#thing for me as often as it is a dom thing

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Lowlife Princess

Act One: Jeong Yunho, known locally as The Joker, has found himself a favorite new plaything. Or — you, a poor girl just trying to survive in Gotham City, form a strange relationship with the Clown Prince of Chaos.

❥Jeong Yunho x fem reader

"They became the King and Queen of Gotham City — and God help anyone who disrespected the Queen."

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut with plot, gotham au

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: not beta read, sex worker turned sugar baby reader (no depicted sw), reader is definitely messed up from her job, obsession at first sight, touch starved reader / touchy yunho, dacryphilia / daddy kink outside of sex, fear, police intimidation, yunho threatening a cop, smoking and trying to quit (yun), yunho crazy as hell / reader just as crazy but hides it better at first, does making vengeful murder plans count towards aftercare ? for yunho, yes ! featuring riddler!hongjoong and highly inappropriate family / worker + boss dynamics smut warnings: rough dom yunho, soft making out, hickeys, cumming in pants, dry humping, tipsy sex, talk abt kinks and fantasies (including cnc + exhibitionism), table / couch / floor sex, size difference, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, one instance of spit, light spanking, hand kink, body worship, first time squirting, manhandling, overstimulation, daddy kink + ddlg themes, hardcore dacryphilia, dumbification, unprotected + creampie, yun gets off on reader being a bit mean to him, very possessive dialogue + dirty talk, lots of dirty talk actually- yunho won't shut up, praise, pet names (pretty girl, doll, baby, princess), aftercare

♫soundtrack♫

➯a/n: this all started when someone asked for cnc with yunho... how the hell did i end up with a three part series with a joker au ?? well, either way, here we are 😭 this is on the same level as cornflower blue and allure for me... i love what i've done and i don't say that often but sometimes my brain lets me be proud kkkkk im having really not the best night so i decided to share this early and have some fun ! ➯a/n2: this is a long, long chapter ! i think the second smut scene is probably the longest one ive ever written by like a loooong shot🥲sit back, relax, and welcome to the clown show~

♡masterlist + tag post !♡

【jokers♱】 @mentallyunpresent @fireseo @beomkyum @onyxmango @spicyhotteokkay @vinylphwoar @ramadiiiisme @m00njinnie ₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy

18+.NO MINORS ON MY BLOG.

ꕥ

"Asshole can't even be bothered to turn on the heat?"

You chuckle at the new girls complaint, looking over to her. "Be thankful he didn't start you on the poles, newbie." You're sat on top of the wooden bar, drying cups at almost four in the morning.

It's slow. And, yes, it's cold in the skimpy outfit your boss makes you wear. Winter in Gotham, much like everything about the city, is unforgiving. But you know better than to complain; born and raised in the poor, crime ridden city.

All things considered, this is a good gig. The club that you work at is a poorly veiled front for sex work; but since it's in a nicer part of the city, you get treated fairly well.

In your years at The Riddle Room, you've saved a good bit of money. Got your own apartment in a neighborhood that doesn't have break-in's literally every night. You haven't gone hungry since you started working here and you're only cold when you're on the clock.

"I don't know how to dance," the younger woman shrugs as she rubs her arms.

"Neither did I," you hum, looking around the desolate bar. "Hey," you nod over to the bathrooms, "it's always a bit warmer in there. Go warm yourself up. I'll cover for you if he comes around."

"Really?" She smiles, and you can tell she won't last long here. You almost want to tell her to actually just go home and never come back. You either adapt or you break — and you can't see her adapting.

"Yeah," you give her a tight lipped smile, "sure. Don't be too long."

"Thanks, (Y/n)!" She yells as she runs to the women's bathroom.

"Poor kid is gonna get eaten." You mumble to yourself, glancing at the clock. 3:56.

She's still in the bathroom next time you look, 4:12. Still two more hours until you can go home and put on some warm clothes and go to sleep and get up tomorrow and repeat the day all over again.

"Where's the new girl?" Your boss: Kim Hongjoong, aka The Riddler, asks immediately as he enters the bar.

"Bathroom-" You look up over at him, and quickly toss yourself off of the bar when you see that he's brought others along with him.

