#walk to the dark tower challenge

[sharoscylla]

ALRIGHT GUNSLINGERS (derogatory) IT'S TIME TO WALK TO THE DARK TOWER AT THE CENTER OF ALL WORLDS!!

By my reckoning Roland's first steps toward the Tower are taken when he walks out of Gilead as a gunslinger towards Hambry in Mejis, whereupon he is given his task. Now, for reasons I will elaborate on in a later post, it is my firm belief that Castle Gilead, seat of the barony and center of New Canaan, is located in present-day Las Vegas. I have the boys making brief stops in Primm, Searchlight, Nipton, Phoenix, El Paso, and Austin (well, thereabouts) on the way,

Now, I actually had a few options in mind for Hambry: Texas City, Corpus Christi and Galveston. I ended up going with Texas City for the Galveston Vibes without it being on an island - this does not factor into the difference in mileage between Good Boy Mode and Bitch Boy Mode, but if you want to walk along yourself and choose Corpus Christi, the mileage for the leg there and the leg back will be slightly shorter.

So: Gilead to Hambry, by this rough reckoning, is 1585 miles on foot by Google Maps' accounting. 22 straight days on foot, assuming all you do is hike. Probably about the same amount of time by horse.

Since we do not have horses, we will be doing this on foot.

Pictured here: my month-old Palladium boots lol. These bad boys are supposed to last a long time, and I wear them almost every day, so theoretically they will be getting me AT LEAST to Jericho Hill!! We'll see. They did bruise my shins something fierce when I first started wearing them but they're very comfortable now.

I'll do updates every day as part of @yeehawgust this year, so hopefully by the end of August I'll be in Mejis... we'll see though!!

[eldritchcircus]

So did you ever find The Dark Tower?

Ooh, is this in reference to the Walk To The Dark Tower challenge I started Aug 1st? I haven't added up all my steps for the month yet - I will have to see how far I got, but I started in Gilead/Las Vegas and I THINK I have a couple more weeks to get to Hambry. After that it's back to Gilead and then from there I start heading up to Jericho Hill. I am going about half as fast as I need in order to read the Tower in less than 9 years LOL

[kaitoru]

you left his place at dawn after a one night stand and he didn't take it so lightly.

rough sex. ass spanking. agressive toji. forced begging. mlist

“got some fuckin’ nerve showin’ up.” he says, shutting the door with a heavy thud. “thought you’d keep hidin like a scared little girl.” you toss your jacket on his couch, trying to play it cool, though your heart’s in your throat. “didn’t wanna miss the tantrum.” you say, smirking, crossing your arms.

“what’s this about, toji? mad i didn’t leave my number on your fridge?” he steps closer, towering over you, his size making the room feel smaller. “tantrum?” he repeats. “you think you can fuck me, leave me high and dry, and act like it’s nothin? loudmouth brat, thinkin’ you run shit?”

“it was one night,” you say, rolling your eyes. “you’re acting like i broke your heart, we both knew it was a hookup, or did you think i was gonna be your girlfriend?” he laughs, dark and mocking, stepping closer, his breath hot on your face. “girlfriend? nah, i don’t do that shit, but you don’t get to use me for a quick fuck and ghost me.” his hand brushes your arm, not grabbing but close enough to make you tense.

“so what, you want an apology? or you just miss me that bad?” you tease, stepping closer, testing him, your voice all challenge. “miss you? nah, im gonna teach you a lesson,” he saysm “bedroom. now.”

toji’s got you stripped down, your clothes a pile on the floor, and you’re ass up, face down on the mattress, pillows muffling your gasps as he kneels behind you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks.

his cock pressing against your entrance. “think you can do that to me, huh?” toji growls, one hand sliding up your back, pressing you deeper into the pillows. “play me like some fuckin’ game? thought you could just walk away?” he smacks your ass, sharp and stinging, and you yelp, the sound muffled, your pussy clenching around nothing.

you gasp, voice shaky, hands clutching the sheets as the sting fades into heat. “it was—just—fun—shit!” another smack, harder, and you moan, loud and needy, your body betraying you as you push back against him. “fun?” He laughs, his hand kneading the reddened skin, soothing only to spank again, the crack echoing. “this fun enough for you, huh? bet you’re regrettin’ that ghostin’ shit now.” he leans over, his breath hot on your neck, his cock brushing your folds, teasing, making you whimper.

he dragged his cock along your slit slowlt the head catching your clit. “wasn’t—tryin to—play you—god!” “bullshit.” he snaps, smacking your ass again, the sting making you cry out, your hips bucking involuntarily. “you wanted to mess with me.” his hand slides to your hair, tugging hard, pulling your head back just enough to make you gasp.

“i didn’t—fuck—do anything wrong!” he chuckles, low and dangerous, his free hand slipping between your legs, fingers finding your clit, circling slowly. “still talkin’ tough? cute,” he says, his voice smug as you moan, loud and broken, your hips grinding against his fingers.

“you’re soakin’ my hand, say you’re sorry, or i'll keep you like this all fuckin’ night.” you bite your lip, fighting the urge to give in, but his fingers are relentless, rubbing tight circles that make your thighs shake. you whimper tears pricking your eyes, not from pain but from the overwhelming need. “fine—sorry—i’m sorry, okay?”

“that’s better.” he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction, but he doesn’t stop, his fingers sliding lower, two pushing inside you, stretching you, curling to hit that spot that makes you scream. “good girl, but you’re not gettin’ off that easy.” he pulls his fingers out, slick with you, and smacks your ass again, then grips his cock, guiding it to your entrance. “please,” you moan, desperate now, pushing back, needing him inside. “toji, just—fucking do it.”

“needy now, huh?” he thrusts in his cock stretching you so wide it burns, and you cry out, muffled by the pillows, your body adjusting to his size. “fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his voice rough, his hands gripping your hips as he bottoms out, holding still. “this what you wanted that night? to take me like this?”

“y-yes—fuck.” you gasp, your walls clenching around him, the fullness overwhelming. “toji, move—please.” he laughs, low and dark, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the force rocking you forward, your moan loud and raw.

you pushed back, meeting his thrusts, your orgasm building fast, another smack to your ass, and you yelp, the sting mixing with the pleasure, driving you closer. “say it again.” he demands, tugging your hair, pulling your head back, his thrusts relentless. “say you’re sorry for fuckin’ with me.”

“im—sorry!” you cry, tears spilling now, the intensity too much, your pussy pulsing around him. “fuck, toji, im sorry—please!”

“good girl,” he growls, his cock slamming deeper. “don’t ever pull that shit again.”

[nothorses]

I was talking with my dad recently & we got on the topic of People Thinking They Can't Do Things, and like, he is at his core a well-intentioned person who genuinely wants the best for others, but he has definitely internalized some harmful ideas a la "anyone can do anything, the only thing stopping them is their own attitude". so I was like. I see where you're coming from, but let me tell you a story.

last year, I worked with 10 year olds- many of whom had never really spent time outdoors- in an outdoor education program where they came to spend a whole week doing shit outside in nature. the top two scariest experiences for these kids were 1) very tall metal tower, and 2) walking outside at night in the dark with no flashlights.

I tried a lot of different things to persuade them all to join me for each experience: I presented it with enthusiasm and passion, I did physical demonstrations and scientific explanations to help them understands how safe it was, I voiced my absolute commitment to their safety, I invited them to brainstorm ways to help each other and themselves feel safe, etc.

generally I always had at least 2-3 kids out of about 10 who opted out, or if they did join me, would spend the entire experience crying and freaking out. when it was over, they would conclude that even though they did not die- or even get hurt- it was so scary that it wasn't worth it and they never wanted to do it again.

then I changed the question I asked. instead of asking them to tell me whether they could do it or couldn't do it, I asked them to raise their hand for one of three options:

You can definitely do this.

It will be hard or scary or uncomfortable, but you can try to do this.

It will definitely be too hard, scary, or uncomfortable, and you cannot or should not try to do this.

suddenly, almost nobody was opting out of these experiences.

they would try, even if they were scared, because they know that being scared didn't necessarily mean that they couldn't do it at all. and more importantly, they knew that if they needed to stop, that was an option; they weren't trapped in their decision to try.

and the real takeaway here, for me, is in the nuance: people need to be able to challenge themselves and to be uncomfortable in order to grow, and people need to be able to opt out in order for opting in to be a safe option.

[gojosconsort]

blowjob 101 with satoru

𓂃୨ৎ after a movie night, you confess to your older best friend satoru that you’ve never given a blowjob and he offers to teach you at your doorstep.

𓂃୨ৎ pairing. afab!reader x older best friend!satoru gojo

𓂃୨ৎ warnings. mdni. oral sex (m receiving), age gap (consensual, reader early 20s, satoru early 30s), teaching, praise kink, cum

“you sure you don’t want popcorn?” satoru’s voice is a playful whisper, leaning close as the movie’s opening credits roll, his breath tickling your ear. you’re slouched in the cinema’s plush seats, shoulder brushing his, the dark theater hiding the way your pulse jumps.

he’s your best friend, ten years older, with his sharp grins and effortless charm, the kind of guy who makes your heart stutter even when he’s just being satoru. his arm’s slung over your seat, casual, like it’s always been—intimacy that’s normal, expected, yet electric every time.

“i’m good,” you murmur, smirking, nudging his elbow. “you’d just eat it all anyway.” he chuckles, low, hand dropping to your thigh, resting there like it’s nothing, fingers warm through your jeans. it’s always like this with him—close, tactile, a line you both toe without crossing. his thumb brushes idly, and you shift, pretending to focus on the screen, but your skin’s buzzing. he doesn’t move, just keeps his hand there, heavy, possessive in a way that feels safe, familiar.

the movie’s a blur, some action flick he picked, but you’re distracted, stealing glances at his profile—white hair catching the screen’s glow, blue eyes glinting when he catches you looking. “pay attention,” he teases, squeezing your thigh lightly, and you roll your eyes, shoving his hand halfheartedly.

“you’re the worst,” you whisper, but you’re smiling, and his grin says he knows you don’t mean it. the rest of the film passes in a haze, his hand never leaving your thigh, a quiet claim that makes your stomach flutter.

after, you’re in his car, a sleek black thing that smells like leather and him. he’s driving, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping the gearshift, city lights flashing past. “that movie was bullshit,” he says, laughing, glancing at you. “next time, you pick.” you snort, kicking your feet up on the dash, ignoring his mock glare. “you’d just complain anyway.” he grins, turning onto your street, and the banter flows—easy, stupid jokes about the movie’s plot holes, his bad driving, your worse taste in snacks.

“speaking of bad taste,” he says, tone shifting, playful but probing, “you still dodging guys or what?” you groan, slumping in the seat. “not dodging. just… picky.” he raises an eyebrow, smirking. “picky, huh? what, no one’s good enough for my girl?”

the my hits, possessive, and you shrug, cheeks warm. “maybe. haven’t exactly been… practicing.” he laughs, loud, head tipping back. “practicing? what, like it’s a sport? c’mon, spill.”

you hesitate, then blurt, “fine, i’ve never given a blowjob, okay? happy?” it’s meant to be defiant, but your voice cracks, embarrassed. he goes quiet, then whistles, grin widening. “damn, never? that’s… wild.” you punch his arm, mortified. “shut up! it’s not funny.” he’s still laughing, but it’s warm, not mocking. “nah, it’s not. it’s cute. you’re cute.” you glare, but he’s pulling into your driveway, parking, and the mood shifts, his laughter fading, eyes on you, intense.

you both get out, and he walks you to your doorstep, hands in his pockets, the night air cool. you fumble with your keys, and he leans against the doorframe, watching, quieter now. “you serious about the blowjob thing?” he asks, voice low, no teasing now, just curiosity, something heavier.

you pause, keys dangling, heart pounding. “yeah,” you admit, shy. “never got the chance.” he steps closer, towering over you, blue eyes dark in the porch light. “want me to teach you?” he says, soft, serious, a challenge and a promise. “just you and me. no one else.”

your breath catches. he’s always been possessive—glaring at guys who got too close, calling you his in that half-joking way—but this is different. “you’d… do that?” you whisper, and he nods, brushing a strand of hair from your face, thumb lingering on your cheek. “fuck yeah. you trust me, right?” you nod, pulse racing, and he smiles, warm, guiding you inside. “then let’s do this.”

inside, your apartment’s dim, lit by a single lamp. he leads you to the couch, sitting with his legs spread, patting the space between. “c’mere,” he says, voice gentle, and you kneel, heart hammering, the intimacy of the moment overwhelming. he’s so close, the faint scent of his cologne—citrus, clean—mixing with the wine on his breath. “relax, baby,” he murmurs, hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw. “it’s just me. you’re safe. we’ll go slow.”

he shifts, undoing his belt, the buckle’s clink making you flinch. “just gonna start easy,” he says, pushing his jeans and boxers down, his cock springing free, thick, half-hard, intimidating. “shit,” you breathe, frozen, and he chuckles, hand on your shoulder. “don’t panic. you don’t have to take it all. touch me first.”

you reach out, fingers wrapping around him, tentative, and he inhales, guiding your hand. “like this,” he says, showing a slow stroke, base to tip, firm but patient. “not too tight. feels good already.” you mimic him, stroking, and he groans, “fuck, that’s it. good girl.”

the praise hits hard, heat pooling between your legs, and you shift, trying to focus. “you’re doing great,” he says, eyes locked on yours, possessive and warm. “wanna try your mouth?” you nod, eager but nervous, and he brushes your hair back, keeping it out of your face. “start with the tip. lick it, feel it out.” you lean in, tongue tasting the salty bead at the head, and he moans, “shit, just like that.” you lick again, circling, and he’s praising, “fuck, you’re a natural.”

you take him into your mouth, just the head, lips stretching, and he groans, hand resting lightly on your head, not pushing. “good, keep it slow,” he says, voice rougher, thighs tensing. “use your tongue.” you swirl it around the tip, sucking gently, and he’s unraveling, “goddamn, that’s it.” you hum, the vibration making him twitch, and he grips your hair, possessive but gentle. “fuck, you’re making me crazy.”

