#slowly not becoming the nu metal princess

[fckwritersblock]

Hangman

Pleasure Dom! Bucky x Brat! Black Reader

Rated: nasty. nastyyyyyyyyy. It, I don’t know what I was doing nothing and just… Miners dont engage.

Description: you spent all day, running your fucking mouth. Being the absolute biggest pain in his ass when he told you to chill. Nope. You thought it was cute to tease him while he was on a call. He thought it was cute to mouth off to him in front of company at dinner. Well now you were paying for all of that shit.

Unedited per usual because it’s really too late for me to be up writing like this and feeling this way but here we are 🥴 it’s a hot mess, beware

Also. I want nothing but to have this man metal arm wrapped around my throat



Hangman

You can feel it.

You could feel everything as your toes curls, the small ripples of pleasure making their way to the center of your stomach where you were trying to keep them. If you could just hold out a little while longer…

You were so close.

On shaking hands you push your upper body up a little bit, a small whimper leaving escaping your lips as you watch him go to work, snatching your soul like a thief in the night. Through hooded eyes, watch the way he lapsed at your swollen core, the way the tip of his nose glistened as he continued in devour you in the most delicious way.

The sight alone was enough to make you cum.

But you couldn’t.

Not yet.

You just needed to hold on a little while longer. Your eyes rolled back while your head loads from side to side as you moaned out the next letter.

“B.”

Oh fuck me, you thought. Your legs were threatening to snap shut as they began to shake. You inhaled trying to steady your breathing as sound suddenly felt like it was going out, the coils in your stomach tightening. The build up becoming more intense.You were almost there. Only 5 letters left. Only 5 more fucking letters.

“Such a good girl.” He praised, kissing the inside of thigh looking you dead in the eyes.

He slowly kissed his way back to your center. You almost missed smallest smirk on his face, as he maintained eye contact . Watching in anticipation he gave your pussy a peck.

One.

Then another.

Followed by another.

When you felt it.

It was the second ‘A’ that did it. It was always the second ‘A’.

The way he sucked on your clit and swirled his tongue for that second ‘A’ made you cum every time.

You came with a load moan, bucking your hips up into his face riding out your orgasm and Bucky continue to drink from your fountain as you did so. Wanting every drop.

Once you l come down he handed you a glass of water. With shaky hands, you took it nodding your thanks. Bucky smiled kissing your forehead, pushing some of your locs out of your face. Once you finished you handed him the empty glass and as he reached over to place it on the nightstand you attempted to roll over and get in the bed.

“Nu uh princess.”

He pulled your body into his, one hand gently wrapping around your throat, but other phone back down to you Percy I love you lately drag his fingers through a sensitive lips.

“ Punishment isn’t over baby.” He whispered in your eye, kissing the side of your neck, nipping at it.

“Buck-“ you gasped as you felt him insert a finger in side you. “Sir! I’m sorry sir, please.”

“Shhh, shhh.” He soothes removing his finger and rubbing info though.

“You were real mouthy today doll, even when I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your shit. You remember that?” You nodded reluctantly.

“‘Mmm. And when I told you to cut it out, you continue to deliberately is so baby.”

“Sir-“

“Shut the fuck up.” A growl left him as he quickly covered your mouth his , allow you to taste yourself. He loved for you to taste how sweet you were for him. Just as quickly as his mouth was on yours it was removed and replaced with a ball gag. You mewled knowing there was no way out of this. Times like this, when you were absolutely spent, you regretted being a fucking brat. You hated that damn clicker. 30. You owed his ass 30 fucking orgasms and you still had 10 to go.

“There’s my girl. Your so fucking pretty when you’re quite.” Stroke the side of your face before getting Open walking to the edge of the bath grab you by your dad he pulled you all the way to the end. Bucky got down on his knees and hooked his arms around you thighs to keep your legs spread open. “Now, I want you to be a good girl, sit there, and give me my 30.”

You glared at him, as he smirked up at you. He knew you would never make it through his name. He is unnecessarily long ass name.

James Buchanan Barnes

He was basically playing a never ending game of hangman with your pussy.

“You know the rules.” He mumbled kissing back up your thigh. “Everytime you cum.”

“We have to start over. Now.” You shuddered as you felt the slow drawl of his tongue in a familiar pattern.

‘“J” you spoke breathlessly.

“Mmmmm, next letter.”

————————-

Short and….sweet, I know. It’s just the gif was sending me and I had to do SOMETHING with it

[beautifulspacegays]

Who Won?

He raises an eyebrow as Lance finds his place across from him, meets his eyes when Lance finally settles. That’s when it happens.

Lance grips his bayard, and it transforms into a long, Altean broadsword. A sword.

Keith gapes, and Lance smirks, advancing on him with a low laugh and a swing of his bayard. The swing is steady and practiced, and Keith thanks the stars for muscle memory as he manages to block in time. He falters slightly, still stunned, and Lance hums.

“Surprised?” Lance grins at him, and a violent blush spreads up Keith’s neck.

