#stack needs someone to dom him idk

[superhoeva]

elias smells you before he sees you…

you’re a sweet drip that clouds his thoughts with a thick fog, and he inhales again. this time, his eyes nearly flutter shut at the scent. it waters his eyes a touch, nearly forcing a seeping groan from his lips.

panning his gaze, the man finds you instantly. already staring back, waiting for him to find you. your eyes hold his, yanking every ounce of his attention, and his legs are moving him before he notices.

he smiles in the final steps of his approach, giving you his name–elias but you’re free to call him whatever the fuck you like–and shaking your hand with a caressing of your knuckles. breathing in again, the man could cry.

you’re perfect.

you recite an introduction back, a sweet-smelling alcohol dancing off your lips and across to him. you almost always touch his arm whenever you speak, low and near for only him to perceive. he finds himself leaning into you as the night oozes by, swaying every now and again like he does when he’s drunk more blood than he should.

after you propose that elias follows you to the back, he doesn’t hesitate. when you catch him eyeing the office the two of you end up in, you pull him close. a single, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth and a simple explanation of how you already know the owner of the establishment–you–won’t mind is all it takes for the dam to break.

elias’ hands collect your face, and he kisses you deep. tongue wrapping around yours, he only pulls away when he feels the drool starts to collect in his mouth.

just a taste, that’s all he’ll take. a mouthful of blood to decay his thirst, and a few more swallows just to remember you by.

in a flash, elias grabs you by the neck. now on the ground, you gasp as he hovers over you with a sickening smile.

“don’t scream, okay? i like ya, so i’ll try to make it quick…” he twangs out, fangs puncturing through his gums, nose breathing in once more to intoxicate himself with your candied aroma. 

just as he bends, your eyes darken with a grin of your own.

a grunt leaves elias as you flip the two of you. it takes him all of five seconds to register what’s happened, and a few more seconds to come back to his lost senses.

looking up at you, he freezes.

straddling the man, you smirk to reveal your own set of fangs. they’re sharp but worn, and elias can only tear his stare from them to gaze into your now-greyish orbs. when you speak, his chest rumbles with an echo that sears directly through his damned soul.

“what’s the matter, baby? you think you were special or something?”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[buckyseternaldoll]

Every Inch, Every Corner

—based on this ask by @iamthatonefangirl ❤️‍🔥

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: New apartment. Three bedrooms. One goal: christen every inch of it. You thought Bucky bought this place for comfort. He had other intentions.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, masturbation, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, edging, creampie, exhibitionism/voyeuristic risk, soft dom!Bucky, praise kink, mild dirty talk, domestic setting, emotional sex, Alpine the cat, idk what else?

Author's Note: I hope I did justice with what Bri requested. Comments, likes, reblogs are always much appreciated! 💜

It was nearly noon by the time the last of the movers left, their heavy boots thudding down the hallway and fading into silence. You stood in the middle of your new apartment—three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a real kitchen you could twirl in, and a living room so spacious you could finally host friends without having someone sit on your laundry basket.

The entire place was a mess of half-labeled boxes, suitcases with open zippers, a rolled-up rug leaning against the hallway wall, and a fresh pile of discarded tape and bubble wrap. But it was yours. Yours and Bucky’s.

“I’m thinking… sofa right here,” you said, stepping toward the living room, bare feet brushing over the cool hardwood floor. “With that emerald velvet cover I showed you—remember? And maybe a gold standing lamp in the corner to match the kitchen handles. Not too shiny, but enough to make it pop.”

Bucky leaned against the wall just a few steps behind you, arms crossed, tight blue shirt stretched deliciously over his chest. He wasn’t really listening—not to your decor ideas, anyway. Not when you were wearing that little pink tank top that clung to your chest with no bra underneath, the softest curve of your nipples visible through the fabric. And those black biker shorts? They hugged your ass like a second skin. He had a hard time deciding if you were giving him a tour or a tease.

“You’re really into gold accents lately,” he murmured, eyes trained shamelessly on your backside as you bent slightly to peek inside an open box labeled BOOKS & IDK STUFFS??

You straightened with a proud smile. “Classy but warm,” you replied, oblivious to the tension building behind you. “And I was thinking of calling the big bedroom ours, the medium one the library-slash-guest room, and the small one can be Alpine’s.”

As if summoned, the little white cat padded out from behind a stack of flattened cardboard, hopping gracefully onto the only unboxed chair you’d brought from the old apartment. She blinked slowly at Bucky like she knew exactly what was about to happen and wanted no part in it.

You turned again, all smiles, hands on your hips. “I can’t wait to christen the place.”

Bucky blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “You know, get everything set up. Little finishing touches. Candle holders. Floating shelves. Just need a few trips to IKEA, and—why are you smiling like that?”

He didn’t answer right away. That cheeky grin spread wider across his face—the same one he wore when you caught him stashing Oreos under the bed or trying to convince Alpine to wear a tiny shield-shaped collar tag.

You followed his gaze… down.

Oh.

There was a very obvious tent in his jeans.

Your lips parted in a half-laugh, half-gasp. “Bucky.”

He shrugged, unrepentant. “When you said ‘christen the place,’ that’s not exactly what I thought you meant.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love it,” he smirked, pushing off the wall. He closed the distance between you in just a few steps, hands ghosting over your hips before settling firmly on your waist. “Doll, you walk around here in this outfit, looking all glowy and excited like this is Christmas morning, and expect me not to pop a boner?”

You opened your mouth to respond but were interrupted when his fingers dipped down, teasing the waistband of your shorts. He didn’t pull—yet. Just teased. Just tested the way your breath hitched and your lips twitched like you were trying not to grin.

“I was gonna wait,” he whispered, his voice a little lower now, right at the shell of your ear. “But you’re making it real hard.”

“Bucky, we haven’t even unpacked.”

“You want me to wait until the couch is in place? That’s cruel,” he grinned.

You tried to stay strong, but the way his warm hands slipped around to cup your ass… the way he kissed the side of your neck so tenderly, then pulled back with a half-growl when your body arched into him?

Yeah, you were already melting.

“Fine,” you whispered, breath shaky. “But only a quick one. We have a whole apartment to—oh.”

His fingers slid beneath the waistband now, down past the stretch of your shorts, past the soft pink lace of your panties. He found your folds instantly, already slick with anticipation.

“Already soaked, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “So much for a quick one.”

You gasped as he rubbed slow, deliberate circles over your clit, the wet sounds obscene in the open space of the bare apartment. Alpine jumped off the chair with a soft mrrp, tail flicking as she trotted out of the room like she couldn’t deal with her humans being horny again.

Your hands flew to Bucky’s shoulders, gripping the thick muscle through his shirt for support. “God, your fingers—Bucky…”

He groaned at the way you whispered his name like a prayer. His metal hand held you steady at the hip while the other worked you open, one finger sliding in, then another, curling just right.

The heat built too fast. You buried your face in his neck, whining into his skin, hips rocking forward against his palm.

He pulled back just a little. “Wanna make you come with my fingers,” he rasped. “Right here. First thing we do in this place.”

You did. And you did—trembling, clutching him, jaw slack as your body tightened and released in wave after wave of sharp, burning pleasure.

Before you even came down from it, he gently pulled his fingers from you, brought them to his mouth, and sucked them clean. “Fuck, doll. That taste might be my new favorite part of the house.”

You dropped to your knees before he could even finish his sentence.

His eyes darkened instantly. “Oh, you’re gonna—fuck—”

You didn’t give him time to talk. You reached for his belt, made quick work of his fly, and tugged his jeans and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free. Already flushed, hard, leaking at the tip.

“Jesus,” he hissed as you licked a stripe up his length. “You’re killing me.”

“Good,” you muttered, then took him into your mouth—slow at first, then deeper, letting your tongue drag along the underside of his cock. His hand fisted in your hair, not pushing, just grounding himself. His breath stuttered, hips barely moving, eyes locked on yours as you looked up and moaned around him.

“Fuck—shit, sweetheart, I’m—” He tried to warn you, but you didn’t stop. You wanted it. Every twitch, every ragged breath, every drop.

He came with a groan, head falling back, his hand tightening just enough in your hair to anchor himself as he pulsed on your tongue.

When you finally pulled back, lips glistening and panting softly, he stared at you like you’d just performed a miracle.

“Okay,” you grinned breathlessly, tucking him back into his jeans. “Now that’s a proper christening.”

—

Your legs were still shaking slightly when you peeled yourself off the floor, using the edge of a nearby box to steady yourself. You hadn’t even made it an hour into moving day and already Bucky had you wrecked—with nothing but his fingers and that damn smirk.

You tried to recover. Really, you did. Tugging your tank top back down, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand like it would hide the fact you just sucked your boyfriend off in the living room of your new apartment. Alpine was nowhere in sight—probably off in a box somewhere judging you silently.

“I was saying before you got all handsy,” you muttered, voice still hoarse, “I think we can keep the island clean, but maybe hang some open shelves overhead. Keep the kitchen looking open. You can reach high stuff—tall freak.”

Bucky’s footsteps padded slowly behind you as you stepped into the kitchen. The place was bright, spacious, with pale wood floors and a long marble island in the center. You ran your hand over the smooth surface, picturing where the bar stools would go.

“Still thinking about shelving, huh?” he murmured behind you.

You didn’t even have time to turn. His hands wrapped around your waist, then slid lower, over your hips, his front pressing against your back.

“I just sucked you off,” you laughed, playfully exasperated. “Shouldn’t you be in a coma or something?”

“You’re in that little pink tank, no panties now, talking about where to put gold accents while strutting around like that—and you think I’m the problem?”

You tried to twist out of his grip, half-giggling. “Let me finish my sentence for once—”

But he cut you off with a sharp tug at your hips, bending you over the kitchen island with such ease you gasped. Your bare thighs hit the cool stone surface, and you shivered. He stepped behind you again, hands firm as he spread your legs wider.

“Bucky—”

“You said you wanted to christen the place,” he said, voice gravelly now, deep and hungry. “I’m just getting to the kitchen.”

You tried to turn, but then his hand slid between your legs—again. You were still soaked from earlier. Maybe even wetter now.

“Fuck,” he hissed, running two fingers through your slick folds. “You’re dripping, sweetheart.”

“God—just fuck me already,” you whined.

“Oh? Bossy all of a sudden.”

He didn’t need more convincing. His jeans were halfway down in seconds, boxers shoved just low enough to free his cock. He grabbed your ass with both hands, kneading, spreading, teasing you with the head of his cock—sliding it through your folds but not giving you what you needed yet.

“Bucky.”

That one-word plea did it.

He pushed in slow, and you cried out, hands scrambling for purchase on the cold marble, back arching. He was big, thick, and filled you just right—especially from this angle, deep and perfect.

“Fuck—feels so fucking good,” he groaned, already starting to move, one hand pressing down between your shoulder blades to keep you bent, the other gripping your waist tight.

Your moans bounced off the bare walls, echoing in the empty space. The slap of skin meeting skin filled the air. Bucky pounded into you hard, rougher than earlier, like he couldn’t get enough. You weren’t sure if he was trying to break the kitchen in or break you.

“Listen to how wet you are,” he grunted. “Dripping all over our brand new kitchen.”

You whimpered into your arm, half-embarrassed, half turned on beyond reason.

He leaned down, chest pressed against your back, whispering into your ear as he thrust deep. “You’re gonna think of this every time you come in here. Every time you cook something, stand right here—gonna remember how I bent you over and made you scream.”

You were already close. He knew it. He felt the way your walls fluttered around him, the way your moans climbed higher with every thrust.

Then he reached down and rubbed your clit with his vibranium fingers, just the right pressure.

That was it.

You came with a sharp cry, gripping the countertop, knees threatening to buckle. He groaned behind you, pushed in deep one final time, and came with you—filling you while muttering your name like it was the only word he knew.

—

You stayed like that for a few seconds, both of you panting, still joined, sticky and ruined against the counter. Then—

Ding-dong.

Your eyes snapped open. “Shit.”

Bucky laughed softly, pulling out with a quiet hiss, already tucking himself away. “You order lunch?”

“Maybe…” You wobbled as you tried to stand, legs still trembling. “You were busy. I got hungry.”

“Hungry, huh?” he teased, helping you straighten. “Not just for me?”

You shoved him lightly, making your way toward the door while trying to fix your hair. “Shut up and go get the food.”

By the time you’d grabbed napkins and water bottles, Bucky returned with a brown paper bag and a smug grin. “Chicken pesto sandwiches. And cookies.”

You grinned, reaching for the sandwich. “See? I knew you were good for something.”

You perched on one of the stools by the island, now finally used for its actual purpose. You’d thrown your panties back on, too lazy to reach for your shorts, but the tank still hung loose on your sticky skin. Bucky sat beside you, still in his tight shirt, hair slightly mussed.

You took one bite and groaned in delight. “God, food after sex? Everything tastes ten times better.”

Bucky hummed. “Yeah. Tastes even better when you’re sitting there all cute with my cum still inside you.”

You nearly choked on your sandwich. “James!”

He only smirked. “Just saying. You look good.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you knew that tone. Mischief.

You caught the gleam in his eye just a second too late—his vibranium hand slid over your thigh, fingers brushing between your legs. You tensed.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” He traced over the damp lace of your panties. “You’re already wet again, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched. “We’re eating.”

“And I’m multitasking,” he whispered, leaning closer to nibble at your earlobe.

His fingers circled slowly, deliberately. You clenched your thighs around his hand, but he was relentless—teasing your folds through the fabric, the cold metal making your whole body twitch.

“I swear to God, if I drop this sandwich—”

“You’ll still be satisfied.”

—

You couldn’t focus after lunch. Not really.

Your legs still felt a little unsteady, thighs sore in the best way, and every time you tried to sit still, you felt the soft pulse of oversensitivity between your legs—courtesy of your boyfriend’s vibranium fingers and very distracting cock.

So you wandered. You peeked into the second bedroom while Bucky cleaned up the wrappers. This one already had a bed frame dragged in, your slightly worn daybed from the old apartment sitting in the middle of the room under the window. The room was bare, boxes scattered around labeled LINENS and GUEST STUFFS, but the late afternoon sun made it glow.

You sat down with a soft huff, fingers tracing the stitching of the mattress. “Maybe this could be the reading room. Get one of those old-school lamps. A rug. Big bookshelf right here.”

Bucky leaned against the doorframe behind you, drying his hands with a paper towel. “Mm. Reading room, huh?”

You nodded. “Or an office.”

He tilted his head. “Or…”

You arched a brow.

He stepped closer, slow and calm, like a man on a mission. “Could be the place I sit down and watch you ride me for a while.”

You tried to fight your smile. Failed. “Oh, so now you’re christening the guest room too?”

“I said I’d break in every inch of this place,” he murmured, voice softer now as he came to stand between your legs. “Not my fault you brought in a perfectly good excuse to sit down.”

His hands found your waist again, warm and steady. You let your own drift down to his hips, fingers brushing over the hem of his shirt.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Then sit.”

He obeyed.

He sat back against the armrest of the daybed, legs spread just enough to invite you in—half lounging like it was a couch, but the mattress beneath him creaked faintly like it knew what was coming.

You climbed into his lap, facing him. His hands immediately went to your thighs, dragging them apart so you could straddle him fully, knees braced on either side of his legs. His gaze never left yours as you reached for the hem of your tank top and slowly pulled it off over your head.

“Jesus, baby…” he whispered, eyes dragging down to your bare chest.

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him—slow and deep—while his hands moved to tug your panties down. They caught around one ankle before you kicked them off.

Then it was just you. Naked, flushed, and needy, sinking down onto him inch by inch, gasping into his mouth as he filled you.

It was slower this time. Softer. No frantic pounding or growled teasing—just the quiet rhythm of your bodies finding each other again. You rode him with long, rolling movements, arms draped over his shoulders, hips tilting just right to drag friction along your clit.

Bucky held you like you were fragile. Like he was scared he might break you if he moved too fast. His mouth was everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, the soft swell of your breasts. You lost track of how many times he whispered “so beautiful,” or how tight he held your waist when you clenched around him and moaned.

At one point, Alpine trotted in, hopped up onto a box, and stared. You caught her in your peripheral vision and burst out laughing—halfway through a slow grind, no less.

“Oh my God,” you giggled. “She’s judging us.”

Bucky laughed, breathless, still inside you. “She’s gonna need therapy.”

“She’s your cat.”

“And she’ll be traumatized by you,” he smirked, tilting up to kiss you again.

You came like that. Laughing, gasping, forehead pressed to his, walls fluttering around him as his hands gripped your hips tighter. He followed with a quiet, guttural moan, holding you close as he spilled into you again, hips twitching beneath yours.

You slumped against him afterward, sweaty and blissed out, your heart pounding against his chest.

“Library room, huh?” he murmured into your hair.

“Still calling it that,” you mumbled. “We’ll just… clean the daybed later.”

—

You’d meant to take a break after that one. You really did.

But then you passed the smallest room—the one you’d casually declared “Alpine’s room”—and paused in the doorway. There was nothing inside but a few scattered boxes and that massive window. The glass stretched wide, overlooking the apartment complex across the park. From here, you could clearly see rows of other windows. Some had blinds. Some didn’t.

The thrill hit first. The subtle spike of adrenaline, the heat curling low in your belly.

And Bucky… Bucky noticed your pause.

“You’re thinking something dirty again,” he murmured behind you.

“Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

You stepped inside, hands skimming the windowsill. “If someone were watching, they’d see everything.”

He came up behind you—now shirtless, jeans undone. “Curtains drawn across,” he noted. “But not fully.”

Your heart pounded.

“Bucky—”

He spun you gently, kissed you fast and hungry, then turned you again, guiding you to lean forward until your bare chest pressed to the cool glass.

“This what you want?” he whispered, voice darker now. “Want someone to see what I do to you?”

You whimpered. “They might. Anyone could be—”

“Exactly.”

He stripped what little you had left—your panties had already been tossed, and now his jeans and boxers hit the floor. You were both fully naked. Vulnerable. Lit by daylight and nothing else.

You braced your hands against the window frame, legs parted, heart pounding. Bucky lined up behind you, hands firm on your waist—and slid into you from behind in one smooth, delicious thrust.

You gasped—partly from the stretch, partly from the rush.

He was deeper than before like this. Every push of his hips rocked you forward against the glass, your nipples dragged across the cold surface, breath fogging up your little corner.

“Oh my God—” you whined. “Bucky—”

“Tell me what they’d see,” he growled into your ear. “If they looked up right now.”

“Y-you—fucking me—”

“Harder.”

You choked on a moan. “Fucking me like—like I’m yours.”

“You are mine,” he gritted out, hand tangling in your hair to keep you still as he thrust harder, faster. “Let them fucking watch.”

Your eyes rolled back. He felt wild behind you—possessive, untamed, feral in the best way. You were dizzy with pleasure, heat building fast, moans bouncing off the windows.

You came with a broken cry, pressed against the glass like a framed piece of art—frozen in that perfect moment of filthy bliss.

Bucky wasn’t far behind, groaning deep as he emptied inside you again, teeth grazing the back of your shoulder as he shuddered through his release.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then you felt it—Alpine brushing past your leg.

You both looked down, wide-eyed. She sat in the doorway, blinking innocently.

“I think she’s following the tour,” you mumbled breathlessly.

Bucky wheezed a laugh, forehead resting on your shoulder. “We’re the worst parents.”

—

You were both sticky and sweat-slicked, bodies glowing under the golden haze of late afternoon. And you definitely smelled like sex.

“Okay,” you panted, still catching your breath as Bucky tugged his jeans back up with a grunt. “We need a reset. Like—soap. And hot water. And at least one clean towel.”

He snorted softly, brushing your hair from your face. “You’re trying to say I stink?”

“I’m saying we both do. Filthy, filthy people.”

You padded toward the bathroom, laughing, Bucky following close behind with Alpine trotting at your ankles. She let out a low mrrrp as if to agree and then parked herself outside the door when you closed it.

The bathroom was echoey and bright, still bare aside from the installed glass shower. You flicked it on and stepped in first, gasping slightly at the rush of heat. Bucky followed, sliding the door closed behind him.

Steam quickly filled the space, and water ran in soft rivulets down his strong chest, highlighting every ridge and scar. You reached for the soap, but his hands caught your waist before you could.

“I’ll do it,” he said, voice soft now—none of the earlier grit, just warmth. “Turn around.”

You obeyed, facing the tiled wall as his hands, slow and reverent, moved over your skin with the lather. He massaged your shoulders first, easing out tension he himself had put there, before moving down your spine, over the curve of your hips.

You let your head fall back against his shoulder, a quiet sigh escaping. “I like this side of you.”

“What side?”

“The one that spoils me rotten.”

He chuckled, kissing your damp temple. “That’s every side, baby.”

You turned in his arms, arms winding around his neck. He blinked down at you—wet hair hanging in his face, lashes dripping, lips pink and parted.

You kissed him.

It was different than earlier. No rush. No game. Just the slow press of mouths under steaming water, the soft pull of hands over bare skin. When your fingers drifted down and found him half-hard again, he groaned into your mouth.

“Still got more in you?” you whispered.

“I always do for you.”

His hand slid between your thighs again, but this time it wasn’t rough or teasing—it was patient. Worshipful. He touched you like he was memorizing how you liked it, mapping your body with wet palms and slow circles.

You reached down at the same time, wrapping your hand around him. You stroked him in time with the rhythm he gave you, both of you gasping quietly, breathing each other in.

It didn’t take much. You were already sensitive, raw from the earlier rounds, and the intimacy only made it worse—better.

You came quietly this time, biting his shoulder as your body trembled. He followed not long after, pulsing in your hand with a low groan against your neck.

Afterward, you stayed in the spray, holding onto each other like you didn’t quite want to move yet. The water washed you clean, but the warmth between you stayed.

—

The mattress had no frame yet, but you didn’t care. It was huge, soft, and familiar—and right now, it looked like heaven.

You stepped out of the bathroom in just his old, oversized black shirt and a fresh pair of panties. Bucky was already on the bed, sprawled in nothing but a clean pair of black boxers, arms behind his head, hair damp and messy. He looked so relaxed, so at ease, like he belonged there. Like you belonged there.

Alpine was curled up at the edge of the bed, paws tucked under her body, dozing peacefully.

You crawled in beside him, sighing as the mattress dipped beneath you.

“Y’know,” you murmured, resting your chin on his bare chest, “this might actually feel like home.”

His hand slid up your back, fingers splayed between your shoulder blades. “It already is.”

You smiled. “Still have one more place to christen, though.”

He raised a brow. “Didn’t we already—”

“I meant,” you interrupted, swinging a leg over to straddle his hips, “the master bedroom.”

His grin returned slowly, sleepily. “Can’t argue with tradition.”

This time, he let you lead. You tugged his boxers down, letting him spring free beneath you. You rolled your hips slowly, teasing him along your folds before finally sinking down, eyes locked on his.

It was quiet.

The kind of quiet that wasn’t empty—but full. Full of love. Full of promises. Full of things left unspoken but understood between every slow thrust.

His hands cupped your waist gently, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts as you rode him with soft moans, letting your body melt into his.

“Fuck, you feel so good like this,” he whispered. “So warm. So close.”

You leaned down, foreheads brushing. “I love you.”

He pulled you down fully, wrapping his arms around you, whispering the words back into your skin again and again as you both moved together.

You came together that time—his name whispered into his mouth, your nails curling into his shoulders. He held you tight, keeping you wrapped in his warmth as your body trembled, riding out the waves.