The man right next to him is the infamous Joker. The Clown Prince of Chaos. Looking right at you with a grin that can only be described as unsettling.

You gulp, but you push a smile onto your lips quickly. "Hello! Welcome in."

"You're fine," Hongjoong waves you off, "they aren't here for that. Here for business."

You can't help the way that your shoulders physically relax. The stories you've heard about the man are... frightening. From the news to the unfortunate souls who got to live after he got his hands on them.

Now you want to go home and never return. If The Joker is doing business with your place of work — you want nothing to do with it.

Jeong Yunho, who you know only as Joker, keeps his eyes on you like a predator as he follows your boss to a large round booth.

He has an eye for fire. And you, poor you, are shimmering with embers that he wants to stoke into a wildfire.

He manages to be business-man enough to seal the deal with Riddler; an agreement of giving some of his profit if he allows him to store product in the bar. He can't remember the details. As soon as they shake on it, he forgets all about it to be frank.

Because his mind goes back to you.

And then his eyes, as well.

You're behind the bar with the younger girl who had brought over drinks a little while ago. You're clearly trying to ignore his presence, and he can't blame you. He knows his reputation. But it still makes him tap his fingers against the table in annoyance; his sharp metal accessories thudding rhythmically.

"How much?" He asks Hongjoong suddenly, cutting the silence. "Out of curiosity." Because whatever the price is, he's sure it's not enough.

You're beautiful. And you still have fire in your eyes even with your line of work.

Yunho likes that very, very much.

"Hm?" He follows his eyes, "(Y/n)? I thought you'd like her, that's why I had her work tonight." The man smirks a bit, "(Y/n)!"

Your head perks up from your phone, immediately dropping it on the bar and making your way over. "Yes?"

"C'mere," he curls his finger, beckoning you closer, "give our new business partner a twirl, will you?"

You would really rather not. You've felt his eyes on you since the moment he walked in. But you swallow your pride as you always do and you give the man a smile before slowly turning in a circle.

One of the men next to Yunho whistles lowly, and while you aren't affected by it; he surely is — giving the man a glare which shuts him up immediately.

"Five hundred an hour. She knows how to please. My best girl."

You do, and sometimes you take joy in it. You do not want to please Joker, however. You want as far as possible away from him.

"That's it?" He cocks an eyebrow, giving you another once over. "Spin for me again." He leans back, chewing on the lollipop stick he'd been fiddling with.

You swallow around the lump in your throat as you spin, looking down at the floor when you return to face them; feeling like you've somehow displeased him.

"When's your shift tomorrow, doll?"

You blink a few times to register that he just asked you a question, not your boss. You look to said man, who looks just as puzzled. It's pretty rare for a customer to even bother asking your name, let alone try to schedule with you directly.

"Uhm, midnight to six, sir." You aren't entirely sure how to address him, but you certainly don't want to be rude to the cold blooded clown.

"I'll see you from three to six."

The way he says it leaves no room for argument, and Hongjoong's eyes widen a bit. "Wait- wait a second, she only does an hour at a time-"

"Not with me." He scans you slowly, catching onto the way you hold your own hand nervously, pinching your skin. "Don't worry," he laughs as he stands up, towering over you as you stay statue still, "I'll be nice."

ꕥ

When 2:40 rolls around the next night, you debate skipping town. Hongjoong said you didn't have to do anything you were uncomfortable with — but you were doing it anyway because you know the repercussions that come with denying The Joker of what he wants. You've seen the news headlines.

If what he wants is you, you'll have to give it to him unless you want to end up missing or mangled. And now that he's in business with your place of work, you worry that if you say no to him; you'll no longer have work.

Three hours? Three fucking hours alone with the Prince of Chaos?

You wondered if you'd be alive at the end of it even if he was 'nice'. His definition of nice could mean not shooting someone if they look at him the wrong way.

You had to take a sleeping pill after your shift to even think about resting; and god knows you needed the rest for the hours to come.

You throw your phone onto the bedside table and stand up straight as you hear the door open. Your hands behind your back, you find the bravery to meet the man's eyes.

"Hello, sir."

He didn't know what exactly he was expecting when he opened the motel door. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you in a white, lace babydoll dress that barely conceals your most private areas.

