#mattress firm conspiracy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

massensterben · 2 years

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@gepanzrt said: ❛ do you deserve it ? ❜

The fabric twists harder into his skin every time he tries to adjust his arms. They’re bent over and behind his head, pulling his shoulders up until his chest constricts itself. Constraint, of course, is the idea. He is not to move. And he is to prove that he can follow orders again. The tall man kneels frozen in place, knees digging deep into the mattress, chafed against the spring coils within. His frame is stretched out in this bound form, all weight supported on his shins. The red badge of honor, proof of his father’s blood tax, has been coiled around his wrists to tie his hands together, keep them out of the picture. It’s almost poetic, if he had a mind for poetry. It is also humiliating, to have the very thing you broke your neck for, turned into a noose before your eyes. Bertholdt feels the wrung out white star, its edges cutting into the soft canals of his arteries, halting circulation. Strung up, he looks like a sacrifice dragged upon the altar, suspended by nothing but his own surface tension. Everything pulses. Everything trembles.

Bertholdt swallows hard against the dryness in his mouth and breathes through his nose. In the corner of the room, he sees his clothes arranged in a haphazard heap. Each article shines as proof of his conspiracy. Didn’t he let himself be stripped bare? Didn’t he cast his uniform jacket aside with disdain at the mere promise of flesh? He remembers how he melted into the cool touch of his commander’s hands, when touch was still ample and heavy. He let that man undress him, every button, every layer. Bertholdt helped. Like a drooling dog, he was too focused on the treat dangled before his nose to notice that Reiner made no move to shed his own clothes. A sleight of hand that seems impressive in hindsight.

The air tasted different, then, thick with lust, damp and hot on his lolling tongue. Stupid animal that he is, he let himself be led to the slaughter. With his mouth on Bertholdt’s throat, Reiner tattooed promises into his skin, warm broad palms skating down the length of his body, the straining expanse of his stomach, the narrow hips and the firm trunks of his thighs. Reiner had him in hand before Bertholdt could get him out of his shirt. A growl in his ear, a tug between his legs, and suddenly he found himself agreeing to anything. Like getting on the bed, like kneeling on top, hands behind his head like a prisoner. His nervous system contracted with shock at the familiar position, the waiting-for-execution stance. But all the while, his skin was bathed in warmth, each stale cold memory scrubbed clean by Reiner’s voice, calling him good, calling him handsome. The contrast stings down the length of his spine, confuses his senses. It’s in his veins like an aphrodisiac, potent and heady. Why should his lust care why his pulse races? Fear spikes the heart rate just as well.

Reiner makes sure that even the flutter of his nerves doesn’t go to waste. He proves himself an ardent jailer. With Bertholdt locked in place, he has free rein. The orders that come as murmurs splay like sweet nothings along the shell of his ear, reminding him to hold still, to straighten up. He doesn’t need to obey, his aching shoulders sigh. He can wind out of the twisted shackles, his trembling thighs beg. Bertholdt imagines breaking the hold. One flex of his biceps would snap the fabric. Reiner’s eyes, molten amber now, would freeze in surprise, wide and still. All the warm tenderness his submission bestows, he could do away with it in an instant. He doesn’t need to obey. But then Reiner has him by the throat again, working another red mark into his skin with his lips and tongue and teeth. He runs his fingers through the black fleece on Bertholdt’s chest and tightens his grip until his skin burns. And Bertholdt remembers: yes, he does.

Light-headed, though he is, Bertholdt is reduced to a still figure. Picture perfect of the naked form, he displays himself to the point of shame for his officer’s evaluation. The warrior has nothing in common with marble statues, smooth and pale and easily defined. Bertholdt cannot rival that inhuman, artistic beauty. The tense relief of his abs is hidden under dark hair, a thick trail that fans out towards his crotch. His skin has nothing in common with alabaster except its failure to carry scars. Burned away, those, the last time he had to remake himself in his titan’s image. What kneels before Reiner is a gasping, straining creature, flesh and blood, a fighting dog retrieved too late from the wilderness where it went feral. Without comb and product, even Bertholdt’s hair looks shaggy. Strands of it hang in his face, try to curtain the foggy, sleet-gray stare of his eyes. There are wild gods like that, in the myths of lost civilizations. Thick-shouldered, demon-horned and primal, animal-headed men with cocks curved like scimitars to impale the bodies of their prey. Bertholdt doesn’t remember if they were ever bound and commanded like he is. But then again, he’s not that kind of god.

He doesn’t move, even when Reiner coats his fingers in scented oil and begins to work him over in earnest. The warm mitt of Reiner’s hand envelops him, strokes the swelling length of his cock from hilt to tip until he cups his fingers over the head and tightens his grip. Heat spasms in the wake of Reiner’s touch as Bertholdt grows hard and heavy in his hand. They know each other well these days. Gone is the time of artless fumbling, poking in the dark for something that might give. Reiner knows what he is doing when he squeezes and massages him, near the head where Bertholdt is most sensitive. He swipes a thumb over the slit until it draws a wince from Bertholdt and the first shudder of precum from his cock.

“Careful…” He warns him, his voice reduced to a pleading murmur seated deep in the well of his chest. Despite the burn of his muscles, his shortness of breath, Bertholdt has no interest in losing this barrage of attention. If he holds still, Reiner will tend to him. He will touch him, run his hands all over, unafraid, almost brazen. He won’t care for the twitching and wincing and trembling Bertholdt does in anticipation. He will breach the defenses and run him down anyway. They have all night, don’t they? Why race towards the finish line? —Bertholdt, of course, operates under the distinct expectation of their usual pattern. Eventually, Reiner will have exhausted his curiosity. He’ll let Bertholdt loose and give himself up. The prospect of fucking into his comrade with the same cock that he takes such pleasure in teasing right now melts through Bertholdt’s senses like honey. He imagines himself buried deep between Reiner’s thighs, all dams broken at last, pumping into him until all composure evaporates. He’ll fuck him until his eyes cross. He’ll—

Just like that, the hand that pleasured him disappears on him, leaves him in the cold. Bertholdt snaps out of his fantasy, eyes clearing to see a look of disapproval cross Reiner’s face. His slanted brows arch over the twin flames of his bright glare. “What do you think you’re doing, soldier?” There is a slyness to his tone that he’s not noticed before. Bertholdt’s ears prick up at the formal address. It sparks some primitive delight despite the reprimand.

“What?” His confusion spells clearly, by the parted lips, the pleading frown.

“Hands.”