You slumped against him afterward, breathing unevenly, your body boneless, skin damp with afterglow.

Bucky smoothed his palm along your spine, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You okay, baby?”

You hummed, half-asleep already. “Fine. Just… can’t move.”

He chuckled, low and smug. “I could go again.”

You groaned softly against his chest. “Of course you could.”

“Super soldier, sweetheart,” he said with a lazy grin. “Stamina for days.”

He paused, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek.

“But I’ll stop. ’Cause I know you need rest. You’re my priority, not my toy.”

Your chest tightened at that. That softness in his voice. The gentle weight of his arm holding you close.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because if you didn’t stop, I’d have to start planning your funeral.”

He laughed, kissed your hair again. “You’d miss me too much.”

You both lay there in the warmth of your new bed, the quiet settling around you like a blanket. Alpine stayed curled in her corner, purring faintly.

“You tired?” he asked, voice lower now.

“Mmm. Just resting.”

“You know we’ve got sunrise in a few hours.”

You smiled into his chest. “We’ve got one more spot left, huh?”

He grinned, voice dropping an octave. “The balcony?”

“Mmhm.”

“Doll,” he murmured, brushing a thumb along your jaw, “I can’t wait.”

—

The sky was just starting to blush pink by the time you stirred again—warm, tangled in sheets, sore in places you didn’t even know could get sore.

The clock read 5:27am.

Bucky was already awake.

He laid beside you, one arm curled under your body, watching the morning light creep across your skin. He was calm, quiet, but his fingers were gently tracing along the bare curve of your hip beneath his shirt. His shirt. The one you were still wearing. The only thing you were wearing.

“You awake, doll?”

You hummed, nuzzling into his chest. “Barely.”

He kissed your hairline, voice low and coaxing. “Sun’s coming up.”

You blinked lazily. “And?”

“And we’ve got a balcony with our name on it.”

Your breath caught—half from excitement, half from the memory of what he said yesterday. One more place to christen.

“You serious?” you mumbled.

“I brought a blanket,” he grinned.

You laughed under your breath. “God, you really are a menace.”

But you followed him anyway. Alpine blinked up at you from her perch by the window as if saying, Again? Really? before tucking her head back down.

You stepped out onto the balcony barefoot, the morning air sharp against your skin. It was quiet—too early for traffic, too late for late-night stragglers. The park below was still asleep, mist curling along the grass.

The breeze lifted the hem of Bucky’s blanket just as he dropped it onto the cushioned bench against the far wall. He turned to face you, fully naked, his metal hand catching the edge of your shirt and tugging it up and over your head in one smooth pull.

You stood there in nothing, nipples pebbling from the cold, your body on full display under the soft blue light of early morning.

Bucky looked at you like you were the only thing on earth that mattered.

“No one’s watching,” you whispered, just to test him.

“They could,” he murmured, stepping close. “That’s what makes it fun.”

You didn’t argue.

You kissed him, and that was it—hands flying, mouths desperate. He spun you, pressed your back to the railing, the metal cold on your spine. Your legs parted instinctively as he lifted you onto the edge, steadying you with both hands.

He slid into you with one smooth, deep thrust.

Your gasp was sharp, loud in the stillness of dawn. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he rocked into you, the angle perfect like this—your hips tilted back, legs wrapped around his waist, exposed to the world.

“Bucky—”

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he breathed. “Wide open, moaning my name—anyone looking out their window right now could see you. See how well I fuck you. How much you love it.”

You could barely speak. You gripped the rail behind you, trying to ground yourself as he thrust into you harder, deeper. His pace was steady but rough, claiming.

When he started to twitch inside you, you pushed gently on his chest. “Wait—wanna try something.”

He blinked, dazed and breathless. “Yeah?”

You dropped to your knees.

Right there. On your balcony. Naked. Dawn breaking behind you.

He hissed as you licked him clean of your arousal, sucking him back into your mouth slow, tongue swirling, moaning low in your throat just to watch him shudder.

His hands cradled your head. “Fuck, baby—fuck, you’re killing me—”

When he was close, you stood again—he caught you by the waist and bent you over the balcony railing.

Raw. Exposed. Anyone with binoculars would see your ass in the air and Bucky railing you from behind like he had a point to prove.

You moaned his name as he slammed into you, your voice echoing faintly off the buildings nearby.

You came with a cry, legs buckling, Bucky gritting out your name as he spilled inside you one last time.

He held you against him for a moment, chest to your back, both of you trembling.

The sun had fully broken over the horizon now, painting everything gold.

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes.

“Okay,” you whispered, still panting, “now it’s christened.”

He smiled, kissed your shoulder, and wrapped the blanket around both of you. “Home sweet home.”

[halotopicecream]

hi there~

first of all I love your works and those you recommend they’re amazing <3

second in case if you take requests, I am leaving you one just in case

how about a dom!wooyoung x fem!reader where you get promoted as his secretary as he becomes the new CEO of a company and eventually try to catch his attention more (without knowing that you already did)?

-𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: CEO!Jung Wooyoung x fem!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: non-idol, workplace…au?, smut, fluff bc I’m a soft bitch, co-workers 2 lovers

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: mutual pinning (sorta), Wooyoung is a panty thief, seducing, uh, idk what else, tell me what I should add

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: with the new being the new CEO’s secretary came with a lot of baggage and responsibilities. That baggage was dealing with how painfully attractive he was, and the responsibility was keeping yourself from kissing him whenever you saw him.

𝐅𝐚𝐪: Tysm I really appreciate the support and the request🥹 I hope it came out to your liking! Just know I don’t know much about office work and stuff, imma costumer service gal so it may not seem accurate but I’m going off of what I saw in the three episodes of the office I watched. I like… can’t write just pork with zero build up. I struggle. So this is a lot longer than I thought it would be but I hope you like it! This is honestly kinda shitty but hey, I tried😅 NOT PROOFREAD

𝐍𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭

𝐍𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex, dom!wooyoung, sub!reader, choking, dirty talk, reader gets called “slut “whore”, vaginal fingering, praise-ish, degration but not really, no safe word but consent checks (I’m barley awake spear me) vague aftercare (bc they’re at work) tell me if I used anything.

You wouldn’t say you were an attention seeker, because you weren’t. Usually having attention was something you’d avoid when you could. But when it came to the new CEO, all you wanted was for him to look at you.

Jung Wooyoung, an Adonis of a man who carried himself with so much confidence you felt your knees go weak being around him. You weren’t the type of girl to go out of her way to grab someone attention, but with Wooyoung, all of that changed.

“Sajangnim? I’ve got some papers for you to sign here before your meeting with Changbin tomorrow morning.” You said, placing the stack of papers on the desk in front of him, squeezing your arms against your chest so they would pop out in his face.

Wooyoung hummed in response, eyes trained on your breasts before he looked away, violently blinking. You stood up straight, giving him an innocent smile that definitely didn’t match your actions to him the whole day, and bowed respectfully.

“If you need anything or anymore information on the meeting you know I’m only a call away.” You turned around to walk out of the room, but Wooyoungs voice kept you from leaving. “Y/n, come here.” Your heart dropped to your stomach.

Gulping, you turned back around to face him, trying your best to hide how anxious you were. You’ve never heard Wooyoung speak like that before, especially not to you. He was always playful and sweet, and that’s why you liked him so much.

So hearing this demanding, almost angry tone made your skin prickle with anxiety.

“Y-yes sir?” His face was settled in a deep frown before he nodded to the door. “Lock it.” The anxious feeling turned into butterflies. Would you finally have your feelings returned?

You turned around to lock the door before facing him once again, and his expression morphed from a serious look, to a teasing smirk. Your whole body heated up, somehow knowing you were royally fucked.

Literally.

Resting his elbow against the desk, Wooyoung beckoned you over with a curl of his finger, eyes dark and leaving you breathless. “Come here, pretty girl.” He breathed, a soft tilt of his head more enchanting than anything you’ve ever seen any other man do.

You took a shaky breath before making your way over to the desk, standing in front of it, still a feet away from him. Wooyoung pushed his rolling leather chair away from the desk, patting his thigh while never breaking eye contact with you.

At this point you couldn’t control your body, and you’d stood completely still, unable to control your racing mind, heart and… literally anything else.

The smirk he wore fell slightly, a disappointed look replacing it, and you felt the odd need to change that. For some reason, you wanted to make him proud, to hear him praise you.

So, with an new need to please, you walked around the desk to stand Min front of Wooyoung, and his frown quickly changed into a smirk. You liked that look better than his frown. He took your hand in his, interlocking your fingers before pulling you closer to him.

“Can you tell me something?” His voice was smooth as honey, and you didn’t even realize you nodded your head. You were completely wrapped around this make finger. You knew it, and he knew it. And Wooyoung, oh he loved it.

Having a secretary who’s so helpful, easy to get along with, and so fucking hot.

“I want you to tell me how you feel about me. Tell me everything.” He smirked, voice turning into a slight growl at the end. Your breath hitched, goosebumps following the trail his fingers made up your arm.

“What… what do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean, doll. I see how you look at me, how you clench your thighs and how you try and get my attention by “accidentally” flashing me. But I want to hear it come out you pretty mouth. So tell me yeah?” His pupils were blown wide, eyes almost black if it weren’t for the florescent light showing the remaining brown.

You were frozen, heart hammering in your chest and you know your absolutely positively crazy for him. Wooyoungs palm met your cheek, tilting your head down to look at him. “Is this ok?” The eyes that were once filled with nothing but lust now held concern, and your heart melted.

He did care. Maybe this just wasn’t about lust. Maybe there’s something more. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking, and all this is is a quick fuck for him.

But there was something in his eyes that said something different.

You covered his hand with yours, smiling at him before placing a kiss on his palm. Wooyoung blushed, heart hammering even quicker at your soft display. “It is. I’m ok, sir, I want this too.”

“Wooyoung, yeah? I want you to call me Wooyoung when we’re alone.” He caressed your cheek, slowly lowering your body down to sit on his thick thigh.

God, his thighs. The tight pants he wore always made them pop.

You nodded, resting your hands on his shoulders. “Now, tell me doll, would you? I wanna know what goes on in pretty head.” His hands rub up and down your sides, squeezing them gently. You were hesitant, too embarrassed to let him know what you thought about him and what he could do to you.

His grip on your sides grew tighter, eyebrow cocking up as though he was saying ‘well, I’m waiting’, and you could feel your body get warmer and warmer. “I… I think about b-being good for you.” His cock twitched in his pants.

“Oh? You think about being good for me when you walk around practically shoving your tits in my face like a slut? That doesn’t seem good to me.” He scoffed, letting his hands trail down and gripping your ass tightly. You gasped, letting out a quiet whimper that did not get past Wooyoungs ears.

“Mm, you like that? Like when I call you a little attention hungry slut? My little attention whore?” He pulled you closer, making your centers run against each other to create sweet friction. You let out a whine while Wooyoung groaned, pulling you again and again against him.

“Keep telling me what you think about, I wanna hear all about it.” His hands worked their way under your skirt, pausing for a moment to give you a chance to back away. But you did the opposite. You bucked your hips closer to his hand, behind him to finally touch you like you’ve been hoping.

“I think you’d have really pretty moans. Y-you look like a pretty moaner. I-I think about how you’d look between my t-thighs,” mm, Wooyoung would give his soul to be between your gorgeous thighs. “And I-I think about ridding you, because I think y-your thighs are really nice.” Oh he knew that already.

There’s been more than one (three, to be exact) occasion where Wooyoung may have overheard you talking to yourself about how much you love his thighs, and he may or may not have fed into that by wearing tighter pants to see you drool over him. He may have done that, but you’d have to ask yourself to see if it’s really true.

Wooyoung hummed, pleased with what he was hearing and finally loosing his patience, moving your panties off to the side and sliding one of his fingers into your wet heat. You mewled, slapping a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

That was the last thing Wooyoung wanted. He wanted to hear you, to make you beg for him so prettily like he knows you can. But there wasn’t enough time for that, he’d take his time next time.

“Mm I need you to moan for me doll, I need to hear your slutty little sounds.” He added another finger, pushing them as seek as they could go at the odd angle before curling them, grazing your g-spot.

“F-fuck! Wooyoung please!” You whined, burying your face in his neck and moaning into the skin, letting out all of your sounds muffled right next to his ear. He loved that, having you moan so sweetly right into his ear for only him to hear.

The sound your pussy was making as he messily fingered your flew completely over your head, mind completely held by the pleasure you were feeling. A third finger was added, stretching your pussy so well you almost felt like crying.

As he fingered you, Wooyoung caressed your back, the soothing gesture doing more for the pleasure than you thought it would. In a mindless haze you leant away from his neck to connect your lips, moaning into his mouth.

Wooyoung let out a groan, squeezing it your ass cheek tightly as he held you still. He licked at your bottom lip, asking for entrance which you happily gave him. Wooyoung slid his eager tongue into your mouth, leaving no crevice untouched by his tongue.

You rocked your hips against his hand, the knot in your stomach building and building until you were sure you were going to snap. So you pulled away from the dark haired males lips, panting against them as you thighs shook.

“Fuck ‘m so close Woo, pleasepleaseplease let me cum— I-I need it please, I promise I’ll be such an good girl for you!” You begged, gripping his hair harder than you could control, only for him to let a sweet moan.

Wooyoung chuckled, trailing kisses along your neck and leaving a few marks for onlookers to see before speeding up the thumb he had placed on your clit, pushing you closer and closer to that sweet euphoria.

“Go on doll, he a good slut and cum all over my fingers.” He groaned, bottom lip tightly tucked between his teeth as he hid his own excitement. You whined, grinding down onto his hand to ouch his fingers deeper than they already were.

A few more thrusts of his hand sent you over the edge, spasming on his lap and probably leaving a stain on his pants. Wooyoung thumbed at your clit a little more, helping you ride out your orgasm before removing his hands from your heart, spreading all three of his fingers to admire how slick they were.

His eyes found yours, filled with nothing but lust and want as he opened his lips, sliding his fingers into his mouth one by one, licking your juices off. His shoulders slumped and he let out a pleased groan, flossing his eyes and enjoying the taste.

You became flustered at his lack of shame, choosing to lower your gaze to the small piece of stomach you could see through his shirt. Wooyoung chuckled, holding your face in his hand before guiding you to his lips, sliding his tongue into your mouth, letting you taste yourself in his tongue.

His hands wandered away from your face to your blouse, playing with the buttons before he paused, pulling away from your lips. “Is it ok if I take this off of you?” You eagerly nod.

“I need words, doll.”

“Yes. Yes you can take it off, please.” You were hot, so so hot it was almost unbearable. But being around Wooyoung did that to you.

Once he got consent he started popping open your buttons slowly to make you grow impatient. He wanted you to he a mess by the time he stuck his cock inside of you, and the best way to do that was take it slow until you broke down.

The final button popped open, and Wooyoung had a front row seat (well, technically HE was the seat, but it’s not important rn) to see your dark blue lace bra, and he waisted no time cupping them. You reached behind yourself to unhook the bra and it fell off of your shoulders, falling onto the ground and leaving Woo the perfect view of your breasts.

He let out an appreciative hum, pinching your perked nipples between his fingers and tweaking them, chuckling at the needy sounds you let out. “Y-you’re so mean Woo.”

“Yeah, I am.” In a quick motion he stood up off of the seat, planting your feet on the ground before bending you over his desk. He flipped your skirt up, planting a firm smack accords your ass cheeks. You let out a yelp which turned into a whine. “Sorry doll, couldn’t help it.” He placed an apology kiss on your cheeks before sliding your panties down your legs, pocketing them.

He started to remove his shirt, setting it behind him to lay across the leather chair and tugged his suit pants and boxers down to his mid thigh, just enough for his leaning cocky to pop out.

You could feel yourself starting to drool at the sight, so you swallowed, pushing your hips back to urge him to hurry. “W-we don’t have all day, Woo. We’re still at work…” he hummed, prodding your entrance with his red tip with a smirk, loving down responsive you are.

“Oh I know doll,” he leant down, making his top push fully into you, making you gasp out. “Which is why you’re going to be quiet for me, hm?” Before you could manage a response he was pushing into you, grabbing your jaw and connecting your lips to drown out your shrieks of pleasure. He slowly bottomed out inside of you, letting you feel every ripple and vein on his cock.

He stretched you out so good, you felt your control over your voice slip away with every second. Wooyoung waited for you to adjust to his size, hissing every time you clenched around him.

“Please… please move.” You begged, voice high with need and impatience. Wooyoung bit his lip, holding in his own sounds of pleasure so he could hear you. “Whatever you want doll.” Slowly, his hips stared to move, giving you the stimulation you’ve been needing this whole time.

His hips snapped against yours, shaking the desk and he picked up his pace. Wooyoung wrapped his hand around your neck, pulling you up so your back connected to his chest. He picked up the pace, and the new angle hit the soft spot inside of you.

“Oh f-fuck— right there!” You nearly screamed, reaching back to tangle your fingers through his dark hair, tugging on it to ground yourself. Wooyoung chocked on his own breath, letting out one of the moans he was holding in.

“God fucking—hah. You f-feel so good. ‘M not gonna last much—ah — longer.” He whined, eyes rolling into the back of his head before he buried his face in your neck, bitting into the flesh to muffle his own needy sounds.

Your cunt spasmed around him, sucking him in deeper and drawing the both of you closer to your highs. His hand moves down to your core, middle finger landing on your pleasure button before rubbing quick circles on it, whispering sweet rods into your ear to push you closer.

“Come on doll, cum all over me. Wanna feel y-you squeeze me so hard I can barley move, so I can fill you up with my cum huh? G-god you’re so fucking tight I can barley hold b-back.” He huffed, sweat trailing down his forehead. Wooyoungs hips lost their rhythm, and you just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“‘M cumming! Fuckfuckfuck— ah!” If Wooyoung wasn’t holding you right now you would have fallen over, but he held on, lower your body onto the desk as he chased his orgasm.

“Almost there baby, so f-fucking close— ngh— oh fuck ‘m cumming! Fuck! Can I cum inside of you? Is t-that ok?” He asked, bitting his lip to hold back.

“Yes! Yes please cum in me!” You moaned, using the remainder of your strength to clench around him as right as you could, pushing him over the edge.

“O-oh fuck!” He stilled his hips against yours, and you could feel the thick, hot ropes of cum shooting inside of you. As he came down, Wooyoung bucked his hips a few more times, making sure he was completely empty before pulling out of you.

He caught you in his arms when you went limp, moving his clothes from the leather chair to sit you in it. Wooyoung reached into his drawers and pulled out wipes, using them to clean your body, apologizing when he went over a sensitive spot. Once you were clean he cleaned himself before throwing the wipes away, coming back over to lead you to the couch he had placed in the room. You relaxed against it, catching your breath and steadying your mind.

Wooyoung helped dress you, cleaning up where your make-up was messy and redoing it. You were honestly impressed that he knew how to do make/up before you noticed he wore some himself. He grabbed you a bottle of water, twisting the cap open and hanging it to you for you to drink. You thanked him, not noticing how soft his eyes were.

The room was silence for a moment before he finally said something. “So, uhm… I know we technically missed a few steps,” he chuckled awkwardly, sitting next you. “But I really wanted to ask if you would go out on a date with me? Y-you don’t have to if it’s not what you want and maybe you did just want the sex, but I still wanted to—“ you shut him up with a gentle, chaste kiss, hoping that some of it would answer his question for him. Almost instantly he returned it, grabbing the back of your head to deepen it

You were first to pull away, pecking his nose with a smile. “I’d love to go out with you, Wooyoung.” You said, taking his hand in yours and playing with the rings on his fingers. His eyes visibly brightened, completely different from the dark look you saw earlier.

The both of you sat there for a moment longer, enjoying each other company before something broke the peace. “Uh, hello? Can I come in?” And that, sounded like it was time for you to leave. As you stood up and collected your things, Wooyoung pulled you in for another kiss, smirking when he could feel the heat radiating off of your body.

But it wasn’t only that, something else was missing.

“Hey uhm… where my underwear?” Silence, before Wooyoungs loud laugh broke it. He dug into his pocket, pulling out the dark pair before shrugging, placing them back. Your eyes went wide, mouth falling agape while trying to form words. Woo chuckled, kissing your cheek before shooing you off with a pat on your ass.

“So, how does this Saturday at four sound?”

©️HaloTopIceCream 2022

[ayyezhongli]

dom student council pres zhongli x troublemaker childe

Guess who’s back :D Back with some zhonchi smut for all u sinners. Note: Theres a lot of spelling errors bc when i wrote this i was telling it to a friend n they said i should post this n i’m too lazy to edit it so yeah! enjoy <3

summary kinda: child did something n is now stuck in detention with zhongli being a kinky president of the student council watching him.

so childe is bored asf n tries seducing zhongli. but childe has always had a crush on zhongli. thats why he misbehaves to get his attention.

so zhongli says “ur here again” n sighs

“yup did you miss me?! dont answer that bc ik you did”

n zhongli sighs again all annoyed n shit

“seems you never learn”

“maybe i’m jus here bc i love n want to see you everyday”

n zhongli taking that as sarcasm rolls his eyes

“i doubt that.”

and so for like 30mins childe is making all these noises to get zhongli’s attention and annoy him which it works. and zhongli having enough of it already decides that he needs to be punished. so he gets up n walks over to the desk childe is sitting at cups his face with his hand grinning

“u rly like to get on my nerves dont you~…..” and childe’s tryna contain himself

“is it working~?”

“idk pretty boy….wanna find out for urself~…..”

n zhongli is like inches away from childe’s face. n childe still keeping his composure decides to tease back hoping to get what he’s longed for for so long.

“idk do i~?….”

and zhongli leans in n jus as hes abt to kiss childe he pulls away and walks back over to the teachers desk and childe is really disappointed bc he thought he finally had it but jus lost it. so zhongli goes back to working on his paperwork while childe is just furious.

”Is this how u treat everyone?! tease them and leave them with nothing. take advantage of us!!”

n zhongli bursts out laughing putting his papers in a neat stack

”ur quite interesting childe, if i said it was jus u would that make u feel better??”

and childe huffs rolling his eyes still rly pissed off.

“did u want more? were you expecting something more from me? something else?”

n childe blushing looks away

“fuck off”

n zhongli gets mad at the response and pulls out one of those long ass rulers n gets up n starts walking to childe.

“thats no way to speak to the student council president. you need to be punished”

so zhongli sets the ruler aside still pissed asf

“get up.” childe ignores.

”get up right now.” childe still ignores.

so zhongli grabs the ruler smacking it against the desk childe is at.

“GET UP RIGHT NOW!”

n childe jumps a little and gets up

“ok ok chill”

so childe walks over to zhongli n stands in front of him.

“im gonna punish n force you into submission until u completely submit to me”

childe laughs

“no way. you really think u can do that? just try”

“oh i will. just watch me”

(a/n: in this fic childe has bright pink sensitive nipples bc ughh 😩🤌🏾 well both of them have bright pink nipples but zhonglis r rly sensitive.)

so zhongli turns childe around n starts grinding against him causing childe to moan ever so slightly.

“do u like that~?”

n childe tryna keep his composure laughs to cover up a moan. n zhongli looks down and grins seeing childe’s hard erection through his clothes.

so zhongli reaches down n starts palming childe causing slightly louder moans to come out of his mouth.