Despite the fact that he opened the door with zero intention of touching you, he feels his cock twitch.

He bolts the door behind him out of habit, unaware of the fact that it makes you gulp. "What the hell are you wearing?" He asks as he faces the door still.

"...what? Do- do you not like it?" You picked it because you believed you looked good in it. Maybe innocent even, so he might go easy on you.

"Do you want me to fuck you stupid?"

"Isn't that wh-"

Yunho turns around and storms into the room, making you flinch heedless of the way you try to hold it back. You close your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for whatever comes your way with a squeak of, "please, I bruise easily!"

You were sure that the first thing you would feel would be his hands on your exposed skin, maybe even a slap. What you did not expect, not in a million years — is the blanket being draped around your shoulders.

"No." He says simply as he takes a step back.

You look completely shell shocked. Probably because you are. And again, he can't blame you. He'd probably think he was about to be fucked senseless if he was in your situation as well.

And make no mistake — he wants to fuck you. But he also wants to do so much more.

"No?" You whisper as you open your eyes, looking at him with confusion written all over your face.

"No. I'm not going to fuck you."

"But you paid-" He quickly grabs the blanket and holds it shut around you as you try to shrug it off.

"I did. I paid good money, so listen to what I want." He bites his lip as you nod quickly. He really could get you to do anything. But that's not what he wants. He wants to light your fire, not put it out. "Listening?"

"Yes..."

"I'm not going to fuck you. And I'm not going to hurt you. Put some damn clothes on, and sit on the bed."

He leaves you utterly dumbfounded as he turns around as quickly as he came and heads to the connected bathroom, the thud of the lock making you jump a bit.

With a fast text Hongjoong's way saying that Joker isn't, in fact, rearranging your insides, he's acting weirder; you do as he instructed you and put on your clothes. They weren't meant to be seen by anyone else, they were for you to sleep in after he left.

He's pleased when he comes out of the bathroom and sees you in the pajamas. A large shirt and long sweatpants, you've even put your socks on. "Cute," he chuckles at the pattern on them, loosening his tie.

He wanted to touch himself while he was in there, the image of your body all wrapped up in white lace like a goddamn present still fresh in his mind — but he practiced self restraint.

He knows you're still tense, you're still afraid of him. Everyone is. Well, they are or they're just plain stupid.

"You in college?" His question, much like everything else he's done so far, catches you off guard.

"College? Uhm, yeah- yes. Yes, sir."

"Quit that."

"Sorry?" You holds your hands together in your lap, scratching your fingers.

"Calling me 'sir', don't do that." He rolls his neck as he takes his tie off, tossing it on the chair in the corner while he watches you.

"Sorry," you clear your throat, "what should I call you then? Joker?"

"Yunho." He half-smiles as he unbuttons his suit vest and lets it join the tie. "My name is Jeong Yunho." It feels good to say that.

Being 'Joker' to so many people feels powerful, but he doesn't want to be that to you. He wants to be himself. He wants to make you want him for him. Not for his persona or because you're afraid of what he'll do if you say no.

Even if it takes months, he'll make you want him.

Because the second he laid eyes in you, you were his. He could see the fire underneath your sweet, submissive mask. He loves fire.

"What school?" His questions keep throwing you through loops as you try to guess whether or not this is all a ploy to get your guard down. If he likes to catch people when they least expect it.

"Online," you hum, watching him just as closely as he watches you while he takes off his belt and kicks off his shoes.

"More flexibility, I imagine." He falls back onto the bed next to your sitting form and his weight makes you bounce a bit. Out from his pocket he gets a pack of gum, offering you a piece to which you confusedly shake your head.

You phone pings on the bedside table.

"You're hard." You say it like he might not have noticed, eyes flickering to the noticeable bulge in his slacks.

"I am, you're very pretty." His soft admittance makes your heart beat in a whole new way. Not thumping in fear, but fluttering with something unknown. "It will go away on its own."

You phone let's put another ping.

"You always have your ringer on when you're with a client?" He reaches across with his long arm and grabs it as it starts ringing.

'Hong' reads the caller ID.

"Jesus, learn how to answer a text!" He says through the speaker as Yunho answers it, letting you do nothing but watch uneasily at his unreadable expression.

