the metal of the vibranium was almost burning against your skin. he drags his thumb over you again, making you buck your hips against his. bucky leans against you, the tension in your hips pressing his hardness into you. his mouth is against your neck, his breath and beard sending tingles of pleasure through you with each movement. his hips find a slow, steady rhythm, he presses a trail of kisses down your neck, stopping against your collarbone. your head drops back, hitting the wall behind you with a soft thunk. he presses a kiss to your jawline before leaning up to look at you. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen, his expression a little uncertain. “is this-” he pauses, breath hitching as you rock into him. “--is this okay?”

your hips roll against him, your chest rising and falling hard as you try to catch your breath. you find his eyes, and your breath hitches when you see those pretty blue eyes staring back at you like a puppy, his eyes dilated. “this is okay,” you say, voice low, “god, it’s more than okay. please-” he presses his hips to you in a slow drag, his movements languid but calculated. your eyes fall away from his, and a soft whine escapes you as his metal hand trails lazily down your side. he kisses you, deep and hard, his left hand coming up to brace against your throat. he doesn’t press to restrict your air–he wouldn’t do that, and especially not here–he just holds it there, savoring the feel of your pulse moving against his fingers.

his right hand is still sliding across your skin, his thumb brushing against your hip bone. he presses closer, his hips against yours as he guides you up, then down, then up again in a lazy rhythm. he’s still holding your throat with something that almost feels like reverence, the feel of your skin under the pads of his metal fingers is almost hypnotizing. it feels overwhelming and so, so good. bucky’s eyes find yours, his lips parted, his breath coming in little pants. his right hand moves over the lace-adorned fabric, “god,” he whispers, tracing over the hem of your night wear. his hand is still on your neck, the metal so warm from contact.

his metal hand flexes against your neck before trailing down to your lower waist, his hand moves to your warm inner thighs, his middle finger rubbing slowly against the wetness of your panties. he lifts you onto the countertop and his hands go immediately to your thighs, gripping them and spreading them to make room for him. he’s between your legs, his hips rocking against yours as he pulls you to the edge of the counter. his metal hand brushes over the elastic of your panties before gently pulling it off, discarding them somewhere on the counter.

he moves his vibranium fingertip over your entrance before slowly slipping a finger in. his head falls into your neck at how warm you were. his finger dips further in rubbing against your g-spot before slowly pressing in another metal finger. he makes a sound against your skin, a strangled moan that’s muffled by his mouth against your neck. you arch up, but you’re pressed against the counter so all you can do is lean into him, and his hips jerk against yours reflexively. he’s moving slowly, taking his time, the pad of his finger moving in slow circles against your swollen clit that draws a cry from you. he’s watching your face, his flesh hand pressed to your thigh to keep you still. he lets out another sound, and this time it’s a curse that you’re just able to make out between the noises you’re panting out. he hits that sweet spot every. single. time. his forehead pressed against your glistening neck, you can see how hard he is, his hips rocking in time with his big fingers, and he's letting out these mouthwatering whimpers. gently sucking and biting little marks into your collarbone area, his right hand gripping your thigh so hard you know that you'll see some light bruises tomorrow.

you can feel the tension building and building in your lower belly, and when his hips buck particularly harshly one time it presses his thumb into a perfect angle against your clit, making you see white for a second, your eyes fluttering shut as they roll back with a whine, clenching around his fingers, your head lolled back against the wall, you hear him finally say something against your skin, "cum for me– please–" his voice is barely louder than a whisper but you hear him loud and clear. your hips jerk forward before you cum, his name a ragged chant as pleasure washes over you. he works you through it. letting out choked moans, his breath harsh against your skin. he slowly withdrawls his messy metal hand, pressing soft kisses against your neck, you're both a mess, skin slick with sweat, your muscles trembling. he pulls his head away, looking down at his glistening hand before looking back up at you and kissing you.

shoot me

HERE'S.... FYNOR!

i use she/her/hers pronouns

i'm a kansas city royals fan, colorado avalanche fan, and a mercedes fan.

you don't need anybody to tell you who you are or what you are. you are what you are.

the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame

i'm your friend, fynor.

tags meaning below

#loop de shoop♪ — all reblogs

#fynor chirps⋆˚࿔ — anything hockey related

#much to ponder — mostly just me talking about religious stuff

#SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP — literally just me posting and or rambling about random stuff

moodboards.

imagine fucking clark kent... mid air.

this probably—most definitely—wasn't your brightest idea.

but it's not everyday you get to fuck and fly with superman now, do you?

you had to convince him to do it. he loved you, and loved being intimate with you, but this was—and he was sure of it—one hell of a bad idea. so it took you weeks, actual weeks, of begging and convincing, talking about it, mapping out every reason why you thought this was genius.

"please, kent, please! it'll be so fun and refreshing!" you sat on his lap while he was laying down on the bed, looking up at you, shaking his head. "people will notice and see us, sweetie." you ran your hands up his chest, "if you go high up enough, they won't even see a thing!"

finally, after two weeks of not touching you (because you refused to let him do so unless it was to take you mid air), he agreed.

you were tightening your silk robe around your waist, waiting for him by the balcony. you obviously weren't wearing anything underneath it, considering the main goal was intimacy. he arrived, in his own black robe, and grabbed you firmly yet delicately by the waist.