“your so hard for me childe….what a naughty slutty little boy~“

childe loses it bc zhongli is finally saying the things he’s been dreaming of him saying. so zhongli amused starts licking the shell of his ear biting and nibbling it which makes childe blush harder. so zhongli reaches his hand down into childe’s pants and boxers and wraps his hand around childe’s dick which he almost cums. so zhongli starts pumping him n not even 30s he throws his head back on zhonglis shoulder n cums letting out a loud moan

“fuck zhongli~…..”

zhongli smirks very amused

“so quick to cum~ do i rly turn u on that much~?”

n childe fights the urge to nod his head and submit. he’s not going down without a fight.

“no i was just pent up. why would i be for someone like you!!”

zhongli snickers and slides his hands up childes shirt n starts taking it off.

“not submitting yet i see~….”

“did u think it would be that easy asshole? ha!”

so zhongli turns childe around.

“you should just give up now! your not go-“

n zhongli interrupts him with a passionate kiss. a long deep one filled with sexual tension n desire. he leaves childe blushing like crazy and gasping for air.

“what was that? i didnt catch the last part, say that again.”

“i said that i’m never gonna sub-“

n zhongli interrupts him again. same thing happens like 2 more times until childe gives up.

“can u repeat that one more time?”

and childe looks away with a annoyed expression on his face

“glad that shut u up~”

so then zhongli looks childe up and down bites his lip causing childe to blush.

“you’re kinda cute…i think i can use u….”

n childe blushes more

“and these nipples….”

zhongli says while pinching them making childe arch his back and moan loudly.

“they look pink and innocent…but when i pinch n twist them like this…”

childe lets out n even louder moan with a face flushed even more n drool running down the side of his mouth

“….you make such naughty noises and that really turns me on.”

and so zhongli continues pinch n play with them and then starts marking his neck.

“what if i made u mine hmm? my little fuck toy? or how abt pet?? you could be of some use to me….”

and all childe can do is whimper. so zhongli has him bend over on the teachers desk and pulls down childe’s pants. and he like squeezes childes plump round ass and caresses it before grabbing the ruler and spanking him with it which causes childe to moan n cum immediately.

“ur such a slutty masochist”

n childe groans n is like stuttering his words

“w-w-well ur so fucking sadis-“

n zhongli spanks him not with the ruler this time but his hand n childe jus looses it.

“ready to submit….?”

n childe tryna keep the ounce of pride he has left shakes his head.

“no!”

zhongli spanks him again.

“how abt now?”

“No!”

n so zhongli gets an idea n sticks his fingers inside childe’s mouth.

“suck”

childe does so n a minute later zhongli pulls them out.

“what are you gonna d- ahh!”

and zhongli’s fingers are wiggling around inside childe tryna get him prepared. childe has just completely lost it. he’s drooling all over the desk, moaning so loudly that if there was people here they would be able to hear, clinging onto the edge of the desk like his life is on the line.

“f-fuck zhongli…ahhh”

he’s a panting slutty mess. a fee mins later zhongli pulls his fingers out n takes off his own pants and boxers lining himself up to childes entrance. he inserts only the tip of his dick causing childe to go even more crazy if thats even possible n moan so fucking loud. but its been long enough. he wants more. more of zhongli inside him. he wants all. all of zhongli inside him. so he whimpers n cries out zhongli’s name.

“whats the problem sweetheart?”

zhongli says grinning from ear to ear.

“pls..”

childe says desperately

“pls what?”

”pls zhongli i-….”

“you…? gotta tell me what u want otherwise i wont know.”

“pls i want more of u….!!”

“beg for more than.”

“Zhongli pls i want ur cock inside me so bad. pls i’ll do anything!! just fuck me already!!”

“anything…?”

zhongli says slipping half way inside him.

“y-y-yes just pls fuck me!!”

n zhongli, a very satisfied man jus starts pounding into him hitting his g spot every time.

“Fuck! fuck! fuck! FUCK! ZHONGLI PLS SLOW DOWN AHH~!!”

n that only makes zhongli speed up and childe cums like multiple times. after a while, giving a few last thrusts zhongli comes for the second time inside childe. and pulls out while childe just drops to the floor completely unable to move or anything. jus a panting blushing hot slutty mess with zhongli’s cum dripping out of him. all pride lost. pulling his pants and boxers back on zhongli lifts him up to his feet and bc childe has no strength he just falls onto zhongli resting his head on his shoulder.

“now that you’ve completely submit to me, ur all mine~….mine to do whatever i pls with. mine and only mine. No one else….”

and childe jus nods groaning bc of the pain.

”i hope u learned ur lesson now. unless…. you wanna comeback again for another visit…”

n childe jus groans again.

“i see the way you look at me childe….a look filled with lust and desire…its really quite a turn on~….. you look so desperately….so needy….so vulnerable…the amount of times i wanted to bend you over and fuck u so hard until you cant walk is too much to count. i wanted to make you mine so no one else could have that innocent slutty little boy who’s just oozing with sexual desire. any man or woman would get turned on n wanna have there way with you. u needed to be protected and only by me.”

so zhongli grinds his teeth bc of how possessive he is.

“so no one but me can fuck u stupid. and now that ur finally mine…i dont have to worry abt it so much as before”

n so zhongli strokes childe’s hair n plants a kiss on his head.

“you’re my precious little play thing.”

and childe, burying his face into zhongli’s chest smiles bc thats all he ever wanted. and then he looks up at zhongli as zhongli looks down at him smiling.

“zhongli…?”

”yes?”

“if all u said was true….why were u such an asshole to me. you were stricter on me than others, ruder to me than others, tougher on me then others….so why?”

“why?”

zhongli chuckles n childe nods

“to keep a good reputation, but i also wanted to push you, everytime u got angry and gave me attitude it only turned me on. which is why i kept going….does that answer ur question?”

n childe grunts

“u sadistic fuck!”

n zhongli laughs

“says the one who got turned on every time i public humiliated or yelled at you….”

“thats not true!!”

“uh-huh…the sexual energy u admit would become stronger and i could hear your breathing getting heavier with breathy tiny moans and u would always part ur lips slightly and rub ur thighs together and on top of that, ur eyes squint ever so slightly.”

childe was speechless bc this whole time he thought he was being slick.

“w-w-well that doesnt matter!”

childe said huffing and zhongli only chuckled and kissed his head.

“hey childe…”

“what!”

“i love you….”

childe was blushing like crazy. never in a million years did he think zhongli would say that.

“you can’t just go randomly saying those things?!!”

childe said burying his face deeper into zhonglis chest.

“b-but i love you too i guess…”

he mumbled and zhongli smirked.

“look at me.”

childe looked up into zhonglis ambers eyes embarrassed asf.

“wh-wh-what is it?”

“you’re really cute yk.”

n zhongli leaned down slightly and kissed him before he could say anything else. the end :)

thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed even though its formatted weird and kinda sorta a story. 🥰

[bokutoslittlebird]

Mommy

Sub!Kuroo x Dom!fem!reader

Warnings: cumshots, boobjob, thighjob/thigh fucking, idk how jva works, creampie(s), mommy kink, dubcon/noncon (no previous communication implied), somnophilia, cunnilingus, dirty talk/praise, dash of nipple play, use of ‘baby boy’ and ‘good boy’ for Kuroo

Working for the Japanese Volleyball Association wasn’t all glory and glam, but it paid well. Each day was another day to sift through paperwork and prepare for the National Team lineup members, with the next Olympics only two years away. Some members, like Hinata and Kageyama had already been informed of their eligibility and were a definite member, though they didn’t know of that yet. There would be someone going around to overview the Division 1 Leagues to see who seemed to be in the best shape to perform, which is why Kuroo was currently still at his office. Paper after paper of different members his employees had gone through and chosen, he got exhausted after going through just a few. Looking over credentials, he knew a few would have to make it — like Ushijima, who has been on the team before, or Bokuto and Sakusa of the MSBY Black Jackal team, with their power and technique. All of the candidates were possible, making Kuroo’s job harder as he had to choose which ones to send to the higher-ups. He was the checkpoint; who would pass this roadblock and continue and who’s dreams would crumble before they even began?

An alarm going off told Kuroo it was time to go home. He had gotten halfway through the stack, but he needed his rest. Movements were sluggish, muscles aching and sore from sitting in one position for a good chunk of the day. Glancing at his phone, the time read 1:37, making him sigh as he realized you’d probably be asleep when he got home.

The train ride home is quiet, almost gloomy as the dark rolling clouds move by, muffling the light of the moon shining down. Walking the rest of the way home, Kuroo can feel the weight in his shoulders getting heavier. Footsteps aren’t as fast, his head is held down, movements are numb as he enters the house, as silent as everything else. A sigh breaks that silence, his theory of you being asleep confirmed.

Trudging up the stairs, he opens the door to see an expected sight — the covers bunches around your waist as you hug the pillow close to your face, legs spread out with one bent. The night air is warm, which explains the lack of pants; only items on you are some panties and a loose tank top, but the position you’re in with those seem to have given him some newly found energy. Carefully entering the room and taking off his suit, making sure to be as silent as possible, he looms over your sleeping form. A disgusting thought overcomes him, a deranged desire to indulge in your body before joining you in sleep.

He’s concerned of how upset you’ll be if you find out or wake up, but he’s needy and you’re all his, aren’t you? He should be able to indulge in your body when he wants to, even if you’re too out of it to know. Prying sheets off your body, the clouds allow moonlight to seep through the curtains and silver beams give light to the previously darkened room. Your eyes are firmly closed, lips slightly open as puffs of breath escape them, head turned to the side. Once the covers are off and discarded, he’s rolling you on your back to admire your features more closely. The loosened fabric of the shirt makes it easy to droop, his fingers pulling the neckline down and hooking them under your breasts.

The material brushed over your nipples, the buds hardening under the fabric and encouraging Kuroo’s tired mind to continue. Straddling you, he’s discarded all of his clothes as he situates his cock in between your boobs. Letting his spit drip onto the flesh, he massages them and gently thrusts his hips as he cock slides between the wetness of your boobs. A breathy moan escapes his lips as he feels the spit and your soft breasts against his aching cock, his desperation for release having his hips moving faster and faster. A stutter of his hips and then he pulls away, letting his cum spill all over your clothed pussy, some of it splattering against your thighs.

Seeing his seed coat your thighs, some slipping in between your legs as they abide the laws of gravity, it gives him even more energy to continue. Moving off of you completely, he’s picking up your legs and keeping your knees together, resting his head atop them as he looks down. More breathy moans escape his lips, watching his cock peek out from between your thighs and feeling his own cum lubricate the makeshift cocksleeve. It’s nice and warm, slick enough for his cock to slide easily between them and the meat of your thighs give him the soft feeling that he really craves — even if it’s not the same. His tip peeks out from your thighs, red and pulsing as he tries to hold back his moans to a sensible volume at 2 in the morning. A few more thrusts between your sticky thighs and he’s letting out a low groan, spilling his cum all over your shirt and a bit of your panties.

Panting heavily, he looks down at the mess he’s made of you. With your breasts still spilling out, white splatters of his cum against your skin and clothing, an overwhelming possessiveness latches onto him, making him desperate to claim you inside as he has on the outside. Hands move to pull your panties out of the way, his shaky and hesitant movements showing his eagerness and his morals, but his eagerness wins out in the end when he sees how your own slick clings to your panties, making invisible strands. Licking his lips, he moves down to lap at the wetness you created, the salty taste of his own mingling with yours. His eyes flicker between you and closing, wanting to make sure you stay awake and desperate to revel in the feeling of lapping at your folds. Lips secure around your clit, him sucking on the nerves as you moan, a dreamy sigh almost, making him freeze.

Pulling back, he sees how wet you are now, still oozing with slick coating your folds along with his own saliva. His eagerness has him pulling your panties to the side with a thumb and his other hand lining himself up with your entrance before he can think to stop. A moan comes from him, biting his lip to hold them back as he sinks into your cunt, walls fluttering around him from the ministrations he gave to your clit. Burying himself all the way in is a challenge, but once he succeeds, he’s leaning over your unconscious body to kiss slightly part lips, short moans from them. His thrusts are slow, easing open your walls and preventing you from waking up so quickly, but he finds his hands on either side of your head as he picks up his pace. The room is loud now, squelch noises from where he disappears into you and from your coated thighs sticking to his own hips, adding to the sound of his skin slapping against yours. He rolls his head back at one particular thrust, a mewl coming from you as your back arches, him chuckling as he licks at his lips, enjoying the feeling.

That feeling is short lived.

Looking back down to your sleeping face, he’s shocked to see your eyes wide open, tired. He immediately stops, panicking as to what you’ll say to him, heart pumping wildly. But you smile at him, pulling him down to your lips by his shoulders, letting your mouth let him know you’re not upset. Legs hook around his waist as you break from him, running your thumb over his bottom lip. “What’s got you so tense, baby?” When he doesn’t answer, or rather he doesn’t know how to properly answer, you frown at him. “Tell Mommy what’s wrong,”

“I- I wanted to relieve some stress, that’s- that’s all,” he gulps, seeing you look at him with that face. The face that doesn’t let him know what you’re thinking, the one that usually means a punishment is coming soon. “I’m sorry for being bad, I just—”

“Bad? Oh no, sweetie. You’re still my good boy, aren’t you? If you wanted a treat, all you had to do was ask, you know?” Your words ease his worry, sweetness dripping off of each syllable. He grins, moving to kiss you once more as he begins to thrust into you again, nothing holding him back. “That’s a good boy,” you mumble against his lips, trailing your lips down from his lips to his jawline, down his neck as he moans, letting you have full access to his skin. A moan comes from him, feeling your mouth suck on his flesh to create a red mark, marking him in a way he did to you. Wrapping your arms around his neck, he can feel his cum against his chest and abdomen, cold and sticky. Hips keep a steady rhythm, but they begin to lose said rhythm as he gets closer to his next release, puffs of air and soft moans escaping his lips as he feels his end come.

“Can I- Can I do it inside, pretty please?” He begs, moving his lips to yours as you nod, feeling his arms hold you down as he forces all of inside you, painting your gummy walls in a similar fashion to the rest of your body. He moans at the feeling, mouth hanging open as his cock throbs with sensitivity. You move up to kiss him, sucking on his tongue as he moans into your mouth, desperate for your touch.

He wants more.

His sensitive doesn’t hold him back, eager for more as he rubs his cock against your walls once more. “Baby boy, aren’t you tired? You finished inside,” you coo at him. He just looks down at you, eyes covered with lust as his mind is fuzzy in a haze.

“I wan’- I want more of you, Mommy. Please, I want you to fuck me, I want you to feel good, too, please,” he pleas, lips brushing over yours as he talks. You chuckle, flipping him over so he’s situated against the pillows.

“You should’ve asked for that in the first place, baby.” Taking off your tank top, you finally notice how hardened and sticky some of it is, an eyebrow raised but no questions his way. Pushing down on his chest, you smirk at him before rolling your hips, eliciting moan from him. “That was nice.. Can you give me another one?” You coo once more, moving your hips back and forth with his cock still inside of you. It’s enough to have his hands grasping at your hips tongue killing out as he lets moans freely pour from his lips, no matter the volume. “Someone’s sensitive, aren’t you sweet boy?”

He rapidly nods his head, biting on his lower lip as he moans again, feeling another orgasm coming as you keep rocking on his cock. Using one of your hands, you lean back to play with your clit, letting him have a full view of the show. You don’t speak, but Kuroo knows he isn’t supposed to look away, watching as your fingers rub and pinch at your clit, feeling the way your walls spasm around his cock that make him whine with need. Your other hand moves up to play with your nipples, teasing and rolling the hardened buds as you moan, eyes fluttering to meet his gaze as he drinks in every inch of your skin, every movement your hands make against your own sensitive areas. It isn’t until you’re mewling, using one hand to steady yourself while the other rubs at your clit does he break eye contact, rolling his eyes back as you cream on his cock, making him spill every last bit of his seed inside you.

When you both stop panting, getting your bearings, you rock your hips once more as he whines, tears in his eyes. “Oh, you thought we were done? Baby boy, I’m just getting started. This is your punishment,” you smile, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to his lips. Even as your hips move, he doesn’t complain and he doesn’t voice his overstimulation, his nerves burning and begging to rest, he lets it happen. This is how it is for him.

In the office, he commands his employees and overlooks their work ethic, but he lets go of the dominating presence in the bedroom when he’s with you, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Author’s Note: sorry if the dom/sub dynamics didn’t come into play until close to the end and sorry for this being released so late

[1kook]

espn & bdsm

this is part 6 of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.  warnings; smut (18+) in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink miscellaneous; kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count; 12.7k

notes; this is like… a healing fic… for the part before lol. also i did not know what was going to happen next as I was writing. anyway entire smut scene was based off THIS bad boy ur welcome fellas and the Jungkook described here is from in the soop episode 2... cutie... yes every single 1 of those words is a link

lmk what you think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

You're at the nail salon with Doyeon when she first mentions it.

“Have you ever, like,” she pauses, making a vague, swivel gesture with her head. You furrow your brows and she sighs. “Topped him. Have you ever been the one to take control?”

Your nail artist blushes, furiously filing away at your nails until the most perfect stiletto shape stares you back in the face. “Oh. Not really,” you admit, wiggling your wet toe nails around in the styrofoam flip flops issued by the salon. “I mean, sometimes I talk him through it.”

Doyeon snorts. “Babe, talking him through it and being the boss are two completely different things,” she says rather dryly, seemingly unbothered by the fact your two nail techs are being subjected to this more than intimate conversation. But you’ve had weirder talks with Doyeon in public; this doesn’t phase you. “Listen,” she says suddenly, dropping her voice down to a whisper that has you leaning closer to hear her. “You know how I’m a member of that site, right?”

You nod. “Oh yeah— Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide!, right?” She kicks your shin, but the jab is muted by the bottom of her own styrofoam flip flop.

“Yeah, just tell everyone here my credit card number while you’re at it,” she hisses. Her anger fades soon enough. “Well, they’re always sending me all sorts of freebies for my devoted patronage,” she explains. She quirks her lips to the side, throwing one brief glance at the blushing nail artists in front of you. Eventually she seems to come to a conclusion. “Long story short they sent me some cuffs and I’m gonna give you them.”

Your jaw drops. “Woah, really? I don’t know… Don’t those usually run kinda pricey?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying to play it off, act like this isn’t something you want, but the reality is so much worse.

The minute the word cuffs had slipped through her lips it’s like a door opened before your eyes. A big, wooden door with chains strapped across it and a padlock you swore you’d never open.

Somewhere in your mind, you had always convinced yourself handcuffs in bed was something you’d like to have done to you. But, because she was your best friend and by extension a personified version of all your freakiest, often filtered, thoughts, it was like Doyeon had reached straight into your cranium and extracted your most secret fantasy— and that was Jungkook in handcuffs.

Your nail artist pats your hand, motioning you to head over to the drying station. Before you can be separated from Doyeon, you whip around to throw her one desperate look. “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life.”

She cackles loudly, easily garnering the attention of every employee and nail enthusiast in the salon with the evil witch vibes she exudes.

Truth be told, your argument with Jungkook had brought upon a newfound appreciation for him. Weird to say, considering you had wanted to kill the dude when it had originally happened. But the great thing about you and Jungkook was that you were flexible people— both in bed and out. A few long conversations later and you had reached the root of the problem.

And that root was your apparent lack of communicating when something was wrong. It was weird to think that anything could ever be wrong when Jungkook was involved. He was your honeybun, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin. Your sweetie pie, for lack of better wording, and he could do no wrong—

—is what you’d like to say. But if there’s anything you’ve learned in the past year of dating Jungkook, it’s that perfection was a made up belief that revolved around the idea that someone’s flaws couldn’t possibly be a good thing. And as you’ve come to realize, Jungkook wasn’t the perfect gentleman you’d initially chalked him up to be. He was human, just like you, with his own list of worries and thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts manifested into flaws. They could be ugly or they could be beautiful, but at the end of the day, they all made Jungkook into the person he was— and you loved that person. Disgustingly so.

You had your moments, and he had his. Everything would not always be sunshine and rainbows for the two of you, but it was fine so long as you learned to play in the rain and stomp in the puddles.

Still.

You were you.

A slightly mean, slightly conniving, petty ass human who had been plotting his revenge since the day the two of you made up. I mean, you weren’t actually just going to let him get off the hook like that, were you? He had saved himself last time with a gooey, heartfelt apology and confession, followed by some extraordinary dicking down that had left you Naked and Afraid for three days after.

But you weren’t that easy! No, ma’am. You had to let him know that some gorgeous demon dick was not enough to satisfy you after a fight like that.

Jungkook was in for a desperately needed reality check, one that jingles in your purse when you step out of the Uber that drops you off at his place. You know he’s home because his front light is on, and also because he’d texted you that he was watching some soccer match on tv tonight. He’s a pretty big fan, especially of the club playing tonight, so you decide it’s a perfect night to strike.

Your copy of his key slips right into the keyhole. Your slippers are in the same place they always are, neatly set off to the side right by the stairs. He’s not in his living room, undoubtedly the most perfect place to watch any type of sporting event with that huge Jumbotron of his. The damn thing made it feel like you were in the stadium itself.

There’s a quiet hum coming from upstairs. You creep up the steps, carefully rounding the corner at the landing until you’re staring right into his dimly lit bedroom.

The way Jungkook’s got his bedroom set up is so that you can look directly at his door from the bed, terribly inconvenient for when that sleep paralysis demon hits in the middle of the night and you’re left staring into the dark hallway. He’s snuggled comfortably over his sheets, about three pillows supporting his back. The light of the tinier, more acceptable television he keeps in his room is dancing across his features in bright shades of green. You almost throw yourself onto his mattress like a starfish until you spot the carefully placed foot on the bed.

“What the hell did you do?” you blurt. A wrong move, considering he hadn’t seen you yet and your sudden appearance makes him jump nearly ten feet into the air, almost knocking down the bag of ice that sits on his ankle. “Oh my god, it was that damned Pilates class, wasn’t it?” you fret, rounding the bed until you’re on his side.

“Oh hey,” he says as if you’re not currently pulling the first eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy to the forefront of your head to treat him. “When’d you get here?”

“Cut the crap, who did this to you?” you ask, sitting beside him with the utmost care. You drop your bag off to the side, the loud clatter of the inside contents vaguely registering in your head. The ice pack comes off easily, revealing a relatively okay looking ankle save for the slight swell towards the more medial aspect of it.

Jungkook takes the moment to sit up, joining you in your inspection of his injury. “No one,” he answers, using his new position to drop a kiss against the side of your head. “I fell off the ladder helping Mrs. Jung across the street.”

You choke. “You fell off a ladder?” you squawk, eyes wide as your gaze shifts from his ankle to his entire body.

He places a hand on your shoulder, “babe, I was on like the third step. It was one of those old wooden ones,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. “The step just happened to snap on my way down.”

You scoff. “That old lady is out to get you,” you warn him. “Remember the time she almost had you plug in those burnt out Christmas lights for her? The ones that would have electrocuted you to death.”

Jungkook laughs, settling back into his stack of pillows. “In her defense, she’s old,” he offers. He’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, fluffy bangs parted down the middle. He’s got on some blue shorts, a huge difference from his usual dark-toned clothing. He looks so good and warm, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact you can’t possibly handcuff this poor, injured angel to his bedpost and ride his cock into the sunset. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

You deflate, wild fantasies thrown out the window. “Yeah, well,” you sigh, ditching your pants and climbing over him until you’re snuggled into his side. “Wanted to show you my nails.”