"She's on the clock." He says into the microphone, fingers tapping the back of the device lazily and popping his gum.

"Joker! Hey, what are you doing to her? We put rules in place for a reason! Why am I getting an SOS?" Hongjoong is nothing if not protective of you and the other worker's wellbeing. He prides himself on taking care of you all. You especially.

"I haven't touched her. Don't worry, your best girl is just fine. She's just a little frightened, I think," he giggles as he catches you in the corner of his eye shrinking in on yourself.

"If there's a goddamn single scratch on her-"

"Yeah, yeah, toodles~" He hangs up quickly and turns it off before he can call back. He turns his head to you, slipping your phone into his pocket.

It's silent for a moment as you feel the emotions coming off of him — although you have no idea which ones they are.

Then, out of the blue, he asks, "so what do you do on your days off?"

ꕥ

After about twenty minutes pass, it seems he's finally ran out of basic questions to ask. They start getting more obscure and, unsurprisingly for a man such as himself, strange.

What superpower would you have? Did you ever set things on fire as a kid? You brush your teeth before or after you eat in the morning? Do you ever fantasize about getting revenge on those who've wronged you?

You were starting to get whiplash from trying to keep up, so you're thankful when he rolls over onto his side and faces you; still sitting up tensely with your back against the headboard, "I think I'll stop there tonight. We have a few more hours and there's something I want to do."

You knew it! You knew it! You k-

"Lay down and cuddle with me, pretty girl."

Wait — the fuck? You freeze, your breath stuck in your throat.

"I don't like to ask for things twice."

You slink down the bed until you're laying on your side next to him, and for some reason you have tears brewing in your eyes and blurring your vision. You're still sure that he's going to flip his act at any second. "How?"

He admits lowly, "I want to hold you." It feels strange to hear the criminal kingpin say something so soft. "You look so comfortable, like you'll fit perfectly in my arms."

You don't know what his game is — his angle. You can't figure it out.

Because in reality there isn't one. He's just doing what he wants, asking what he wants. There's no rhyme or reason, he's just doing what he feels like will please him; like he always does. And he knows it will please him deeply to hold you.

You look like a frightened deer: your chest rising and falling quickly, your body stiff as you lay next to him, your eyes either blinking too slow or too fast.

"Are you scared of me?" He knows the answer is undoubtedly yes. But he wants to see how you'll react. What you'll say.

"Yes."

The corner of his lips twitches upward. Most people would say no to try and please him, especially in such an intimate setting.

"Why? I haven't harmed you, have I?" He hums as he reaches and toys with a piece of your hair.

"Not yet."

He laughs, shaking the mattress a bit, "oh, doll~ You're so cute..." He sighs, his hands twitching for a split second before he finally caves and wraps his arms around you; yanking you towards him and closing the gap.

You panic briefly, sure that he's finally going to take what he paid for. But he doesn't make a move. He wraps his arms around you shockingly tender, one around your waist and the other around your shoulders; reaching up and petting the back of your head.

You start letting the tears that have been threatening your waterline fall. Well — you don't let them. They come whether you want them to or not.

"Put your arms around me."

You slowly move to do so, your tears dampening his button down shirt as he cradles your head to his chest. You hold onto his back lightly; and you hate that it feels so nice to be held. Not to be held down or stuck, but to be embraced.

The Joker has thrown you for loop after loop. Never, never, would you have thought this is how the night would go. You expected to be bruised and sore by now, but instead here you are being held like a precious, overpriced stuffed animal.

You start sobbing, and your choked noises come out even as you bite your lip.

"Shhhh," he coos, a large grin on his face as he rubs your shaking back, "doesn't this feel nice?"

You nod into his chest, your fingers twitching to hold onto him as he gently pulls your head back.

He smiles softer as you meet his eyes. He cups your cheek in his palm, tracing your cheekbone with his thumb and smearing your tears. "You're so pretty..." He bites his tongue as he wants to continue. He just broke down a layer of your walls, he has to be careful.

"It's been a long time since someone just held you, huh?" He pouts, wrapping his arm around your waist tighter.

You nod again, not trusting your own voice. Not even knowing what you would say. The Clown Prince of Chaos has you so confused.