Read the full piece below the bar, or @/sleapea on ao3 or instagram 💕

Keith stands in his blade armour, sword in hand, at one end of the sparring ring in the middle of the training deck. He huffs quietly as Lance enters the ring with a lazy stretch and an easy gait, like he’d asked Keith to go for a casual walk after dinner instead of loudly challenging him to a sparring match at the dinner table. He raises an eyebrow as Lance finds his place across from him, meets his eyes when Lance finally settles. That’s when it happens.

Lance grips his bayard, and it transforms into a long, Altean broadsword. A sword.

Keith gapes, and Lance smirks, advancing on him with a low laugh and a swing of his bayard. The swing is steady and practiced, and Keith thanks the stars for muscle memory as he manages to block in time. He falters slightly, still stunned, and Lance hums.

“Surprised?” Lance grins at him, and a violent blush spreads up Keith’s neck. “Allura’s been helping me practice.” Keith simply scowls. In answer, Lance presses further on the offensive with a lunge forward, and then another, and another, until Keith is reduced to blocking blow after blow in a frantic defense. Since when was Lance skilled at close range combat? His head spins as he grapples with the new information, and Lance nearly slices into the armour at his shoulder.

“Watch it, Samurai,” Lance teases, breathless. “Don’t think you can hold back with me.”

Lance had been goading Keith like this all week, getting him to react and lower his guard after training, during meetings, between missions. Keith hated how easy it was for Lance to get under his skin, but Lance knew exactly where all of his buttons were. All he had to do was simply reach over and press, with a sly comment, a quick remark, and he had Keith taking the bait, eating right out of the palm of his hand. All week he’d pressed and he’d pressed, winding Keith up and up and up until asking him to spar, knowing Keith’s temper wouldn’t allow him to refuse.

He scowls again, and Lance bites at his lip to keep from laughing. “What?” Lance asks, coy as he swings again. Clink. “Speechless?” Clink, Clink. The sound of metal against metal fills the room, echoing off the barren walls of the training deck. Keith tries to calm his breathing.

“Come on, Keith,” he digs, grin bright and devilish. Clink. Keith simply scoffs as his blocks become cleaner, more precise. Clink, Clink. “I know this isn’t all you can do,” and all at once, Keith realizes he’s been backed to the edge of the ring.

He’s annoyed with himself, for getting caught up in this. For letting Lance catch him off his guard, and for taking so long to recover. It isn’t like him to fumble, to lose his cool during a match.

“Why are you holding out on me?” Lance cuts, and Keith meets his eyes. He’s annoyed with Lance, too, for teasing him. For playing him like a fiddle, with his playful lilt and easy charm. For distracting him with his constant banter, for always feigning innocence, with a light-hearted laugh and a flush to his cheeks, and Keith was weak, so god damn weak for it, and Lance knew it, too. And his sword… wow. He wishes he had time to process how that made him feel, but Lance is still pressing forward, giving him no time. Keith stares at him, hard, the cool blue of his irises trying to freeze him over. But Keith burns.

“Keith!”

His heartbeat thuds loud in his ears, and his fingertips become five searing points against the hilt of his blade.

“What are you—” Lance fumbles, and Keith blocks his next advance and pushes back in one, fluid motion. Startled, Lance hesitates, and it’s just enough time for Keith to hook his sword under Lance’s blade and twist. Lance’s bayard spins right from his grip, falling to the floor with an impressive clank, but Keith hardly registers the sound, because he’s reaching forward. Reaching forward, yanking Lance by the collar of his armour and kissing him, hard and rough, effectively cutting his sentence off short. After a moment, he releases him with a small shove, gaze burning as he glares in Lance’s direction.

Lance lights up like a christmas tree. “What was that for?!” he sputters, and Keith has just enough time to feel smug about the look on Lance’s face before his mind catches up to him. Immediately, he drops his sword, the fire in his belly dissipating into glowing embers that burn at his cheeks.

“You wouldn’t shut up!” He snaps, and instantly regrets it.

Sometimes, Keith lets himself entertain the possibility of maybe, maybe telling Lance how he feels. When he tells him, he always pictures a nice view, like, maybe they’re back on Earth, and maybe the war’s over. Maybe he’s been trying to muster the courage for awhile now, and maybe, just maybe, the timing is just right. Never, not once, has he pictured a sweaty training ring, and he’s definitely never pictured doing something quite like… that.

“No way. Nu uh, you do not get to just do that,” Lance bursts, pacing slightly, “No way am I letting you have this.” Keith raises an eyebrow, but Lance doesn’t notice. He continues to ramble, brows pinched. “I was trying to look cool, for once, you know?” He appeals, but then, he stops dead. “Why do you always have to steal my thunder!” At that, he puts his hands on his hips and huffs, blushing to the tips of his ears, and, Keith really hates to admit it, but seeing Lance blushing and flustered does something to him.

Lance prickles under his gaze, and because Keith is an idiot, he smirks, crosses his arms, and “Oh yeah?” taunts. “What are you going to do about it?”

Keith’s words dissipate between them, and something seems to settle in Lance. He relaxes suddenly, fixes his eyes onto Keith with a slight quirk of his brow, as if to ask “Is that a challenge?”, and Keith shivers.