Bertholdt notices it then. He’s started working out of his restraints. One of his hands has almost slipped free, pulling away from the misapplied armband on instinct. Without noticing, Bertholdt has started going on the offensive, blind to anything but his desire, his need to have Reiner under him at last. Bertholdt stares at his stern lover in something akin to wonder. Reiner gives a sharp jerk with his chin to signal him to get on with it, to fix his mistake. A warm prickling spreads through the nape of Bertholdt’s neck, a trickling, dripping excitement. It’s rare to see such an air of self-assured authority on Reiner anywhere but the battlefield. Whatever nervous animal has been pacing in the pit of his stomach ever since he was tricked into the binds, at this it settles down.

“Right. Sorry.” Cowed, not lastly by his own reaction, Bertholdt turns his wrist and slots it back against its twin. He crosses them until the fabric pulls taut against his skin again and locks him in. His body keeps shivering, undeterred, searching for simulation, searching for release, but he wants to see where this is going. He wants Reiner to get the last word.

Seemingly pleased with the swift correction, that one delivers a kiss to his stomach. “That’s my good boy.”

Bertholdt grumbles softly in dissent. Those pet names are always a two-edged blade for him. He doesn’t need them to stoke his fire, and anyway, he knows better than to take any praise seriously. It’s just a game, play pretend and so forth. So why bother? Reiner says he’s a cynic. Bertholdt wishes Reiner would get back to the handjob. Or better yet: use his mouth instead. What does he need to stand at attention for, if not easy access? He is stiff as a rod, waiting for him, ready for him, and Reiner decides to take his time, decides to get up from the bed and leave him there. The mattress sways precariously, and Bertholdt has to tense up even further to keep his balance on the unsteady surface. He is left kneeling in place.

“Hello?” His voice trails after Reiner’s receding back as he beelines for one of the cupboards that sit against the wall next to the dresser they have come to share. Reiner begins rummaging through a shelf, unimpressed by Bertholdt’s quiet protest.

“What’s the hurry? Got a hot date after this?” He returns anyway, a foreign utensil in hand. Bertholdt tries to get a closer look, but his position keeps him so upright, he can’t catch a glimpse. No matter. Reiner gives him a quick pump to keep him hard, a quick reunion for the senses. Bertholdt settles back down, relief melting the tension in his back. Not forgotten, not abandoned here after all. Terrible, how the greatest tragedies of a life must be replayed and negated in the tiniest scenes. He doesn’t want to think of that. He wants Reiner to kiss him again, to stroke him and press into him. Carnality does him good. It can make him better. Everything that’s stuck in his throat by light of day, it comes out when he can groan it to the rhythm of gyrating hips. He can look him in the eye now.

Reiner slides up to him, pulls him down by the angled elbow, so he can kiss at the sensitive spot beneath Bertholdt’s ear. He hums to him, a low vibrating note that tickles the hairs on the back of his neck, raises them in pleasure. The finest electric current races along under his skin as he is worked over again, pulled back down into the moment. Bertholdt feels his thinking slow down again, tuned out by the steady droning of rushing blood, his quickening pulse. Warmth tips over into heat where he feels his erection rub up against the fabric of Reiner’s shirt. His hips stir on their own, chasing this fraction of bliss.

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” Reiner’s voice slithers back into his ear, that snake charmer’s melody. There is an arm, wrapped around his waist, to keep him upright now when the first signs of exertion show. Between the clasp of their bodies, Bertholdt can feel him pouring more oil. It’s cool against his cock, it makes him shiver. A hand is back on him, jerking him in earnest. Bertholdt sighs, sinks closer, towards the friction. More of that, more of the steady, tight touch that engulfs him.

“Use your words.” Reiner prompts, teases him, grabs him by the balls and squeezes.

“Yes,” He gasps it out in a hurry. Bertholdt’s hips wince forward again to underline his approval.

“Will you hold still for me?”

“Yes.”

“Say it again?”

“Yes.”

Bertholdt’s cheeks burn at the sound of his voice, the eager, meek mewl of it. It pulls him so hard back into his body, he feels himself reeling. Sensation upon sensation, all surging against the ache of his frozen body. He can hold still. Of course he can. He will. Whatever Reiner wants. He has no clue what his lover means to do but at this point, Bertholdt is impatient for him to the point of indifference. Anything is better than being kept in suspense, balancing upon the precipice. He focuses on his restraints, on the bite of the armband where it whites his skin. He shifts his weight so that the tension in his arms counters his core. If he’s supposed to hold still, he’ll fucking do that.

“Good. Now, don’t look down.” Reiner licks his lips in something that almost passes for appetite, some sense of intrigue. Bertholdt stares back, tries to get a read on him. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t look at anything but the lowered crown of Reiner’s head. Confusion and anticipation mingle in some strange, exciting cocktail somewhere in his loins. Then there is a new sensation at last. New. Very new. Unprecedented, in fact. A feeling runs down his cock, gently and slowly inching towards the base. Foreign pressure, a fullness he can’t parse. It tickles something deep inside him, a pleasant tension that sinks further down until it pauses. It’s nice. The sensation stiffens his spine as pleasure pools and coils tighter in his abdomen.

Bertholdt has to physically restrain himself from glancing down, bewildered past the sweet caress of spiking arousal. Then the feeling tips down further, conquers untouched depths. Bertholdt almost swallows his tongue when the pleasure stabs through him, skewers him on an ice-cold, burning hot blade. The noise he makes his wholly animal, a grunt and groan that twists itself to death in his throat. He gulps down air, breathing hard against the sudden onslaught of sheer heat.

“Goddamn, what—” That’s as far as he gets before Reiner runs his thumb along the underside of his cock, and pinches him right where the pressure is highest. The same sensation fills him once again to the brim. Bertholdt’s voice breaks off into a moan, the kind of sound that rattles the inside of his skull. In the wake of that avalanche, everything in his head turns fuzzy. Whatever thoughts he had, what questions and bewilderment were racing through his mind, it all grinds to a halt. His surprise and wariness ebb away to nothing. It’s not important. It doesn’t matter. Prickling, humming warmth is all there is now, and the rest sinks into red-tinged oblivion.

Bertholdt holds still. He said he would. But even so, his head droops down, too heavy to keep upright while he tries to catch his breath. Reiner has him in hand still, utterly transfixed on the steady, rhythmic motions of his fingers. With tender attention, never too fast or slow, he is working a thin rod into the slit of Bertholdt’s cock, careful of every wince or twitch. Only Bertholdt’s labored breathing and his flexing, spasming muscles force him to a pause. When he glances up, aware of his undue spectator, his face breaks out into a knowing, slowly unfurling smile, “Like it?”