"are you ready, pretty?" he asked, voice low and protective. your knees buckled a bit, but you nodded. "of course." and he tightened his grip around your waist before jumping up in the air, and holy shit-

you were flying.

then, you noticed his hand wonder. the hand that he hadn't used to grip you was snaking its way inside your robe, brushing against your boobs and hardened nipples, before migrating all the way down to your cunt.

"f-foreplay? mid-flight?" and he chuckled, his eyes darkening with lust. "when did we think we were gonna do it?" and before you even has half the mind to answer, you felt two of his thick fingers press against your entrance, sliding inside.

he pumped inside you and your legs felt like pudding—half from the whole flying thing, and the other half from the fact he was fingering you mercilessly just like he knows you like. his palm is slapping against your clit and your legs tremble at every impact.

"w-when are we stopping?" and he paused for a second, before giving you that grin that tells you you're knees deep in this mess. "when you cum."

the simple sentence made a moan bloom from your chest, walls clenching down on his fingers. "y'wanna cum for me, baby?" you nod, "yeah? yeah? wanna give me one before the real thing?" and his dirty talking is throwing you off the edge, white droplets of cream dribbling down to his hand as she moaned his name as loud as she could. who cares? they're in the sky.

finally, the movement comes to an alt. they stop flying, stop moving.

you're still delirious, but smiling victoriously when he undoes his robes, hard cock revealing itself for you.

you salivate and bite your lip, feeling his dick rub against your sticky folds, jumping a bit when his mushroom top bumps into your clit. "this is so..." he trails off and you finish, "filthy?" and he hums while nodding, eyes closing while he loses himself at the sensation of your wet pussy.

finally, finally, he starts pushing himself in. it's scary and surreal, the thought of fucking in mid air turning you on more than it should. you love how you can see the birds flying next to you guys and feel his big veins hitting all the right spots inside you. he's so focused, focused on not letting you fall, focused on not being too rough, focused on making you feel good.

and fuck, the adrenaline rush heightened your senses and you could feel every fucking thing.

the way his vein bulged everytime you moaned in his ear, how tightly he was holding onto you, the cold breeze caressing you exposed skin, the sound of his heavy balls slapping against you..

you were close. dangerously close.

your own hand snaked down between your legs and you rubbed your clit softly, making yourself twitch in pleasure. "f-fuck, clark!" your voice got louder and louder with every string of sweet sounds getting pulled out of between your plush lips and he couldn't get enough.

your orgasm hit you like a train.

the adrenaline and stress of falling made everything feel ten times more intense, your walls clenching rapidly around him. cream started dribbling down your hole, forming a ring around his girthy base. "oh my fucking-" was really all you could coherently say in such a situation, every other word melting with eachother.

"baby- baby, shit- yes-" you had the man of steel stuttering and drooling, the sensation of your mushy walls clamping down on him too much for the poor man. he quickly let himself go, his cum coating your insides in a thick, white and milky layer.

he gasped, breath hitching when he felt the warmth of his cum fill you up. he pulled out slowly, your name slipping out of his mouth, while still catching his breath.

the flight back home was full of panting and quick dirty jokes you threw at him to fluster him.

bonus : bruce wayne noticed superman flying up in the sky.. up.. and up... and then stopping? wait.. he's with someone.. what are those movements–oh. they're fucking. this is officially none of his business anymore.

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

you met him on a thursday.

not that the day matters, really, but he would always remember it like it did. said thursdays felt like beginnings, and you, standing there in the soft light of the shop window, your hands curled around a cup of tea and your eyes steady on his, it felt like the first page of a romance novel.

he was talking to the shopkeeper about cocoa beans, something about mouthfeel and integrity and how 'chocolate should feel like a memory'. you weren’t listening at first. not until he laughed, it was soft and a little startled, like someone had surprised him with his own joy. you looked up. and he looked back.

and everything that came after was quiet.

“you always smell like sugar,” you said one morning, your voice still scratchy from sleep.

“occupational hazard,” he murmured, cheek pressed to the pillow, curls a little chaotic. “you don’t mind, do you?”

you shook your head, pressed a kiss to the slope of his shoulder.

“i think i’d miss it if you didn’t.”

he had a way of making even the smallest things feel like magic. folding napkins into roses. spelling your name in spun sugar. telling you stories like they were secrets, eyes bright, hands moving in the air like he was sculpting the words as he said them.

“i want to build something,” he told you once, “a place. for people who still believe in whimsy.”

you leaned into him, heart warm.

“then do it,” you said. “i already believe in you.”

sometimes, when it got late and the world felt too sharp, he’d reach for your hand without saying anything. just gently lace his fingers with yours.

“thank you,” he said one night, voice soft like sugar melting in warm milk. you didn’t ask what for. you just squeezed back.

textposts that remind me of the losers

"It was quite snug on me, but it was fun to finally get to put it on—no doubt." ↳ GABE LANDESKOG EARNS THE BIG HAT | COL v. DAL (GAME 4) | 4.26.25