“look at me,” he says, and you glance up, meeting his eyes, dark with want, soft beneath the heat. “you’re so fucking pretty like this,” he mutters, and you moan, vibrating around him. “shit, do that again,” he groans, hips shifting, and you hum, sucking harder, feeling him pulse. “you’re mine,” he says, voice low. “no one else gets this.” you nod, mouth full, eager to please.

“try more,” he coaches, guiding gently. “breathe through your nose, relax your throat.” you inch down, taking more, careful not to gag, and he’s moaning, “yes, just like that.”

you bob your head, finding a rhythm, spit slicking your lips, and he’s losing it, thighs shaking. “fuck, baby, you’re perfect,” he pants, hand tightening, grounding. “use your hand too.” you wrap your fingers around the base, stroking with your mouth, and he groans, “goddamn, yes.”

you’re bolder, taking him deeper, lips tight, tongue on the underside, and he’s a mess, voice breaking. “you’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters, and you hum, feeling him twitch. you pull off, panting, spit on your chin, and he cups your face, wiping it away. “you okay?” he asks, gentle, checking in. “yeah,” you say, hoarse, smiling. “it’s fun.” he laughs, possessive edge back. “fun, huh? you’re gonna kill me.”

you dive back in, sucking deeper, hand stroking faster, and he’s close, voice urgent. “fuck, i’m—shit, slow down if you don’t want—” but you don’t, wanting to finish, and he groans, “you’re perfect, fuck, i’m—” he cums, hot, thick, spilling into your mouth, and you swallow most, some dripping down. he’s panting, stroking your hair, “so fucking good, baby.”

he pulls you up, kissing you deep, tasting himself. “you did so well,” he says, arms wrapping around you, possessive. “no one else gets you like this, yeah?” you nod, melting, and he kisses your forehead, smitten. “want me to teach you something else too, baby?”

[webslinger-holland]

don't mind me, i'd just be foaming at the mouth if any of the boys threw me over their shoulder and smacked my ass. i think i'd respectfully melt if you wrote that...please

Prompt: Bucky, John, and Bob throw you over their shoulder

Warning: NSFW 18+ minors DNI, just a lot of sexual tension and innuendos, some banter, the boys being dominant, physical intimidation/possessive behavior, dark romance themes, wanted to put a warning on it anyways.

Note: Writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet :)

Bucky: It was late at night. You were halfway down the hallway with socked feet, hoodie zipped up halfway, and a will of determination to make it to the kitchen without anyone noticing. You hadn't been feeling good the last couple days and had been ordered by the doctor to be on bed rest. But you were starving.

“Where do you think you’re going?” That all too familiar voice called out from behind you. You stopped in the middle of your tracks, caught red handed doing the one thing they told you not to do.

You winced and turned. “I’m just getting tea.”

"It's the middle of the night," Bucky observed, putting his hands on his hips and giving you that dad look. "You have a fever. The doctor said you need to be on bed rest."

You scoffed. “It’s just chamomile. I’ll live.”

He narrowed his eyes,; his jaw tightening with that quiet intensity that always meant you’re pushing your luck. He took one slow, deliberate step toward you.

You started to backpedal. “Don’t you dare—”

“Don’t make me do this.” Bucky drew a little closer.

You barely made it two steps down the hallway before he caught up to you. Suddenly, your feet left the ground with a startled yelp and his arm secured you firmly around your thighs. He slung you over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Bucky! Put me down!” you protested, pounding your fists weakly against his back.

“Nope,” Bucky replied, utterly unmoved, strolling back toward your room. “You still have a fever; you're supposed to be in bed. You’re not wandering around the tower on my watch."

“You’re overreacting.” You threw the insult over your shoulder.

He chuckled, clearly amused. His hand landing a firm, warm pat on the back of your thigh which pulled another surprised yelp from you.

“No, you underestimated how stubborn I am.” Bucky corrected.

“Bucky, I swear—” You tried.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said casually, like that wouldn’t be thinking about those words for the rest of your life. “But if you bite me, we’re gonna have a real problem.”

Entering into your bedroom, Bucky kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot hard. He didn’t speak, simply crossed the space in long purposeful strides. When Bucky came to your bed, he had no intentions of easing you down gently. He knelt one knee onto the mattress, let you slide��off his shoulder into his arms and then onto the mattress with a thump that jolted your breath.

You landed on your back, looking up at him with a shocked expression. He stood over you, chest rising and falling, hair slightly disheveled from the walk.

"You done running your body into the ground now?” Bucky asked and crossed his arms over his chest, which meant he was all business.

You propped yourself up on your elbows. “You’re the one manhandling me.”

“You call that handling?” Bucky challenged. You swallowed hard.

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already leaning in again. His one knee pressing into the mattress between your legs as he climbed toward you—slow, steady, sure. A predator with nothing to prove.

He was so close to your face that you felt the heat from his breath fanning your face. You swore he saw just how red your face was turning just from his proximity. He waited and watched you squirm under him.

His metal arm came up and the tip of his finger pinched the tip of your chin, raising it gently to get your eyes level with his. The coolness from his touch felt intoxicating. His voice dropped low and the words that came out felt laced with seduction.

"Be a good girl and stay in bed for me, will ya?"

John: You were in the middle of a mission together. Swiftly navigating towards the ramp of the quinjet, John was hot on your heels. He kept calling your name to stop you, but you ignored him. That was until he caught up with you and came to stand in front of you.

“You are not going out there like that,” John barked, standing between you and the exit.

“It’s recon! I’m not even engaging—” You tried and put your hands on your hips, more annoyed with him than anything.

“You’re limping.” John pointed to your leg which had been patched up not ten minutes ago.

You rolled your eyes. “Barely.”

“That’s enough.” John snapped, tired of listening to you.

“Since when are you in charge of my decisions?” You scoffed.

He stepped closer, radiating that particular brand of unyielding, all-american confidence that always made your pulse tick. You matched him by taking your own step back, slightly worried about this side of him.

“I don’t have to be in charge. I just have to know when you’re being a pain in the ass and stop you.” John spoke.

“John—” You held your hand out to stop him.

“I asked nicely,” John took another step forward. He was giving you one last chance. “You can come back into the jet or I can make you.”

“You wouldn’t—” You narrowed your eyes at him.

It was only then that the corners of his mouth lifted in challenge.

“You want to test that theory, sweetheart?” John wondered.

You made the mistake of lunging for the door. He caught you mid-stride and effortlessly swung your body over his shoulder. He began walking back the way you came and you protested to feeling his hard shoulder digging into your stomach.

“John Walker, put me down right now!” You hit his back once or twice, but you knew it was no use.

He let out a short laugh and tightened his grip. His hand gripped your thigh tighter as he adjusted you, almost like you were slipping—but you weren’t.

“Not until you agree to stay in the jet.” He called back to you.

“I hate you.” You pouted sourly.

“No, you don’t,” John smirked to himself, swatting your backside once to pull a small gasp of disbelief from you. “You just hate that I’m right.”

Safely back inside the quinjet, John let you slide from his shoulder and caught your waist halfway down, standing you upright, but pinning you flush against the wall. You gasped, both palms landing flat against his chest from the force.

He didn’t back away.

He loomed, crowding your space with his body, hands still on your hips. His blue eyes burned down into yours.

“You gonna listen to me now?” John asked in a low and deep tone.

Your jaw tightened along with your stubbornness. “You think throwing me around is how you win an argument?”

“No,” John seemed to smirk down at you like he was enjoying getting you riled up. “I think it’s how I keep you alive.”

You stared up at him. Your heart hammering in your chest. When you tried to push away from him, he just held you firmly and liked to watch you squirm. You only stopped the moment his palm landed flat beside your head, caging you in further and taking you by surprise. The power behind it was unmistakable.

He leaned down to get close to your face, which caused your breath to hitch in the back of your throat. He stared at your; his eyes unwavering. He was not messing around anymore and he didn't want you doing the same. So he spoke once and he spoke very clearly:

“You act up again, I will correct it. You know that, don’t you?”

Bob: You should never underestimate this man. Because you didn’t expect him to move that fast.

One moment, you were glaring at him from across the room, arms crossed, refusing to budge out of your own stubbornness. Just as you went to turn away, you felt a pair of hands grab up. And the floor tilted beneath you.

“Bob—!” you shouted, half a protest, half pure surprise.

But it was too late. He’d already hoisted you up, strong arm locked around the backs of your thighs, your upper body dangling behind him. He wasn’t rough, not quite, but you could feel the effort in the way he held you. Like he was restraining from a much more violent impulse.

“You weren’t listening,” Bob claimed. He sounded too calm, too controlled, too casual. “And I don’t really feel like arguing tonight.”

His body was warm. It always was. Like the sun had stitched itself beneath his skin. His grip was unshakable, but not cruel.

“You can’t just throw people around, Bob!” You tried to argue right back. You squirmed around in his hold, desperate to break free but it was no use.

He let out a soft, almost sad chuckle. “I can do a lot of things I’m not supposed to.”

Your heart stuttered. And you wonder if he heard it.

“I’m being nice,” Bob added and threw a look over his shoulder to address you. You pouted in defeat.

The hallway blurred past as he carried you with terrifying ease. Somewhere between being handled like glass… and being reminded that glass can still be broken.

Then Bob stopped walking.

The silence hung too long before he finally, carefully, bent down. His arms moved with precision, almost clinical, as if afraid he’d break you just by touching.

He set you down on your feet, gently this time. His hands lingering just a little too long at your waist, not for control, but with caution.

“Sorry,” Bob muttered, not meeting your eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

You thought for a second, nibbling your lips gently. You could see the conflict written across his face— like he was still desperately trying to stay in control of himself and that maybe he felt something darker coiled tight beneath the surface.

You took a deep breath to ground yourself. And Bob looked up to meet your gaze.

"I didn’t say I didn’t like it."

SORRY IF THAT WASN'T SUPER GOOD. FELT LIKE I STRUGGLED WITH BOB'S ONE

[alisonsfics]

two to tango

pairing: bucky barnes x black widow! yelena’s sister! reader

summary: you weren’t sure what to expect when you went to visit your sister yelena at avengers tower. that’s when you run into the cocky and flirty bucky barnes. except, it’s dark and late, he doesn’t know you, and he thinks you’re an intruder.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex in avengers tower, praise kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, reader and bucky take turns on top, flirty bucky bc he deserves his own warning, minors DNI

You stepped out of the elevator into the hallway and headed towards Yelena’s room.

You were at Avengers Tower to visit with your sister Yelena. Your flight had gotten very delayed, so she told you to let yourself in. And that’s how you found yourself walking through Avengers Tower in the pitch black at two in the morning.

There was something eerie about how quiet and empty it was. You’d always pictured it as bursting with superheroes and energy, and now it seemed so still and deserted.

You had also trained in the Red Room, like Yelena, so you could handle yourself but the empty corridors still gave you the nervous jitters.

You walked past the kitchen and living room, noticing the giant television on the wall.

You swore you saw something in the reflection, and then as you walked around the corner, you felt a sharp kick to the back of your knees.

You fell, sliding across the marble floor. You rolled onto your back and looked behind you.

You could only barely see his silhouette, but there was a man standing above you.

You quickly wrapped your legs around one of his and pinned him to the ground.

“Who the hell are you?” You asked, lying on top of the man.

You heard him laugh under his breath, then he hooked one of his legs around your waist and flipped you over.

You tried to squirm out of his grip, but with him straddling you, there was nowhere for you to go. You landed a punch, your fist coming in contact with his cheek.

You tried to punch again, but he caught your fist in his hand. He grabbed both of your wrists and pinned your arms above your head.

“Just can’t catch a break today,” the man mumbled under his breath.

Suddenly, light filled the room. You both squinted as your eyes struggled to adjust to the light.

“Bucky? What the hell?” A voice questioned. You both looked over to see Yelena entering the room.

The name turned on a lightbulb in your head. You looked back at the man hovering above you. Then, you recognized his dark hair, beard, and oh shit— metal arm.

Bucky met your gaze, and you could see his brain connect the dots. “Oh god wait…are you—” Bucky started to ask.

Yelena walked closer to you. Her eyes widened as she saw the scene before her: Bucky straddling and pinning her sister to the floor. “What the hell, Bucky? Get off my sister.” Yelena snapped.