"I thought as much... don't you worry, pretty girl," he gently guides your face back into his chest, hiding his gleeful expression as he can no longer hold it back. His brain is pushing him, nagging for him to get just one more thing before he's fully satisfied with his first night with you.

"I'll hold you until the sun rises —you just have to do one thing for me."

You nod quickly, probably too quickly, but you don't care. If he'll keep true to his promise and hold you like this — you'll take it. You don't care that he is who he is as the heat of his body warms your soul.

"Just say, 'please, Daddy'... and I will give you anything you want."

You pause for only a moment, swallowing the remainder of your tears. "Please, Daddy." You whisper into his shirt, "please, just hold me."

"Of course, I will." And he will. He'd have held you even if you didn't ask — but he's so glad he got you to.

The way your voice trembled ever so slightly as you asked for soft affection... it solidified the fact that he's wrapped around your finger. Coiled around your pinky like a snake in a matter of twenty four hours.

You do fit perfectly in his arms. It scratches a deep itch in his brain. You're so soft, especially as you start relaxing into him.

You're soft, you're pretty, and you have a flame deep in your eyes.

Yunho has to have you all to himself. He'd never forgive himself for letting you get away — so he's got to be sure that it doesn't come to that.

ꕥ

You have no Earthly idea how you managed to fall asleep.

Maybe it was his soft traces on your back. Probably your emotional distress didn't help you to stay awake. Perhaps it was his quiet humming or the heat of his body.

You must have been exhausted. Because you would never fall asleep in the same room as a client on any other day. Especially not if they were so high profile and had such a terrifying reputation.

And yet here you are. Blinking the sleep from your eyes and sitting up slowly as someone bangs on the door.

"Times up, buddy!" You rub your head at the sound of the man's voice carrying through the door.

Yunho is already up and out of the bed, fixing his tie in the body length mirror. He catches a glimpse of your sleepy face in the reflection and grins. "Good morning, sleeping beauty~"

You look down at your body quickly as you realize what you've done. He could have easily taken advantage of you while you slept. But the drawstring on your sweatpants is still in the same bow you tied them in.

"I didn't peek, if that's what you're worried about." He flicks his vest in the air, soothing out some of the wrinkles. "Sleep well?"

Another round of knocks comes to the door; ignored by both of you as you lock eyes.

"You didn't touch me?" Your brows knit together in what feels like disbelief and confusion and one big headache. "Why?"

"Because I know you didn't want me to." He says it likes it obvious, and really it should be. But your lines of consent and control are clearly blurred.

"But-" You stutter, searching for the words to describe what's going on in your brain. Trying to file all of the confusion into place. "But you paid."

"I did. And I got what I wanted." He leans his hands on the edge of the bed and leans forward, all the while you watch him dumbfounded. "How much does he give you, anyway?"

"Uhm," you hesitate. You aren't sure if you should be discussing payment with him. But the lift of his eyebrow makes you answer, "one third."

"Oh, that won't do!" He shakes his head quickly, getting his wallet from his vest pocket. "Here." He hands over two one hundred dollar bills.

"W-what?" You aren't supposed to touch the money, not until Hongjoong hands it to you. The Joker isn't doing anything by the book — and you can't believe you didn't see that coming.

"You were good company," he says as he forces the paper into your palm and closes your fingers around it. "And I think you deserve to be spoiled."

Your eyes widen a bit, looking between him and the money. "I didn't- I didn't earn this, Joker-"

"Yunho." He corrects you, "and, yes, you did. I'm very pleased." You're stuck in place as he leans forward, his nose almost touching yours. "Since our time is up, I'll have to kiss you next time~"

"Next time?" You breathe out in a soft pant, your heart beating a bit faster than you'd like to admit. "There's going to be a next time?" You sound almost hopeful, because this was the softest experience you've had in a long, long time.

"Without a doubt." He traces your cheek with his knuckle as he stands, letting his hand drop just as the door slams open.

"(Y/n)!" Hongjoong runs to you, giving the man a glare, "are you okay? Did he bruise you? Did he use a condom?" He tilts your head, checking you for marks, "did you-"

All of his questions go unheard as you watch The Joker saunter out of the room; whistling a soft tune as he lights a cigarette.