Suspended over him, Bertholdt can only blink back, eyes glazed over and lips parted to pant through the aftershocks of pleasure. He grasps futilely at some sort of question, the demand for an explanation, but he keeps running into nothing. His own helplessness burns through him, a branding iron stamped right through his prefrontal cortex. He thought he knew heat. He thought he knew lust, all those base, primal things. Now he is stuck here, restrained by his own design, his own collaboration, and watches, dumb-struck, as Reiner slips the sounding rod deeper again. Bertholdt shudders violently, near bites his tongue off. The jerk that runs through his body folds him in half. The pleasure sits so deep in his body he can’t grasp at it. It just runs wild, punches through his spine, pours something like magma into his veins. All he wants is to release the pressure, to exhale steam, cool down somehow. But the mere thought of ending whatever high Reiner has him riding on, makes his animal instincts recoil in disgust. This can’t end yet.

“If you could see your face,” Reiner is almost salivating before him, eyes bright with unfettered delight. He likes what he sees, then? He’ll continue, then? Bertholdt rasps and whimpers through his need for air, where it fills the constrained bellows of his lungs. A weak, blissed out smile twitches in the corner of his mouth. Pleasure has turned him nonverbal, and docile. His thighs tremble and cramp, but he doesn’t budge. He sits before his lover turned torturer without shame. Sweat rolls down between his shoulder blades, beads at his neck until it shines with bronze luster. He feels so full, he can’t believe he hasn’t come yet. He feels close to bursting. His cock leaks onto the bedding, into Reiner’s hands.

His head is spinning. He can’t imagine anything feeling this good. It’s almost pain. The next time Reiner manipulates the rod, when he grasps him and massages along the length of his straining erection, it drives tears to Bertholdt’s eyes. His pulse is booming in his ears, pushing his vision to the brink of failure. All he sees is Reiner, all he sees is Reiner watching him. He can’t get away from those eyes that drink in every groan and whine and shudder. He’s never been so naked before. But Reiner smiles. But Reiner is telling him he is doing well. Bertholdt is good for him. He is so drunk on pleasure, the phantom friction that drives him goddamn crazy, he would lap up anything his lover tells him.

Bertholdt grows unsteady on his knees and feet. Every time Reiner teases him anew, pumps heat into his veins, sets his nerves alight, and then leaves him stranded on the brink of climax, he could cry out. He doesn’t know for how long he has been kneeling here, utterly lost to the world, utterly void of thought. It’s heaven. But his strength is not endless, can’t be. He isn’t breathing air anymore, he is only exhaling steam. He scolds Reiner’s shoulder with his moans. Bertholdt is drooling as much as his cock. Soft pleas dribble from his bruised lips, whimpers for release, “Pl… Please, Reiner. I can’t- I need it. Don’t do this to me. I nee- I need to…”

“Do you deserve it?”

The words cut him cruelly. Bertholdt is too disorientated to understand. He stares dumbly, plaintively. Reiner stares back, stills his hand. He is just as flushed, just as worked up as Bertholdt. But he can’t help him from here, not when he is supposed to hold still, not when he is at Reiner’s mercy. There is an answer he is supposed to give and one he wants to give. He is so beside himself, he can’t remember which is which. Does he? Doesn’t he? Doesn’t he? Panic grips him briefly. He cannot imagine that he might be denied in the end. Reiner is still watching him, still expects an answer.

“I tried to be good,” Bertholdt offers, hopeful, softly. His voice is so small, it seems to duck from reproach before the words can clamber out of his slack mouth. Reiner’s features soften immeasurably. So much so, it breaks his heart, even drunk on pleasure, even stupid with lust. He shouldn’t look at a man like that after he turned him into a babbling, stuttering mess. Bertholdt is pulled down again. A kiss finds his numb lips. He feels the words rumbled into his mouth more so than that he hears Reiner’s voice: “You’ve been very good. ...Relax for me.”

Oh, thank fuck.

#nsfw///#;;sh. bertholdt & reiner : gepanzrt — wie ein kuss im nacken.#;;v. god of destruction #sub!godtholdt my beloved #im not even gonna tag whats going down here either u can rock with it or u cant #reiner thinks outside the box<3 #3K of pure smut and then i dont even write the climax. get u a girl who can't commit to shit #gepanzrt

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flourishing-pen03 · 3 years

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May or may not have created an au today where Tommy has to pick a local business to do a school project on, doesnt do any reasearch and ends up blanking and choosing the local mattress store Sleepy Bois Inc where he somehow discovers its a front for an underground crime organization. I literally made a fricking au based off the Mattress Firm Conspiracy Theory. Someone stop me

#dream smp #dream smp au #dsmp #tommyinnit #sleepyblr #sleepy bois inc

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muchadoaboutbucky · 3 years

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Make Some Noise | oneshot

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,800

WARNINGS: cute-goofy-rough smut

NOTE: Written for Amanda A for their $10 membership on my Patreon. The prompt is in bold. Do not save/repost my work without my consent. This work is 18+ only.

⭒ become a patron for just $3 ⭒

> Babe? [11:26 PM]

> You still up? I can’t sleep. [12:06 AM]

> I’m coming over. [1:28 AM]

***

The steady rap-rap-rap of metal on glass echoes through the small, quiet space of your bedroom. You jerk awake, reaching under your pillow for the knife you keep there. A shaft of moonlight pierces through your curtains, and through bleary eyes, you manage to make out the tall, hulking figure semi-crouched on your fire escape just three feet away.

Bucky?

You set the knife on the nightstand and push the covers back, crawling across the mattress to reach up and pull back the little latch on the back of your window. A chilly breeze washes through the room, and you shiver, peering up through the darkness into the face of a grinning, windswept-looking Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky?” You blink several times as he leans down. “It’s two in the morning, what are you doing here?”

He shifts his weight, hands tucked in his pockets. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d pay my girl a little visit.”

“How did you—?”

“A lot of roof-hopping.” He smirks proudly. “Faster than using the streets and I’m pretty sure the police would be all over a hooded figure doing forty in the middle of the street, jumping over cars…”

You giggle. “You didn’t hurt yourself?”

“Well, not really. Almost took a satellite off the corner of an apartment complex two blocks away.” He rests his elbows on the windowsill. “Are you gonna invite me in or leave me to literally chill out here? It’s cold.”

You shift back, and he heaves himself through the open window, nimbly sliding through to land effortlessly on your bed. “Can’t sleep?” you ask, closing your window and turning the latch.

“Nope.” He sighs heavily and drops his small backpack to the floor. “Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“And sending a text was off the table, apparently?”