“She was on top of me first.” Bucky said defensively, shooting you a wink as he stood up.

“Woah woah…no no no. Do not wink at my sister.” Yelena said, noticing the way Bucky was smirking at you. You could feel a warmth flush to your cheeks. Bucky offered his hand to you.

You cautiously took ahold of his metal hand and let him pull you to your feet. “You must be Yelena’s sister. I’m Bucky.” He said, not letting go of your hand. Yelena’s gaze went between the way you and Bucky were staring into each other's eyes and Bucky's hand in yours.

“So, do you make it a priority to kick every visitor you have to the ground?” You challenged, tilting your head to the side. Bucky chuckled under his breath. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know it was you, Yelena said you were getting here tomorrow. You seemed to be able to handle yourself pretty well though.” He complimented you.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” You replied, coyly.

Yelena helplessly looked back and forth between the two of you.

“No no no no no. None of this,” Yelena interrupted, standing in between the two of you. She put her hands on your shoulders and started to steer you away from Bucky. “Thank you for keeping her company or whatever you were doing, Barnes.” Yelena said, pulling you towards her room.

“I’ll see you later.” You heard Bucky call after you. You glanced over your shoulder, and Bucky winked back at you.

“Don’t you even think about it.” Yelena whispered to you, reading your mind as quickly as the thought crossed your mind.

She brought you back to her room, and your mind couldn’t help but wander to thoughts of Bucky.

You crawled onto the bed next to your sister. “So, what’s Bucky’s deal?” You asked, leaning your head on her shoulder. She looked down at the giddy smile on your face. “I cannot begin to explain how much I forbid it.” She replied.

“Please,” you begged, clasping your fingers together and pouting.

“I’m your older sister. It’s my job to forbid it.” She repeated.

“Oh, please. You’re a year older than me. Do me this one favor. It’s not my fault he’s so charming and strong and— ughhh that arm?” You rambled.

Yelena’s face scrunched up at the thought. “Don’t talk about him like that. I work with him. And you’re my sister. No man is good enough for you.” She said, shuddering. You laughed at how protective she was being.

“Oh, Bucky is more than good enough for me.” You teased, as you laid down on the bed. Yelena pretended to gag and hit you in the face with a pillow.

You couldn’t resist the urge to annoy her a bit further. “He’s just so dreamy. I wonder what he could do with that metal arm.” You pestered her. Yelena plugged her fingers in her ears and started singing to herself.

You couldn’t help but laugh at her reaction. “I will go tell dad right now. Don’t even tempt me.” She threatened.

Your jaw dropped. You’d never get within one hundred feet of Bucky ever again if the Red Guardian knew you liked him. You pretended to zip your lips shut and rolled over to go to sleep.

When you woke up in the morning, Yelena was still asleep. You snuck out of bed and changed into some workout clothes. It was pretty early, so you assumed everyone was still asleep.

You quietly tiptoed down the hall towards the training room you’d passed last night. You swung the door open, but instead of being greeted by an empty room, you came face to face with Bucky lifting weights.

“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Bucky Barnes.” You said, smiling at him and leaning against the wall.

He stopped what he was doing to and looked up at you. As soon as his eyes met yours, that signature smirk returned to his face. “You been looking for me?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.

You walked across the room til you were standing in front of him. Your eyes lingered on his biceps before glancing back up to meet his gaze. You saw him bite his lip as he looked at you.

“Depends. Are you gonna try to tackle me to the floor again?” You joked. He dropped his weights back onto the rack. The loud metal clang almost made you jump. “Why? Do you want me to?” He teased.

You couldn’t help but notice the butterflies you felt when he looked at you.

You ignored his question, “doesn’t matter what I want, I don’t think you could beat me again” you challenged.

“You want a round two? Alright, fair enough. You’re gonna regret it. I won’t go so easy on you this time, doll.” He said.

You both walked over into the middle of the boxing ring. “It’s not too late to back out, if you’re scared to beat by a girl.” You teased. He chuckled. “Trust me, I have no problem with a girl being stronger than me.” He winked at you.

He threw the first punch, which you skillfully dodged.

Then, he tried to lunge for you, but you stepped out of the way and tripped him. He stumbled forward, catching himself on the ropes. You tried to use a side kick, but he grabbed your ankle and tugged it towards him.

You fell down on your back as he held your legs above your head. “Thought you weren’t gonna lose again,” he growled, keeping your legs straight and pulling them apart sideways. You could see the hunger in his eyes as he looked down at you and spread your legs.

You grinned to yourself as you thought of a way to beat him.

You held out your hands out, reaching for his. “Just fucking get down here and kiss me already,” you mumbled. He shuddered from the desperation in your voice.

He grasped for your hands, but when he did, you rested your feet on his stomach and flipped his body over your head, so he landed on his back. You quickly scrambled over to him and straddled his hips.

You held his wrists up above his head. “I think this means I won.” You whispered.

He groaned under you. “I don’t know. I’m feeling like I’m still winning either way.” He said, pulling his hands away from you and letting them rest on your hips. His thumbs massaged your skin.

You playfully rolled your hips against his. His eyes fluttered shut, squeezing your hips even tighter. You thought about the bruises that would be there in the morning.

“Anybody normally come in here in the mornings?” You asked softly, rolling your hips into his again. He swore under his breath. He couldn’t help but buck his hips against yours, desperate for friction. “You scared of getting caught, doll?” He teased.

“I mean, my sister and dad are in the building, and I was actually forbidden.” You told him.

“Forbidden from doing what?” He whispered, biting down on his bottom lip. You smirked down at him.

“This,” you replied simply.

You trailed your fingers across his stomach before letting them land on the hem of his shirt. You methodically pulled it off and over his head.

Bucky was practically drooling as he watched your every move eagerly. You leaned forward til your lips were millimeters away from his. He stared at your lips, longing to close the distance.

“Not yet,” you whispered. You pressed a soft kiss to his bare shoulder, and then another, and then another. Then, you softly bit his shoulder. A breathy moan escaped his lips.

His hands jumped to the small of your back. He pulled you into him, your body fitting perfectly against his like it was written in the stars.

He desperately bucked his hips up against you. “What do you need, honey?” You teasingly asked him. He tried to respond, but you rolled your hips against his again and all that came out was a string of curse words.

“Just tell me where you need me, and I can help you with your situation.” You teased, palming your hand against his erection.

“Oh, fuck,” he swore, his eyes tightly squeezed shut. You brushed his hair out of his face, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.

“Oh please, just let me fuck you. I need you so bad, doll.” He begged.

“Well, you know what I was thinking about all last night?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at him. His eyes darkened. “Tell me,” he said, eagerly.

“Thinking about what you could do with this arm,” you said, running your fingers up and down the cool metal.

“Why don’t I just show you?” He said. He quickly spun over, pinning you to the ground. His metal hand grabbed your wrists and held them together above your head. “Not so cocky now that you’re not on top, are you?” He teased, noticing your silence.

You both stared at each other for a few seconds, the air in the room felt heavy. Then your lips attacked each other as you both quickly pulled at the other’s clothes. Your shirt and bra quickly ended up on the other side of the ring.

“Fuck, don’t have the patience for this.” He grunted, pulling down his shorts just enough that his cock sprung out. You swallowed as you looked at how big he was. You were so distracted, you didn’t see what Bucky was doing until you felt him tug down your leggings and rip your panties almost in half.

He firmly grabbed your hips. His cool metal hand in contrast with your burning skin made you shiver.

He slowly sunk his cock into you. His mouth hung open as he filled you up. You felt like you were seeing stars. “Fuck me, Bucky. I’m not gonna break. I need you.” You begged.

His grip tightened on your hips as he began slamming his hips into yours. You desperately reached for anything you could hold on to. Your hands landed in Bucky's hair, weaving and wrapping the strands around your fingers.

“Oh, fuck, doll. Squeezing me so well with this perfect pussy,” he groaned.

His cock rammed against you, slamming into your g-spot over and over and making you cry out. He sealed your lips with a kiss. “Gotta stay quiet for me, sweets. If you stay quiet, I promise I’ll make you feel real good.” He mumbled against your lips.

He pulled your legs to wrap around his hips. He reached even deeper inside of you. The coil building in your abdomen got tighter and tighter.

You leaned your head back against the floor as he started kissing your collarbone. Your gaze trailed down to see his cock burying itself inside of you and stretching you out. It was sinful.

The room was full of the sounds of your sweaty skin slapping against each other and breathy moans.

“Fuck, Bucky. I think I’m gonna—” you mumbled, scratching your nails down his back.

“You want to cum for me, doll? You gonna cum all over my cock and make me yours.” He coaxed you. His words went straight to your core, turning you on even more.

His eyes were black with lust as he watched you. “C’mon, doll. I bet you look so pretty when you cum.” He said, his metal fingers finding your clit and circling it with his thumb.

With that, you came around him.

You repeated his name over and over like it was a prayer. His hips stuttered against yours as you squeezed onto him.

Your vision went white as he continued to thrust into you.

He started to slow his thrusts, but you grabbed his hands and stopped him.

You quickly rolled over, so you were straddling him. “What’re you doin’, doll.” he asked, stuttering as he watched you.

“You’re gonna cum too, super soldier.” You said, sliding down on his cock again.

He sat up, leaning against the ropes of the ring. His head hung back, breathing heavily as you started riding him.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Your breasts bounced in front of his face with every thrust, and he was almost drooling. “Haven’t paid enough attention to these tits,” he mumbled, taking your nipple in his mouth. He softly bit down, making you yelp.

You knew you were already close to another orgasm. His hands cupped your ass. “You take me so well.” He praised you. You tightened your grip on his shoulders.

“Doll, you’re gonna make me cum.” He groaned.

“I’m close too,” you mumbled.

He took your hips in his hands and helped you speed up. His moans sounded angelic to your ears. You could feel his cock start to twitch and his breath got caught in his throat.

“Fill me up,” you purred in his ear.

That was enough to push him over the edge. You could feel him cum, and then your orgasm hit you. “Oh, God, Bucky,” you moaned.

His cum leaked out of you as you squeezed his length. “Love the way you feel,” he mumbled as he started to slow your thrusts.

You collapsed against his chest, sweaty and out of breath. He brushed your hair to the side and kissed up and down your neck.

“I would love to stay and do another round, but Yelena’s gonna be wondering where I am.” You said, caressing his shoulders with your fingertips.

“Any chance you can sneak out later tonight?” He asked, softly.

“I think I can make that work.” You said, grinning.

You both got dressed again. “I’ll be taking these.” He said, grabbing your ripped panties from your hand and stuffing them in his pocket. You went up on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss against Bucky's lips.

He walked behind you as you headed for the door. You both stepped into the hallway and came face to face with Yelena.

She took one look at your disheveled clothes and swollen lips, and her face morphed into a scowl.

Standing behind you, Bucky tried to smooth out your hair after noticing how messy it had gotten.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Bucky.” Yelena said, crossing her arms.

He held up his hands in surrender. “It wasn’t just my fault. It takes two to tango.” He said, winking down at you.

Yelena groaned and pulled you away from him. “See you tonight, doll,” he called after you, knowing it would get on Yelena’s nerves.

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[jaylaxies]

JEALOUSY LOOKS GOOD ON ME!

PAIRING: yang jungwon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, angst, unprotected sex, jealousy, possessiveness, mentions of calling someone mid sex, mentions of nicknames, mentions of jay.

WORD COUNT: 4349 words.

SYNOPSIS: It was supposed to be just friends with benefits—no strings attached, no feelings, no late-night jealousy, but all it took was one party, one touch from someone else, and it sent Jungwon unraveling into something darker, and deeper. Now, he’s not asking who you belong to—he’s showing you, and the world.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: hihi, angels! i finally wrote a jungwon fic aaa this was supposed to be 1k words long but here we are <3 i hope y’all enjoy reading it <33 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

“You always look the prettiest when you’re about to walk away from me, huh?” 

You paused mid-way applying your lip gloss, jaw clenching at the sudden intrusion which you didn’t appreciate one bit. You could see him through the mirrors clearly as he leaned against the doorframe of your room, arms crossed as he stared at you with dark eyes. 

His voice was calm—almost sounding lazy to you, yet it slithered into your spine like a warning. 

He looked good—too good for your liking, clad in his casual blue jeans and a black button up, sleeves rolled up casually as his dark permed hair covered his forehead, jaw tight as he waited for your reply. 

You weren’t sure why he was here, but then again, you were the one who gave him the passkey to your apartment, hence, you’ll be facing the consequences. 

“What?” You asked, keeping your voice in check, not bothering to turn around. 

His expression was unreadable, eyes stuck on your figure, raking you up and down, especially paying attention to your little black dress that hugged your body a little too well for his liking, “you’re going to the party dressed like that?” 

You twisted the cap of the gloss shut, taking your time with it as you replied, “hm, why wouldn’t I?” 

“Jay will be there.”

That’s it, that’s the reason why he’s here. The reason behind your tension that’s been eating you both throughout the day, enough for you to turn around and face Jungwon now, heart pounding despite your efforts to appear confident. 

“So?” You challenged him. 

He scoffed, pushing himself off of the doorframe, taking slow steps towards you, “so—he’s been all over you lately.” 