ꕥ

You walk into The Riddle Room at 11:45 sharp the next night and find Hongjoong sitting on the bench in the dressing room, biting at his nails.

"What's up with you?"

He jumps at the sound of your voice, immediately standing up. "Heyyy~"

"Nope."

His face drops. "Wha- I didn't even say anything!"

"Whatever it is, no. I don't like when you do that voice, it spells trouble." You groan as you shrug off your jacket, hanging it in your locker with your purse.

"Hear me out!" He pleads with big eyes.

"Put me on bar duty, I'm not doing it-"

"He said he'd pay you directly, almost a full cut." That gives you pause, looking over your shoulder at him as you unbutton your sweater.

"Who?" He hesitates a moment too long for your liking. "Hong, who did you pimp me out to?"

"Joker," he mumbles under his breath, looking around the room slowly to avoid your death glare. "I should get that light fix-"

You slam the locker door shut, "I thought we had an agreement!"

"He's basically fucking throwing the money at our feet! How can you say no to-"

"Like this! No! He's a damn weirdo, I was afraid he'd steal my panties or cut my hair or something. I don't want to spend another three hours in a hotel with that man!"

"You won't be..." He looks down at the floor, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Hongjoong." You sneer, taking a step towards him. "What the fuck did you do?"

ꕥ

"I'm going to quit." You sigh as Hongjoong pulls into the parking lot of the hotel. "Seriously, I quit. I'm gonna t-"

"Don't be so dramatic."

"I'm not dramatic, I just don't want to end up with my head in a jar or some wack shit! Seven hours- what in actual, like actual, actual fuck is wrong with you? This is the damn Joker we're talking about!"

You hate Hongjoong so badly right now. He'd signed you up for an entire seven hour shift with the man. You didn't know who's stupider, him or you. Because here you are, despite your complaining and worries. Maybe because deep down you want to see what will happen. If he'll be nice again.

Seven hours, all in one night. That's three thousand five hundred dollars into Hongjoong's pocket. And if Yunho actually pays you even half of that directly, you'll probably do anything he asks.

That is a fuck load of money for you.

"This is the last time I ever want to see him, do you understand me? I don't care is he offers us ten grand each." Well — that's a bit of exaggeration. Ten grand would absolutely get you to do anything the maniac asked. But you genuinely want nothing to do with the man. He brings chaos wherever he goes and he takes joy in it.

"Deal." He leans and kisses your head, "gotta keep my best girl happy." He smiles lightly, feeling a bit guilty for sending you into a situation that you were clearly uncomfortable with, at least on the surface. But when he tried to deny Yunho when he asked for you again, he glared a deathly glare and offered him five grand up-front.

He can admit that the jokesters infatuation with you is... strange. When you told him that the man made you uncomfortable, he was sure that he wouldn't let him anywhere near you again.

But Jeong Yunho is nothing if not persistent and scary when denied something he wants. And for reasons unclear to either of you — it's you that the man wants.

"Go make that clown happy," he says with a pat to your head.

ꕥ

"You're late," Yunho hums from his place sprawled out on the hotel bed as you enter. He's dressed a great deal more casual than yesterday, black on black on black with his sweatpants, socks, and hoodie.

"Sorry, Joker. I didn't know you had-"

"It's Yunho to you." He sits up quickly and looks you up and down. You hadn't had time to do your makeup before your boss was dragging you out of the club. You're in your day clothes, jeans and sweater and jacket to try and fight off the Gotham winter.

You notice him staring, of course you do; because he isn't even trying to be sly about it. What would be the point? "Would you like me to change?" You flinch as he stands, you'd forgotten how tall the man is in just the short amount of time.

"Yes. You don't look comfortable. Do you have pajamas?"

"Are we not going to-"

"No." He laughs as you look at him ask if to ask why, raising your eyebrows. "Don't get me wrong, doll," he says as he takes your bag, setting it down on the chair, "you're goddamn beautiful, but I don't pay for sex."

You can't help the little scoff you let out. You quickly cover your mouth as his head whips around, mumbling out an apology as he stalks forward. "What?" He smirks, "you still think I'm going to fuck you while you're on the clock?"