“I sent you three, you didn’t answer.” He gestures to your phone on the nightstand and shrugs his light jacket off. “It’s just been a while since we saw each other.”

You sigh when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I thought we were taking this slow. We’re not at the move-in-together stage.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t stop me missin’ you.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck and tugs you into his lap. “I really wish you’d come live at the tower.”

“What’s wrong you coming to live here?”

“It’s small.”

“But it’s cute. And we wouldn’t have to put up with sneaking around other people.” You let your knees slide on either side of his hips, and when he starts a line of kisses down the side of your neck and wraps an arm around his waist to pull you even closer, you feel the hard press of his barely-concealed erection.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you come all the way from Park Avenue to have sex at two in the morning?”

He chuckles. “Well, I wanted to see you more than anything. Can’t help what happens after that.”

You smile when his kisses find the corner of your mouth. “It’s been a few weeks, hasn’t it?”

He hums eagerly. “Yeah…”

You giggle when his hands squeeze your sides and squirm away. “I’m gonna use mouthwash, get your clothes off.”

Bucky grins, eagerly wrenching his belt open as you slide off the bed and beeline for the small bathroom down the hall. You quickly rinse with blue spearmint and splash cold water on your face before stripping your nightshirt over your head and tossing your panties into the small hamper by the door. By the time you get back to the bedroom, Bucky’s waiting for you, gripping himself tightly in one hand.

“Hey there.” You giggle when he pulls you onto the bed and rolls to lie on top of you. His cock presses against your inner thigh, and you spread your legs to accommodate him as he presses his lips to yours.

“Hi.” He kisses you deep, moaning against your mouth as he rocks his hips. “So, how’re we doin’ this?”

“You’re really asking that?”

He chuckles and nips under your jaw. “Thought I’d find out if you’re up to getting another noise complaint from the neighbors tomorrow.”

You sigh, letting him kiss down the column of your throat, between your breasts. “I won’t hear them complain if I’m having lunch at Rubirosa’s…”

Bucky grins, nuzzling the soft swell of your breast. “Is this your way of asking for a lunch date?”

“Is crawling up your girlfriend’s fire escape and crawling through her window a way of asking for sex?”

He grumbles and props himself over you. “You talk so much.”

Before you can reply, he reaches down and lines himself up with your entrance. You give to him easily, stretching and opening until he’s seated deep with his hips pressed snugly against your ass. He’s heavy on top of you, and you relish in the hard press of his hipbones on your inner thighs—he always leaves a couple of bruises behind.

“There,” he breathes, gently rocking his hips from side to side. “Now, less talking, more sex, huh?”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. He draws back, the long, thick slide of his cock causing ripples of heat to flow through your belly, and you let out a soft huff when he thrusts back in.

“Fuck,” you whisper, “you’re strong, baby.”

He hums, tonge swiping along your lower lip as he grinds in and holds himself deep. “Too much?”

You moan when he lowers his head to suck a nipple into his mouth. “Not enough, baby, keep going.”

Bucky plants both forearms on either side of your body, cages you in underneath him, and shoves forward with a growl that makes your pussy squeeze receptively around him. When your heels press against the backs of his thighs, he speeds up, panting loudly against the side of your neck.

“You're so tight,” he grunts, “goddamn, baby…”

You whimper when he changes the beat of his thrusts, using the bounce of your mattress to drop his hips against yours. The frame of your bed squeaks, the muffled thuds of your bodies hitting the mattress building a steady rhythm that has you whimpering and moaning in Bucky’s ear.

Suddenly, you burst out laughing, and Bucky stops, lifting his head to stare at you in confusion.

“What?” He gives a small smile, like he doesn’t know whether to be amused or offended at your reaction. “Baby—?”

“You just—” you stop to take a breath and gaze up at him. “The bed, it… it sounds like the Pixar opening.”

Bucky furrows his brow in confusion. “The what opening?”

“I’ll show you later.” You pull him into a deep, warm kiss. “Come on, I promise I’ll shut up.”

Bucky lets out a long, deep sigh and plants his hands firmly on the mattress. Your giggle trails off into a moan as he picks up his pace, roughly shoving his hips into yours over until the bed frame rattles back and forth. He matches the sound with his own, a rough growl that echoes through the room as his hips slap against your ass over and over.

“Shit—” you gasp when he finds your sweet spot and ruts against it hard enough for you to grow wetter and tighter on his cock, “there, Bucky, harder—”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate. He spreads his knees for balance and closes his eyes, lips parting as he focuses every ounce of his being on getting you as worked up as possible. Your nails scrape down his sides, over his hips, and he lets out a desperate groan when your palms slap down on his ass, nails digging in to urge him on.

When you let out a loud, dry-sounding cry of pleasure, he stops, catching his breath as he looks down at you.

“Why’d you stop?” you ask, reaching up to push his hair out of his face.

“You were holding your breath.” He leans down to kiss you. “And I’d love it if you kept breathing instead of getting lightheaded.”

You hum against his lips and run your hands over his chest. “If I breathe will you keep doin’ what you were just doin’?”

He grins and flicks his hair out of his face, clenching metal fingers in the pillow beside your head. “You close?”

“I will be if you just—”

Bucky slams into you with a thrust so deep and intense that you lose your breath again. He waits for you to suck in another lungful of oxygen before continuing, plowing into you over and over again until you’re practically crying. Your hands claw and grip at the sheets, holding on for what feels like dear life as Bucky fucks you both closer and closer to the edge.

You cum together, shuddering and pulsing and writhing as Bucky spills into you so hard and deep that you can feel the heat of it in your belly. He works you through the waves of your own climax with firm, determined grinds that make your toes curl.

“Fuck me,” you sigh when he falls away, slumping over to lie beside you. “My downstairs neighbor’s gonna be pissed.”

“I don’t care.” Bucky watches you turn onto your side, thighs pressed tightly together.

“You’re not the one who has to deal with an angry conspiracy theorist on a weekly basis.”

He chuckles. “Again, one more reason for you to move into the tower. No conspiracy theorists there.”

“I like my little apartment.” You press a soft kiss to his lips and let him pull your weary, tender body close. “I’d like it more if you could scare the crazy neighbors off too.”

Bucky chuckles. “We’ll talk about movin’ in tomorrow, over pizza. How’s that sound?”

You grin and nuzzle into his cheek. “I think that sounds amazing.”

BOIINNGG!

The sudden sound emanating from the backpack on the floor makes you jump, and you furrow your brow.

“Is that your text tone?”

Bucky grumbles, crawling over you to rummage in the front pocket and pull his phone out—you can’t help but notice the crack in the almost-new screen. “It’s just Steve, he wants to know where I went. Thought I turned it on silent.”