“Is that jealousy, Jungwon?” You scoffed as he stood close to you, a little too close for your liking as he towered over your figure, “because the last time I checked, you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I know. But he’s not yours either.”

The silence after that is thick as you glare at him with anger bubbling up inside of you, “so what exactly are you implying here?”

He swiped his tongue on his bottom lip, hesitating slightly—the first crack in his masked, nonchalant persona. 

“Y’know, I just think it’s funny. You say that we’re just fucking, but the second someone else even looks your way—I fucking lose it, I can’t breathe.” Jungwon seethes out. 

You blink, almost stunned at his sudden confession.

He shook his head though, replacing the melancholic look on his face with a devilish smirk, “but, hey! Jay might just be a better match for you, right? He’d probably remember to text you back, and maybe he won’t leave the second you fall asleep, right?” He taunted you, leaning down enough for his nose to brush faintly against yours. 

Your breath hitched, his words hitting you harder than you expected. 

“Fuck you,” you whisper, full of rage. 

“You already do, kitten,” he chuckled. 

You move back, throwing your lip gloss on him on your way out the room, which he catches with ease, a bitter laugh escaping his throat, “yeah, go ahead! Run to him. At least then we won’t be pretending that this thing between us doesn’t mean something.”

You hate him for saying it like that. For turning it into your fault when he’s the one who built the walls first. He’s the one who laid out the rules.

“You made the rules, Jungwon,” you snapped, “don’t you dare get mad at me for playing the game you clearly started.” 

His face almost twitched into an angry snarl, but he held himself back—his words? Emotions? He wasn’t sure either. 

“See yourself out once you’re done,” you muttered, leaving him standing alone in your room. 

And just like that, you’re gone. Like Jungwon said, you looked pretty—pretty to the point that he couldn’t leave you at the party alone. So, he did what he had to—follow you. 

Maybe being at a party wasn’t the brightest of the ideas for your distraction. The lights were glowing far too much for your liking, heat too high, broken laughter and the smell of perfumes all melting into one beneath the pulsating lights. The steady bass seemed to be in tune with everyone’s heartbeat and you were already out of sync. 

You stood at the end corner of the room, watching the chaos unfold, your face showing slight interest as to not seem out of place. However, your eyes keep wandering around in search of something—in search of him. 

It was a promise you made as you left, that you wouldn’t look for him, that you came here to forget the fight and to prove to yourself that you were unaffected—that nothing you shared with Jungwon meant anything. 

It was as if your body was wired to his presence, you could feel it before you even spotted him in the crowd. He was here. Jungwon. 

Leaning against the farthest wall to you, one arm lazily draped over the edge of the counter, head tilted in a way which made him look maddeningly attractive, still clad in his black shirt, a few top buttons undone, enough to show his clavicle where a gold chain rested perfectly. 

He hadn’t seen you yet. 

Or maybe he had, and just chose not to react, which was more hurtful, stinging you harder than it should. 

“Damn,” a voice interrupted your massive train of thoughts, “didn’t expect you to show up looking like this,” Jay said, his usual warm smirk plastered onto his face, coming close to stand next to you. 

You managed to put a lazy smile on your face, turning to look his way, your laugh light but automatic, “hm? And what does this look like?”

Jay chuckles, far too attractive for his own good, “like you’re here to ruin people.”

“Maybe I am,” you say, taking a sip of your drink, something sugary, cold, numbing. 

Jay’s hand brushes against your lower back, simply testing how far you’ll allow him to go. So you don’t stop him, you let him be. 

You’re aware of his body heat, the way his eyes look you up and down. You’re also aware that across the room, Jungwon has finally decided to pay you attention. Now, he’s watching, his gaze locked on the way Jay is leaning into you, how your hand casually rested on Jay’s chest as he said something in your ear to make you laugh. 

What makes him mad is how you keep your eyes solely on Jungwon, well knowing he’s watching your every move, his stare burning into you like a brand. 

His expression was unreadable at first, almost calm before he found himself gripping the glass a little too hard around the rim, a tic visible in his jaw, a slow swipe of his tongue on his bottom lip as if he was preparing himself for a mission. He looked as if he’d break something. 

The second you smile and lean into Jay, Jungwon starts walking towards you, not rushed, but with burning anger as if he tried to contain himself, only for him to explode instead. His presence hits you first—hot, almost electric. 

“Y/N.” He takes your name, voice full of spite and authority. 

“Hey, man—” 

“Not talking to you,” Jungwon cuts in, not letting Jay say a word to him, eyes fixated on your face. His tone is eerily calm, the kind that comes before the storm that shatters everything. 

You stiffen, “what are you doing here?”

He chuckles darkly, “I could ask you the same thing,” he says, staring at your waist, where Jay’s hand rested so naturally, “but I already know,” he clicks his tongue, shaking his head before looking up again. 

“You don’t get to do this,” you seethe out, “you don’t get to show up and act like—”

“Like what?” He challenges, brows raised, stepping further into your space, “like I care?” 

You go still, his words hitting you harder than ever, a low blow indeed, which only makes him lean in closer, “you wanted me to see you? I did. Wanted me to watch while he put his hands on you like he’ll ever have you the way I do?” 

Jay shifts besides you, tension rising as if the room had turned ten degrees hotter all of a sudden. 

“Is he bothering you?” Jay asked, Jungwon’s eyes flicking to him, jaw tightening. 

“You should leave,” he said. 

“Or what?”

“Or you’ll find out why she never makes those sounds for you, yeah?” Jungwon felt like a madman, challenging Jay as if he was nothing. 

“Fucking stop it, Jungwon!” You shout. 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even bother blinking, eyes locked onto yours. 

“I don’t know what your problem is dude—”

“My problem,” Jungwon says slowly, turning to Jay, “is that you’re touching something that belongs to me.”

Your face is on fire by now, heartbeat erratic at his words. It shouldn’t feel this way, you should hate him, “I’m not a fucking thing.” 

“You’re mine.” He said in a beat, words soft and final, hitting you harder than they should. 

Jay’s jaw clenches, “don’t talk to her like that.”

“Oh she lets me do it alright. Don’t talk like you know what we are.”

You stop breathing. We. That’s the first time he’s said it. 

“Is it true?” Jay asks you. 

You open your mouth to speak, only for no words to come out of them, because in all honesty—you didn’t even know anything anymore. 

Then Jungwon scoffs, leaning into you again. 

“Tell me,” he practically growls, “do his hands feel better than mine?”

Your throat tightens, heat creeping up your neck as you try your best to look unbothered, “you don’t get to ask me that.”

“Oh fucking hell I don’t,” he snaps, “you show up here with him, dressed like that, smiling as if you’ve never known better, huh? I do get to ask, kitten.”

That cursed nickname again, it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine, but you cross your arms instead, nails digging into your own skin. 

“You’re the one who leaves, did you forget?”

“You pushed.”

“Because I was the only one feeling anything, Jungwon. You were fine as long as I stayed quiet, stayed casual. But the second I wanted more—”

“I never fucking said I didn’t want more.”

“No, of course! You just made sure I never expected it.” The air between you is thick, suffocating.

He steps closer. You don’t bother moving.

“You let him touch you,” he says tightly, “you let him look at you like he could ever fucking have you.”

“Maybe I wanted him to.” Your voice is quieter now, but it hits harder.

He stares at you, his expression twisting, “don’t.”

“Maybe I wanted to know what it felt like,” you continue, forcing the words past the knot in your chest. “To be wanted without being hidden. To be chosen.”

He looks like you just punched the air out of him.

You hate how good that makes you feel.

You hate how much it hurts.

“Maybe I wanted him to kiss me.”

The muscle in his jaw twitches.

“Say it again.”

You swallow, “Maybe I still want him to.”

That does it.

He grabs your wrist—not to hurt, not to pull—just to feel that you’re real. That you’re still here.

“Say it looking at me, go on.”

You do, and for the first time all night, neither of you blink. 

“I want him to kiss me.”

The lie hangs there. Heavy. Bitter. You’re shaking, he sees it, “then why are you still here?” he asks.

A moment. A pause in the noise. A second where the floor feels like it might crack open. You stare up at him, heart thudding, then you smile up at him with a smirk.

“Solid question.”

And you turn, you walk away. You feel the silence snap behind you like a whip. You don’t get far. You’re five steps out when he comes after you, his fingers wrap around your wrist and yank you back, your back hits the wall around the corner—shadowed, dark, loud music muffled—and his body cages yours in.

Eyes wild, darker than ever. You had never seen him this mad—this desperate.

“You really thought I’d let you walk away?”

“You always do.”

“Not this time.” He’s breathing like he ran through fire to get to you, “you wanted a reaction?” he breathes out, “fuck—congratulations because you got one.”

You say nothing.

His hands rest against the wall on either side of your face. He leans in, his mouth a breath from yours.

“You think he could make you feel what I do? You think he’d know how to touch you without you teaching him from scratch?”

You close your eyes, throat burning as you mumble out, “God—fuck you.”

“You’ve tried,” he whispers, “and you keep coming back.”

You open your eyes.

“So what? Are you going to drag me out of here now?” You mean it as a challenge.

But Jungwon’s eyes—they flick down to your lips, and something in him just breaks. You see it happen, no hesitation, no warning.

Just movement.

He grabs your wrist, the same one Jay touched, and pulls—hard. You stumble, breath catching, but his grip only tightens. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t look at anyone, not even you—It’s like he can’t.

Like if he meets your eyes, he’ll lose the thin thread of control keeping him from tearing your clothes off right here. He weaves through the crowd like a storm parting the sea. You hear someone call after you—Jay’s voice, confused, concerned. Jungwon doesn’t even blink.

The front door bursts open with how angry he is. Cold air caresses your skin harshly, and he still doesn’t bother stopping, hauling you down the steps, across the sidewalk, to his car like a man possessed.

You open your mouth to speak, only to be cut off, “Jungwon—”

“Don’t,” he mutters. 

“Wait—”

“Don’t talk to me right now,” his voice is low, rough, almost shaking with the jealousy burning him alive. “If you say one more word, I swear I’ll fuck you in the backseat just to shut you up.”

Your stomach flips, your legs barely keep up as he unlocks the door, yanks it open, and practically shoves you inside. Not violently—but with purpose. Like if he doesn’t touch you, own you, now, he might lose what’s left of himself.

He gets in. Slams the door, followed by utter and complete silence, to the point you were scared of breathing too loud, your thighs rubbing against one another with anticipation? Anxiety? You didn’t know anymore. 

You glance at him—his jaw tight, nostrils flared, fingers white knuckled around the steering wheel.

“Jungwon,” you whisper.

He turns his head slowly, looking at you like he’s seeing nothing but red, “I don’t care if you hate me after this,” he mutters. “I don’t care if you scream and fight and curse my name.”

A pause, a deep breath, a statement that left no room for argument, “but you’re coming home with me.”

That’s when you realize that right now—there’s no reasoning with him. He’s not hearing anything anymore, not your protests, not your pain, not your fear or want or anger.

He’s hearing everything you didn’t say.

All the begging between the words, all the need in the silence, all confessions you never dared speak.

The engine roars to life, tires screeching as he drives—fast, so determined, his hand gripping the wheel as the other one curled into a fist, holding himself back. 

You don’t speak again.

Because, now, you want Jungwon’s actions to speak louder than his words. 

The moment the door slams shut behind you, silence drops, you barely got time to take a breath before Jungwon’s hands were on you—pushing you, grabbing you, dragging you back by the wrist before you can take a single step deeper into the apartment.

“You want to piss me off?” he seethes, lips near your ear, “you want to talk about Jay?”

He spins you, slams your back against the wall.

You gasp—but you’re not afraid of him. You’re afraid of what’s to come, lit from the inside, burning with everything you didn’t get to say, everything you couldn’t scream back at him at the party.

His breath fans across your cheek, hot and shaking from anger, from the need of wanting you, “you knew what you were doing,” he growls, eyes locked on yours, “wearing that dress—laughing with him. Letting him put his hand on your waist.”

“So what?” you snap. “You didn’t want me there anyway, right?” You shove at his chest, he doesn’t budge.

“You said you didn’t care. You said it was just sex. So why do you care now?”

His jaw flexes. His silence is deafening.

“Answer me,” you spit.

“Because I’ve been going fucking insane,” he explodes.

His fist slams into the wall beside your head—not too close, but enough that you feel the vibration in your ribs.

“Because every time I close my eyes, I see you with him.” He leans in—nose brushing yours, lips barely an inch away, “and I want to kill him for touching what’s mine.”

The word echoes between you. Heavy. Final.

You let out a shaky breath.

“You don’t own me,” you whisper.

“No?” he breathes, hand sliding up your throat to cup your jaw. “Then why are you here?”

You glare at him.

“Because you dragged me—”

“Oh no, baby. You could’ve walked away.” His thumb brushes your bottom lip, “but you didn’t.”

He kisses you. It’s not sweet. Not soft. It’s brutal. A crash of mouths and breath and bruised desperation. You kiss him back harder, messy enough for you two to gasp for air. 

Your hands tangle in his hair, his teeth scrape your bottom lip, agitating you enough for you to bite him, he groans into your mouth like it hurts, bleeding slightly, letting you taste himself at its worst. 