It’s a lame excuse. But he buys it, so.

“They’re cute,” he says, taking your hand in his. He turns your hand over, inspects your pretty new acrylics like he actually has any idea how much they cost or how sexy they look. He raises your hand to his face, pressing a smooch against your knuckles that has you heart thumping embarrassingly loud in your chest. God, you hated this fool.

You turn your nose up at him, like you’re some snooty rich girl who couldn’t give him the time of day. Except it’s not like that, and Jungkook knows.

“What’re you watching?” you ask instead.

He’s got that stupid dopey smile on you, the one that takes one nudge against his side to snap him out of. “Ah, just the game.”

You squint at the screen. “Is this Fox Sports?” you ask in disgust.

He pinches your side. “This is ESPN,” he corrects. “And you don’t know shit about sports channels,” he points out. “So sit this one out.” You give in with a huff, cuddling closer into his side while trying to jostle him as little as possible. Jungkook seems to have no deeply rooted concerns about his injured ankle if the way he hauls you into his arms is any indicator. “How did nails with Doyeon go?”

“You know, the usual,” you respond, idly toying with one of the strings on his hoodie as your eyes focus on the little figures running across the screen. He hums, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Talked about sex, how much better than you at life she is, some more sex.”

He scoffs at that. “Doyeon is not better than me, and I have a whole trophy case to prove it.”

“Okay, but have you singlehandedly Twitter beefed with an entire sorority in your freshman year of university and won?”

He frowns. “No.”

You give him a look, one that says stand down now unless you want to lose to my best friend and get your feelings hurt. Jungkook understands. “Anyway,” he announces, turning his attention back to the screen with you. You think his team might be winning—you vaguely remember seeing him wear a similar jersey once—so he’s pretty relaxed for now. “They’re doing pretty good considering they just lost their main striker.”

You have no idea what that means. “Who? Messi?”

Jungkook knows you don’t know. “He doesn’t even play in this league,” he explains anyway.

“Oh, I saw him trending on Twitter last week. Thought he died or something. Whole time it was just a bunch of soccer nerds crying about him leaving his team.”

He laughs. “You should be a sportscaster,” Jungkook decides after your ever-so-eloquent recap, tucking his head cutely against your shoulder. There was a study once that claimed the incessant need to squeeze a baby’s cheeks or hug puppies tightly was actually the innate human response to kill something they felt threatened by. Oddly enough, you find yourself thinking of that as Jungkook’s citrusy shampoo floods your nostrils.

“Oh, speaking of Doyeon,” he says suddenly. “Did you give her my address? I got a weird package from that store she likes that I genuinely don’t remember ever ordering.” You frown, sitting up slightly until you can look at the side of his face, the cute mole on his cheek calling your name.

“What?” you ask. “Was it in her name?” Jungkook nods. You’re about to tear the roof off his house and go hunt that evil wench down when realization dawns on you. “Oh, no, yeah I gave her your address. My mom stayed over last weekend and Doyeon needed to order something nasty. Guess it got delayed until now.”

Jungkook nods and then doesn’t say much else, which is weird considering the circumstances. You expected him to gently scold you for carelessly giving the psycho that was Kim Doyeon his address, but she’s been here a few times to pick you up, even came over for beer night once. She probably knew it anyway, but you still expected some type of reaction of disapproval from him.

Something’s off, and you know better than to leave it at that. You poke his cheek, right where that mole you’d been eyeing was. “Did you open her package?” you ask, grin slowly consuming your features at the fact Jungkook was apparently a mail snooper.

He looks away. You laugh. “Oh my god, you did,” you cackle, sitting up beside him to get a good look at the blush growing on his cheeks. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he huffs, pretending to be overly invested in his soccer match again, but that ship died the moment you stepped into his room. “Babe, I can't see the match.”

You roll your eyes, purposefully shifting in front of him so he’s forced to look at the maniac look in your eyes. “What did you see, Jeon Jungkook, and are we going to steal it from her again?”

His cheeks bloom impossibly darker at that. “No!” he coughs, pointedly avoiding your gaze.

But your curiosity is at its peak now, his reactions only exacerbating it. You grab him by the shoulders, hands balling the material of his hoodie as you give him one firm shake. “What did you see,” you demand.

“Oh my god,” he gives in. You release him and he flops back onto his pillow mountain. “They were things,” he explains slowly, cheeks rosy. “For your, y’know,” a vague gesture over his chest.

You frown. “A bra?” you guess. “I’m not gonna lie, Kook, think I just lost a little respect for you.”

“No!” he huffs. “They were… little clamps. For your nipples.”

If this was a cartoon, you’re almost certain you’d be that character with the object in question in their eyes, heart fluttering in your chest at the words that leave his mouth.

Immediately, two things become obvious to you.

One, Kim Doyeon was a bigger freak than you’d expected who obviously dabbled in an assortment of trades. Clamps, your brain screams, overwhelmed with the image that appears in your head, the one that has a shiver running straight to your core. You would have to thank her for this gracious, unintentional gift she’s bestowed upon you.

Two, you’re gonna have to write her the best, most plausible apology letter tomorrow when you inform her those clamps have been lost in the mail, never to be seen again. Or you could just straight up tell her you snatched them up the moment you found out what they were, but you doubt that’ll go over well.

Jungkook groans. “You have that look in your eye,” he points out. You snap your attention back to him. “And I just wanna say in advance that I don’t think i can give you the fun night you deserve, baby,” he apologizes, motioning towards his still swollen ankle.

Something distinctly mean switches on inside of you.

You flash him a sweet smile that has him letting down his guard. You lean forward, pressing a soft peck to his cheek as you climb down the bed towards your forgotten purse that’d been resting on the floor until that point. “Who said I needed you to have fun?” you throw over your shoulder, carefully slipping Doyeon’s first gift close to your body so he won’t see.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed look. “Really,” he says dryly, “you think you can have fun without me?” He almost sounds cocky, as if the idea of you even enjoying yourself the teensiest bit without his help seems unfathomable.

You grin, padding over to his bedside, where you carefully pick up his hand. You mirror his actions from before, pressing a sweet kiss against his knuckles that makes that conceited look slip off his features for a second, eyes soft.

Click.

Jungkook frowns. “What the—“ before the sentence can leave his mouth you’re lunging forward, wrestling his hands above his head, until they’re both secured at his headboard by the soft cuffs Doyeon had given you that afternoon at the salon. Jungkook’s wide eyes stare back at you, briefly leaving to glance up at the silver chain that wraps behind one of the rungs of his headboard. “Babe,” he says slowly. “What the fuck.”

You beam at him, leaning down to snatch a pillow from beneath him so he’s better positioned, leaning back more. “So cute,” you gush, taking in the way his raised arms have the hem of his hoodie lifting at the waist. There’s a faint trail of hairs around his belly button that disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts. “Do you like them?”

Jungkook blinks. “Baby,” he says a second time, much slower and a little too calm for your liking. It almost gets swallowed by the roar of the fans on TV. “What is this?”

You ignore him, scampering around his room until you find the hot pink Sexuality Unleashed packaging peeking out from beneath his bed. Sure enough, it’s in Doyeon’s name but his address. A whole complicated mess just for some nipple clamps she’ll never see again. It’s what’s inside anyway, not that you thought Jungkook was lying, but there’s something about the actual, carefully wrapped packaging that makes your heart and pussy flutter.

“Oh! Aren’t these the prettiest things?” you exclaim, whirling around to where Jungkook is shaking up a storm with his cuffs, pout growing on his features the longer you leave him there. The ice pack slips off his ankle, falling onto the comforter beside him from all his movement.

Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the silver nipple clamps in your hands, too busy trying to free himself from the sudden trap you sprung on him. “Sweetheart, we can play with those tomorrow, alright?” he tries, relaxing his arms and finally looking your way. There’s a frustrated furrow to his brows, one you rarely see but adore very much. “Just undo these cuffs for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, placing a hand on the inside of his calf that you trail all the way up as you move to stand beside his hip. His thighs flinch at your touch, tensing when you stop just before the crotch of his pants. “Mmm, don’t think so,” you smile, dropping the thin chain beside him.

Your shirt goes first, peeled over your body until you’re left standing in your bra. It’s nothing too special this time, just your average run of the mill comfort bra hugging your chest. But that doesn’t really matter, especially not with the way you’re hoping things play out tonight. You’d discarded your jeans a few moments prior, so the shirt joins them on a pile on his floor.

As much as he tries to act irritated by your refusal to release him, there’s a slow stirring beneath his shorts. It’s emphasized by that bright blue material, cock swelling as he watches you take off your clothes. “Baby,” he warns, possibly for the last time. But you won’t know unless you push some more, you tell yourself, placing one knee on the edge of the bed, the other thrown across his lap.

“Wow,” you marvel, picking the chain up once more. Jungkook shifts beneath you, half hard cock brushing against the cleft of your cheeks. “Don’t you wanna see what it’s like, Jungkookie?”

He says nothing, watching you with solemn eyes that leave no room for reading him. Behind you, the game commentator is chattering up a storm.

Doesn’t matter, especially not when this flimsy metal had you so completely hypnotized. You reach behind yourself, unsnapping your bra with one fluid motion that has the cups falling onto your lap, soft chest on display for the man before you. Your breasts spill out slowly from their cage, pretty hardened buds slowly coming into his view. They make him pause his fussing, half-lidded gaze falling to the swell of your chest hungrily. His hands jerk, the cuffs doing their job of keeping them there.

You grin, placing a hand on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Do you wanna see me wear them?” you croon, tugging the material of his hoodie up his stomach, until your thighs are sitting directly on his tiny waist, thin thong just over his belly button. You trail your hand up, letting it brush up the side of his neck and bury into his scalp. You give an experimental tug that has his eyes squeezing shut. “Yes or no, Jungkookie?”

He’s being a huge brat for you, eyes scrunched up together like the sight of you enjoying yourself sans his touch is unimaginable. Another tug of his hair and he’s exhaling shakily, a quiet, “yes,” slipping past his lips.

The chain drops onto his chest with a quiet thud, shocking him enough to blink his eyes back open. Releasing your hold on his hair, you sit back on his lap, towering over his fidgety body like a goddess at a temple, him the lowly worshipper beneath you.

Your hands crawl over your body, starting somewhere around your waist. The glide up over your tummy, caress the underside of your breasts teasingly. Sure Jungkook knew your body well, but you knew your body best. One hand rubs teasingly over your breast, palm pressing down slightly against where your nipple lies, while the other drops down between your thighs, slowly grinding against your mound.

“Look, Jungkookie,” you gasp, body twitching at your own hands. You take a hardened nub between your fingers, rolling it back and forth until it’s standing at its peak. “I can do it without you,” you tease, rolling your hips against him slowly. The thin material of your thong does nothing to save you from the delicious swell of his cock against you. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, circling a finger over your clit. “It’s, it’s even better.”

His restraints jiggle against the bed frame, an obvious look of distress crossing his features. “No,” he huffs out a whine, tugging at the cuffs as you slowly unravel on his lap. They don’t give, no matter how much he pulls. You know he’s holding back, afraid of damaging his headboard, and you take advantage of the fact as you move to roll both nipples between your fingers. He groans harshly, jaw tight. “Hate you,” he hisses, hips wiggling beneath you. “Hate you, hate you.”

You breathe out an airy chuckle. “R-Really?” you ask, trembling hands finally reaching back for that second gift of the day. Your breath is shallow, so thoroughly wound up from your own playful hands, and you tremble at the mere brush of the cool metal. “Oh fuck,” you whimper, bringing them up to your chest, “I’ve never done this before,” you confess.

There’s a sense of amazement that consumes you at the thin chain you hold in your hands, the pretty gold painted clamps on each end. It makes you shiver, body unconsciously grinding down against Jungkook’s lap where his engorged cock was fighting against the material of his shorts.

“Then let me help you,” he tries, the childish tone from before melting into his usual silky smooth baritone. Jungkook even softens his gaze at you, let’s his tongue peek out to wet his lips as you almost seriously consider his request.

Had it not been for the sudden loud shout from the sports commentator behind you, a long obnoxious gooooooaaal, you probably would have fallen victim to that honey-eyed gaze. You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.

Without a second thought, you bring one of the little camps close to your chest, giving it a few experimental squeezes until the nerves are replaced with an overwhelming wave of horniness that even Jungkook can sense. “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his restraints back and forth like a wild animal as you slowly get to clamping your left nipple.

You’re not sure what you expected; part of you had thought it was going to be an excruciating pain, one that would make you want to scream and shout in sheer agony. The other part had reduced it to a barely there pinch that would never live up to your fantasies. As it stands, the sensation of the clamp around your swollen nipple sits right in between, drawing in a choked gasp that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Baby, sweetheart,” Jungkook gasps alongside you, eyes zeroed in on the pinched off bundle of nerves. There’s a sudden grinding sound that fills the air, like the sawing off of wood that definitely doesn’t sound good, and it’s a direct result of the fight he puts up against his headboard. “Please, please,” he begs, muscled arms tugging back and forth. “I have to touch—“

The second clamp goes on, making your entire back arch as if you were possessed. You're not, just extremely overwhelmed by the prickle of pain on your tits that makes you grind down against his cock, hands fisting the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Oh,” you shudder, thighs quivering at the heightened stimulation you receive from the clamps sitting on your nipples. “Kook, I-I can’t.”

He growls, hips bucking beneath you in a crazed effort to better situate you on his lap. “You gotta take these off me,” he rasps out. The next buck of his hips makes the chain dangling between your breast brush dangerously close to his face. He’s unintentionally goaded on by the TV in the room, the annoying drone of the commentator shouting something about never giving up. “Can make you feel so much better, sweet girl,” he cooes, jutting his head out like he needs a kiss.

Your head feels woozy, pussy throbbing at the sensations being channeled down into your core. Your eyes flutter shut, and before you can think it through, you're blindly reaching for the chain, giving it one light tug that has you mewling like a kitten. “O-oh, fuck,” you sob, looping your finger around the thin chain carefully. Another tug that pulls against your nipples sends a gush of wetness down between your thighs. “Cock,” you slur dazedly, “need your cock.”

Jungkook shudders out a long breath. “Le-Let me go then, sweetheart,” he chokes out, “let me fuck that pretty little pussy for you.”

“Uh uh,” you disagree, bringing another angry buck out of him, metal cuffs rattling loudly. “Want you to watch,” you pant, reaching behind you for his shorts. “Watch me, Jungkookie.” It takes three tries for you to get a grip, the elastic material slipping from your fingers before you finally gain some semblance of control and paw them down . The shorts and the boxers came off together, his engorged cock springing up to tap against your ass. “W-Watch,” you repeat dazedly, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder to line him up with your dripping hole. Behind you, the commentator is droning on about core balance or something of the sort. It takes two tries as you blindly have to tug your panties to the side as well, and just as you have his fiery red tip against your entrance, something else happens.

He catches you, pearly teeth biting down on the chain that connects your clamps in a motion you can only liken to a bloodthirsty shark jumping out of the water, jaws snapping to catch its prey. It dangles in his face, the same way his own necklaces have done to you so many times before. But the difference between you and Jungkook was that while you let his assortment of necklaces hypnotize you, drag across your face painfully, he doesn’t. He snaps forward, catches it between his teeth.

You mewl loudly, foggy vision turning onto him. Jungkook’s got this unreadable look on his face, likes he’s pissed off and turned on all at once. “You’re not in charge,” he murmurs around the chain, the s and c sounds all slurred together. “You will never be in charge, silly girl, you got that?” he spits, yanking his head back like an animal, pulling your upper body with him by the two golden clamps on your nipples.

There’s tears in your eyes, lining your waterline and threatening to fall with each tug his mouth gives against the chain of your nipple clamps. He’s got his neck craned back as far as he possibly can with a pillow beneath him, chain links digging into his bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” you sob, your entire body quivering at the way he so easily manages to overthrow you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, solemn eyes flickering across your twisted features once more. He gives another purposeful tug, head snapping back just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to tug you forward again, a loud whimper torn from your throat. “Undo these cuffs for me, sweet girl,” he commands softly, jiggling the same restraints he’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes fighting against.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, hands wildly slapping down on his bedside table. You had had half the mind to leave the key there when you had retrieved the cuffs, telling yourself it would be easy access afterwards. It’s not, apparently, the silver pick falling just out of reach. For some reason— it’s probably the sensitivity and horninesss, the pinpricks of pain that originate from your nipples —this fact frustrates you to the point of tears.

“Easy, doll,” Jungkook talks you through, voice low and soft beneath you, “relax and grab it for me, okay?” You nod, angrily blinking away a tear that drips down your face. It splatters on Jungkook’s cheek, bringing a soft huff of amusement from him.

Finally the key brushes your hand, and you sigh in relief, shakily leaning forward to undo the lock above his head. He releases his killer chomp/grip on your chain just as you release his cuffs. “I-I’m sorry,” you sniffle, a sudden need to apologize as you watch him rub at the raw skin around his wrists. “I didn’t—“

“Shhh,” he says, cuddling you into his chest. “It’s alright,” he says simply and you believe him.

Which ends up being a terrible mistake exactly ten seconds later when he’s shoving your face into the sheets, your cries and whimpers muffled by the sounds of the game on TV as he winds your arms behind your back. You struggle for all of five seconds before a soft click resounds from behind you.

“Did you think I’d just let that slide, sweet girl?” he growls against your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. “I'm not your dog, __,” he spits, suddenly yanking you up by your cuffed wrists. Your chest is heaving, arms aching from the way he’s got you on your knees, blind to whatever he’s doing behind you. “Don’t lock me up, because I’ll always come back to bite.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you stammer, flinching when a hand snakes around your waist, an experimental tug to the chain of your clamps. It sends a shudder down your spine, amplified by the hot press of his body behind you. “I won’t do it again!”

“I know you fucking won’t,” he laughs meanly, trailing his hand down over your mound. One finger circles your clit through your underwear, a shaky sigh exiting your lips at the jarringly light touch. “Because I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve learned your lesson, silly girl.”

“I said sorry,” you whimper, thighs quivering. His cock brushes up against you, the same cock you were about to ride until the sunset. Oh how the tables have turned.

A hand slips beneath your underwear, pad of a finger rubbing against your swollen clit. “Oh,” you exhale, surprised with the suddenly gentle touch following his words. “Th-That’s nice,” you murmur, head lolling forward at the slow rhythm he sets, playing with you like you were a toy that needed warming up.

“Yeah?” he husks out. There’s a yank to your clamps that makes you gasp, chest following the motion as if it’ll reduce the shock. “You think this is about making you feel nice?” he murmurs. Another tug, followed by another, until he’s raining down a series of rhythmic shocks onto your tits that make you shiver and twitch, tongue heavy in your mouth to the point you feel like you’re drooling.

“Wait,” you whimper, arms twisting behind you. “Hurts, hurts” you cry, arching your back like it’ll save you from the steady stimulation against your rock-hard nipples.

“Does it?” Jungkook hums, one hand working away at your clit. He swirls it around his finger, pressing down on the nub in an attempt to distract you. But it only heightens the sting coming from your breasts, the blossom of pain that grows over each mound the longer he plays with you. “Good. Want your pretty little body to hurt for me, baby.”

Right after saying that he releases the grip on your chain, letting it swing back and forth until it eventually rests on your stomach, throbbing nipples spared for now. A breath of relief washes over you now that you only have to worry about the hand playing along your folds. The TV is still flickering to your right, but the commentator's voice sounds fuzzy and so far away, like he’s in a whole different dimension while you and Jungkook are here.

Your reprieve lasts shorter than you expected, as his free hand slowly begins creeping up your waist, fluttering over the little gold clamps pinching your nipples. “Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging one tender nub with a playful finger. “Pretty, pretty baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he begins massaging the scorching hot skin around your nipples gently. There’s a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder, followed by a trail up the side of your neck. You shudder, trying to focus on the hand that creeps down your folds, teases itself against your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, rolling your head to the side so he can suck bruise after bruise onto your skin. You’re definitely drooling, the saliva thick and heavy in your mouth. “T-Too much.”

“Thought you wanted that,” he mumbles, kissing up and up until he’s at your jaw and then he’s at your mouth, languidly kissing you. He’s doing that thing again where he’s hellbent on drowning you in his spit, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was preparing you for something. “Wanted me to watch you bounce that tight little cunt on me while your tits were like this,” he says, punctuating his statement with a light slap against the side of one breast. It makes you jump, a moan catching in your throat.

The finger that had been playing meanly along your wet folds eases itself past your lips, plunges head first into the aching heat inside of you. He works it against your walls, thumb over your clit as he curls his finger inside of you. You moan loudly, shaking in your restraints. The hand over your chest squeezes, pushes the clamp deeper against your breast until your entire body is short-circuiting.

Your first orgasm comes over you with all the grace of a lightning bolt; it’s sudden and jerky, has every nerve ending wildly spasming as you whimper his name. “No more, no more,” you beg, head lolling back against his shoulder. He shows you no mercy, simply rubs furiously over your clit, until you’re jerking into his maniac hand.

When it’s over, he places a kiss against your jaw, curling his finger inside once more “Play with yourself,” he whispers.

“H-Huh?” you stutter, the rattle of your cuffs loud in both your ears, but not as loud as the breath you were trying to catch post-orgasm. You wonder if maybe he got ahead of himself again—he occasionally did that, thinking ahead to a point you hadn’t reached in your normal progression of sex —but suddenly he’s shoving you back down again, the finger that was slowly driving you insane rudely exiting your cunt.

You flop down against the mattress with a squeal, wiggling around like you actually had a chance of doing anything with him watching you like he is. You struggle for a few beats, every shift against the mattress rubbing harshly against your breasts until you nearly want to cry.

Just as you reach that point, he’s rolling you into your back, hands uncomfortably bent beneath you. It leaves you unwillingly arching to accommodate them, tits practically presented for him to see. “Pretty girl,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for the first time that day to touch himself.

His self restraint was truly unmatched, you realize, watching him squeeze the base of his cock. He runs a palm over his abdomen, up his chest. He drags the material of his hoodie along with it, eventually shucking it off somewhere to the side. His hair, so fluffy and soft, flops over his forehead, a few defined strands tickling his eyebrow.

The mere sight of him alone made you shiver, pussy clenching at the wet dream before you. He’s not an idiot either, obviously aware of what the sight of his body does to you, the tattoos littering his entire right arm that hypnotize you. The faint glow of the TV screen against his side makes him look like the cover star of every middle-aged wife’s erotic romance novel. He reaches said arm down, runs a hand along your thigh until you’re spreading them wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you like you want, only slides over your body until he’s toying with the chain of the nipple clamps that were slowly becoming the bane of your existence. “Open,” he says suddenly, and you do. Your mouth drops open, tongue stuck out slightly even if you don’t know why. He’s ingrained the response into you by now, made you into a desperate slut always ready for anything in your mouth.

This time it’s the stupid, stupid chain connecting your nipple clamps. He tugs it until it’s pulled up, the pull against your nipples making you whimper and writhe. The metal is cool when it touches your lips, but his fingertips are warm. “Good girl,” he praises once you bite down; even this sends a shock of nerves down your spine and to your pussy. “Just like that.”  

A muffled whimper escapes your lips, tears clouding your vision at the stimulation that was quickly overwhelming you again. Part of you thinks no more, please, I can’t. But the other has you spreading your legs for him, quivering pussy desperate to be filled.