“Well, it could have gone off while we were having sex,” you reply, sitting up and watching him type a quick reply. “I need a shower, and you do too if I’m gonna let you sleep in my bed.”

Bucky grins, eagerly standing to follow you. “Right behind you, doll. Lead the way.”

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MARVEL TAGS: @beefcakebarnes @breezy1415 @cosicas-cuquis @daughterofthenight117 @emoryhemsworth @mariekoukie6661 @musesforart @starsandasteroids @nacho-bucky @bucky-the-thigh-slayer

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

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dazenightmare · 3 years

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HYPIXEL MATTRESS STORE HYPIXEL MATTRESS STORE - thirteen

OH MY GOD THIRTEEN YOU GENIUS

The Hypixel Mattress Store is like Mattress Firm. There’s way too many, and there’s a lot of conspiracy theories on it

#asks #store au

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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years

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a conspiracy theory - chapter 17

co-written by @snowdog49 and @jeanhaavoc

summary: Detective Roy takes on a challenging task… To find Olivier Armstrong’s sword. However, he has a beautiful woman to distract him along the way. Will he, Jean, and Ed be able to find the sword in time, or will they succumb to the conspiracy?

warning: graphic depictions of violence

tags: conspiracy, pining, unresolved sexual tension, private detective au, royai, havolina, mystery, violence, modern au, coffee shops

rated: m | words: 2738

read on ao3

Roy wasn’t fully awake when he felt something poking at his cheek. His mouth twitched upwards at the contact and there was a muffled gasp, but he couldn’t quite open his eyes just yet. A weak groan left his throat, and he tried to move his head away from whatever was irritating him, but he couldn’t go far. He didn’t manage more than a slight twitch.

“Oh my God,” someone breathed. “He moved!”

“Let him rest,” someone else admonished.

“I just wanted to know if he could feel his face,” the first voice argued petulantly.

“Shut up! Leave his face alone!”

Roy’s eyes blinked open but they were completely unfocused. Everything was just a blurry blob. There were shapes and colours blended together, but nothing concrete. His eyes drooped closed, not ready to awaken. With a groan, he tried to roll over, away from the voices. They were too loud. He was so tired. He wanted to sleep. It was tugging at him, trying to convince him to ignore whoever was trying to annoy him, and Roy sighed heavily. His body relaxed and he felt himself drifting.

“Come on, Roy,” a man’s voice beckoned cheerily. He recognized it, but couldn’t put a name to it. “It didn’t take me this long to wake up after mine,” he joked.

“You weren’t shot twice,” a female voice replied dryly.

“You always have to put me down, don’t you?” he sighed.

“Of course, Honey,” the woman replied sweetly.

“We should call you Sleeping Beauty,” the man snickered. “You were always desperate for a napping room at the office.”

“Wha…” Roy’s eyes batted open groggily. His mouth felt stiff as he tried to form a word, but it was a struggle. Every movement was sluggish, not that there were many. His head could only turn a tiny degree left and right, and all he could do was make his fingers and his toes twitch.

“There he is!” Jean grinned.

Roy moved his eyes to his right, blinking a few times to allow Jean Havoc to come into view. “Jean,” he breathed, but failed to finish the end of his partner’s name. It trailed off as his throat cramped. His eyes fluttered closed once more.

“Are you really going to leave us hanging with a greeting like that?” Jean jested. “Come on, Roy, you can do better!”

“Tired,” he mumbled. God, his throat hurt. It was scratchy and kept cramping. He needed it to relax. He needed a drink of water.

“Shut up, Jean,” the woman from before barked. There was a muffled sound of someone hitting fabric with their hands, while Jean protested loudly, sounding pained. “Get out of the way,” she scolded. “Roy?” Her call was soft and welcoming.

His eyes batted open, seeing… Rebecca in his line of vision.

“Hey,” she smiled broadly. “You’re awake! Thank God,” she laughed in relief, her eyes bright and shining in the harsh lights above him. They made Roy squint and close his eyes against them.

“I’m… awake,” he sighed heavily. His eyes stayed closed. The lights of the room were too bright.

“How do you feel?”

“Thirsty,” he croaked.

“Okay, here.” Something cool and hard was pressed to his lips. Opening his mouth, Roy welcomed the sip of water that soothed his aching throat. Some of it dribbled down his chin and onto his chest, but a soft towel was quickly in place to wipe it away. No one commented on it either.

“How are you feeling now?” Rebecca asked.

“Sore,” he groaned. When he’d first awoke his body was entirely numb. Now, as more time was progressing, there was an uncomfortable pressure on his side and a sharp bite of pain every time he inhaled. “Tired.”

“It’s good to have you back,” Rebecca replied. “We’re all here, and we’ll wait until you feel a bit better before talking again, if you want?”

“All?” he asked blearily, his eyes opening.

He watched as Rebecca nodded. To his right, he managed to make out Jean, Rebecca, and Ed, all with relieved smiles on their faces. “We’ll wait for you to feel better, then -”

“Riza?” he croaked as his eyes fought to remain open. “Maes?”

The room was silent, but Roy only realized it after a few moments had passed. His eyes opened and he looked up at Rebecca.

“They... okay?”

“Maes is fine, I promise.”

“And?”

Rebecca wasn’t looking at him, though. Her head had turned to the side, looking away. She jerked her head towards him, then she moved away from his side.

“Becca,” he groaned. He needed to know if Riza was alright. His head turned to his left, beginning his search to see if ‘all’ of them included her.

He didn’t have to look far. Riza was frozen in the doorway. She was apart from the rest of them, clutching the strap of her purse tightly. If she gripped any harder, the strap may be torn in half. She blinked at him. The room wasn’t large, and his vision was still a little foggy after waking up, but he noticed she looked like she was going to cry.

A calm washed over his body and he felt his limbs relaxing further into the bed. She was okay. She was safe. A sliver of relief was snaking through his heart and settling there.

“Hey,” he greeted weakly.

Riza walked over to him. She’d taken a deep breath before moving, and let it out as she moved. She paused at his bedside, looking slightly unsure of herself, but extremely worried as her eyes danced over his body inside the bed. “Are you okay?” she breathed. He could barely hear her.

“I’m awake,” he offered, unable to croak out a reply any louder than a whisper. All he knew was the numbness was present, but slowly lessening. He could sleep for a week with how relaxed his body felt at that moment. Everyone was safe and accounted for.