“You said you wanted Jay to kiss you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Say it again.”

You hesitate.

“Go on.”

You look him dead in the eye as you say, “I did,” pushing for a second to let him react to this information. 

His pupils blow wide, only darkness in them and a reflection of your lying self. 

“Wrong fucking answer, princess.” He throws your phone on the bed, “you want to mess with me?”

He grabs your waist, lifts you, throws you onto the mattress as you let out a yelp, trying your best to adjust into the new position but Jungwon was faster. 

“Let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

You scramble to sit up, but he’s already on you, hands hot and heavy on your thighs, forcing them apart, his gaze trails down your body like he’s starving.

“You don’t get to say things like that,” he growls. “Not after everything we’ve done. Not after everything I’ve given you.”

Your breath catches as his fingers dig into your hips.

“You belong to me,” he says, voice low and lethal. “And I’m done pretending otherwise.”

“Jungwon—”

“No. Shut the fuck up, kitten.”

He grabs your face—softly, but firm enough to make you feel it, to make you feel every bit of emotion that coursed through his body. 

“You talk too much when you’re scared.”

You blink up at him, heart hammering.

“I’m not scared.”

“Good.”

He leans in—lips brushing your ear.

“Then remember this,” he whispers. “Every moan. Every scream. Every time I fuck you so deep you forget your own name—”

His hand slides under your dress.

“You remember who did it to you, yeah?”

You shudder beneath him, and in that moment, there’s nothing left to say, his words are final, and you’re at his mercy. 

Just the sound of your breathing. The tension in his hands. The ache that’s been building for months and is finally—finally—about to break.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice low and ragged. “Say you liked him touching you.”

You opened your mouth—hesitated, yet you wanted to test his limits, your mouth working faster than your mind when you finally said it, “maybe I did.”

His whole body went still, you stared up at him, chest heaving, watching him lose the last bit of sanity that was holding him together, the snap of the thread breaking wasn’t real, but you heard it anyway. 

“You wanna play games?” he sneered, “fine, kitten.” He reached for your phone on the bedside table, where you had thrown your bag, he unlocked it with a flick, knowing your passcode, and tapped a contact.

“What are you—”

“Let’s call him.”

You froze, he couldn’t be serious about it, could he?

“Jungwon—”

“No, let’s fucking call him and show him exactly who you fucking belong to.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach, your mouth opening to say something, to stop him, but you didn’t. 

Because deep inside, you knew you wanted this, you needed this—to see how far he would go to prove himself this time. 

The phone rang once. Twice.

“Hello?” Jay’s smooth voice answered your call, as if he was waiting to hear from you. 

Jungwon locked eyes with you, his hips grinding between your legs, his hands working faster than ever to free his cock from the restraints of his pants, the thickness making you gasp as he covered himself with your sweet juices, rubbing his cock on your cunt. 

“Moan,” he said, mouth against your ear. “Let him hear you.”

You whimpered, your body arching into his as he finally lost control, fucking his dick into your ever so inviting, tight little cunt. 

“Jungwon—”

“Louder.” He ordered as he thrusted into you, and the sound that tore from your throat was filthy, helpless, humiliating.

Jay said something on the other end—confused, almost startled.

“She’s busy,” Jungwon said darkly into the phone, “busy moaning my name.”

You gasped again as he pistoned harder, thumb rubbing your clit in slow circles. 

“Wanna know why?” he asked, his voice deadly calm. “Because you’ll never touch her like this, never fuck her like this, never ever fucking own her the way I do.”

Your fingers dug into his back as he pushed deeper, his eyes locked on yours.

“You think she wanted your hands on her?” he asked out loud, “you think she wanted your mouth?” This particular thrust was harder, making you cry out louder, toes curling with the need to have him closer to you, impossibly so.  

“Then why is she cumming on my cock right now?” He chuckled, almost evilly. 

You broke, shattered completely with the overwhelming need to cum, to prove Jungwon right, to prove that nothing else truly mattered but him, humiliation thrown aside as you let Jay hear you without any ounce of self control holding you back. 

Jungwon watched you unravel under him, then calmly ended the call and tossed the phone to the floor, but making sure to tell Jay before he cut the call, “hope you enjoyed hearing her pretty fucking voices, because it’s the first and the very fucking last time you’ll get to hear her.”

“No one touches you but me,” he practically growled into your skin, panting against your neck. “No one gets to see you like this.”

“Jungwon—” you whimpered, crying and shaking, but Jungwon was far from done.

He pulled out, only to flip you over and drag you back by the hips.

“You want to tease me, huh?” he rasped, breathing hot against your shoulder, “want to pretend I’m nothing to you?”

You whimpered as he pushed back inside, deeper this time, agonizingly slow, full of something else now. It wasn’t just fury—it was his emotions, too much of it. 

“You’re everything,” he whispered, the words choking out of him. “You’re fucking everything.”

You turned your head, trying to see him, but he buried his face in your neck, “I love you.” He mumbled, voice broken. 

You froze.

His hands trembled on your hips.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter. “I didn’t want to—I didn’t mean to, but lord I fucking do.”

You turned beneath him, wrapping your legs around his waist, your mind fuzzy, heart erratic, a confusing mix of hurt and warmth spreading through your body. 

He looked down at you—eyes red, lips parted, body still tense with unshed rage and desperation.

“Then say it again,” you whispered, not knowing what else to say. You wanted confirmation, you wanted to hear it, you needed to hear it. 

He pushed into you, slower now, reverent, “I love you.”

Again.

“I love you.”

And again, with each thrust, he poured his love into you, “I’ve loved you every fucking night you stayed over. Every time you made morning coffee wearing my shirt. Every time I heard your laugh and thought, ‘God, I can’t lose this.’”

Your heart cracked wide open at his brutally honest confession. 

Jungwon was in love with you—you meant something to him, and that was enough for you to cry out, his lips catching every stray tear that cascaded down your face, every bit of tears that came from the hurt he caused you. 

“You’re mine,” he said again, kissing your cheeks, your mouth, your collarbones. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered. “Fuck—I’ve always been yours.”

His hips moved again—slow, deep, building you both up together now. Not punishment. Not anger. Just raw, terrifying honesty.

You cried out again, overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the weight of everything he was finally giving you.

“Stay,” he whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And when you came again, shaking and sobbing into his skin, you knew this was it.

Not friends with benefits.

Not casual, not pretend, not anything else. 

Just you and him.

Molten into one—into each other.

His body stilled inside you one last time, and he collapsed over you, arms locked around your waist like he never wanted to let go.

You didn’t say anything.

You just stayed there.

Tangled.

Breathing.

His confession still rings in your ears.

“I love you.”

And you believed him, for real this time. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

permanent taglist:

@jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii @addictedtohobi @heeliopheelia @haanigurl @dopedels @kaykay11sworld @glitterjay @skzooluvr @yongbokified

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[dark-moonlust]

Filled and Stretched

Pairing: Minotaur x human F!reader

Summary: You Minotaur boyfriend gets jealous when you don’t give him enough attention. He makes sure to fuck you nice and deep, remind you how important it is not to ignore him.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, explicit Minotaur smut, huge 🍆, lots of cum. Don’t like, don’t read.

You and your Minotaur boyfriend had been together for two years. You loved him. He was so big and powerful, yet deep down so tender and caring— he could also be seductive and fuck you within an inch of your life. You loved that even more.

One evening, you were in the study, reading one of the ancient books your boyfriend had fished out of the maze. This one was on Greek Mythology, the stories and sketches captivating. Before long, hours had passed with you pouring over the old pages. You tensed a little when you sensed a shift in the atmosphere around you.

Looking up from your book, you found your Minotaur resting against the doorframe. His was as tall and wide as the door, with the body of a muscular man and the head of a powerful bull. Shiny dark brown fur covered his body and large, curved horns protruded from his head. His eyes were pitch black and hungry with need.

“I almost regret getting you those books. You’ve been spending a lot of time on your own,” he said, his voice rumbling deliciously.

“Someone craves attention,” you teased, gazing at him appreciatively. He stepped closer until he was towering above you, his body honed with muscles.

“I desire your touch and affection. Enough of this stupid reading.” His massive hands wrapped around you and brought you flush against him. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk, little mate.”

“I accept the challenge.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a challenge,” he growled, desire burning in his eyes.

Your clothes were dragged and tossed carelessly on the floor. He lifted your small frame and got you on your knees on a chair. Big hands opened the cheeks of your ass, exposing your slick pussy to him. He kneeled behind you and closed his mouth over your fat pussy lips, suckling loudly.

Clutching the back of the chair, you moaned and wiggled your bum against his face. You wanted to get closer, you wanted him inside you. He growled, pleased as he tongued your cunt shamelessly, thrusting a thick finger in your depths. You accepted it easily, your walls stretching around it. Another one followed and you squealed as it pushed inside you.

"Please, ah, hah," your words faded as he devoured your cunt, licking your clit round and round. Your vision went white, pussy clenching violently around his thick fingers. He kept licking your oversensitive clit and you bucked, letting out long drawn out moans.

Thick hairy thighs settled on either side of your legs. He was so tall that he had curved his whole body behind you, half crouching.

You licked your lips when you felt the warmth of his leaking cock rubbing along your pussy. His shaft was thick and long, jutting angrily toward his stomach and leaking cum. Heavy balls hung low, ready to release their load inside you. You leaned back into your boyfriend’s chest and let his musky scent surround you.

His snout buried in your neck as he fingered your cunt and replaced them with his cockhead. He parted your pussy lips and moved his hips, the wide head of his dick entering you inch by delectable inch. You clutched his hands for stability, your breath hitching when he bottomed out. Your eyes closed, fires igniting within you.

You felt him throb inside you, your belly bulging with the shape of his monstrous dick.

“Pretty,” the Minotaur rumbled, rubbing your belly. He turned even harder inside you and you hissed as the head of his cock kissed your cervix.

“You’re impossible.”

“I haven’t even began to fuck you crazy.”

You didn’t manage to reply because he started thrusting, fucking you with primal ferocity, his thrusts deep and powerful. You were so slick that his cock came out frothing with your juices. He buried himself over and over while his heavy balls hit the back of your thighs.

He fucked you to the edge of ecstasy and you came hard around him, sweet climax rolling through you. Your contractions made him pump faster, and with a defeating roar, he spurted inside you, his cock pulsing so strongly that you came again with violent aftershocks. Load after load of hot cum was released inside you, it filled your belly and trickled down your shaking legs.

Inhuman hands cupped your tits, thumbs rubbing your nipples and around the areolas. You collapsed on his chest and he growled, lifting you gently by cupping under your knees. Gasping, you wrapped your arms around him as he walked with you strapped on his dick. You landed face down on the bed but he turned you onto your side, spooning you with his large hairy body from behind.

“Now, onto round two, little mate,” he drawled and began to fuck you again.

Hours passed with him owning your pussy. Your voice turned hoarse from all the moaning and crying out. And when your Minotaur was finally sated, the sheets reeked of your sex and his cum. Too fucked to do anything about it now, you curled up in the curve of his big strong body and let sleep take you.

You’d make sure to challenge him again.

[misswynters]

you giving them an attitude?

suggestive

featuring. sevika x reader, ambessa x reader

requested by anon

sevika

“Still pouting?” Sevika’s deep voice broke the tense silence in the dim room, her tone laced with mockery. She leaned against the table, her metal arm resting heavily on the surface, while her flesh hand held a cigarette lazily between her fingers. Her dark eyes bore into you, amusement flickering within them as you pointedly avoided her gaze.

“I’m not pouting,” you snapped, but your lips betrayed you, jutting out just enough to prove her point. Your arms were crossed tight over your chest as you sat on the edge of the bed, refusing to look her way. “But maybe if you actually bothered to communicate instead of leaving me guessing, I wouldn’t be in this mood.”

Sevika chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, her smirk deepening as she exhaled a plume of smoke. “Oh, so this is my fault now? Didn’t know I had to send you a formal invitation every time I step out the door.”

Her nonchalance only stoked your frustration as you glared at her, your temper flaring hotter than before. “So annoying,” you hissed, shaking your head with your voice trembling in anger.

“Aw... you’re adorable when you’re worked up,” sevika countered, pushing off the table and walking toward you, her broad frame casting a shadow over you. She crouched down slightly, bringing her face level with yours. “Tell me, sweetheart, how long are you planning to keep up this little tantrum?”

Your cheeks flushed with anger and something else entirely as her closeness sent your pulse racing. “It’s not a tantrum,” you shot back, though your voice lacked the conviction you’d hoped for. “I just— I deserve more than half-assed explanations and excuses.”

Sevika tilted her head, her smirk softening, her gaze dipping briefly to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. “You want more?” she murmured, her voice dropping an octave, the weight of her words making your breath hitch.

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, your resolve wavering as her hand came up to brush a strand of hair away from your face.

“Then stop running your mouth and show me,” she growled, her lips so close you could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Her mechanical arm came to rest on the bed beside you, the cool metal brushing against your thigh, sending a shiver up your spine.

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words died on your lips as Sevika closed the remaining distance. Your hands instinctively reached for her, gripping the front of her shirt as if anchoring yourself to her. Her flesh hand cupped the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair as she deepened the kiss, her dominance undeniable.