The distress must be obvious in your face if the way Jungkook kisses your neck is any indication. He’s got one hand massaging against the underside of one breast, like he’s soothing the striking pain of your pinched nipples for you. If anything, it only strings you along more. “Stupid baby,” he chuckles meanly, a soft puff of laughter against your jaw, “thinking she could push me down.”

He leans back onto his knees, that same careful brush against the inside of your thigh bringing about an embarrassing whimper as he peels your thong away. “But you didn’t really want that, did you?” he eggs on, slowly shifting down against the bed, until his mouth is hovering over your exposed lower lips. His breath is warm, makes you yearn for him to be closer. “You like when I shove my cock into your little pussy, right? Like how it feels when I turn you into my little slut like this,” he sighs, pressing one chaste kiss against your thigh that makes you pull at the cuffs behind your back.

Soon, his mouth is on your clit, the same clit he had previously pampered with his hands but chooses to play with again. He licks an obscenely wet stripe from your throbbing hole to your clit, tongue curling devilishly towards the end. You whimper, though the sound is distorted around the chain in your mouth. Jungkook groans, dives mouth first into your cunt until he’s suffocating himself. His cute nose is pressed against your clit, and he takes advantage of the fact by taking one, dramatic sniff with his eyes rolled back. A soft moan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he shudders, “smell like heaven for me.” You moan at his sweet words, eyes squeezed shut as if that’ll stop the buckets of overwhelmed tears that you’ve been fighting off since the moment the clamps came on. “Wanna give you the world, angel,” he breathes, licking languidly against your folds, tongue occasionally peeking inside.

You mewl and writhe, every movement sending a tug of pain over your nipples. You want that gorgeous cock deep in your cunt, want to feel him in your womb, but you can’t voice any of this with the chain of the clamps between your lips.

Jungkook sits up suddenly, and you’re thinking yes, finally, before the look on his face has you screeching to a halt. There’s something distinctly different about him, a look you don’t think you’ve ever seen in bed before. Your thoughts are only confirmed when his foot slides onto the floor, as if he’s about to leave.

The panic must be evident on your face, because Jungkook is quick to swoop in and reassure you he’s not done with you yet. “Wanna fuck your little pussy,” he admits, carding a hand through your hair. “But the truth is I don’t think you deserve that just yet.”

With that he slinks off the bed, leaving you writhing in confusion as he heads off for the closet behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing, can only hear the shuffling of something back and forth. The TV is still on, the loud cheering of the fans muffling his clattering. You’re suddenly reminded of his swollen ankle, craning your neck to tell him to not overdo it, when something dark covers your eyes.

He’s standing just beside the edge of the bed, his signature teddy bear heat emanating off in waves so thick you could touch them. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice close but not close to your ear.

Something swells in your chest, an emotion so intense your entire pelvis tightens up at the realization that Jungkook was asking for permission to blindfold you. You’re almost certain it’s one of his ties, a silky black thing that covers your vision for the most part, save for a little crack by where your nose juts out. A shuffle to your side, and then he’s gently prying the chain he had pushed past your lips earlier out. “Need an answer, ___,” he says quietly, almost nervously.

“Yes,” you gasp, your entire body set aflame at the sudden turn of events.

If you were being honest you would have never predicted your night would end like this. Maybe you came in a little too cocky, a little too optimistic for the night. It was supposed to be Jungkook handcuffed and powerless, you remind yourself— how on earth did you get here?

“Good girl,” he praises, giving you a little encouraging nudge to raise your head for him to actually tie the knot behind your head. It’s definitely one of his suit ties, you realize, because there’s a distinct cross-stitch pattern that you can feel only when it’s tightened against your skin, pressing against your fluttering eyelids. When he releases you, you’re suddenly all too aware of the sense he’s deprived you of.

“K-Kook?” you call out with a tremble in your voice. The rhythmic pattern of his footsteps rounds the bed again, and then there’s a soft touch against your leg.

“Right here, sweet girl,” he reassures you. The bed dips by your legs as he closes in on you, still tied up and on the verge of a second orgasm that he snatched away before your very eyes; not that you can see it anymore. His hand slides over your stomach, tugs playfully at the clamps. You moan, the sensation magnified tenfold by the fact you can’t see nor anticipate his actions now.

His hands glide like two sailing boats over the broad expanse of sea that is your body, molding against your curves like waves as they go. He hums appreciatively, and you find yourself glad you can’t see him. You can’t possibly imagine with what eyes he’s looking at you now.

You bask in the glory of his attention for another beat before he retracts his touch.

And then, suddenly, something distinctly not hand-like, and weirdly soft traces over the inside of your thighs. “Kook?” you ask tentatively.

No response.

It runs over your skin in the same way his hands just did, a unique shape your brain scrambles to put a name too. It’s soft, so soft. But cold to the touch. Inanimate for sure. It’s a toy, your brain supplies belatedly, but that much you already know.

It’s heart-shaped, you realize, just as it thwacks down against your pussy.

You shriek at the suddenness of it all, thighs clamping shut. Your heart is thundering at a pace of a rabbit’s, chest rising and falling as you blindly piece together what just happened.  “Kook?” you whimper a second time, head craning back and forth in a desperate attempt to track his next move.

He’s not touching you anymore, but the bed is still dipping by your feet, so you deduce he must be there. You test your theory by sliding your foot against the sheets, lower lip trembling at the idea of him not being there.

Jungkook catches your ankle with one warm palm, slightly calloused from years of weightlifting. He raises it up, the cold air of his room hitting your exposed pussy. “You liked it,” he says, not a question but an observation. Your pussy throbs, the phantom strike against it lingering. A kiss to your ankle.

“Wh-What is it?” you cry, unconsciously pressing your leg closer to him now that you have his location. (You don’t see the soft smile on his face at your action.) Ever so slowly you let your thighs open again, now anticipating the next touch of that thing— that riding crop, you realize.

Jungkook confirms. “It’s a riding crop,” he explains, excitement curling around his words. Suddenly, it returns, this time against your stomach. He doesn’t strike you like he did before, simply lets it run across your tummy. “Heart-shaped. It’s so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. “Reminds me of you.”

You nod anxiously, stomach muscles tensed the longer it stays there. Jungkook obviously sees this, lifting it to give you the lightest of taps that still manages to make you gasp. “Cute,” he laughs, trailing it back to where it first touched down.

“Oh,” you tremble, thighs twitching as it pats tenderly over your clit. “Wai-Wait,” you warn, body arching as he runs it down, down your swollen folds. “No,” you weep, going to close your legs. But Jungkook predicts your moves, pressing your thigh down harshly against the bed.

“Shh,” he soothes, tracing the heart down your folds, pressing it flat against you. There’s a distinct lining over it that makes your hips jump, a faux-velvet covering the tip that tickles your skin. “Sit still for me.”

“No!” you gasp. Your back arches, body betraying you as it pushes your pussy against the toy. “I can’t, I can’t, Kook,” you sob, lips contracting around the gaping nothingness in your hole.

He condemns your attitude with a harsh swat of the riding crop against your cunt, tearing another high-pitched squeal from your lips. It’s followed by another against your clit that makes your body spasm. “Bad,” he chides. “Supposed to be my perfect girl.”

“I c-can’t,” you whine, the darkness over your eyes making the sensations ten times more intense. You don’t know where he or the riding crop are if they’re not directly touching you. Even then, the image is fuzzy in your head. “Need you,” you pant.

You try to reach for him, try to pull him into your arms. But you’re reminded of the cuffs holding you back, the metal digging into your skin behind you. You sob at the realization, angrily shaking your hands back and forth like maybe acting like a tantrum-throwing child will save you. It doesn’t.

Instead there’s a tug at the chain resting on your stomach, one that makes you cry out in pain when it pulls at your terribly sensitive nipples again. Jungkook uses it to pull you close, just a small inch off the bed that has you gasping for breath nonetheless.

“N-No,” you wail, nipples throbbing from all the sensations you’ve put them through tonight.

A chaste peck against your trembling lips. “Tell me how it feels,” he purrs, nose brushing against yours. Even with the tie obstructing your vision, the latest version of your boyfriend burns itself into your eyelids, force feeding you his sweaty skin and damp hair until even his breath against your face is enough to bring you to the edge.

“I-It’s scary, Kook,” you sniffle, listening for any signs of a reaction. But even if he did show one, your breathing is too loud and the ESPN channel is still blaring on screen. “Scary,” you whimper, lunging forward in a desperate move to feel the familiar brush of his tongue against yours. You miss.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.

He has. But fuck, do you love it.

“No,” you wail, lips smushed somewhere along his cheek, near his jaw and not his mouth like you wanted to. “Feels good, feels so fucking amazing,” you babble, cut off halfway through by a hiccup from your sad cries. “Wanna cum, wanna cum for you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles in relief, tilting his head until you can catch his lips with yours. It’s probably an awkward angle you assume, him adjusting for your vision-less whims, but it feels so good. It sends a shock to your pussy, his plush lips against yours. Without him telling you, you’re opening your mouth for him. “Spit on me,” you beg pitifully.

Jungkook groans, and you can almost visualize the look on his face perfectly— the tensing of his jaw, the push of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips. “God, you’re disgusting,” he sighs, a fat glob of spit hitting the back of your tongue. Without your vision, you don’t see it coming, recoiling with a whiny mewl. The thin trail of saliva that follows trails across your chin when he finally reels back. You swallow greedily, wondering how soon is too soon to ask him to do it again.

With your full permission to move forward, Jungkook wastes no time trailing the riding crop over your wet folds, collecting your oozing pre-cum on the tiny heart as he roves it over your cunt. “Fuck, you can probably cum like this too, can’t you?”

You can’t answer, too caught up in the featherlight brushes. Even if you wanted to say something, one sudden strike against your pussy renders you speechless. “Mmh!” you hiss, biting down on your lip.

“Come on,” Jungkook encourages, resting a hand on your thigh. He presses the crop against you again, pushes down until the flat apex of the heart where it meets the flexible stem of the toy is pressing against your cunt hotly. He grinds it down against you, takes a sick pleasure in the pathetic way you arch up into it, rut against the little heart like it can provide even half the pleasure his hands usually would. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your body is on fire, every nerve, every sensation shooting straight to your most erogenous areas— your cunt and your nipples. Talking seems like the farthest thing from your mind right now, too caught up in the way he roughly pushes the crop against your clit. A whimper rips itself from your throat, shuddering at the sensation. Unconsciously you jerk away from him, only to be scolded with another thwack against your quivering pussy lips. “A-Ahh,” you wail, squirming beneath him like a worm that can’t sit still. “Good— it feels good, Jungkookie,” you weep.

The soft mushy pet name has him raining down two snacks against you in quick succession. “No baby names,” he warns, frown evident in his voice.

Even with you completely under him like this, shackled and blinded with your love, something unmistakably childish and obnoxious curls around your throat, has you biting down on a grin as the coil in your stomach tightens. “D-Don’t like that, Jungkookie,” you choke out hoarsely, wildly bold for someone in your position. “D-Don't like being m-my baby?”

The crop loses its position over your folds, and for a minute you’re left anxiously anticipating its next touch. 

It’s on the side of your breast, harder than the rest, combining with the already powerful pinch of the clamps. It makes you cry out painfully, stomach tightening at what is probably the most unexpected orgasm you’ve ever had. It isn’t like your usual ones that overpower you and make cum trickle out between your folds.

No, it comes in waves— literally. Your pussy spasms, pushes one splurt of cum out between your thighs, almost likes your lower lips are spitting it out. And then again, more the second time, against his mattress. He pushes your legs up to your chest to marvel at the cum coating your lips and thighs. “You’re my baby, stupid,” he hisses. He grabs at your clamps then, twisting the little chain in his hand harshly. You sob at the yank, at the way your nipples feel two seconds away from being ripped off. But you can’t even complain, because the sudden touch has your pussy clenching, before a final trickle of cum oozes out of you.

Even still, your mind babbles on. “N-No,” you choke, shaking back and forth. Despite the tie covering your eyes, they flicker like a mad man beneath it, like you’ll somehow get lucky and develop Seeing Through Fabric Ability if you try hard enough. “My, my baby,” you fight weakly, pelvis trembling from aftershocks of that orgasm. “My idiot b-boy,” you smile dazedly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sting you’ve become familiar with by now. “T-Tell me, Jungkookie,” you croon, biting down on your lip to keep a moan from spilling out mid-syllable. “Still the same, r-right?” you stutter, “still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “No,” he vehemently denies, brashly landing an unexpected smack against your hip, no warning in sight. “That’s not true,” he defends. You can hear his pout, the little push of his lips when he grows defensive. 

You laugh, every bit the insane lunatic, fueled by your two orgasms and slipping sense of reality. “Ffffuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into nothing. “S-Say it again, baby,” you plead, tongue licking across your lips. “Tell me, tell me you don’t care about my problems, Kook-ah,” you whimper.

There’s a hesitant pause on his end, an unexpected lull in your play as he’s torn apart between doing what you want or playing it safe.

You know you’re confusing him, because you’re certainly confusing yourself. You don’t even bother trying to dissect your emotions— you’ve long since accepted your mind was a dangerous place when horny and presented with Jungkook’s sole attention. Well, you knew you were into the whole degradation bit, but this whole having-your-boyfriend-throw-the-words-that-made-you-question-your-entire-worth bit was certainly new and unexpected.

But there’s something in your heart (and in your libido) that needs this, needs him to fix this memory for you that maybe, kinda sorta, has haunted you for days, weeks now, as much as you hate to admit it. Needed him to fix the booboo he gave you with a bandaid, only leave a scar you could look back at and laugh off, not a gaping wound that opened at the slightest mention of it. Because while you forgave, you certainly never forgot*.

(*Unless forgetting meant having your boyfriend overwrite said memory that couldn’t be forgotten with the sheer power of his monster demon cock and wicked tongue. Only then could you forget.)

“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Jungkook,” you spit, feeling the hesitancy in the riding crop that brushes against your skin. It fades away quickly. “S-Say I’ve a dead-end office job; just holding you back,” you beg, trying to pretend the entirety of his little outburst hasn’t been ingrained into your mind for the last couple of weeks. Something flashes in your chest, throat closing off when the toy finally leaves your skin. “Tell me, tell me—“

He looms over you, teddy bear warmth covering the entirety of your body. “Is this what you want?” he asks seriously, lowly, breath fanning across your lips. Your makeshift blindfold feels distinctly damp over your eyes, chest heaving with an exertion that can only be emotional when he speaks so softly to you after routinely raining down brutal thwacks on you for the past half hour. “__,” he says sternly, “is this what you want?”

You gasp on a sob, unsure when these emotions had time to manifest outside your heart like this. You nod your head like a bobble head doll sitting on someone’s dashboard, lower lip trembling on a shameful cry that is not sex-induced like all the other ones until now. “I-I need this, Jungkook,” you admit, voice so tiny and soft, it almost gets drowned out by your shaky exhales and the crowd roaring on screen. “Need to overwrite it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your quivering lips, slow and so devastatingly loving. It’s nothing like the one from before where he’d spit down your throat per your request, and the unbridled adoration he packs into one simple kiss makes you crumble in his arms, sniffles piling on by the dozens.

He leans back after a moment, pulls your thigh over his forearm and finally lets you feel the hard ridges of his cock against your folds. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, trying to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s a lilting tone to his words, a love and trust you wouldn’t have been able to see with or without your blindfold, but can feel nonetheless. He pulls it off you anyway, the warm glow of the TV illuminating his face for you for the first time in about half an hour. Eyes soft, sweat trailing down his body. His body lines up against yours, but so does his heart. You feel it in the way he holds you in his arms, the way he’s careful about sinking into your folds. He slips an arm beneath your waist, uses it to hold you up so you’re not uncomfortably squishing your arms anymore. But if you ask, he’ll pretend he’s doing this for convenience sake only.

“T-Terrible fucking job,” he starts out, the stammer eluding the obvious discomfort he has saying those words, but he does it for you anyway. “Big fucking baby,” he tries again, slowly pushing past your tight walls with a shudder. “C-Can’t look away from you for two seconds because you’re such a fucking kid.”

“Worse,” you choke out. “Meaner. Please, Kook.”

He nods, holds your waist carefully when he finally bottoms out inside of you. “Dead-end office job,” he says, repeating the words that had made you want to crawl into a whole and never come out from. “Got some stupid fucking problems,” he tacks on, slowly withdrawing his hips from your heat. “Always complaining about the stupidest shit,” he hisses, fingers digging into your waist when it’s only the tip of his cock inside of you. “I don’t fucking care about it,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips into you.

They’re scrambled fragments of what he’d really said to you that night. Line after line that don’t carry a quarter of hurt or even make coherent sense for that matter. And still. 

You whimper, mind fuzzy from the thrusting pace he picks up, body fluttering at the glide of his cock against your walls. But your heart is thundering in your throat, his willingness to help fix this memory for you tightening around your every being until you can’t breathe. “I-I love you,” you cry, clenching down around him.

Jungkook groans, pulls you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his cock are tickling your skin. “Stupid, fucking child,” he groans, “immature ass nobody,” he grunts, bucking into you like your words don’t mean a thing.

“I am, I am,” you wail, suddenly hit with the cold hard truth that your body was desperately on edge. From the stimulation your nipples had gotten all night, to the ghost of the riding crop that lingered across your skin; your body was tired, so ready for a final orgasm that you’re certain Jungkook will provide. “T-Tell me y-you—“

“Shut up,” he barks, sweaty skin gliding against yours. “D-Don't tell me what to do,” he huffs, nailing you into the bed. He’s pushing you hard into the mattress, like he wants to brand you into it. “Need to fix this— alone.”

You nod numbly, the crowd behind him cheering loudly. It’s like they’re rooting for him— for the two of you —as silly as it sounds, and as bothersome as it would be any other day, today the obnoxious sounds of the ESPN soccer match only serve to fix a bad memory from before. It’s loud and cringey as all hell, but you’ll look back to this moment and laugh.

And that’s what you want most of all. You want that memory from before, that nasty fight, to go away, to disappear forever and be replaced with this one. Of him, pounding you into the sheets as his TV blares beside you, just another day, another round of sex filled with your usual kinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Ffffuck,” you whine when the tip of his hard cock prods against your cervix. He’s going deep, he’s going all out, because he wants to fix this too. Wants to do anything to make it right, and he’ll never know how much you appreciate him for it. “S-So deep,” you whimper, hips jumping when he rams back inside.

“Stupid slut,” Jungkook snarls, tucking his head against your neck the same way he always does. “Making me do stupid shit like this,” he bites, but you know he doesn’t mean it, know he never will again. He rocks his hips into you, no longer concerned with holding you up from uncomfortably laying on your cuffed arms anymore as he pistons into your squelching heat. He’s pressed so close over you, lips brushing against your collarbone with each snap of his hips.

All the pushing and jostling about has the chain of your clamps wildly jumping about, sprawling across the planes of your chest, above your breasts, where he snatches it up between his lips again. “Stupid, fucking—“ he slurs, jutting his head to the side like a wild stallion. You sob at the tenderness of your nipples, at the way he pays them no mercy as he continues rutting into you like a mad dog in heat. “Slut,” he spits. “S-So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your mind is in another universe, and when that last word, that devastatingly familiar term, slips from his lips mindlessly, something inside you snaps. “N-No,” you sob, legs fidgeting around his waist at the orgasm that wracks through your body against your will. “No,” you cry in frustration, “didn’t, didn’t want—“

“Stupid, stupid angel,” he babbles, seemingly unaware of your orgasm as he continues fucking into your leaking cunt, ignorant of the cum that dribbles out, creams his cock as he carries on. “Fuck,” he pants, gnaws against the chain of the stupid clamps like he can’t bare this any longer. “Love you,” he says, though he’s still stuck in that mindset from before and his sweet confession sounds more like a threat. “L-Love that childish side of you,” he confesses, finally dropping the chain— much to your relief —and surging forward to kiss you on the mouth. He tastes weirdly metallic, a thought you can’t ponder too long as he continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your pussy. “Your fffucking dr-drive to succeed,” he grunts, mouth smushed uncomfortably against your cheek.

“Kook, sweetheart,” you shudder, sensitive pussy spent as he drills on. His cock is still so achingly hard, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near completion. “Take it easy,” you gently remind him, can’t brush your fingers through his hair like you usually would, so you settle for pressing your lips to his cheek.

“Fuck, fuck,” he heaves, pushing so deep you practically feel him in your womb, swollen mushroom head begging for entry. “Give me it all,” he stammers, “want you—want this forever.”

“I know you do, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his when he sloppily surges forward, panting and gasping over you like a crazed caveman. “I’m yours,” you gently remind him.

“No,” he chokes out hoarsely, eyes screwed shut. “Need more, all of it,” he mumbles. “Give me yourself, ___, need you for the rest of my life—“ he cuts himself off with a shuddered whine, so airy and wispy it makes you shiver. “Ffffuck, shit,” he howls, each thrust into your walls only unraveling him more and more. “Give me, give me—“

“Anything,” you whimper, body trembling from his excessivity. “What do you want, Kook-ah?”

He says nothing, losing himself in the warmth of your pussy as his orgasm rounds the corner. He’s in the final stretch, the final straight until achieving nirvana alongside you at the finish line. And, as you’ve long since come to understand, a true Jungkook Danger Zone. He loses all sense of self, random syllables and phrases slipping through his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, marry me— marry me,” he moans, snapping his hips into you with a ferocious speed that has you bouncing against the sheets, and that’s despite the tight grip his has on you. “Let me— fuck— let me fuck a baby into you, sweetheart,” he purrs, eyes shining like an absolute psycho, but you’re apparently into that because the idea squeezes around your chest and burrows it’s way in. “A baby,” he marvels like an idiot, eyes big and sparkly, “f-fuck.”

“Wh-What?” you choke, flinching when he bites down against your lower lip. He’s got you trapped beneath him, stuffing your brain with these ideas that make your heart enter cardiac arrest, body tingling like in Mario Kart when you’ve got the star power up. “Kook—“

“Sh,” he groans, digging his fingers into your sides as he rolls his hips against you. “Almost,” he informs you, but the blood rushes to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, jaw clenching, “oh, baby.”

Jungkook cums with a shivered cry, body hunching over you like some entity has just exited out of his spine. Maybe something did, because afterwards he manages to hold himself above you for exactly three seconds before dropping the entirety of his hefty muscles onto you. “Ouch,” you whine, wrists twisted uncomfortably beneath you.

“Sorry,” he huffs, completely out of breath and dazed as he rolls away from you. He ends up spread out like a starfish beside you, completely fucked out and definitely zooming through the fifth, sixth, and seventh dimensions.

He doesn’t say anything for a hot minute, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, until you butt in. “Kook. Undo me,” you remind him.

He looks over at you, dark hair falling over his eyes and sprawling around his head like a halo. Oh, he was going to be the death of you. “Oh,” he says, like his brain has just processed the information. “Right.” He sits up, tucking himself back into the shorts he never fully took off. That was his character flaw; never bothers to get completely naked during sex. Anyway, his straight male-equivalent of booty shorts come up around his thighs again, stretching sinfully across the thick muscles.

The five sonnet poem that was gearing up in your head comes to a halt when he touches your breast. “No, no more,” you cry, instinctively withering away.