She met his gaze sharply. Relief washed over her expression. Mindful of all the wires on his bed, and his injured body, she placed her hands on the mattress and leaned down, brushing her lips against his. It wasn’t too deep, just a light peck, but Roy groaned into it. He wanted more, needed more, especially as emotions burst from his chest so quickly, it left him reeling. He wanted to cup her cheek, but all his arms could manage were a tiny shift by his sides.

As she pulled away, Roy saw that her eyes were shining. Her beautiful face blocked out the harsh lights from above, allowing him to look upon her features for longer. He was thankful for that.

“Everyone has gone,” she whispered.

Glancing to his right, Roy saw that the room was indeed empty.

“How long?” He still couldn’t speak much, but she understood what he meant.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days,” she revealed. Pulling away further, Riza sat on the chair by his bedside. He whined when she did so, but he didn’t care that she heard him. Her hand lifted back onto the bed, grasping his hand tightly. He felt the pressure there, but could only make his fingers twitch in response. He wanted to return the gesture, but his body wouldn’t let him. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Shot,” he replied slowly, trying to recall what had happened to him. He grimaced. This was a less than ideal situation to be in. “Did… Kimblee…?”

“He shot you,” she swallowed. “But I don’t know much about that side of things,” Riza revealed. “I don’t know what happened to him. I’ll let the others go into that with you.”

Roy nodded. It was a tiny movement, but he understood. Slowly, his fingers moved further, shakily gripping her hand. He grunted with the effort, finally giving Riza's hand a slight squeeze.

“I… I heard it on the news.” She bit her lip and inhaled deeply. “There was a shooting at the Senate. They mentioned you by name,” she whispered. Roy watched as she told him what had happened. “I called Rebecca and she told me you were already in surgery here.”

He wanted to ask her proper questions, form full sentences, but he couldn’t. Roy wanted to squeeze and hold her body close in a hug, as he apologized for breaking his promise to her. But he couldn’t.

“Two days.”

Riza nodded, lifting her eyes to meet his. “Yes.”

“Sorry.”

This time, she frowned. “What for?”

“Broke promise,” he croaked.

Standing from her chair, Riza perched on the edge of his bed. She placed a hand by his hip and leaned forward, stopping with her face about a foot from his. A smile crossed her face as she lifted her fingers to brush his fringe off his face. “You didn’t break it,” she assured him gently.

“Did,” he pouted.

Riza shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. “You didn’t.” Her tone was firm, her smile fond. “You’re back, aren’t you?”

Roy huffed at his inability to argue further. He did break that promise, and he’d been unconscious for two days. She’d seen what had happened pop up on the news. She’d said she cared about him that morning in her apartment, so Roy had caused her two days worth of worry, wondering if he was going to wake up.

“You didn’t break anything,” she promised. Riza leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Roy whined again. If he wasn’t so out of it he would have been embarrassed. “You came back, and that’s all that matters.” Lightly, her forehead grazed against his and she remained there. Roy watched as her face became slightly pained while her eyes closed, but then relaxed as she exhaled. “I was worried about you regardless of what was said,” she whispered. “After you walked out of my door. I had so much I wanted to say, but… I felt it was too soon.”

“What?” he croaked. Anticipation was creeping over his chest. It lifted the hairs on his forearms.

Riza hummed. “Well, you already know I care about you. I was worried about you going off on this adventure,” she smirked. “I knew you could handle yourself. Still, I worried. Of course, I did.” She took a deep breath. “Because I love you.”

Roy blinked at her. It felt like an eternity passed, because… she loved him? No… Then Roy looked into her eyes, seeing her patiently waiting for him to digest what she’d said. There was a hint of uncertainty there too, as she anticipated his reply. The soft touches, the kiss she’d given him almost as soon as she saw him, and the last kiss they’d shared… They all hit him at once.

“Love you too,” he breathed, forcing it out from his tired throat.

Her shoulders sagged slightly and her hand lifted to cup his cheek. The tips of her fingers brushed his ear and Roy’s body would have jerked if it could move properly. He moaned as she pressed her lips against his, harder this time. Her mouth opened and Roy automatically followed suit. His hands were dying to move, to touch her, but he could do nothing. Next time, he vowed. He’d told her he would show her just how much she meant to him. As soon as he was out of this bed, he would.

* * *

“Kimblee went to prison. Hard to escape that one when a Senator confirms that he openly tried to kill you and him,” Jean snorted.

“So he did target me too, then?” Roy asked. Dread settled inside his gut, knowing that a hitman had been after him.

Jean nodded. “What did I tell you all about them killing you for knowing things you shouldn’t?” he joked. Then, he swallowed and his smile fell, his face turning troubled. “Bradley knew it was you who had stolen the sword, and had begun to wonder if you were poking your nose too far into where it wasn’t supposed to. So, he told Kimblee to take you out as a precaution as well.”

“Wow,” Roy commented. The lack of concern for human life was alarming. “And Bradley?”

“Arrested too. Same with Raven. Our little report exposed them all for the frauds and shady bastards that they are,” Jean grinned, proud of all their work.

Roy leaned back against his pillows, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over him. They’d done it. They’d managed to put a stop to their plan.

“Marcoh?”

“Alive and well. Sends his regards, by the way,” Jean added. “He was really shaken up about witnessing you being shot.”

“Tell me about it,” Roy muttered.

“He said he will publicly denounce the plans put in place by Raven and Bradley, and the land will be turned over to find a new benefactor. They were built on some dodgy deals, and he wasn’t happy about that. The people of this country wouldn’t be either.”

“Have you been back to the office?” Roy asked.

“A few times. Not full time though,” he added, waggling his arm that was still in a sling. “I can’t write very much and typing takes an age. Rebecca and Ed are doing a hell of a job keeping the place running, though,” Jean replied. “Especially Ed. He’s stepped right up and I’ve got to say… I’m impressed.”

“We always knew he’d go far,” Roy reminded him.

“I know. Still, it’s good to see. He’s a natural when his efforts are applied in the right direction.” Jean snickered. “You could be fighting for your job when you finally go back.”

Roy huffed and looked down at his legs, but grimaced as pain shot through his side at the sudden exhale. “I don’t know how soon that will be. It still hurts like a bitch to move.”

“Take it easy, man,” Jean soothed. “We’ll manage without our fearless leader for now,” he winked. “How’s Riza?”

Roy missed her terribly. He hadn’t seen her in two days because she was working late. After Bradley’s arrest, she’d been ordered to collate all accounts that showed anything suspicious. Two weeks on from the incident, and she was still working on it. He felt guilty for increasing her workload, but she’d just waved him off and told him not to worry so much. “She’s busy, but she seems to be alright.”