Ambessa

“You’re awfully bold for someone so small,” Ambessa rumbled, her voice dripping with authority as she stared down at you, her golden eyes glinting with both amusement and challenge. Her towering frame seemed to fill the room, the weight of her presence suffocating yet intoxicating.

“Hmph! You’re awfully arrogant for someone who can’t handle a little backtalk,” you shot back, your voice sharp despite the tremor in your chest. You crossed your arms over your chest, your silk sleeves brushing against the jeweled corset Ambessa had gifted you, the picture of defiance wrapped in hyper-femininity.

Ambessa let out a deep chuckle, her lips curling into a predatory smile as she took a deliberate step closer. “You’ve got a sharp tongue for someone so delicate,” she mused, her tone deceptively soft. “But I wonder… how far will that defiance get you before you beg for my mercy. Right?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you refused to back down, meeting her gaze with all the fire you could muster. “Maybe I don’t need your mercy,” you countered, though your voice wavered slightly as her hand reached out, brushing over the pearls adorning your neckline. “-I like pushing your buttons.”

Ambessa’s smile darkened, her fingers sliding up to grip your chin with a firm but gentle hold. “Oh, you do, little one?” she murmured, her voice a seductive growl that sent shivers down your spine. “Do you think your pretty face will save you if you crossed the line?”

“I think you like it when I cross the line,” you replied breathlessly, your lips parting slightly as her thumb traced your jawline.

Her golden eyes darkened, her grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “Careful,” she warned, her voice a whisper against your lips. “Keep testing me, and I’ll show you exactly what happens when you push too far.”

Your bodies were close enough to feel the heat radiating off her. Your pulse raced as she leaned in, her lips ghosting over your ear. “And something tells me you’d like that far too much,” she added, her words sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you.

taglist. @blckbny @ch-bl0gsss @b-lossm @fortluocha @ekkosh @limereance @wolfessa @themostlesbianever @simonapietra @1-800-fantasy @saikikittykusuo @sevikaishot @sugarplumz100 @chaostudi @wxwrites @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 @robzo4 @puppyphia @xreadersarchive @boom58 @d3adbrainer @kylorey25 @slutmeoutfortoge @yaeil @sapphicarribean @randomperson291 @mvistl @hellokittyfeenie @literallyimthenerdemoji @nikaachuuuu @prettysupplicant @iamaboringrattat

[maskedbyghost]

tw/cw: stalking, cnc, possessive behavior, smut, cheating, dirty talk.. idk if i missed something. enjoy.

hi! did you know that simon installed secret cameras around your flat to watch you like the stalker he is? you did. of course you did.

you knew the second you caught the tiny black lens blinking behind the bookshelf. the second the red light blinked on above your bed.

the second you turned your face — bored, spread out under your boyfriend — and looked directly into it.

and oh, simon saw that. he saw everything.

he saw the way your boyfriend fucked you like he was checking something off a list.

he saw how your hands never gripped back, how your hips never lifted, how you stared at the wall, and how you looked at the camera.

he knew you wanted to be watched, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

it was a thursday when he let himself in. no knocking, no warning.

you were in the kitchen, barefoot, mug in hand, loose tee skimming your thighs. at first, you didn’t hear him, not until that low voice rasped from behind you.

“don’t be scared. you knew i’d come.”

you froze. not out of fear — no. it was the way your stomach dipped, the way your thighs pressed together. slowly, you turned, mug already forgotten on the counter, and faced him.

simon riley. in your flat. black hoodie stretched across broad shoulders, his well-known balaclava still on. his eyes — dark, sharp — fixed on you like he was starving.

“you’ve been watching me,” you said, voice even, challenging him.

“you’ve been letting me,” he shot back, stepping closer. “you think i didn’t see the way you looked into the camera?”

he was close now, towering over you, making you tilt your chin up to meet his eyes.

“you wanted me to see,” he murmured. “wanted me to watch you getting fucked like that. bored. still. waiting for something better.”

you didn’t respond, but you also didn’t step back.

and then you let him touch you — his hand on your jaw, fingers sliding under your chin, allowing him to tilt your head.

“you were waiting for me, weren’t you, sweetheart?”

you swallowed hard. “i know you’ve been stalking me,” you whispered.

“then you know i won’t stop until you’re mine.” that was everything he said before he kissed you.

it wasn’t sweet. it was claiming. his hand held your face firmly, mouth hot and possessive on yours, his tongue sliding past your lips like he had every right to.

and god — maybe he did.

he tasted like heat, smoke and danger, and you didn’t pull away.

“you gonna let me show you what it’s supposed to feel like?” he muttered against your mouth. “what you should’ve felt all those nights?”

you didn’t answer. just leaned back against the kitchen counter, shirt riding up your thighs, your heart pounding.

he pressed close. his knee slipped between yours, spreading you a little, as his hand started sliding slowly up your leg.

“tell me to stop,” he said lowly, voice almost a growl. “say the word and i’ll walk out.”

you looked him in the eye. breathed deep, and said nothing.

simon’s hand moved higher, his fingers slipping under your shirt until he realized that you were bare underneath.

“naughty girl,” he murmured. “walking around knowing i’m watching, no panties. you like this, don’t you?”

you nodded. breath shaky.

“say it.”

“i like it,” you whispered. “i like when you watch me.”

his fingers reached your slit and he found it already slick, causing him to groan as his mouth brushed against your neck. “fuckin’ hell. already wet for me. just from my voice?”

“just from knowing you’re here.”

his breath was hot against your skin, his fingers stroking through your folds like he was learning you. memorizing you.

“i’m gonna make you cum just like this,” he murmured. “gonna make you fall apart on my fingers so you know what you’ve been missing.”

you gasped when he slid one thick finger into you. then two. his other hand gripped your hip, holding you still as he curled them just right.

“you feel that?”

“yeah—”

“no, say it. tell me how good it feels.” he said as he created perfect rhythm with his fingers.

“fuck, simon—feels so good, i—” you could barely form a full sentence, your eyes rolling back.

he chuckled, deep and smug. his fingers moved faster, tighter, finding that perfect spot, making your legs shake.

“that’s it, sweet girl. just let go for me. been needing this, haven’t you?”

you moaned, head falling back, thighs trembling around his hand. and he watched your face, watched your lips part, your eyes roll back—

and then you came. hard. clenching around his fingers with a cry, your hands gripping the counter.

a few moments later, he pulled back slowly, fingers soaked, and brought them to his mouth before he sucked them clean.

“fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, voice husky. “tastes like mine already.”

you stood there, panting, trying to catch your breath, looking at him as he started to walk away.

but you weren’t done.

you grabbed the knife off the counter, threw it — not at him, but past him, and watch it stuck in the doorframe.

that made he turn back slowly, his brows raised.

“fucking finish what you started,” you snapped.

he grinned behind the mask. “whatever my beautiful girl wants.”

and then he was on you once again. he stripped you fast — shirt yanked over your head, his hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you onto the counter.

you clawed at his hoodie, tugged it off, revealing thick arms, broad chest, the scar that curved down his collarbone, before yanking down his mask.

you finally saw his face, and he was beautiful in that brutal way — jaw sharp, eyes burning, lips swollen from kissing you.

“gonna fuck you until you forget anyone else ever touched you,” he growled. “gonna make you cum until all you know is my name.”

after his promise, he dropped his pants down. thick, heavy cock springing free, already leaking, making you gasp.

“you ready, sweetheart?”

“yes—please—”

that was the only confirmation he needed before he lined up and slammed into you. no teasing. no mercy. just pure, claiming thrusts, stretching you wide, forcing moans from your throat with every snap of his hips.

“tight little cunt,” he groaned. “gripping me like you were made for it.”

“feels—feels so good—”

“yeah? you like being fucked like this? like you matter?”

you nodded frantically, eyes wet, mouth open as he fucked you hard, his hand on your throat, squeezing just enough.

“cum for me again,” he hissed. “show me how much better this is than him.”

and you did. again.

your second orgasm ripped through you — back arching, nails digging into his shoulders. but he didn’t stop.

“one more, sweet girl. give me one more.”

his fingers rubbed your clit in tight circles, cock still pounding into you. you were crying now, shaking, legs twitching.

“you can do it. you’re mine, aren’t you?”

“yes—fuck, yes—”

“then cum. now.”

you shattered. third orgasm left you gasping, thighs quivering, eyes glassy. he pulled out with a groan, spun you around, and bent you over the counter.

“not done yet.”

he took you again — from behind this time. deeper, rougher. his hand in your hair, the other on your hip.

“one more, baby. just one more. you can give it to me.”

a few minutes later, you sobbed his name as you came a fourth time — legs barely holding you up, body limp. and finally, finally, simon groaned loud and came inside you, thick and deep and possessive.

you slumped forward, gasping, and he held you there, as he kissed your shoulder, neck, and everywhere else he could reach.

and then — quietly — “don’t worry about your ex.”

“what…?”

he leaned in close. “i handled it. before i came here.”

“what do you mean?” you asked in confusion.

“i mean,” he said, kissing your neck, “you don’t have to pretend anymore. you’re mine now.”

-----------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212

[sharoscylla]

HEY.... @yeehawgust is coming up and I think instead of drawing and writing prompts, which always end up petering out as I get overwhelmed, I'm going to start my new walking challenge which I've been working on creating over the past couple months:

WALK TO THE DARK TOWER!!

There are two versions, Good Boy Mode (where Roland wins) and Bitch Boy Mode (where Roland doesn't learn anything from this journey to the Tower.)

Good Boy Mode is approx 15,000 miles

Bitch Boy Mode is 23,127 miles

this challenge will take me several years to complete, so I'm gonna get started now!

reblog for more tower junkies to vote and if anybody wants to know where I got these lengths lmk in tags/replies because I don't mind typing up the guidelines I'm using!

[tinyshyteacup]

• Words of Command •

Tw: Cussing, angst, mentions of blood and grime.

Words of Command - Part 1

The lobby of Stark Tower gleamed with too much glass and not enough warmth for your taste. Sunlight pooled through the towering windows, hitting the polished marble floors and refracting off the chrome detailing of the modern decor.

You sat behind the main reception desk, perched on a tall stool with your legs swinging slightly.

The desk itself was a sleek black curve, embedded with holographic displays and a touchpad that still didn’t always respond when you tapped it with freshly moisturized fingers.

A nameplate identified you only by your first name, the letters tastefully etched in a clean serif font.

At the moment, you were staring at the printer behind you like it had personally offended you. It made a soft whirring noise—then stopped.

A flicker of smoke puffed up from the feeder tray. You yelped.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., I swear, I didn’t even touch it this time!”

"Miss, respectfully, you did attempt to print a double-sided image from an incompatible file format.”

You scowled at the ceiling. “You’re not even here physically. How would you know?”

“I am connected to over 2,000 sensors in this room. Shall I list the ones currently monitoring your error?”

“Rude,” you muttered, grabbing the paper that had jammed mid-print.

You shook it like it was a bad dog chewing your shoes. “This is sabotage. You're trying to make me look bad in front of Mr Stark.”

“Rest assured, Mr. Stark has been made aware of your printer challenges. He found it... 'endearing.’”

Your cheeks flushed.

The sarcasm was biting, but the thought that Tony Stark had discussed you at all—even mockingly—made your stomach flutter in a way you weren’t proud of.

The lobby doors hissed open with that smooth mechanical slide, and you looked up automatically.

When Captain Rogers walked into a room, it was like watching someone pull the '40s into the present. He was tall, and looked slightly rumpled in civilian clothes—a dark blue hoodie stretched over broad shoulders and a plain T-shirt underneath.

He wore jeans like he didn't know what to do with them.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice gentle but somehow carrying in the echoey lobby. “You’re the receptionist, right, the wizz with phones ?”

You nodded quickly and smiled. “Y-Yes, Captain Rogers. Morning.”

He returned the smile, slower, steadier, as if trying to ease your nervous energy. “Please, call me Steve.”

Right. Like that would help.

You stood, still barely reaching his chest, and smoothed down the front of your cardigan. “What can I help you with?”

He stepped up to the desk, pulled something from the pocket of his jeans, and placed it on the counter. A Stark-Phone. One of the newer ones Stark had issued.

You tilted your head, eyebrows lifting.

“I, uh…” Steve scratched the back of his neck, clearly sheepish. “I pressed something and now it’s speaking Korean. I think.”

You gently picked up the phone and pressed the home button. “Oh. You activated the language cycle shortcut. Happens if you triple tap the lock screen.”

You tapped through the settings with practiced ease. “There. Back to English.”

Steve watched you like you were performing magic. “I don’t know how any of you keep up with this tech.”

You smiled softly, meeting his gaze with more courage this time. “Honestly? I mostly argue with the printer. J.A.R.V.I.S. does everything else.”

Steve chuckled, a warm, earnest sound that made your heart thump faster. “Well, you seem to be holding your own.”

As he turned to leave, he paused. “I like your necklace, by the way. It suits you.”

You looked down, brushing a finger across the tiny pendant resting at your collarbone. “Oh. Thank you. It was my grandmother’s.”

He nodded like that meant something to him.