Jungkook snorts. “I’m just taking them off, baby,” he says, reaching forward again with the same practiced ease you’d use on an animal. The clamps come off, all the nerves suddenly coming back to life. It’s a weird sensation, not having your tits subject to that prickling pain anymore, and it makes you moan softly. Jungkook soothes you with his wannabe masseuse hands, but you think it’s just an excuse for him to fondle your breasts.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently, hovering over you like a damned surgeon or something. His voice is so silky and smooth, hands soft against your chest. He’s so careful in the way he turns you over, somehow magically producing the tiny key pick you swore was lost between the sheets after its first use.

Being on your chest makes you tremble like a leaf, the faintest brush of the cotton against your tits enough to make your pussy clench weakly. “ I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, carefully detailing his actions like you’re not watching him with your very own eyes. But it’s oddly comforting, having him walk you through the process of rolling your sore wrists. The inside of the cuffs had a plush lining, but it was a pretty cheap thing. After he’s done massaging the skin, he pads over to his dresser and returns with a shirt and undies for you. “Shirt,” he says, helping you into the clothing.

When you’re all snuggled under the sheets again, the television still loud as hell, he mumbles, “wanna talk about it?”

You exhale against his chest, feeling so light and fluttery from your orgasms and the way he runs his fingers through your scalp and the way his heart thunders by your ear. “Hm,” you hum pensively. “Nah. Think I’m fine now,” you admit.

Jungkook chuckles. “A full miracle recovery?” he teases. You nod, taking in the comforting scent of his fabric softener and just him in his entirety.

“Yep.” A beat of silence, the commentator is back to filling the space between you two. He talks about a mile minute, spewing stats and plays you could never understand in a thousand years. But you know Jungkook will get sucked in soon enough, so you strike while the pot is hot. “Do you wanna talk?”

He cranes his neck a little to look at you. “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to look at him straight on. “Oh, my mistake,” you drawl. “I seem to have missed the part where we were going to act like you didn’t just ask for my hand in marriage and then offered to get me pregnant—,” you pause, the realization suddenly hitting you like a trash can whipping down a hill on a rainy day at a thousand miles per hour. “Pregnant!” you exclaim, cheeks warm at the fact he really just said that to you.

Jungkook’s cheeks fare no better, a Flaming Hot Cheeto shade dusting his skin. “I, it was just…” he tries, poor tiny monkey brain working overtime to offer an excuse. “It-it doesn’t have to be a thing,” he blushes, big Bambi eyes flickering from you to the television to the heart-tipped riding crop by the foot of the bed. “I was just…”

You raise your brows. “Consumed by the spirit of King Henry IV to have fourteen kids?”

He blinks. “Wait, you actually paid attention to that film?”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, shifting onto your knees in front of him. “What,” you inhale sharply, heart beating wildly in your chest, “what was that?”

Jungkook can only play the shocked angel card for so long before he’s sinking back into his pillow stack with the sigh of a man who’s worked in construction for the last sixty-four years. “I just,” he mumbles, “I think about it sometimes.” His admission makes your heart lodge itself into your throat, wide eyes watching him spill out his heart to you.

He misreads the expression on your face. “I-Not now!” he hurries to explain. “Like,” he stammers, rosy hue slowly crawling down his neck, over his ears. “Maybe, y’know? In the future…”

You blink, brain reduced to a series of beeps and clicks like that of an old computer trying to compute information that is simply not processing. “Yeah…” you murmur, unsure of what to do with the film reel that suddenly flashes before your eyes, a look into a doorway you had never considered before. “I— me too.”

Jungkook chokes on his own saliva. “Really?” he yelps, has those sparkly anime girl eyes you always tease him about.

The gulp you do sounds loud in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathe, throat drier than the desert, but more confident than the first peabrain response. “I-I’d like that.”

There’s a bright beam of light that shines right in your face, so vibrant and dazzling it makes you flinch and by the time you’ve recovered you realize it’s his smile. “Yeah?” Jungkook mumbles back, pearly teeth framed by his pretty smile, brows raised at your stuttery confirmation. You nod. His lips twist into a smaller grin, a condensed version of the superstar one he gave you just moments before. Before you can brush it off with a joke, he’s snatching your hand up in his, a soft smooch pressed to your knuckles. “Okay,” he says quietly, dark eyes meeting yours. “One day?”

Your heart constricts in your chest, and all you can do is nod. “One da—“

“Goooooaaaaallllll!” the announcer on screen shrieks, the loud sounds of the TV killing your mood instantly.

Any dumbstruck, love struck, idiotic, ditzy expression on your face is wiped clean, replaced with an unimpressed glare you narrow on him. His nose is scrunched up like he wants to laugh, lips pressed into a thin line at your annoyance. He swipes the TV remote off the side table, arms spread open for you to crawl back into. You do so with a huff, pout smushed against the front of his hoodie.

“That’s enough ESPN for today,” he chuckles, switching the channel about a thousand times until Rick and Morty is playing on screen. “I’ll just watch the highlights later.”

“ESPN,” you scoff like an evil villain in a movie who’s just been presented with their mortal enemy, fisting the front of his hoodie.

Jungkook nods. “ESPN,” he repeats. A beat passes. “Kinda like BDS—“

“Go get your ice pack.”

epilogue

Because Jungkook couldn’t sit still for that one eventful night following his ladder injury, he ends up in a medical boot for one week, loudly clunking around the place like a reverse pirate. You snap a picture of him that you post on Twitter for your twelve followers to see, just him pouting at the doctor’s office with his new boot and club jersey on to celebrate last night’s victory.

It’s just a cute pic for you and your friends to laugh at.

Until it’s not, and his handsome face is circulating around the entire internet.

He’s being called the Face of FC Seoul, with desperate women messaging you left and right for his information. Other fans are bragging about the beauty that is an FC Seoul fanboy. It gets to the point where his face appears on the next night’s ESPN Nightly Recap, a special on social media stars posting about the game. Except Jungkook is neither a social media star nor did he even post about the game— you did.

But there he is, all five feet and ten inches of him smiling brightly at you from the ESPN Sports channel, wearing the boot he got from hand cuffing and whipping you to completion. 

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[syubub]

How BTS flirt

Saucy disclaimer: this is for entertainment purposes only and not to be taken as fact! This is my interpretation of the cards!!

Lol this is gonna be a fun one so buckle up and hold on to your socks

Seokjin

Lol oki

I think there's two types of jinnie flirting. Casual fun flirting and flirting because he's actually intrested

When he is actually intrested in someone and is trying to flirt its kinda slow moving and not very obvious

Its little things like, "your hair looks really nice today"

Things that are complements but he means it in a flirty way

He'd probably get a bit frustrated bc his flirting tactics are too subtle

I think he would also flirt by showing things he's intrested or possibly things that he's gathered

Kinda like a peacock

He wants the person he's flirting with to know that he's cool and show them what he has to offer but doesn't want to be... showy

He wants to maintain some kind of poise

But I think its because he's a little too shy to be up front and honest

But oh man when he's having fun and flirting for the fuck of it his whole goal is get everyone in a 10 mile radius flustered

He enjoys seeing people blush (I think its because he doesn't always take true compliments well and wants other people to feel good about themselves)

Jin

My boi

His tactics might be a little... strange.. at times

It's endearing though

And smooth

I wouldn't be surprised if he has a list of mid 2000's pick up lines on hand as a plan b

Yoongi

Legit before pulling any cards I heard "like a penguin"

I can't

Now to the fucking cards

WHY IS HE SO ROMANTIC??

What a soft man

He's a romantic flirt that doesn't use many words because he doesn't have to

You best believe he has coffee orders memorized, take out orders memorized, favorite drink always on hand

You needed something from the store?

He bought it.

Very much service and gifts because he wants to provide and kinda show his worth

"Here's this rock I saw. I know you like them so I figured I'd polish it for you too"

Lol he's wrapped around that pinky so tight

He's also very considerate and aware that unwanted flirting can be creepy and uncomfy so he's very very conscious of how he goes about things

I think flirting like this is almost... healing to him?

I think he really enjoys having someone to take care of (he definitely wants the same in return)

Yoon doesn't flirt. He'd rather be courting some one

Don't get me wrong though

He can definitely flirt and shit like that but its his secret weapon

He's also very confident when he flirts

He prefers flirting to come with no expectations

If anyone gets courted by min yoongi I want to see your stack of "rocks" (idk it could be bracelet charms or snow globes or postcards but I wouldn't be surprised if its actual rocks either)

Hoseok

Oki if you don't want to read some not pg then come back when I say it's safe lol

Hobi you horny mother fucker

Flirting is 100% foreplay

I CAN'T

Kissing is definitely in his flirting book

He flirts and establishes his dominance early on (hobi is a dom fight me)

Very confident in his flirting

LUSTY FUCKER

I get vibes that hobi would 100% fuck on the first date

(Kinky mf)

Omg hobi what a fucking tease too Jesus

Blah blah blah his flirting is foreplay bc he's horny and really wants to fuck.

Istg hobi just wait for a designated 18+ reading

Oki it's safe now

On the off chance that hobi isnt using his ridiculous flirting skills as foreplay

He is still very confident

And slow paced

He's trying to win the war not the battle

He is very push-pull when he flirts

It's with good intentions though

He's just really good with people and sweet talking

Very touchy

Flirting can also be a way for him to sus people out and decide if they are cool or nah

Flirting with hobi can lead to:

A. New best friend

B. Increadibly one night stand

C. The love of your fucking lifeb

D. A failed vibe check

Lowkey hobi would be kinda like wolf... very... driven?

Namjoon

A lot of compliments and just general good vibes

Lots of personal questions

"I bet you're really good at that. You should let me see sometime."

Definitely uses his smile

A lot

Very much the type to keep eye contact and be very attentive to the answers that are given to his questions

Its a wee bit methodical

But not in a weird way

He just wants to know where to go

Lots of emotional intelligence

Probs buys flowers or something cute

Very much reassuring and probably would be most flirty over drinks of some kind (like coffee or fancy wine)

Doesn't always flirt for the sake of romance but its pretty obvious when he is

He's just perfect

He gives complements often just in general and I think he absolutely knows how to use his charms

Very smooth

So so so so so witty

Definitely can get some nice giggles going

The way he flirts is honestly entrancing

We all know he is a fantastic talker

Probably uses a lot of beautiful language

Jimin

Very flirty

Flirty flirty

Also a little flexing involved!!

He'd be dressed to the 9's and very obvious

I definitely see him making everything about the other person

Very much peak libra behavior

He'd definitely feel flirty when he's feeling himself?

Flirting is almost like a first defense

Its easier to control the situation when he's flirting and its something that he loves to do

There's a lot of intelligence here with chim chim

He gets bored easily so flirting with him would be something engaging and intellectual as much as it is fun and laid back

Fancy fucking dinners

Flirty boi would like to have his match

Flirting is a competitive (fun) sport

He'd be a bit more toned down and less flashy if its someone he's actually trying to romance

Very fun and very exciting

Taehyung

Sexc

Think mysterious and cool as fuck

That's his flirting style

Very much must pass his vibe check

Be careful its a test

The way he flirts is by not saying anything about himself

He'd drop bits here and there but he has to make sure that you're worthy tbh

If someone makes it past the vibe check this is when the real flirting begins

He'd be very attentive and almost dedicated?

Like he sees flirting as a stepping stone

This is an investment and flirting would be tailored to the person he's flirting with

He's very intuitive and knows what people need

Very very very delacate

Also he might seem a bit intense when he flirts but its not necessarily a bad thing

Homie be regal at first but once he's comfy and is sure that they're compatible then he'd be way more inviting and open and giggly

Oh god he'd be the giggliest flirt on the whole planet

Also very considerate of boundries

Jungkook

Lol

He'd only really be comfy flirting if there isn't anyone else around

Very blushy

Kinda soft ngl?

It's cute soft and shy but he also has very strong boundaries

Flirting is something that he's not great at?

But he is very very very good at learning so the more he flirts the better he gets

This is an oddly personal journey?

He has to get over some stuff to get rid of some possible anxiety

He's also a little unconventional?

He has his own way of flirting and it'd be very adorable

Things like

"You're hair would be really cool if it was blue. I like it now too. So you should do whatever you like with your hair. Because its yours. And its nice. Yeah"

Its so CUTE

He'd overthink a lot too

What do I say? How do I act?

He'd also maybe throw in a cheeky back touch or two every so often

Shoulder touching too

Its very much like best friend flirting but koo means it as actual flirting

Honestly, if someone notices that koo is flirting with them it'd be best to just take the wheel and take the stress away

[velvetmel0n]

No More Than a Name For Yearning

Summary: It’s a late night at the office when the tension becomes too much.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 6.5k+

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, vaginal fingering, a threesome (tag teaming?? idk man they take turns), Javier and Carrillo being competitive? penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, egregious use of italics and em dashes, exhibitionism and voyeurism? little bit of dom!Carrillo, Javier smoking as per usual, mutual pining, angst 

A/N: let’s hope I didn’t overhype this lmao. Special thanks to @tintinwrites and her knowledge of musicals for the title💕

@damerondjarin @mandoplease @tintinwrites @poeticandors @darksideofclarke @futzingorchids @pascalplease @glowingpena @ollypopp @yougottakeeponkeepinon @bisexual-space-slut @agentpike @mylifeliterally @pedropasscals @huliabitch @winters-buck @hystericalmedicine @watsonwise @1zashreena1 @chelsfic @halfwaythereroyal @leahsafae @qveenbvtch @maxlordd @acomplicatedprofession @bobafvtt @propertyofdindjarin @milleniumvalcon @the-bird-suit @girlpornparadise @okay-murdocks @slfreya @aellynera @duamuteffe @ah-callie @bookshelvesandteacups @woakiees @himbopoes @shadow-assassin-blix @thedevilwearsvibranium @littleferal @veuliee2 @mserynlarsen @lesqui @softpedropascal @writefightandflightclub @catfishingmorales​

“I’m done.” Steve’s voice, all Southern hospitality and exhaustion, breaks you out of the haze you’re in and have been in for the last two hours, English and Spanish swimming before your eyes and you smile up at him reflexively, grateful for the distraction, however small it is. It had been a bad day for everyone, bad intel and a bad raid and now you’re stuck shifting through mountains of files, looking for where you went wrong and the next plan of attack. “Do you want a ride?”

“I’m good, I want to work on this a bit more,” You say confidently, trying for a tone and an expression that says ‘I’m staying because I want to finish this, not because I don’t want to be alone yet’ while his blonde eyebrows knit together high on his forehead. Your smile doesn’t crack under the weight of the energy he’s putting out, brotherly and almost concerned as his eyes flick towards the only other people in the office with you; Javier and Carrillo. 

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” You snort when Javier waggles his eyebrows dramatically at you over a stack of his own files to go through. “Javi’ll take me home,” You say because he will. You don’t have a car, having wanted to save money and not fully grasping the inherent dangers of being a DEA agent who relies on public transport in the middle of Escobar’s territory before you had moved here. 

You’d started saving the second week of living in Colombia, but somewhere along the way it had become less of a pressing issue and more of an afterthought as you fell into the rhythm of jumping into Steve’s car as he swung by on his way into work or pounding on Javier’s door, just down the hall from your own with some sort of baked good in your hands as the customary bribe. 

“You sure?” He’s giving you another chance, another out, because it’s late and it’s hot and his nerves are probably still frayed just like everyone else’s who aren’t showing it and he no doubt thinks you need a break just as much as he does.

“I’m a big girl, Steve. I’ll be fine,” You turn a page, sending him the message that yes, you’re staying. You’ll wait Javier out, promising him some muffin or cookie you’d picked up from the store, crumbly and too sweet but he gobbles them down anyways.

“Oh—kay,” He drawls out, sounding unconvinced but he’s picking his jacket up from where it’s been laying on his desk. “You crazy kids don’t have too much fun now,” He digs his keys from his pocket as he walks out and the hollow slam of the door shutting behind him doesn’t shake anyone.

And it takes a moment for the gravity of what you’ve just done to sink into you, how you’ve just stranded yourself on a desert island of paperwork and intel. How you’re trapped between the two men you think about late at night when you’re alone and hungry, now hunched over one singular desk with them and your mouth goes dry.

Your skin prickles and some part of you thinks that this might be better; better than the stress of the day and the frustration that rises in your blood every time you have to ask one of them to translate for you because cartel slang isn’t taught in any class and at least Carrillo tells you. You’ll tilt the paper at him and point and he leans close, brows heavy over his sharp eyes and he’ll say it once in English, only once and his tone is equal parts exhaustion and frustration but it’s enough.

Javier is more of a bastard about it. The way he smirks every time you ask him for anything, smooth and suggestive and asking what you’ll do for him as payment and as much as it gets on your nerves you can’t help but rise to it, batting your eyelashes and threatening to do one thing or another which of course never fazes him. It helps soothe the more ragged edges of your nerves, falling back on the familiar rhythm of your friendship, the push and pull wrapping around your shoulders like a security blanket.

You both know that you’ll each fall apart in your own way as soon as goodnights have been said and your apartment doors have closed, but that’s a problem still hours away. It’s a problem you’ll deal with alone in your bed, hugging your pillow and wishing you had someone warm and solid sharing your bed because you could attach yourself to them somehow you think. Anchor your body to theirs, to reality, so you don’t float off into nightmares.

Carrillo seethes beside you, quiet and his mouth set in a hard line but you still find yourself wanting to reach out to him. It’s stupid but you want to reach out and smooth your hands over him, want to bleed the tension form his body because he carries too much of it and he can’t bury it under innuendos and harmless flirting like Javier can, like you’ve learned to. 

You think about it sometimes, what might happen if you acted on your desires with the Colonel. You know what will happen with Javier if you ever take him up on the offer, one that’s stood since your first week here. You’ll know that he’ll treat you right, that he’ll take you out of your head and take you apart piece by piece. Maybe he’ll even put you back together again and you can’t deny that you’ve been thinking about it more and more lately. 

But Carrillo is a puzzle and maybe that’s why you keep thinking about him as much as you do, maybe you want to take him apart just as much as you want Javier to do the same to you. You want to know what it’s like to have all that energy focused on you, intense and bordering on obsessive. All consuming. 

The next exhale is shaky and you realize you need to stop before you start staring at them, at the way Carrillo’s shoulders fill out his uniform or catch Javier’s profile out of the corner of your vision, the way his mouth twists with displeasure underneath his mustache. You need to stop before you start thinking about what that mustache will feel like against your skin or how tight Carrillo’s grip on you would be. 

You try to bury yourself back in the files and grainy photographs, trying to ignore the ache between your thighs and you realize that you were wrong, that this is worse.

The next hour passes in a haze, steeped in frustrations and stress and an insidious kind of tension, the air plucked taut like a bow string. You’ve untucked your blouse and have already undone the first button but you’re reaching for the next two barely ten minutes later and you don’t know if you’re overheated from the weather or the look you’d seen Javier give you when you reached for your collar the first time, thick eyes slid over to you and following the motions of your fingers. You think Carrillo might be watching you, too— see his head tilt from the corner of your eye, see his fingers still as they turn a page. You keep going, slipping the buttons from their closures and maybe you make more of a show than you should of opening your collar. Of fanning yourself and slipping your hand underneath your shirt to rub your shoulder.

No one says a word and you keep your eyes fixed on the ones in front of you, absently kneading your own shoulder as you wait for their eyes to slide away, for the moment to pass because it feels like it’s clogging your throat. 

“Need a hand?” Javier raises his eyebrows, points his chin at the one you have stuck up your shirt, your fingers squeezing at the knot that’s formed and you snort. It splinters the tension enough that you can breathe.

“In your dreams, Peña,” Because the last thing you need right now is for him to touch you, the rasp of his fingers over your smooth skin with Carrillo watching the entire thing, less than three feet away. Your stomach clenches at the thought, a traitorous thrill forcing its way up your spine and you dig just a little too far into the tendon and a noise slips from your lips. 

You expect Javier to call you out on it, on the way the sound just...flows out, low and keening but pitched up towards the end and you don’t breathe. You don’t know if anyone breathes because it’s like you’re the only three people awake right now. The only three people alive and the glow of the streetlights outside is pulsing and hazy as it slips through the cracks in the blinds and it’s making you feel like you’re in a fever dream, like suddenly all the consequences of bad decisions, of feeding the monster in your gut are going up in the smoke that bleeds from Javier’s cigarette.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t and neither does Carrillo and your breath shakes itself out of you, your fingers smoothing over the tendon you had just curled into and you have half a mind to go home, to try and call Javier off the hunt so you can curl up in your own bed and try to sleep off the stress and the heat, the thoughts that keep rising to the surface.

The sound of Carrillo yanking a drawer open drags you out of the daydream that’s trying to coalesce and you see him pull the bottle out; think that the frustration must be getting to him. You can’t blame him for it.

“I hope you’re planning on sharing, Carrillo,” 

Because there’s something to be said for warm alcohol and the way it burns the whole way down like it’s holding a grudge. You don’t know what it is— it’s something clear and biting that smells like window cleaner when Carrillo unscrews the cap and passes it to you, the bottle half drunk already and the thought is dim in the back of your mind that the Colonel himself must’ve done this dozens of times before, that your lips are wrapping around the very same rim as his must have as you swallow a mouthful and try your best not to grimace. Your lips tingle on contact and you know whatever it is it’s strong, probably enough to fuzz your better judgement.

You’re already passing it to Javier when you see him reaching for it, fingers hungry in the way they wrap around the bottle. He gulps, bares his teeth at the taste and holds it out to Carrillo who swallows a mouthful of what you suspect to actually be paint stripper without blinking. Rinse, repeat.

The alcohol loosens your tongues and before you know it Javier is cluing you in on the things that are said behind your back, when you’re not in the room. Warning you about a young agent who’s been making noise about asking you out, maybe getting you in bed and you can’t help it.

You chuckle and the words rise unbidden to your tongue, spurred on by a combination of alcohol and stress, of sleep deprivation and the oppressive heat. You don’t realize your mistake until a second after the words are out of your mouth and you can feel your stomach drop to the floor.

“I’d rather fuck you grumpy bastards,”

Because it’s just as much about the wording, how you said it as much as it’s about the fact that you said anything at all. You’d rather fuck them. Not either, not one of. You’d rather fuck them.

“What was that?” There’s a change in Javier’s voice, some new chord resonating in the air and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Carrillo drinks slowly from the bottle and you can see his throat working, his Adam’s apple bobbing and he’s looking at you with intent. It makes you want to squirm. 

“I— I just mean if I had to choose, between you and Miller I mean, I’d— I would choose you,” You fumble it and you know it. You’re not looking at either of them, eyes staring down at the files still on the desk because you feel warm and prickly all over, trying to keep your breathing even because you’re spiraling. You’re afraid; afraid of their reactions, if they’ll snort and reject you after all and afraid of what will happen if word gets out. The fear tangles with arousal in your gut, as exhilarating as it is confusing and no one is saying anything.

You see motion out of the corner of your eye, a large hand gripping the back of your neck a moment later and he almost pulls you out of the chair with his urgency to crash your lips against his own— Carrillo. You melt into the kiss, welcome his tongue into your mouth and you’re abundantly aware of the fact that Javier is just on the other side of you, that you’re being watched.

Your breathing shallows and it’s like you have a fever you’re so hot, drinking down every bit of attention that’s being lavished on you between Carrillo’s mouth on yours and Javier’s hands, sliding around your middle and squeezing your sides before you feel him crowding further into your personal space. It’s already verging on too much for you, too many things happening at once and not going to stop until you’re boiled down to a creature of lust and sensation and nothing else. 