“Good. At least you’ll have someone to look after you once you get out of here,” he smirked.

“I don’t know about that,” Roy chuckled with uncertainty. It had never come up.

“Oh, come one,” he prompted. “You both love each other, what more is there to think about?”

“The fact that it's only been a couple of months?” Roy offered with a laugh. “All of our dates have been centered around my work, and I will not rest until I show her a date that doesn’t.” His tone was firm, promising to himself in this mind that he would show Riza that there was more to him than his work.

“At least you know she’ll put up with your shit, then,” Jean responded. “That can be hard to find in our line of work.”

“Yeah, you're right about that,” he mumbled.

Jean sighed, standing from his chair. “I’ve got to go. Lunch break is almost over and my boss is a hardass if I’m late,” he winked with a laugh. “It’s good to see you, Roy. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“You too, Jean,” he called as he left his hospital room with a small wave.

Roy settled back into his pillows. Boredom was a constant companion nowadays as he waited for the days to pass. He willed his side to get better so he could start with harder physical therapy and get back out into the world quicker. He grumped. Most of all, he wanted to see Riza.

Speaking of, his phone buzzed on the side of his bed. Picking it up, he opened the screen to see Riza’s name pop up with a text message for him. She was on her way in, and would he like any lunch brought in for him? Grinning, he texted her back that a pastry from the old haunt would be lovely. Excitement coursed through his body as he waited for her to arrive. It’d only been a day since he last saw her but it had been too long and he couldn’t wait.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #snowdog49 #collab fic #emma writes #a conspiracy theory #and there we have it!!#the ending!!!!#that's wild ;__;#its all over #but its been the best of fun #thank you to anyone who gave our story their time <3 #i hope you enjoyed!

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richard-nixon-official · 3 years

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Get to UnKnow the blogger? Ok I’m going to anonymously forget the Mattress Firm conspiracy about the place you live

what mattress firm conspiracy 😉

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munchiezxx · 4 years

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i desperately need podcast recs!

i enjoy educational podcasts (i especially like learning about like... the rise and fall of businesses, etc, or any generally weird knowledge, like the stuff you’d see in youtube documentaries) i also like mystery as well as chatty podcasts as long as the hosts are interesting, i don’t know about adventure/fantasy because i’ve never listened to them. i normally like true crime except i’m living on my own for the first time and i don’t think i need that anxiety lmao. conspiracy theories (weird shit like the mattress firm conspiracy) are great too

#aya rambles

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 5 years

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WhatsApp, Part 16. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you.

A/N: Inspired by the song Turn Me On by Cheat Codes and Dante Klein. Like, fuck it up, Kenneth. Fuck it up.

Warnings: SMUT. BITCHES, IT'S FINALLY HERE, OMFG, EVERYBODY STAY FUCKING CALM.

Word count: 2.4 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @songforhema, @mikariell95, @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

Read the rest here: Part One Part Two Part three Part four Part five Part Six Part seven Part eight Part nine Part ten Part eleven Part twelve Part thirteen Part fourteen Part fifteen

If you like to have your readings in order :): H E R E

The following morning, you really did call to your office and took a fucking day off, because you really needed it. Your headache was killing you - but you were happy when you remembered what happened last night. Yeah, your legs weren't working like they used to normally, but you were on cloud nine.

Bucky's shit-eating grin was shining on his face as Deena and Sam both handled him twenty bucks in cash. You've really done it and Steve reacted. You expected to end up that night with a kiss - but Steve gave you a few good rounds and he went down on you without any hesitation. You couldn't even count how many times you came that night.

And even if your whole body did hurt and you were tired, you knew you could take more of him.

So you laid in your bed with a lazy smile on your lips, your hand leaned into your crossed forearms as you watched Steve swinging his ass dressed in jeans in a rhythm of a fast song. It was an interpreter from the concert you were on the last night, you could really tell. That sweet Greek god was preparing your breakfast and he was as happy as he wasn't in a long time.

His body and smile felt relaxed and truthful, his body was itching with the finest pain he ever felt. Oh man, sometimes it was good to be eager - and to DEFINITELY love sex. He was one hundred percent sure that he loves sex.

Being seventy years in the ice wasn't an excuse for not learning some new techniques in case they were needed; including new types of speaking, some physical attributes, clothing style and of course, the modern styles of making love.

The missionary was outdated - now, there were much funnier things to do in the bedroom.

Both Steve and Bucky knew that, so their research was fairly good in this matter. And they were good students.

A woman's body was the most beautiful instrument in the entire world when you knew how to play it - Steve knew that since the fucking forties. And you sang for him the entire night.

You had some messy memories of the night, but Steve remembered every single detail. He knew that you curl up your toes when you liked what he was doing, that you were praising him when he touched the right spot and that your collarbones were visible when your body tensed up as you orgasmed with loud moans.

He was eager to test everything out, to learn more about your physical side; to learn how to please his baby girl the best way he could.

It was pretty obvious that from that night on, you two became a couple in a relationship. You were his doll and his baby girl just as he was your big guy. And you lived for all of that.

“That’s who we're listening to now?” - You chuckled as you heard Salt and Peppa’s famous lyrics “let’s talk about sex” in that EDM remix. - “How come?”

“It happened to be my new all-time favorite. Might have one or six reasons” - Steve answered in a singing voice and you giggled, sitting up. He smirked, punning on the events of last night.

"So, how you're feeling?" - He smiled sweetly and leaned down to give you an entire plate of fried eggs. You accepted, covering your body in a blanket.

"I haven't felt this good for a long, long time." - You leaned closer to kiss him, Steve gladly accepted that his huge palm traveling on the smooth skin on your neck, caressing you with love. - "And thank you for breakfast. I can't even say how hungry I am."

"My pleasure, really." - He winked at you. You ate in silence, but with sinful grins on your faces. You were looking like a muse - he never saw such a beautiful thing until that very morning.

He was having a happy grin on his face. It was all his work - your happy smile, the blissful look in your eyes and the slight pain in your body.

"The best fucking breakfast ever." - You kissed his shoulder, hummed and smiled, resting your head on Steve's body. He had a body of a God, you wanted to take a picture of that bod, just to look at it when feeling down. You knew it will make you curl your lips into a smile every time he'll have a chance to show his abs. - "And you're the best fucking soldier."

"Oh really, missy? What makes you say that?" - His hands smoothed your hair and he pressed a gentle kiss on your temple. You curled to his side like a little kitten, almost purring with love.

"Well, you're handsome, gentle with me, emotional, hot and so good with your tongue." - You sighed and slowly smoothed his chest with a nail of your finger. - "You have many qualities that I can name, but I can think of different ways of you showing me."