“Thanks,” he says, when you’re done. Then adds, almost sheepishly, “It’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m going to throw a shield at them.”

You laugh nervously. “You’re... not that scary.”

His grin is warm, boyish. You find yourself smiling back, unexpectedly grounded.

The elevator dings, and in breezes Tony Stark like a whirlwind in thousand-dollar shoes.

He’s on a call, two steps ahead of his own thoughts, sunglasses on indoors because of course they are.

"Yeah, just tell Fury he can bite me. In Morse code. Bye."

Phone snapped off, sunglasses up, and he zeroes in on you. “Sweetheart. You jammed the printer again.”

“I did not jam the printer,” you say quickly. “Jarvis is just being dramatic.”

“Jarvis is always dramatic, but in this case? He’s right.”

Tony leans on the desk, eyes squinting slightly. “Do you intentionally make the tech hate you? Is this like your rebellion arc Thumbelina? First it's the printer, then you’re reprogramming him to swear in Gaelic.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” you murmur, looking down. Then pause. “Wait... JARVIS can swear?”

Tony smirks. “Atta girl. Knew there was a fire in there somewhere.”

He straightens up, hands in pockets, a half-laugh escaping him as he walks toward the elevator. “Keep her, Rogers!” he shouts over his shoulder. “She’s the only one who’s not afraid to talk back to Jarvis.”

You blink.

Captain Rogers is still standing a few feet away, watching the exchange with something between amusement and... curiosity.

Maybe even admiration.

The city never sleeps, but it sighs in the early hours of morning—hushed traffic, glimmering reflections on wet pavement, a lull between the pulse of nightlife and the rise of commuters.

Neon lights flicker overhead, buzzing faintly, casting long shadows that cling to him like a second skin.

He moves like he’s not sure he’s real.

Each footfall is heavy but hesitant, like the ground might reject him. His hair is a tangled mess, matted and unwashed, sticking to his face and jaw.

The stubble on his cheeks is rough, uneven, and clings to him like dirt. His clothes are soaked in sweat, grime, and old blood—some of it his, some of it not.

His left arm is bare and gleaming beneath a tattered coat sleeve, metal fingers twitching involuntarily, as though searching for a rifle that isn’t there.

He doesn’t remember where he’s been.

Only fragments, screams, commands in harsh syllables, red flashing lights. A corridor. Restraints. Cold.

Oh God that biting cold.

He walks past windows and glass doors, catching glimpses of himself in reflections—a shadow, a haunted smear of what used to be a man.

He doesn’t know his name.

Not truly.

Not right now.

But somewhere, deep under the static in his brain, there’s something.

Maybe he had a name.

And then he looks up.

It rises above him like a monument, gleaming even in the grey blue of pre-dawn. STARK in large, defiant letters. The light at the top pulses. He stops walking, just… stands there.

His breath fogs the cold air, erratic.

His chest heaves, ribs visible through the threadbare shirt beneath the jacket. His boots are worn to the sole.

Everything about him screams survival, but there’s a flicker in his eyes now—recognition.

Stark.

Mission report.

Howard.

December.

Blood.

Sixteen.

Comply.

1991.

Zimniy Soldat.

Soldat.

The words slam into him like gunfire, and he stumbles forward, metal hand clenching hard enough to groan under its own pressure.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing here. He only knows the building is important.

And maybe... maybe someone inside can make the noise stop.

The automatic doors whisper open, parting slowly to let him step into the warmth of Stark Tower’s front lobby. Inside, the polished floors shine, reflecting the subtle glow of the early-morning lighting.

The scent of fresh polish, faint coffee, and recycled air fills the space. It’s clean. Too clean. Sterile like a medical wing, like some place where experiments happened.

He hesitates in the doorway.

The light overhead flickers slightly, casting a quick stutter of shadow across his face—an echo of something dark beneath the skin.

You stand behind the front desk, holding your phone in one hand, uncertain. His body is massive in the entrance, his shoulders squared like a soldier preparing for a threat. That left arm, slick and inhuman, gleams under the overhead light, fingers twitching like they have a mind of their own.

He takes two steps forward.

You don’t move, but your fingers close slowly around the base of your mug—some deep instinct reaching for something solid, something real.

"Hi… I—I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here," you say softly, trying not to let the nervous quiver in your voice show.

He tilts his head.

Not sharply. Not mechanically. Like a man trying to understand.

His lips part. You can tell it’s painful. His throat works around something—speech, maybe, or just the ghost of it. His voice comes like gravel, dry and shredded.

“Pomohgeet-yeh…"  Help.

Your brows knit. You don’t understand the words. But the way he says them makes your chest hurt.

He tries again.

“Gde… eta?"  Where… is this?

The effort it takes him to speak is visible.

He trembles.

Not with fear, but exhaustion. His whole body is strung tight like a stretched wire, ready to snap. One wrong move and he could bolt. Or lash out. Or break down.

You hold both hands up in that gentle, universal please-don’t-run gesture. “I—I don’t know what you’re saying. But I want to help. I can call someone. Or—I can get Mr. Stark if you want, or—”

At the name, something sharp flickers behind his eyes.

Stark.

He flinches like you’ve slapped him.

Suddenly, he shifts—too fast. That metal arm raises slightly, just a fraction. You freeze. Not because you think he’s going to hurt you—but because for a moment, he doesn’t look like a man anymore.

He looks like a ghost wrapped in combat training, forged in violence.

His eyes dart around the lobby—scanning exits, angles, security cameras.

His stance changes subtly, weight shifting onto the balls of his feet, as though he’s ready to take someone down.

And you—you’re just standing there.

He opens his mouth again, lips cracked and barely moving.

“Ne khochu… drat’sya." I don’t want… to fight.

You still don’t understand the words.

But you understand the tone.

Soft. Strained. Pleading.

“uh-huh,” you whisper.

You take a slow step around the desk. Not too close. But enough that he can see your hands, see your face.

You keep your voice low. “You look like you need help. Food? Water?”

He doesn’t answer. But his eyes track your hand as you slowly lift your bottle and offer it to him.

He reaches for it with his metal hand—but stops. There’s shame in the hesitation.

Holy Shit, is that metal ?

The faintest flicker of emotion across his dirt-streaked face. He switches to his right hand and takes it.

He drinks.

Not quickly. Like every swallow might be a mistake. Like he doesn’t trust it not to hurt.

As he drinks, you take him in quietly.

He looks... wrong in this space. The marble floor, the sleek design, the soft hum of Jarvis’ systems in the walls—it makes him look like something out of time. Like a soldier in a museum.

And then it hits you.

There’s something familiar about him. Not just the metal arm. Not just the way he looked at the building. But something in the jawline. The eyes.

You move slowly back to your desk, heart thudding as you open a file of security images.

"Who are you?" you whisper to yourself.

He doesn't answer.

He just watches you.

You move quietly to the comm panel, still keeping one eye on the man sitting stiffly in the chair near the lobby’s edge.

Tony had given you a comms piece to use in emergencies, is this a emergency ?

Stranger, built like a fridge, with a metal arm ?

Definitely.

The stranger in question hasn’t spoken since you gave him the bottle of water. His fingers—bare and bruised on one hand, cold steel on the other—grip it like it might disappear. He hasn’t drunk again. Just stares at the wall like he's trying to make sense of what a wall is.

Your voice is hushed as you speak into the receiver.

“Captain Rogers? I—I’m sorry to bother you. But there’s someone in the lobby. A man. I don’t know who he is, but I think… I think you should come down ... please.”

You don’t say that he’s filthy, trembling, starved.

You don’t say you’re afraid of how quiet he is.

You don’t say that even Jarvis, hasn’t spoken a word since he arrived.

As though the building itself is holding its breath.

You hear him before you see him—the heavy, purposeful footfalls of combat boots against tile. The automatic doors open with a whoosh, and Captain Steve Rogers steps into the lobby like a storm arriving with restraint.

He stops dead in his tracks.

You watch the expression on his face collapse.

From soldier to friend.

From Avenger to broken-hearted brother.

“...Bucky?” he breathes.

The name falls into the room like a thunderclap.

But the man in the chair doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t even look up.

“Bucky,” Steve tries again, stepping forward slowly, cautiously, as though any sudden movement might spook him.

The man’s eyes track Steve—but only briefly. Recognition doesn’t register.

No emotion flickers. Just calculation.

The Winter Soldier, watches Steve Rogers like he’s a possible threat. Like a target.

You step back instinctively, not out of fear, but because the air has changed. Thickened.

Like the moment before a fight. Or before someone remembers something too painful to hold.

Steve is trying. You can see it.

“Bucky, it’s me. It’s Steve. Steve Rogers. Brooklyn. 40s. We grew up together.” His voice cracks.

But there’s nothing behind those eyes. Not the kind of nothing that comes from confusion.

The kind that’s been scraped clean.

Programmed.

Buried.

The man’s body tenses. A tic in the jaw. A breath held too long.

His fingers flex on the water bottle, crack—plastic gives under his grip.

Then, that guttural voice “Ne znayu tebya." I don’t know you.

Steve flinches. Not physically. Not visibly.

But you feel the break.

He kneels in front of him, ignoring the metal arm, the set jaw, the violence in his posture. His voice lowers to a whisper, so raw and aching it doesn't feel meant for anyone else to hear.

“I thought I lost you. I never stopped looking.”

The soldier’s gaze doesn’t soften.

His eyes scan Steve like he’s a file to be decrypted. A puzzle, not a person.

He shifts in the chair.

Not toward Steve—but away. Just a few inches. Enough to feel like a rejection.

The lobby is quiet again. Bucky? Or The soldier?—or the shell of him—sits in the corner like a statue draped in rags. His posture stiff, eyes half-lidded but never soft.

Like a soldier awaiting deployment, tension simmering beneath his skin.

Steve touches your arm gently and gestures toward the hallway off the reception desk. His voice is low, heavy with something that feels like grief soaked in guilt.

“That’s Bucky,” he says. “James Barnes. We grew up together. He enlisted before me.”

You blink up at him, trying to marry the image of the blank, cold-eyed man in the lobby with the idea of someone’s best friend.

Steve swallows hard. “But… that’s not who he is now. Hydra got to him. They—”

He stops. The words taste wrong in his mouth.

“They erased him. Broke him down and rebuilt him into something else. A ghost with a gun. They called him ‘The Winter Soldier.’”

A pause. His jaw tightens.

“They didn’t use his name. They called him Soldat." Steve whispers, making sure only you hear.

You murmur the word aloud without thinking, testing it, you feel disgust claw at your spine at the idea of someone being stripped so bare.

“Soldat…?”

The sound barely leaves your lips. Just a sound.

But across the lobby—the man moves.

Fast.

Sudden.

Mechanical.

The chair clatters backwards as he rises in one sharp, fluid motion. Spine straight, feet planted.

His metal arm clenches, whirring softly. His eyes, once clouded with the fog of confusion, snap into unnatural focus.

Like a trigger has been pulled.

His gaze lands on you.

Not Steve.

You.

Then, in that same guttural, rasping Russian:

“Gotov k vypolneniyu." Ready to comply.

Your heart lurches. You don’t know what he said—but the tone tells you enough.

Cold.

Obedient.

Trained.

Steve steps forward sharply, hand raised. “Bucky—no! She’s not—”

But Bucky isn’t listening. His head turns ever so slightly toward you, chin dipped in rigid respect, but eyes locked like a weapon sighting a command post.

Then, another word in Russian.

“Rukovoditel’" Handler.

Shit. SHIT

You freeze, mouth slightly open, eyes wide as you stare at the man before you.

He’s taller than you by what feels like a foot, broad-shouldered and imposing, hair tangled, blood on his temple not yet dried. But it’s not his appearance that terrifies you.

It’s how still he is now. How controlled. How conditioned.

Like someone flipped a switch inside him.

Steve’s hand is on your shoulder suddenly, protective, grounding.

“He thinks you’re his handler,” Steve says softly. His voice is tight, like he’s struggling to remain calm. “Hydra trained him to respond to words 'Soldat' must have triggered it.”

You glance at the Soldier—and feel a cold chill crawl down your spine.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just waits.

As if he’s expecting you to give him an order.

You whisper, almost afraid of your own voice, “What do I do?”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t give him commands. Don’t say anything that sounds like one. We’ll get Bruce or Tony down here, maybe they can—”

The sound of polished leather shoes and the hiss of elevator doors heralds Tony Stark’s arrival.

He strides into the lobby like he owns every inch of it—which, of course, he does. A tailored charcoal suit, sunglasses he doesn’t need indoors, and a cup of coffee he’s already bored with. His tone, dry as ever.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Tin Man himself.”

Tony stops a few paces from the soldier, surveying him like a potential weapon. Or worse, a ticking bomb.

“You gonna sing ‘If I Only Had a Brain,’ or…?”

No response.

The Soldier—still as a statue—doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just stands in that unnatural way. Tense. Straight-backed. Alert. His metal hand twitches faintly at his side, barely noticeable unless you’re watching for it.

And you definitely are now.

You stand just behind Steve, hands clasped nervously in front of you like you’re trying to shrink into the floor. But you feel the weight of his stare. Not Tony’s. Not Steve’s.

His.

The Soldier.