Carrillo keeps one hand in your hair while he eats at your mouth, keeping you in place for him while his other drops to your thigh, palming it before he slides his hand down to your knee and holds, stopping you from creating any friction for yourself before you could even try. You whine and Javier’s even closer than before, covering your neck with kisses now and his mustache tickles enough to have you trying to recoil from it, chills sweeping throughout your body and his chuckle dark in your ears. 

Carrillo’s teeth drag over your bottom lip at the same time Javier starts to unbutton the rest of your shirt, his hand deft and seeking as it slips underneath the fabric, his other mirroring Carrillo with the way it grips the meat of your thigh. You whine, trying to grasp Javier’s shirt in an effort to ground yourself or to pull him closer you aren’t entirely sure because all you know is their hands on you and the ache that’s burning you up inside, the taste of the alcohol on Carrillo’s tongue as it sweeps through your mouth. 

Your shirt flutters to the floor in a soft heap and Javier’s attention stays on your chest for what feels like ages, palming your breasts through your bra while Carrillo’s head dips, mouthing along your jawline and down your throat, and in that moment you want nothing more than to feel his teeth. To have him suck marks into the fragile skin that you can look at in the morning to make sure this isn’t some fever dream brought on by the heat and frustration because you feel like you’re being melted down between the two of them and reshaped into something new, something hungry and aching and empty.

A hand trails from your chest and down your stomach while teeth scrape along your neck, your shoulder, and you almost hold your breath when you feel the button of your jeans being fiddled with. A whine builds in your throat, a sharp sound undercutting it and sending a jolt through your body when the Colonel smacks Javier’s hand away before he could slip it inside your pants. Your eyes flutter open for the first time since this all started, just in time to see the way Carrillo’s jaw clenches, hostility or just plain competitiveness you can’t be sure belying the heat in his eyes as he glares at the other man.

It shouldn’t turn you on— you know it shouldn’t, having him snapping over you like that, like you’re a new favorite toy he’s loathe to hand over but you can’t deny the way you squirmed, either, heat curling in your gut at the thunderous look on his face. And then Javier is huffing and for one insane moment you’re afraid that he’s going to give up without a fight, that he’s going to stop.

But then he’s turning your head towards him, wrenching you away from Carrillo so your chest is pressed against his own and he can have his fill of your lips. His kiss is different from Carrillo’s— the bristles of his mustache tickle and it’s less like an onslaught but no less heated, his groan sinking right down into your bones.

Carrillo’s fingers make quick work of your jeans and you almost leap out of your skin at the first touch, thick fingers slipping underneath the band of your underwear and dragging through your soaked folds. 

You moan into Javier’s mouth, the sound ripped from the back of your throat and you hear one of them chuckle— self satisfied and almost mocking and you want to snap at them and call them names, want to regain the edge you maintain so carefully in this line of work but you can’t. You can’t because Javier’s teeth are scraping along your jawline now and his hand is working its way underneath your bra to start thumbing over your nipple, the edge of his nail against the sensitive skin making a chill skate through your body and Carrillo— he’s— he’s rolling the rough pads of his fingers over your clit, using enough pressure to make your thighs jerk and the insults wither on your tongue.

Then it’s your hands that are moving, unclenching from their shoulders to follow the lines of their torsos down, down, down and the scrape of chairs across the floor is loud and disjointed as they’re yanked closer. Half of you wants to take your time, to explore the both of them at your leisure and finally have your fill of each, to run your hands along their bodies and kiss each of their scars but the other half of you is louder. The other half of you is greedy. Impatient. 

You smooth your palms along the front of their pants, reveling in the feel of their cocks twitching through the fabric and how Javier’s breath hisses through his teeth, how Carrillo drops his head to your shoulder and squeezes the inside of your knee, his fingers stuttering against you. It’s heady, knowing that they both want you like this and holding evidence of their arousal in your hands and you can’t help but stroke them, biting down on a grin when a moan works itself from Carrillo’s chest. 

Javier recovers first and pulls you until your body is fully facing him, hunching over you with his fingers working at the closure of your bra, mouth trailing down your throat. Carrillo huffs behind you but he doesn’t pull you away, not yet. Instead he shifts closer, close enough for you to sag into the solid mass of his chest because his fingers are moving again, slipping lower and teasing your entrance, circling and only barely dipping the tip of one inside. At the same time Javier’s mouth is engulfing one of your nipples and sucking, teeth glancing off of it and you don’t know whose name to moan, writhing between the two of them and trying to get a grip on Javier’s hair. 

Your other hand is still over Carrillo’s cock and you squeeze, a whine bursting from your lips because of course the bastard was waiting for that, waiting for just the right moment to slide one of his thick fingers home while Javier laves across your chest, licking and sucking at your tender flesh. “Fuck,” Your voice is high and reedy and you feel like you can’t breathe. It’s the first word you’ve spoken during this entire thing, whatever it is, whatever it’s going to turn into, and you think you feel Carrillo’s lips pull into something sharp that might be a grin against your cheek when he starts to move.

The angle means the heel of his hand is bumping into your clit and his pace is a cruel thing; dark and twisting and somehow it’s too much and not enough all at once and your head is spinning from it. You hear him in your ear, speaking low and soft and his praises are clogging your throat. Encouragements, teasing when he asks you if you want more, can take more because he knows you can, that you want it because you’re good for him, aren’t you? For them?

And Javier is murmuring his agreements against the pillow of your breast, dragging his teeth along your nipple and you think if it’s possible for a human being to go up in flames you would right at this moment, trapped between the two of them with no buffer, with nowhere to go. 

“Need more already?” Javier’s voice is thick like honey, almost gloating as he picks his head up from your chest, taking in how it rises and falls in time with your rapid breaths, shining from his mouth underneath the fluorescent lights. His eyes drop lower and he can’t see you, not with Carrillo’s hand in the way and the thick denim of your jeans still biting into your thighs, but he can hear you, slick and obscene with little whimpers falling from your lips like you’re trying to stay quiet because you are. It’s not working, but you’re trying.

“Javi—” Your voice tilts up at the end, high and whining and you don’t know how much more of this you can take. You feel like you’re melting down, burning up from the inside out and you can’t remember if you’ve ever felt like this before. If you’ve ever felt this on edge, coiled up tight and vibrating with this much tension, if it’s because you’ve been wanting each of them for months now, if it’s because they’re both here with you. Both watching you, both stringing you out further and further and pulling you in different directions. Each trying to get their fill of you before the other. 

And maybe you’re asking for Javier because Carrillo is cruel, working you with his fingers but never giving you quite enough, working you up and up and up. Like he wants to see how far can push you, if he can make the need swallow you whole. You know he can, that for all your wanting to take him apart piece by piece he can do the same to you, is doing the same to you just as you know Javier will show you more mercy.

Javier reaches for you, curls his hands in your jeans and pulls them down over your knees and maybe he meant to pull them off, to get you naked in the middle of the office but his eyes catch on the way Carrillo’s finger is sinking into you over and over again. The way he gives you another and how you still when he does, your breath stuttering.

You almost don’t feel the way Carrillo hooks his chin over your shoulder to watch for himself because you can’t think over how his fingers feel, thick and heavy and buried up to the knuckle and you whine. You whine because he’s just holding them there, seemingly content to just feel the way your cunt is squeezing around them, the way your thighs are shaking and listening to you crying in his ear. 

You hand fists in the material of his pants, your other digging your nails into Javier’s shoulder and you use them for leverage, rolling your hips on Carrillo’s fingers. Someone groans, ragged and strung out and for terrifying seconds you think that they’re going to leave you like this. Leave you to fuck yourself on his fingers without any help.

But Javier doesn’t last that long.

Javier doesn’t last that long before he’s reaching for you all over again, pulling you away from Carrillo and you almost protest, almost call him a bastard for cutting off what little stimulation you’re managing to eek out for yourself but then he’s pressing you up against the desk and you forgive him.

You try to brace yourself on the desk, hands slipping on file folders and you look back, over your shoulder because you can hear his belt jangling, loud against the background of hurried breathing and arousal-softened voices. You don’t see it but Carrillo leans back in his chair, sucking your slick off his fingers and thinking about eating you alive even while he watches Javier line himself up with your weeping cunt, the way his head leans back as he pushes in, the way you go still. The way your chin drops to your chest and how you rock your weight onto your hands, spine curving when his hips meet yours. 

Javier isn’t moving, not yet, and Carrillo almost feels sorry for you because another of those whines is falling out of your mouth, soft and needy and you lick your lips before you speak, begging him to move and so he does. They both do. 

Javier’s hands curl around your hips and he starts to thrust as Carrillo stands, rounding the desk and his lips might pull into something crueler than a smile but pleased nonetheless when you reach for him, a moan on your lips. He lets you fumble with his belt and untuck his shirt with shaking hands and his chest swells with a twisted pride, that you can be filled with another man’s cock and still reach for him.

It goes to his head a little bit while he watches you, glassy eyes fluttering and your hands slipping. Your head drops to his shoulder with a high pitched moan, your hips rolling back, and that’s when he grabs your face, his fingers pressing into your jaw, lifting your head and forcing you to look at him. 

It’s too much, you realize, trying to remember how to breathe while you stare into Carrillo’s face. His nostrils are flared and his eyes are swallowed up by his pupils, and he’s not looking away. Your breath is puffing into his face and you’re trying to keep your eyes open, you are— but Javier’s cock keeps dragging through your walls, catching on something bright and sharp and it’s almost enough. 

You don’t realize that you keep closing your eyes until Carrillo is almost throttling you, tightening his fingers on either side of your jaw, the meat of his palm pressing against your windpipe and tomorrow you’ll feel embarrassed at the pathetic sound that leaves your throat. How you sway towards him, his "look at me” ringing in your ears, soft and biting all at once.

Javier hunches over you then and you feel his teeth in your shoulder, feel the rasp of his mustache on your skin. Carrillo’s shoulders move but you don’t look, don’t let yourself get distracted from the way he’s looking at you like— like—

You don’t know because Javier’s hand is moving, slapping Carrillo’s away before he can touch you and you see the muscle in his jaw tick before you crumple, would have spilled across the desk if his grip wasn’t holding you up because Javier is slipping his hand between your shaking thighs.

Your hands fist in the material of Carrillo’s shirt, your quest to get his belt undone long since falling by the wayside and being replaced by focusing on the way your nerve endings are lighting up under Javier’s fingers, buzzing and firing and the knot in your belly bursts, thick and sweet like syrup. You sob into Carrillo’s shoulder, bearing down on Javier’s cock and he groans behind you, ragged and grating. 

But he doesn’t let you enjoy it, not really. Because the next moment he’s pulling away from you and you feel so empty you could almost cry, shaking yourself apart against Carrillo’s chest, dense and warm and the part of your brain that’s still functioning wishes you could feel his skin on your own. You don’t get the chance to dwell on it, on Carrillo’s hands and his arms, the feel of his torso through his shirt because the next thing you know liquid is splashing across your lower back, hot and dripping and you shudder right down to your bones.

“Fuck,” Javier sounds as wrecked as you feel and you can hear him pant, the air whistling over his teeth but the ache between your thighs isn’t fading away. If anything it’s getting worse as you try to pull yourself back together, trembling against Carrillo’s body because you don’t necessarily trust yourself to stand on your own quite yet and apparently neither does Javier, rolling his forehead on the space between your shoulder blades. 

After a few moments he straightens and you feel his eyes on you as clearly as you do his hand, stroking down your side and squeezing your hip. He starts digging through the desk then, opening and shutting drawers until he finds what he’s looking for, wiping his cum from your skin with what you assume to be an extra shirt Carrillo keeps in his desk, always prepared.

Your fingers unclench from the shirt he’s wearing, sliding over his stomach to pull on his belt because you aren’t satisfied, won’t be until you know what it feels like to make him fall apart right along with you. You mouth at his neck, slipping your palm into the front of his khakis after you conquer the buckle and zipper. 

“You’re breaking my heart, baby,” Javier sits back in one of the abandoned chairs, his voice hoarse and colored with exertion, and if you didn’t know any better you might think he’s serious, that his feelings are well and truly bruising with your efforts to get in Carrillo’s pants, still greedy for more after he had his turn with you. 

“Fuck off, Javier,” You say it without any real venom against Carrillo’s skin and the other man might have barked out a chuckle, bared in his teeth in something that might have been a grin, but the only thing you can focus on is the way Carrillo groans when you close your fingers around his cock and stroke. You want to hear it again and again, want to have it vibrate through you while he’s pressed impossibly close. 

He’s a sight as he pulls himself away from you, his uniform shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, unbuttoned now and his undershirt wrinkled from your fingers, his jaw set and you have to turn, all loose limbed and soft as you seat yourself on the desk, able to finally peel your jeans the rest of the way off and spreading your thighs in blatant invitation. He takes it, slotting his hips between your knees and wrenching you to him and you’re able to wind your arms around his wide shoulders like you’ve been craving to.

You rub yourself against him, your breath catching in your throat from how your sensitized cunt slips across the coarse fabric and it almost hurts, sharp and corrosive in the way it floods through you, dissolving in its wake. But you can’t stop, chasing after the pleasure with a whining moan because he’s just watching you, eyeing the slowly growing wet spot on the front of his underwear because of it and you squeeze your thighs around him, trying to spur him on. 

"Horacio,” The name slips out unbidden, tinged with something you can’t describe and it’s the magic word. He huffs as if he’s coming back to himself, as if he’s realized that he can move, that you really do want this despite the circumstances. Despite Javier watching with rapt attention and a fresh cigarette.

He doesn’t make you let go of him, doesn’t make you pull him out because you’re clinging to him so sweet and nice and purring for him that he can’t imagine it and you’re grateful. Actually grateful that you can keep yourself wound around him, touching and tasting like you’ve thought about for months now, raking your fingers through his short hair and arching against him until you’re balancing on the very edge of the desk, his arms the only things keeping you from slipping right off.

And then you’re being split open. 

You warble something that might have been his name, choking on it and you scramble at his shoulders for a better grip. He groans deep in his chest, rough and filthy as his head drops to your neck and it’s overwhelming. You want to blame it on the fact you’ve already cum, that you’re still overly sensitive from Javier because he’s making you feel better than he has any right to as harsh as he is, as stone faced. As mean.

But then his hand is slipping between your thrusting bodies and he’s anything but, unerringly finding your clit and it’s almost embarrassing. It’s almost embarrassing how hard your body jerks, grinding into his calloused fingers while he breaks you apart, your cunt pulsing around him as he keeps up the onslaught, hips snapping into yours. 

You cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, as the pleasure sweeps through you, glimmering and razor sharp and you say his name again, only this time mewling and shattered. And it’s the combination of everything that does him in; your cunt fluttering around his cock, your voice in his ear saying his name like that, you trying to pull him infinitely closer. He grunts as he spills himself within you, the sound strangled and you can’t help but gather his face in your hands to pull it to your own, slanting your lips against his and drinking it down.

Your thighs are quivering as you pant into each other’s mouths, Carrillo almost languidly stirring his cock in you as you both come down. You didn’t expect it— didn’t expect any of this to actually come to fruition, to exist somewhere outside of your mind and the four walls of your bedroom but here you are. The smoke from Javier’s cigarette hangs in the air and Carrillo— Horacio, now, is nosing underneath your jaw, staying right where he is and kissing the salt from your skin. If an ache wasn’t blooming between your legs, in your thighs and your hips you don’t know if you’d believe it happened at all, letting the memories turn hazy in the sunlight that’s only a few short hours away.

But it is and when you blink your eyes open you see Javier looking at you with an unreadable expression, flicking his eyes to Horacio and back again and a different heat starts to suffuse your body, this one prickling and bordering on uncomfortable. That’s when you unlock your ankles from behind Horacio’s back, your heart slipping into a nervous rhythm and you don’t want to press your palms into his shoulders and apply pressure, telling him to move without so many words but you do because you can’t take it.

Can’t take the way Javier is looking at you, can’t take how much you want Horacio to stay, to wonder and find out if he stays as gentle as this when the fog clears from his head. 

You can’t take the way he’s looking at you either as he shifts, following the directive of your hands and you swallow the gasp that tries to burst from your mouth when his cock slips from you. You weren’t expecting this either, how bereft you feel without him filling you up, without him in your arms if you’re being honest with yourself. You can’t even blame it on the alcohol, not really. None of you had drank that much, the bottle still not empty after being passed between the three of you and now on its side, knocked over at some point from your combined haste but miraculously unbroken as it lays there on the corner of the desk, liquid pooling on the linoleum below.

Javier is the one who sees it first and throws Horacio’s crumpled, used shirt on the caustic puddle while you’re pulling your jeans up, dressing as if your clothes could become your shield from the emotions that are trying to flay you alive.

“Are you okay?” It’s Horacio who asks how you are while you button your blouse, his voice gruff and threaded with something that’s going to haunt you.

“I’m good, I promise,” You try for a light smile, like you’re not turned inside out, like you won’t keep thinking about this for the rest of the night and maybe into the day when you have to pretend like everything is fine, that nothing has changed. 

Javier throws the shirt onto the desk then and it hits with a wet plop that makes you cringe. You see Horacio’s mouth thin, any traces of the softness from just moments ago bleeding away and you want it back. 

But it will have to wait for another time, maybe a better time or none at all because Javier is crushing the end of his cigarette into an ashtray and picking his leather jacket off the back of a chair, looking at you expectantly because he knows you can’t refuse him, not without revealing anything. “Ready to go?” And maybe Horacio has some inkling about the arrangement, gleaned from comments that have piled up over the weeks and months but maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he thinks you’re going home with the agent, not bumming a ride to the same apartment building because you were naïve and are now complacent.

You nod, looking again at Horacio and running your eyes over him, as if you don’t want to forget how he looks in this moment despite everything. His uniform a mess, cock tucked back into his pants but his belt staying unbuckled for the moment and for one second, one harebrained second, you think about kissing him. Just kissing him, just a peck— just enough for him to maybe know.

But you don’t. 

“Goodnight, Horacio,” Your lips wrap around the syllables, turning his name into something gentle as you drift towards the door after Javier.

The Colonel nods and you think you might see his lips part but the shadows make it impossible to tell and you don’t know what’s in his eyes either, just know that they feel heavy on your skin. Javier calls your name and you finally look away before you do something even more stupid than anything else you’d done tonight.

The door closes behind you and he knows you can’t hear him but he says it anyways, alone and looking at the door like you’re going to walk back in.

“Goodnight.”

[reminiscing-writer]

Jealousy

//this is my first piece on here- ever- so please, be nice//

Prompt:

Y/N and Spencer Reid both work for the BAU, and have been in a secret relationship for over a year. You both do a pretty good job at hiding your public affection, and neither are very prone to jealousy. But, when Y/N is looking particularly sexy one day at work, and Morgan flirts as joke, something ticks inside of Dr. Reid.

Warning: dom!Spence, jealousy, choking, spitting, idk cursing I guess

—————

Y/N strides in through the large glass doors of the BAU, heels clicking at every step. The instant you come into view of your colleagues, you know you have their attention.

You had woken with an aching- no, longing- in between your legs. You were already running late for work, so no way did you have time to please yourself.

You were never one to play with jealousy, especially not with your boyfriend Spence. He was a sweetheart. But this morning- oh god, this morning you were so horny, you were willing to walk into work and pin him up against the wall so everyone could see. The way he pulled your hair, the way he made you drip, the magic of his fingers-

So, you did play the jealousy card. You picked your most revealing top, one that would button just low enough so your boobs could pop out, just tight enough to hug that waist in, and just short enough that if you stretched out a bit too far, your thong would show. You paired it with a body hugging pencil skirt and threw on the tallest heels owned.

As y/n walked into the office, she played a smirk on her red tainted lips, confidence beaming.

“Hey, Babygirl, ain’t someone lookin’ bangin’ today.” Morgan came up to greet you. He placed a hand on her waist and gave a gentle kiss on the cheek.

Y/n smiled, “What can I say, I was feelin’ myself.” Shrugging, she dropped her hair over her shoulder. Y/n walked past Derek, leaving him to turn, checking out her fine figure from the back, as she scanned the office looking for her prey- Spencer.

“Hey, y/n, did you- holy shit, whoa!” You hear your female coworker laugh approaching you, “You look hot!” Typical Penelope.

You simply gave a smile, “Thanks,” lightly laughing, you asked, “have you seen Spence-” your question being cut short by spotting your curly headed partners head behind Garcia.

He was holding a stack of case files in one arm and his morning coffee in his other hand. Distractedly, he takes a sip while looking up in your direction, not expecting you to look the way you do.

You can see he eyes widen as the coffee cup leaves mouth, lips wide open. His steps are slow as he comes in your direction.

And action! You tell yourself.

You excuse yourself from Penelope and head towards Morgan. Walking up from behind him you start with your hand at the small of his back and glide your hand till his bicep giving a light, but noticeable squeeze.

He smirks up at you. “What’s gotten into you today?”

“Play along, will you?” You smile, talking under your breath, your eyes trained on your wide eyed boyfriend.

Derek trailed your view and shakes his head, “Nah, dude! I can’t play pretty boy like that!” You guys hadn’t come out publicly about your relationship, but let’s just say, Spencer was better at lying and hiding it than you.

You trail your fingers up his arm, “Come on,” you say slowly, “it’ll be fun.” You coax. You turn your back to Spencer and pay full attention to the chocolate hunk of a man in front of you.

“You,” Derek starts as he puts his hand on your waist, “are,” he steps in close, “a,” makes eye contact with you, “tease.”

“Is he close?” You whisper.

“He is fuming, I’m surprised he doesn’t have smoke coming out of his ears.” Derek whispers back, looking past my shoulder to his friend.

I hear Spence put his coffee cup and files down at a near by table. His eyebrows furrow as he closes in on the two of you.

“And, this,” Morgan takes his hand off of you, “is where I depart.” He whispers in your ear, nearly bolting into the furthest cubicle.

You smile to yourself before turning. Spencer is a mere foot away from you. “Hey, Spe-” he grabs your hand and roughly starts to pull you. You quickly turn and try and keep up. “What are you doing?” You try and hear his voice.

He makes a beeline for the meeting room down the office and pushes you in, locking the door as he comes in himself. Making a dramatic turn you see his eyes dark.

Batting your eyes innocently, you ask, “What’s wrong?”

He grabs his tie and roughly undoes it. He steps closer to you not saying a word. Undoing the buttons on sleeves, he folds his sleeves up and in one sweet move, grabs a hold of your neck.

You quickly gasp, “Nothing’s wrong, Kitten.” He growls lowly, moving stray hair out of your face. “I just didn’t know you wanted to be punished so early in the morning.” He plays an innocent smile. We’re playing off each other’s game now.

“P-punished?” You choke out, “N-n-no, Spence, that’s not-” his grip tightens at you calling him by his name, “Si-ir! Sir.. that’s not what I wanted.” Your hands instinctively go on top of the one he has on your throat.

He gives a devilish smirk, “Well, if you didn’t want to be punished, then why else would you dress like a little fucking slut for everyone to see?” His free hand roams your body for a second. He pushes you up against a wall, and pushes your skirt up so he has full view of your underwear. “And would you look at that,” he moves it down, “a thong.”

His grip on your throat doesn’t disappear, but thankfully loosens a bit, and you gasp for air. “Sir?” You choke out.