Your lips invited his body to lean into his, slowly kissing his neck down with your eyes closed. You felt him tense up under your touch when you brush his nipple teasingly; so he was the sensitive one. You liked that.

"What are you doing to me?" - Steve took your jaw and brought his lips to yours as he slowly leaned down, pressing your body to the mattress.

"Making you wanna love me." - You whispered with a wicked smile and caressed his cheeks, down to his collarbones and wide shoulders. Jesus fuck, his back was something you knew you will never have enough of.

"I already do, kitten." - Steve sat back up and undid his belt, looking you in the eyes with dark eyes. You were ready to come at his simple command. - "But now I'm going to show you." - He gave you a brief look when he lifted up boxers. You swallowed and almost rolled your eyes to the back of your head. Jesus that man was a piece of art.

As they say, the most innocent looking ones are the kinkiest ones. Thank God, that happened to be the truth.

"What the fuck have you done with Captain Rogers?" - You sighed dramatically and caught your breast without further thinking.

"Was that a bad language word?" - Steve's hand replaced your on your breast, his fingers were playfully playing with your nipple. Oh God, that made you moan playfully. You minx. - "I might know some ways how to make you forget this kind of words."

"Here's my man. Promise me that you'll be my Captain in the streets." - You ached your back as his lips praised your belly with sloppy kisses. Your hand was messing up his perfectly cut hair. - "But my animal in the sheets."

"Oh, I can promise that, ma'am." - He hummed into your skin and with that, his tongue circled slowly around your clit. At that moment, your headache was long forgotten as you made a long, sweet sound with your eyes happily closed. You were smiling as Steve carefully caressed your inner thighs down to the pit under your knee, his eyes closed as he flicked his tongue directly on your sweet spot.

Sometimes Steve stopped those blissful motions to suck on that spot, making some wet sounds. You were caressing your breasts as he continued, but you stopped when his eyes winked at you. You felt somehow guilty, but Steve, his lips and chin wet from your pussy, just chuckled.

"Continue with that. It's hot." - He pleaded and you circled your fingers around your hard nipples. You could but diamonds with that; and you had no idea how hard it made his cock. - "I will go to hell for that, you she-devil. This is just too much for me to handle."

With those words, he dived back between your legs and you screamed in pleasure. It was more common to guy praise his girl, but you were kindly taking that privilege.

"Such a good fucking boy, making me feel so good." - You bit your lip and started to feel as the muscles inside of you come clenched. Steve could feel as you jumped a bit because of all that stimulation, so he decided to put his fingers in use as well.

That was almost too much for you to take. Steve had fingers of a skilled pianist, long and flexible. So when started to curl them inside of you, you only rolled your eyes backward and tried to find your breath. It was nowhere to be found.

Your body started to tremble and you couldn't control it at all. Your thighs were squeezing Steve's face in your sweet valley, and as the passion took over your body, and when you came, with his name on your lips, you almost choked him a bit.

When it was all over, your body just relaxed and you looked into the ceiling. Holy fuck, Steve Rogers truly had a golden tongue and you needed that tongue all day and all night.

"I hope that you don't think that it's over, do you?" - Steve's voice chuckled next to your ear. He sounded like a predator, slowly cleaning his chin with the back of his palm. - "I have a whole lot of cure for your swearing with me."

"Oh, baby. I think you're making the punishment for yourself because all of that will make me swear even more." - You smiled lazily and kisses him, while he giggled out of his jeans. He was laughing and let his tongue passionately dance with yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. - "Trust me that I'll have such a fucking dirty mouth, baby boy."

And with that, he pressed your body into the mattress as he slid inside of your cunt. The premiere when you almost couldn't take the full length inside was far inside of you; you were slowly adjusting to him and this time, it was way pleasurable than in the night. You couldn't help but make some erotic sounds as he started to pound into you and peppered your neck with sweet kisses and gentle bites.

But most of the time, his eyes didn't leave your face. He closely watched every little emotion crossing through your eyes, how you opened your mouth more and wider before leaning your head backward. You were such a masterpiece to him.

Steve tried different positions than the night before, different rhythms and different angles with his pelvis. He was a playful, dirty boy when his goal was having you breathing, moaning mess in the shortest time he possibly could without you coming for the second time so soon.

It took him some time to come as well and you felt so warm and smooth in the inside that he didn't want to stop. But he loved as you caressed his body and praised yours. That self-love was a huge turn on for him to say at least.

"I think I can't anymore." - You squealed in the middle of his firm, quick tempo. Steve laid you on your side, having one of your thighs circled around his hip as he kneeled on his knees and his dick was pounding into you from some angle that made you go wild. He felt fucking huge. - "You make me fucking come again, Rogers. Jesus fucking Christ."

"Try to think about your words, missy. I have a whole day for you and you can make hard any time." - Steve leaned down to kiss your shoulder. He was sweaty as well and it was no wonder to you. Steve was pounding into you like there was no fucking tomorrow.

"No, I will be a good girl, just snuggle me for the rest of the day. I beg you." - You straightaway screamed the last sentence since you came again. Mr. Rogers's magical dick. That was your favorite thing on the whole planet from that exact moment, you've decided. Period.

After a few last pounds with little growls, he came as well. Since he remembered almost everything you've ever done, he knew it was safe to come inside. At least that's how Steve understood the science of hormonal pills.

Steve watched your lazy smile and closes eyes with a loving gaze. Those feelings were something that only he was able to make you feel and Steve was proud of it. And you loved the style he was fucking you, it was wild and you could feel that Steve was having fun.

"Baby, I'm tired. Come here, hug me and snuggle me. You have to do it since you practically destroyed my body." - You let him slip out of you and slowly crawled under one of your blankets. You were basically falling asleep on the spot.

"But you liked it, didn't you?" - Steve asked as he laid behind you, slowly snuggling his chest to your back. You both looked as the snowflakes slowly fell down from the sky. It was a magnificently calm view.

"I will show you how I loved it the next time I will be able to stand on my feet." - You laughed lazily. - "You might take a few days off that superhero life because you will have to take care of the mess you made out of me."

"Gladly, kitten. I will gladly take care of you. But go to sleep now, we'll take a bath as soon as you wake up. I promise." - Steve pressed his lips to the crook of your neck and nuzzled his nose into your hair, smelling it shamelessly.

Steve Rogers was sure that heaven had to smell like that. Otherwise, he didn't want to go there - he would follow you to the deepest hell for that matter.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #mcu #captain america #steve rodgers imagine #whatapp #marvel cinematic universe #let’s talk about sex

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