His eyes, dark and unreadable, are pinned on you.

Tony raises an eyebrow and leans toward Steve. “So this is the guy you were willing to punch me in the face over?” He eyes the torn tactical gear and matted hair. “Charming.”

Steve doesn’t rise to the bait. His voice is firm but quiet. “He’s not well. Hydra programmed him. We think he… believes she's his handler”

Tony turns toward you, glancing you up and down, not rudely, just… curious. “She gets winded carrying a bag of flour.”

You open your mouth to protest, but then The Soldier moves.

Not toward Tony.

Not toward Steve.

Just… a slight shift. He angles his body protectively between you and Stark.

And then he speaks. Russian again.

“Rukovoditel"

His voice is hoarse, barely a growl.

Tony snorts. “Let me guess. That means ‘fearless leader’?”

Steve sighs. “It means ‘handler.’ I told you Tony, he thinks she’s his handler.”

Tony takes off his sunglasses, eyes narrowing. “Oh, great. We’ve got a murder machine who’s latched onto Thumbelina.”

He turns back to The Soldier, then tries his best Stark-brand sarcasm. “Hey, RoboCop. You like shawarma? Puppies? The Bee Gees?”

The Soldier doesn’t react.

His gaze stays locked on you. Like Stark isn’t even in the room.

“Gotov k vypolneniyu" Ready to comply.

Tony paces a bit, muttering to himself.

“Okay, okay… Steve brings in a half-feral Hydra brain bomb who only listens to the human equivalent of a cupcake, and I’m just supposed to—what—build him a bunkbed?”

Steve steps between them, voice low and serious. “He’s not dangerous to her. You saw that.”

“Oh yeah, I saw it,” Tony shoots back. “Saw him zero in on her like a guided missile with a crush. Only she’s not trained. She doesn’t even speak Russian. What happens if she says the wrong thing?”

You flinch a little at that, the weight of it finally settling in your chest.

Tony softens for a half-second. Just a breath. His eyes flick to you. “No offense. I’m sure you’re a lovely hostage.”

Then, toward The Soldier again. “You got anything else in that scrambled brain of yours? English? Stark tech? The weather?”

The Soldier’s only movement is the subtle tightening of his jaw. The slight widening of his stance—defensive. Watching Tony too closely now. Like he’s assessing threat levels.

But then… his eyes return to you.

You whisper, half to yourself, “He’s waiting.”

Tony raises a brow. “For what?”

You shrug helplessly. “An order. I think.”

The lobby feels heavier. Like a suspended moment, stretched too tight.

Tony watches the two of you, something calculative slipping into his expression.

“This is a problem,” he murmurs. “Because if she’s his focus, and we can’t get through to him otherwise—he’s not just broken. He’s tethered.”

Steve crosses his arms. “Then we don’t break the tether. We use it. Let her anchor him.”

Tony scoffs. “Oh, sure. Let’s just traumatize a receptionist, make her the sole translator for Hydra’s favorite murder puppet. What could go wrong?”

But even he can’t ignore the truth, the Winter Soldier isn’t reacting to threats, or commands, or charm.

Only you.

Fuck.

[angel-z-xdx]

soap x reader

needy soap / breeding kink inspo from @soapysoapysoapysoapy

“Think I’m gonna die,” Soap muttered from the floor, arms flung out

“I think my balls are about to explode,” Soap groaned, collapsing onto the floor like a fallen warrior, one massive hand dragging over his face in frustration. “This is a medical emergency. I need relief.”

At first, everyone ignored him. Typical Soap — huge, intimidating, and apparently constantly horny. He’d been whining about it for weeks. After every mission, every briefing, somehow his thoughts circled back to his aching body like it was some kind of personal crisis.

You’d rolled your eyes so many times it felt like a reflex. But when he started describing the color, the shape, and even the emotional texture of his cum — “like very sad yogurt” — someth

like he was waiting for a chalk outline. “This is medical. I’m not even being dramatic this time.”

You didn’t even look up from your report. “You say that every time we come back from an op.”

“Aye, but this time it’s real. I’ve got… pressure. A build-up. It’s like a ticking bomb in my bollocks.” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m a hazard, lass. A walking threat.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to add ‘blue balls’ to your file under injuries sustained?”

“Serious question—if a man hasn’t come in three weeks, does he legally qualify for disability?” His voice dropped into a pained, breathy whine. “I need to put it somewhere. It’s not even horny anymore. It’s primal. Instinctual. If I don’t get it out soon, I might start humping the wall like a bloody terrier.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re disgusting.”

“And yet,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you with that dangerous smirk, “you’re still here. Still listening.”

That part was true. Against your better judgment, you were still here. Still listening. Still thinking, God, if he keeps talking like that, I might actually let him.

Something in your face must’ve slipped, because Soap’s smirk deepened.

“Oh?” he drawled, voice low now — a little too low. “You thinking about it? Bet I could split you in half, bonnie. You want that, yeah?”

Your breath caught.

He stood, slow and deliberate, towering a little too close. “Want me to fill you up so good you can’t walk straight? Pin you down and make you forget your own name?”

He waited just long enough for you to stammer something — maybe a protest, maybe a challenge — before he had you backed against the wall, large hands gripping your thighs and hoisting you like you weighed nothing.

“You’re lucky,” he growled against your neck, breath hot. “I’m a generous man. And I’m done being patient.”

You barely had time to gasp before his mouth was on yours — biting, consuming, owning. Everything about him was heat and pressure and pure, restrained power.

He didn’t rush. He didn’t need to.

He took his time getting you open for him, whispering filth the whole way through — how tight you were, how much he’d thought about this, how he was going to make you take it.

By the time he finally rolled his hips in and filled you to the brim, your head was already spinning.

“You feel that?” he rasped, one hand at your throat now, firm but careful — just enough pressure to make your eyes flutter. “That’s mine now. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

And he did.

Every thrust was sharp, unrelenting, punctuated by dark promises. “Gonna breed you so full they’ll see it in your walk. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Filthy little thing.”

Your nails left marks. Your moans turned to cries. He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down when you clenched around him, begging for a break.

“Nah, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice gravel-rough. “You started this. And I’m not stopping until I’ve filled you proper.”

[sttm99]

Part 2

I like to think that Bakugo would like one of those bitchy girls that most people stayed away from.

"Oh her?" His friend would whisper about you as you stood before your locker, frowning as you looked at something on your phone. "Yeah, she's mean, really."

"She's rude, a bitch. Hates everyone."

What drives Bakugo is mainly the fact that he doesn't want to be 'everyone'. He's better. And because he knows what it feels like for people to stay away from you just because of what they've heard.

So he makes his move during one of the UA beach trips, when everyone's out on the sand, taking dips into the ocean. He's walking away from them, scanning the darkening sand in search of you.

He finds you near the far edge of the beach, where the place is darker, with less people, and he swears he sees a crab burrow into the sand.

But he doesn't mind much, walking over to you. You look back at him as he walks forward. You're sat on the sand, watching the waves, then Bakugo.

"What are you doing here?" You say swiftly, unfriendly as you stare him down.

He thinks you're so pretty, body clad in that cute two-piece, and your thighs stained with sand. It's hot, his eyes straining the darkness to see the grains glued to the back of your thighs.

"Last I checked, you don't own the fucking beach." He grumbles, sitting down a few meters away from you.

He succumbs to the urge to say more, to fill the silence, to keep you there with him.

"There's too loud." He says, motioning to where the others are yelling and laughing and dancing and swimming.

"What about the other side?" You raise a brow.

"Two many bitches swapping spit." He retorts, sitting with his legs straightened out, palms behind him to support his weight as he looks at you.

You chuckle at that, and you don't turn away from him, leaning on your hand, keeping your eyes on his.

Your eye contact is hot, he thinks.

"You're funny." You say, sighing softly as you turn back to the sea.

He huffs at that. He wasn't exactly trying to be funny, and he likes that. That he can make you laugh without trying. He thinks it makes you cuter.

He hopes it makes you think he's attractive.

"No one's here, you know." You turn to him, wriggling your brows mischievously.

His stomach tightens. "What?"

You snort. "Stop blushing, idiot. I'm not gonna make out with you." You're laughing. "Let's skinny dip."

And Bakugo's scowling at you for 1) making fun of him, and 2) that suggestion.

"It's fucking freezing." He scolds. "It's like 8 degrees here."

But you're already standing and grinning. "Aren't you a hero? This is endurance shit." You say, like you're challenging him.

And he's grumbling and huffing, but he's standing and running after you as you're sprinting to the water, untying your bikini. Your top goes flying in the wind as you hit the water, and he swiftly catches it before it disappears.

"Fucking idiot," he's yelling after you, pausing momentarily to drag his shorts down. He's trying to hit the water quickly before you catch sight of his dick. "You're gonna walk back fucking naked!"

"Aww, you're so little." You coo at him, laughing.

"Cause it's 8 fucking degrees!"

You were joking anyways. He's big, even in the cold. But you try not to think of that, not when he's so clearly cold, shivering as you beckon him closer.

"Come over here," you say.

"That's too fucking far. There's crabs. You come here."

You shake your head with a sly grin. "The water level here hides my breasts. So you have to come here."

He scowls at your logic, and you stick your tongue out at him.

"My dicks gonna freeze." But he's waddling in the dark water, making his way to you.

You're silent as he nears, taking in how he towers over you, how his body drowns yours, height wise and chest wise.

.

.

.

"What are you looking at?" His voice is raspy from the cold.

You smile coyly up at him.

His heart stops.

"You."

"Dude, where'd you disappear to?" Kirishima calls to Bakugo as he trudges into the room they are sharing.

But Bakugo's silent, repeating a series of numbers in his mind. He instantly goes over to his drawers, grabbing his phone and instantly punching it in, saving your contact in his phone.

"Dude, is that a fucking hickey?" He shrugs Kirishima off him, making his way to the showers, itching to get in and wash off all the sand from his body.

"I'm never fucking banging in the sand again."

[minniesfiles]

NICE BOYS DON’T KISS LIKE THAT

For years, it’s always been you.

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; fluff

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; best friends to lovers, fluff

❧ WORDCOUNT; 0.6k

𐚁₊⊹

▍20 DECEMBER 2022

You always known Wonwoo as the cold-hearted one. The boy who never let anyone in, the one who rejected every girl who threw herself at him, the one whose heart seemed as unreachable as the stars.

And yet, somehow, you managed to be his one and only best friend that wasn’t a boy.

For years, you both existed in this strange limbo. Teasing, laughing, sharing quiet moments during free time together. But it never crossed the line. You told yourself it was enough. That the glances he would steal, the way his eyes softened just for you, the way he always seemed to find you in a crowded room, were enough.

But it wasn’t.

Not when you watched him brush off yet another girl at the party that night, his expression unreadable as always and lips pressing into a thin line as he turned away without a second glance. You heard the whispers and the way people called him heartless, untouchable.

If only they knew.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” you said, catching his arm as he stepped outside into the cold. Snowflakes were quick to settle on his dark hair while his breath misted in the frigid air.

Wonwoo glanced down at you with his dark brown hooded eyes. You hated how small you felt next to his wide shouldered and towering figure, but they were one of the key characteristics that made Jeon Wonwoo so popular and likeable.

“What did I do now?” he asked.

“You keep pushing people away” you sighed, shoving your hands into your coat pockets. “You can’t just keep rejecting everyone forever.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Why not?”

“Because one day, someone’s going to make you regret it.”

Something flickered in Wonwoo’s eyes, something dark and unclear to you. “Maybe that already happened.”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to push him, to make him say more, but he was already turning away with his hands shoving into his pockets as he walked down the snow-covered pavement.

“Walk me home,” you said as you jogged to catch up.

He hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Fine.”

Both of you walked in silence for a while, and the only sound heard was the crunch of your boots on the snow. It wasn’t until you reached your apartment building that you finally turned to him.

“You know, Woo,” you murmured, searching his face, “you act like you don’t care, but I don’t think that’s true.”

He let out a short laugh, but there was no humour in it. “You think you know me so well, huh?” he challenged.

“I do” you responded.

His jaw tensed. “Then you should know why I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” you pressed as you stepped closer.

He exhaled sharply. “Why I can’t let myself want something I know I can’t have.”

Your heart began to pound. “And what is it you think you can’t have?”

Wonwoo’s eyes were locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw past the coldness. There was something raw there, something aching that he was desperate to let out.

“You,” he finally admitted. And you barely had time to process the word before he was kissing you, closing the distance as he smashed his lips against your plump ones.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was desperate, years of tension and words he couldn’t say crashing together in one fierce moment. His hands cupped your face, while his fingers threaded into your hair as if he was afraid you might disappear.

When he finally pulled apart, both breathless, you whispered, “you know, nice boys don’t kiss like that.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, “who told you I’m a nice boy?” he murmured, voice was hoarse.

“You’re my nice boy” you giggled.

“Only yours” and with that, he kissed you again, slow and soft this time.

Because for once in his life, Wonwoo decided he wasn’t going to be the cold-hearted rejector everyone knew him for.

Not with you.

Never with you.

“I love you Wonwoo” you confessed against his lips, and nothing made the young man’s heart feel as light as it did now.

“I love you too baby”