Stubborn, Keith holds steady under his gaze, watching as Lance’s eyes take him in, begin to swallow him whole. They focus, darken, and then they’re holding Keith in place as he approaches him slowly. Keith holds his breath as Lance stops right in front of him, brings his hands up to cup at his jaw, angle his head upward. His breath is hot and shallow against Keith’s mouth as he draws their faces close and exhales, drags a thumb light over Keith’s upper lip so slow and languid that Keith’s legs nearly give at the touch. Lance takes his time studying Keith’s face, letting the pads of his thumbs run up the crests of his cheeks, the slope of his jaw. Keith’s melting at the contact, and he knows he’s blushing deep and his cheeks must be patchy and hot but he can’t move, can’t think, with Lance so close and touching him like this. Keith drags in a breath, shaky and rough, and then, Lance is kissing him. He kisses him softly at first, driving him wild with the way he presses light, so light, against him. It’s not enough, it’s not enough, but at the same time, it’s too much.

When Keith is sure he can’t handle anymore teasing, like his knees might really buckle from beneath him, Lance’s mouth becomes firm, burning, questioning. Constant and steady and prodding until Keith opens to him, all too easily. He doesn’t care that Lance smirks at his easy submission, doesn’t care because Lance is wrapping his fingers in the hair at his nape, angling him upwards and licking into his mouth and oh, wow— doing something with his tongue that has Keith going boneless, his heart stopping and restarting again in his chest.

Lance pulls away then, drawing back and leaving Keith red faced and wanting. He’s breathless too, cheeks a bright pink, lips kiss swollen and eyes dark and Keith really, honest to God, has no idea how he’s still standing. Lance looks him over, and when Keith says nothing, nods his head in assurance.

“I win,” he states, grinning “Bet you can’t one up that.” Keith simply stares, unable to act as though Lance didn’t just completely undo him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, dazed, and Lance’s eyes widen.

“Oh— wait, what?” He stutters, completely unused to Keith’s silence. Instantly, he brings a hand to worry the back of his neck. “Okay, well, yeah, I’m great, so... I guess this makes sense…” he mumbles to himself, but Keith doesn’t hear a word he says. He’s too busy watching him— the way he talks and talks, nervous and flushed. Distantly, Keith thinks that he’s only ever seen Lance act like this around the Princess. Lance laughs, low and nervous, and Keith’s eyes widen as the thought registers.

Lance turns, angling away from him like he might leave the ring, and Keith immediately reaches out and grabs at his wrist. Lance jumps, turns to face him, eyes big and vulnerable. Although Lance just kissed him senseless, he looks just like a little kid, and Keith’s stomach flips.

“Can I…” he breathes in, voice catching in his throat “can I... kiss you again?” Lance stares at him for a moment, wide eyed and silent, before his expression clears, and he sighs.

“Oh, now you’re asking,” he huffs, and Keith deflates.

“Lance,” he pleads, creasing his brows. He lets go of his wrist. “I’m sorry, I just, I did not mean for this to happen, ok?” He clears his throat, tries to remember how to breathe. “I really fucked this up. I was so frustrated and I just... moved, and I know that’s no excuse,” he stops, sighs. When he continues, his voice is quiet. “I figured one day, I’d confess to you properly, you know. Like in those movies, maybe… with some candles, or a sunset, but I… God, I really wanted to do better for you, do this properly, at a better time. You know, like, when you actually have a chance of liking me back… but you just… you just piss me off so much sometimes. It’s like, I can’t even stop myself—”

He’s cut off by Lance’s lips against his, firm and sweet and lingering, and when Lance breaks, his smile is shy and genuine.

“Whoa,” Keith says dumbly, and Lance laughs. “What was that for?”

“You wouldn’t shut up,” he shrugs, expression neutral. His lips twitch, a smile threatening to break his facade, and then he bites at his lower lip to keep it at bay. “I like you too, mullet,” the admission leaves him suddenly, easily, but within moments, Lance is tensing. His eyes widen as a blush spreads fierce up his neck, his cheeks, his ears, and then, he looks away, presses his lips together. Keith’s fingers itch to reach out and touch him, but before he can, Lance grabs ahold of his hand. “L-let’s go,” he says, turning away from Keith completely and beginning to lead him from the ring. Keith simply stares, and he knows Lance can feel his eyes on him by the way his blush darkens.

“You’re grip needs work,” Keith states, breaking the silence. Lance falters for a moment, but keeps walking. “But… you’re pretty good, I was surprised.”

“Thanks,” it comes out quiet, and Lance still doesn’t meet his eyes, but he smiles, squeezes Keith’s hand, and it’s enough. More than enough, Keith thinks, as he squeezes back, face breaking into a smile so wide he thinks he must look ridiculous. But he doesn’t care, he really, really doesn’t, as he focuses on Lance’s fingers between his, firm and steady (albeit, a little clammy) and— holy shit, he actually likes him back.

Technically, Lance may have won the match. But with Lance’s hand in his, Keith can’t say that he lost, either.