He hushes you, “Shh, sluts don’t talk without permission.” His hand plays with your clit as you moan. “You’re already soaked.” He grumbles as he let’s go of your throat and instead lays you on the table in the center of the room. His one hand his hold both yours above your head, and his other hand is going at your clit and hole.

He speeds up making you pull against his grip, “Ah! Fuck! Sir, oh shit.” You try your best not to be loud.

“Who owns this pussy?” He asks inserting two fingers inside you.

“You do, sir,” you whimper as his speed doesn’t slow down.

“And, you’re going to remember that the next time you decide you want attention,” he takes his fingers out suddenly, leaving your core feel empty, just to slap you directly on your clit. You yelp at the sensitivity. “Isn’t that right, you slut?”

“Yes! Yes, sir!” He slaps again. You squeak. He hits again, and just to his satisfaction, you make another helpless noise. Your core still needed to be satisfied, so you buck your hips in between another hit, “Please sir, please” You beg, “please, I’m so needy for you sir, please make me- Ah!” He hits again, harder, with a huge smile on his face, “please,” you plead, “make me cum.”

He stops hitting you and let’s go of your hands to get a strong hold of your jaw. He spits in your face, “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for me to stop.” He growls.

He insters his fingers back inside you and with his other hand plays with your clit. You lay on the table you hands in his hair, pulling and tugging, biting your bottom lip to keep from moaning loudly.

He speeds up making your breathing fasten with it, and you can feel your core tightening, “Oh my- Sir! Please! May I?” You barely croak out.

“May you, what?” He keeps at his pace, satisfied at your pleading.

“May I please-” he adds the rest of his fingers making you whimper in pleasure, “May I come?” You roughly breath out, closing your eyes.

No answer.

“Please!” You raise your voice letting go of his hair and grabbing your own breast, “please, sir!”

“Come for me, baby. Come for me, now.” He whispers as he fastens his speed and replaces his finger on your clit with his tongue.

As you climax, your legs shaking, eyes rolled back, he laps up your juices cleaning up you, and anything he had on himself. You lie on the table completely breathless. Your eyes too tired to open, you pry them open, barely, and see your boyfriend pull your skirt and thong up and sit you up.

You smile at him tiredly.

“Sweetheart,” he laughs, fixing your hair, “it’s only noon and you look like your ready to crash.”

“You’re very good at what you do.” You smile and pull his sleeves down, smoothing out his shirt.

He gives you a peck on the cheek, “You look gorgeous by the way.”

“Only for you.” You reply getting off the table.

“Think they know about us now?” He asks nodding at the door.

You laugh, “We’ve been gone for I think a half hour. When they see us walk out of here together, yeah, they’ll know.”

[veliseraptor]

Current WIP Excerpts

inspired by @gaslightgallows​, because I am vain and love validation, have a line from each of my current WIPs. with a few exceptions.

there are A Lot.

Life In Reverse

Thanos stood before them, titan in truth as well as name. Loki’s heart jumped into his throat and his thoughts briefly flashed to a shattered world, fingers tearing through his mind, screaming as his being was turned inside out. Fear froze him in place, instinctive, animal. 

REMEMBER THIS COLD

Costume Porn: what it says, seriously. (Steve/Loki.)

Masquerade: Steve attends a costume ball. So does Loki.

Steve shifted nervously. “How did you know?”

“Body language,” Tony said simply. “You keep staring at him. Not that I can blame you. Guy looks unfairly good in a suit.”

“Why, thank you,” Loki said. Tony jumped, and then scowled a little.

the hills on fire for miles: The Thor: Ragnarok fic for RTC.

The woman standing in front of them was just barely illuminated by the early dawn light, but it was enough: she was hopelessly striking, lips quirked in a very faint and unpleasant smile, her eyes glittering coldly, looking from Steve to Loki.

“And you,” she said to him, “must be the youngest whelp. The failure. Which makes you…” she looked at Steve. “What does that make you?” 

Attempt #432: Someone asked for the AU where one of Doom’s Loki-clones survived. It’s gonna be bad, folks.

His first memory was a silver mask with rectangles for eyes and mouth, looking down at him. “Attempt four-hundred and thirty-two,” it said, “success.”

MCU

Into the Valley of Death Rode the Six Hundred: The “Loki wins” fic where he gloats at Steve in his spare time and then ends up fighting a war on three fronts and actually asking for help with one of them.

Steve opened his eyes to find a hand over his mouth and the strong iron smell of blood filling his nose. He sucked in a sharp breath, heart hammering into motion. “Open your mouth to cry out and I will take your tongue before you can make a sound.” Loki’s voice was low and soft, but there was something ragged and breathless there as well. “Nod if you understand.”

Strange Bedfellows: The “Clint and Loki are captured and undergo TERRIBLE SUFFERING and bond, sort of” fic. Hey, people do it for Tony/Loki I don’t see why I can’t go with it my way.

Clint Barton had observed that missions tended to go wrong in one of two ways. Either it was a gradual stacking up of problems that inevitably led to total collapse no matter how hard you tried to hold on, or it was the kind of thing where you were standing in the middle of the building and the roof fell on you.

The Priesthood of Natasha Romanov: The one where Loki declares Natasha his High Priestess. She’s not really into it, though.

She tried to tell Thor about her encounter with Loki in Berlin, but the minute she got out an “I saw” her throat closed up and then she was talking about the Berlin Art Museum with some enthusiasm, despite the fact that she hadn’t gone. A few circuitous routes met with no more success, and even hints appeared to be impossible. Whatever magic fuckery Loki had worked on her, it was thorough. 

important gangbang fic: Important Gangbang Fic.

The best thing about dropping in on Alfish parties was that by the time he arrived, most were too drunk to recognize him, or else too distracted to care.

so when the birds fly South: Loki gets beat up and Steve is the one to find him and I have no idea where this is going.

After months, months of thinking he’d been saved by that missile through the portal (irony of ironies) and then months more after he’d learned he had been mistaken, they’d run him to ground. He could run no further. Only turn and fight, and barely that, so little left in him.

Tear My Castle Down: The “Loki’s punishment is to be a slave to one of the Avengers but this time it’s Steve” fic.

Loki was shaking and pale, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other pulling at his collar, his chest heaving. Steve froze, mouth opening, and Loki half fell, grabbing his arm. “Captain,” he said, teeth chattering. “You need – you need to-”

which carries weight and always weighs the same: My Romanoff Big Bang fic, which is going to be a lot of “Natasha having interpersonal relationships” because I have interests.

Her training would have dictated that she fight until her last breath. That cornered, weaponless, and bleeding, she would go on fighting. Her training had told her they will try to seduce you, to steal your loyalties with grand promises. These are all lies. Of course, by the time Agent Clint Barton had her backed into a blind alley with nowhere to go, her loyalties were already for sale and she didn’t believe in anyone’s promises.

Subordination: Loki acquires his first dom, Sjofn. Shit is fun. Until it isn’t.

But he was a little tipsy, and a lot curious, and the way Sjofn was looking at him as though she wanted to devour him was making his whole body feel hot. Loki had lain with his fair share of women – and others – but feeling quite so pursued…that was new.

Just a Shadow Upon These Walls: Steve starts seeing a ghost. Steve starts seeing a ghost that is Loki. Things get weirder from there.

When Thor had left, Steve found a chair and sank down into it. Loki has been dead for almost two years. A day ago, Loki had been standing in Steve’s kitchen. How did he die? Steve should have asked, but he couldn’t have asked the question did he still have his eyes, couldn’t ask Thor that about his younger brother. His dead younger brother.

post Svartalfheim AU: depressed Loki goes to earth after TDW, starts running into Steve randomly, somehow this becomes Steve/Loki?? idk what

When Loki woke up, the first thing he felt was anger. It burned, sharp and fierce, because he had been cheated; he had died well, he had died loved, with Thor looking at him with something so much like care it had hurt worse than the wound in his chest. And once again, death spit him out, making a mockery of him. Of everything.

Thunderstorms: The sequel to “there’s a hell of a good universe next door” where Thor arrives.

“Steve,” Loki said, not looking away from Coulson, and then went on. “I could have slipped away from your clumsy trap at any time, or had your men fighting amongst themselves in the blink of an eye, or any number of more creative solutions. I could kill you with my bare hands right here, in this room, in – say – five seconds, perhaps less. I could probably even, if I had a mind, undermine your government until it fell to pieces.”

Steve made a faintly strangled sound that Loki ignored. “As you can see,” Loki said, sounding almost conversational, “I have not. And will not. I have little to no interest in involving myself in human politics. Unless I am mistaken, until today, you were unaware that I was here at all. It would be ideal for everyone if you chose to return to that state of affairs.”

forgive the children we once were: Bucky, who freed himself substantially earlier from Hydra’s control (during The Avengers), finds Loki, wounded and near death, after the events of Thor 2. Shenanigans ensue.

The stranger was still alive when Bucky got him into the apartment, though he looked like shit and Bucky had to hold his hand about an inch above his mouth to feel any breathing. Stupid, he thought. Gun's in the bedside table, just take care of it and dump the body. He half twitched toward the bedside table, but stopped at that. He still had questions. Dead bodies drew attention.

Sword Age, Wolf Age: the Ragnarok fic where things go a little differently when Thor comes back to Asgard.

“I have just saved your life and freed you and you would speak of what I owe you,” Loki said, starting away through the woods. “Such is the gratitude of the House of Odin.”

Someone to Watch Over You: Loki decides Steve needs a guardian angel. He doesn’t ask Steve about it. He also doesn’t expect to get labeled a sidekick.

Captain Steve Rogers, Loki had decided, was trying to get himself killed.

I’ll pull the devil down with me, one way or another: Thanos is coming. Loki doesn’t intend to take that lying down.

He stumbled out into Sanctuary, almost falling to his knees, and pried his hands away from the cube. His joints throbbed with the ache of the power filling him almost to bursting. He looked at it, glowing blue with swirls of light inside, and swallowed hard.

If this goes wrong, all the worlds will burn and it will be your fault.

keep your heart (close to the ground): the AU where Loki never invades, so the Avengers never form, and a depressed Steve and depressed Loki meet.

Lukas was leaning against the doorframe, one arm wrapped around his middle, blood covering half his face and dripping off his fingers. He smiled and there was blood on his teeth. “Hello,” he said. “Good. You still live here,” and listed forward. Steve, his thoughts spinning, caught him reflexively.

time may change me (but you can’t trace time): the fic where Loki tries to steal the Time Stone and gets stuck in a time loops. For some reason, it resets every time Steve dies.

“What did you do?” Rogers demanded.

“I have no idea,” Loki said. He was sitting in the sand and staring up at the sky, going over everything that had happened before this had started – everything he knew about the Time Stone and what it could do. He wasn’t getting anywhere.

Seams and Scars: Loki arrives on Midgard with his lips sewn shut.

Clint thought for sure he was going to die when he was slammed against the wall and those washed out, grey-green eyes met his. Clint’s eyes fixed on those gruesome black lines trickling blood. Stitches, he realized. He could see the knots. See the notch of a scar where one had torn through.

Who the hell does that? He remembered thinking, which was the last thought of his own he had before he set the spear to Clint’s heart and remade him in his image.

our history is coming to life again: The fic where a young Loki gets transplanted forward in time to post-The Dark World Earth. Things are not exactly going well for him.

“What happened,” Cap said, his voice tense.

“I’m dead, aren’t I,” was what came out of Loki’s mouth. And then he had to laugh, because obviously he wasn’t, he couldn’t be saying he was dead if he was dead, so he corrected, “was. I suppose.”

Temptation: Loki has a Steve problem.

Well, Loki thought. Well. It seemed his little problem was not solved after all. In fact, if anything, it was made worse. If he was going to imagine fucking Rogers every time he was trying to fight him-

Loki growled to himself. Damn him. Damn him and his beautiful eyelashes and beautiful eyes and sinfully beautiful mouth.

I know I’m the curséd one: Wanda and Loki, imprisoned for their magic, have to work together to escape.

He would not give in. Not to these. Not ever.

He would go mad (madder) first.

finding yourself at the end of the universe: The fic where Loki springs Steve from prison post Civil War, mostly out of spite, and they go on a dysfunctional road trip across space.

“Well,” said the last voice Steve had expected to hear. “That’s interesting.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he stared at Loki, struck dumb. Loki’s eyebrows quirked, gaze sweeping up and down. “Now why,” he murmured, “would they be keeping you down here with me? Have you been bad, Captain Rogers?”

Meet the Parents: Loki meets Sarah Rogers in the Roommates!AU.

“Offend her?” Steve’s eyebrows went up. “Why would you offend her?”

“Well,” Loki said, and stopped, searching for a diplomatic way to say I’m an addict, an asshole, and a bad influence without saying those precise words.

The Cold, the Dark, the Silence: It’s whump. That’s basically it.

His body was starting to fail. Loki could tell the signs of it in the way his hands shook, the chills that swept through him periodically. His healing had already been strained to the breaking point by his near death on Svartalfheim. Without food, with barely any water, the punishment his captors doled out in seemingly growing frustration was taking a toll.

the first steps stumbling forward: On Earth post-Ragnarok, Steve takes up secretly helping Asgardian refugees. There’s a familiar face among them.

“Thor said you were dead,” Rogers said.

“Thor is occasionally wrong about things,” Loki said. He didn’t particularly want to explain I was, sort of, but then I wasn’t, and then I took over Asgard and pretended to be my father for three years, which was actually very nice while it lasted.

escalated almost to an art: Yet another very dirty Loki/Grandmaster fic, where the Grandmaster experiments with drugging Loki in a variety of fun ways.

“You and me,” the Grandmaster said, reaching out and brushing his fingers along Loki’s jaw. “We’re going to have so much fun, aren’t we?”

Loki wished that didn’t sound so much like a threat.

He wished the fact that it did didn’t send a thrill down his spine.

Another Fall: Loki falls from Asgard into Hela’s prison.

“Interesting,” she said. She crouched down. “Where did you come from? The old fool sealed this place unfortunately well.” Loki coughed and choked. Her nose wrinkled. “I suppose if I want to get anything out of you I’ll need to fix you first.”

NOT MCU

Darkness, Darkness: The Morgana/Gwen fic set in “The Dark Tower.”

You should have trusted me, she thinks bitterly, as Gwen’s screams turn into sobs and Morgana’s own eyes sting. I loved you, Gwen. I loved you so much.

There’s a Lesson Here, I Just Don’t Know What It Is Yet: Still need to finish this Natasha/Yelena fic, still kicking myself over using an espionage plot, why did I do that.

“I’m on assignment,” she said blandly, rocking back on her heels, perched still too close. “And you? Still dancing for the Russian government?” Dancing. Yelena wondered if that was deliberate. After their last meeting, she’d tried learning to dance, briefly, but nothing about it had suited her.

the best all lack conviction: Fenris/Anders post Dragon Age II; they bicker, a lot, and maybe make out some too, eventually. Probably I will beat them up a lot too.

The wind blew the rain in on them again and the mage groaned, hunching his shoulders. “I hate Fereldan,” he muttered. “I truly do.”

“Perhaps you should have run to Tevinter,” Fenris said snidely. The mage gave him a baleful look but, to his surprise, did not say anything. He looked so pathetic that Fenris almost felt guilty. Almost.

Witches: Morrigan/Surana femslash fic, in which Merrin Surana would like to bang Morrigan and also become her.

She was tall as all humans were tall and carrying a staff on her back. She looked down her narrow nose at Merrin, Alistair, and the rest, air one of boredom and vague distaste. She was the most magnificent thing Merrin had ever seen.

The Interim: The fic about Morgana’s journey from dying of poison to coming back to Camelot dramatically changed and set on revenge.

She struggled to understand what was going on. To work out what had happened (he poisoned me) and what was happening now. It all hurt too much, though, and all she could do was lie there and whimper and hate how weak she felt. A cool hand pushed her hair off her brow. “It’s all right, sister. You’re safe.”

how this grace thing works: The first year at Grimglass lighthouse.

Felix up and vanished into the library the second he got the chance. He probably would’ve stayed there forever without eating if I hadn’t dragged him out sometimes for meals. He said the previous virtuer had just shoved books in wherever they fit so it’d be impossible to find anything. He dithered over a lot of ways of organizing them before settling on category and author, and then he’d mutter to himself about what category this book or that one really belonged in.

[leagueofawesomedudes]

LOAD 2019

Week 1 Preview

Important: Pick your official team name by 1:00 pm EST this Sunday 9/8/2019.  There are no team name changes after this date this year or you will be charged a $5.00 fine that goes to the winner for the 2019 season.  Jon, new guy, this is the rule.  For everyone else it’s just serving as a reminder…

Alright slap dicks it’s finally that time of the year again to get back to business.  It’s about time that the summer is over and we can finally direct our focus towards the thing that matters most in life and not things like pets’ birthdays, engagements, career advancements, Fortnite championships etc…

Not gonna sit here and bore you with a bunch of talk today since you get that from me in the GroupMe on a daily basis so we’re just gonna jump right into the previews.  I do however want to say I’m glad we’re back and thank you boys for another year of the LOAD.

LETS ABSOLUTELY GO!

Kickers & Defense (Solden) vs Jared Donovan’s Team (Jared, duh)

We’re kickin’ it off with two dudes who are bigger than every girls’ boyfriend.  Bigger egos or bigger shoulders?  I have to hug the wall when I pass them up in the hallway at the office.  Just when you think it’s a sure thing that Jare will take either a Heisman winner or a Brown with his first pick he changes it up and goes with David Johnson. Thanks for always keeping me guessing bb.  Kinsbury’s pretty boy offense is pretty pass heavy so we’ll see if this works out, or if D Johnson is on the trading block week 2.  On the opposite side of the ball Solden’s two top dawgs aside from me include Russ Wilson and Davantea Adams.  These guys should be production machines all year and should carry Solden’s team until he ruins the rest of his roster by himself.  History repeats itself, it’s more inevitable than Thanos. I’m taking Jared this week with big games out of Allen Robinson in 2012 form and DeShaun Watson.

Jared Donovan’s Team > Kickers & Defense

JuJu Kachoo (Pauly) vs The Injured Reserve (Casey)

Paul, what is Kachoo? A Nintendo character?  Idk about that but all I do know is Paul is coming off of a hot streak winning his first fantasy championship and he’s looking to defend the crown in 2091.  I mean 2019. Paul doesn’t know the difference because he’s disleksick and doesn’t know how to spell anywaze.  And Case, good to have you back again brotha.  Your party at your house this summer was an absolute blast and I can’t wait to do it again!  Both of these guys have studs at the WR positions (hmu for trades please) and should be putting up some big numbers this week.  If JuJu can be a legit #1 Paul should look to have himself a good start to the season.  Paul has Julio, JuJu & Crowder while case has OBJ, Robert Woods and Mike Williams. Odell puts up enough numbers this week to makeup for Williams and we will drown ourselves in Jameson Crowder because of it.  Case does have the edge this week due to his superior RBS (Paul seriously let’s trade). Mixon and Freeman help Case change it up and pull out for him this weekend.

The Injured Reserve > JuJu Kachoo

G-reg 3rd leg (Bennett) vs Under the Influwentz (Doug)

Bennett may be the only person I know who can draft Kamara and still have a trash roster.  AB suspended.  You better hope he gets cut and goes to a new team. And Melvin Gordon won’t be playing?  Someone better stop being stubborn and start attempting to make moves mid season.  Looks like your luck has finally run out brotha. On the other side finally, Doug changes the fantasy team name up and it’s a damn good one.  I like it Douglas Fir.  Don’t have to think to hard to do Bennett’s previews this year because he’s finishing 12th.

Bennett don’t come after me when you read this it’s just fantasy dude.

Under the Influwentz > G-Reg 3rd leg

My Quads Are Danger6 (Jon) vs Butker in the Cooper (Dom)

The newcomer to the league and the family Jon vs the always dangerous Dommy Salami.  Two great fantasy names between these two.  I didn’t even realize Jon had Barkley until this moment when I’m looking at his roster.  I had just figured he was talking about his own legs.  Dom with another clever name that he spent a workweek trying to figure out but did achieve his goal by making everyone laugh at it.  Jon coming in guns hot from the get go and having arguably the strongest draft of any team. Saquan obviously puts up monster numbers but he’s stacked at almost every position.  Especially with 6 under center for him.  No surprise here, Dom drafted well once again.  However his team is going to be heavily reliant on if Amari Cooper and Chris Godwin can establish themselves as consistent fantasy contributers.  Wait what? Oh had to look at his flex at the bottom and see that he has Nuke Hopkins there.  That threw me off.  I’d appreciate an explanation for putting him there, but it does look cool.  As long as the roster is healthy it does appear Jon has the best starting roster in the league and will help Dom move to 0 – 1 and to LA afterwards.

My Quads Are Danger6 > Butker in the Cooper

Tony Time (TJ) vs Rooney Tunes (Shawn)

Shaved head Tony is back which means he’s back as a serious contender in fantasy.  And yes there is a direct correlation between the two.  On the other side there’s Shawn…who has to be eager for a bounce back year after a weak showing in 2018.  As long as he doesn’t lose his keys again I expect Shawn to double down on the effort and try to make a push this year.  Even if that means ignoring his future wife on their honeymoon.  Best matchup on the board has to be their defenses in Seattle v Baltimore so you know Paul will be glued to his screen for this one.  Michael Thomas, Tyreek and Josh Jacobs look to put up massive numbers for Tone, even more massive than Tone’s Fortnite kill count while Shawn starts WRs that are borderline nursing home material with Fitzgerald, Edelman & Jeffery.  The RBs will be the deciding factor in this one while James Conner, Tarik Cohen & Phillip Lindsey will allow Shawn to dictate when Tony Time actually begins with Jacobs, Carson & Sanders going for him.  It’s alright Teej you will still bounce back.  Please don’t announce that you’re giving up after week 1 for the second year in a row.  This league needs your personality.

Rooney Tunes > Tony Time

****** Game of the Mother Fuckin’ Week ******

Mahomies Chubbie (Chad) vs Chrsitian McCuri’s

Yup yup HERE WE GO.  Week 1 of the season and we have two heavyweights going at it from the get go like Stipe vs Cormier.  The undisputed, best overall manager, the smartest, and biggest football guys’ guy since the origination of the League Of Awesome Dudes will take on his opponent, Sam.  Sam however once again drafted well and I wouldn’t expect anything less from the co-commish who listens to fantasy podcasts in his sleep with his apple watch and ear pods.  That pretentious freakin’ fuck.  He’s looking to be rumblin’ stumblin’ on the weekends bumblin’ and hopefully not fumblin’ his way back to the championship in ’19.  CMC going to be putting up monster numbers on a weekly basis. Anything otherwise and I’d be shocked about that gym rat, first guy in last guy out, scrappy, football smart, hardworking coach’s son.  Mike Evans still a premier WR in the league, and I honestly won’t even be pissed if Jarvis puts up a 50 burger because that means the boys in orange and brown are gettin’ a dub.  On the other hand, my roster?  No wideouts? No problem.  Bell, Chubb and Mahomes carry the bulk for yours truly and are going to pile it on.  This should be a shootout however I think Sam takes the week 1 matchup.  See ya again in week 12 when our rosters look 80% different and playoff seeding is on the line.

Christian McCuri’s > Mahomies Chubbie

That’s it for this week. Paul, you’ve got the preview for Week 2.

Go Browns.

Long live the LOAD.

Signing Off,

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