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to offend you! It's just-" You look away from him quickly, "that's my job? I'm not quite sure why I'm here if you don't- if we don't, y'know..."

"Because I want you to be." He says simply, titling his head as he looks down at you. "Do you need more reason than that?"

"...yes?"

"You're pretty, you feel nice to hold. I've decided that I like you." He shrugs nonchalantly, purposefully leaving out the fact that the fire in your eyes has enamored him because he doesn't want to spook you further, turning back into the room and gesturing to your bag, "did you say you had pajamas?"

What? What the actual shit? Did he actually just say that? Was that his way of saying he has some sort of school boy crush on you?

"Uhm... yeah, I do."

"Good. Get changed, I want to sleep a bit."

He doesn't leave the room this time when you change, simply laying back on the bed and flipping through the channels on the TV while nursing a lollipop. You briefly thought about going to the bathroom to change, but decided against it incase he somehow found that offensive. It's not like he hasn't already seen you essentially naked.

When he beckons you into the bed, you're back into the awkward position you were last night as well; only this time you're thankful to have the television to look at.

"Do you have a favorite position?" He asks suddenly, making your eyes widen for a second before he clarifies, "to cuddle?"

"It's- it's been a while since I had someone to cuddle with." Not for many, many years. You can hardly remember anyone giving you such soft touches in bed.

"Me too, actually." He admits, and it makes you feel a little more comfortable. "Not since I was a child. But I love it." He smiles, genuine and unfiltered as he says, "want to know a secret?"

"A secret?"

"I sleep with a stuffed animal."

It takes a moment for the information to sink in — and then you're imagining The Joker climbing into bed at the end of a long day of wreaking havoc on Gotham and snuggling his stuffed animals. And then you're laughing.

And it's the most melodic sound he's ever heard.

You quickly push the laughter away, shaking the image from your head, "sorry," you clear your throat, "just- that's just one hell of a thing to imagine."

He's still in awe for a few moments, and you're starting to get worried by his silence when he finally speaks up, "I know which one we can try."

You gasp quietly as he suddenly grabs you, easily turning you onto your side to face away from him. Maneuvering you like a doll. He pulls your back flush with his chest, moaning softly as he locks his arms around your waist. His nose finds its way to your hair before he can stop himself, and a pleased hum bubbles in his throat at the smell of your shampoo. "Mmm~ I like this."

You do to, and you're mad at yourself because of it. His strong arms and broad chest feel so safe for no logical reason, his leg draping over yours doesn't make you feel like you're being pinned down; it simply feels like he's trying to get closer. And you let him.

"Sleep with me, baby." The new nickname has you melting further into his hold, your eyes growing heavy as his warmth seeps into you. You can't help yourself. It's human nature to seek affection — and you've been deprived of it so long that you absolutely revel in it.

"Please, Daddy-" It's his turn to melt, his forehead pressed against the back of your head with a gentle sigh. He didn't even have to coax it out of you. You really are perfect, he thinks. "-keeping holding me."

"Of course."

ꕥ

You didn't work the next night, having gotten a text from your boss that you were moving to day shifts. When you entered the bar at eleven in the morning the day after that, you were ready to rip him a new one.

"Hong!" You yell as you bang on the door to his office again, getting impatient. "Hey, I gotta talk to you-"

The door swings open and reveals Joker's wide smile, "hiya, doll~" You drop your arm back to your side, looking past him into the room and finding Hongjoong with his head in his hands. You have the sneaking suspicion that they just did a deal — with you at the center of it.

You push past the tall man and storm into the room, ignoring his pout. "What in the world is going on with you lately? Day shift? Me? Are you goddamn stupid, Hong?" You reach over and smack him upside the head.

Yunho's jaw drops a bit watching you hit your pimp and curse at him. His eyes start shining as he sees that fire in you less unfiltered; showing it as you voice your upset. "Day shift is so slow! I thought I'm your best girl? What the fuck?"

If you had been any other worker and boss, especially in Gotham, you'd probably have your tongue cut out by now for mouthing off. But not you and Riddler. He has a soft spot for you. Not soft enough to ignore the bag of money under his desk curtesy of the jokester in the doorway, though.

He thinks it might actually be good for you. And, again, if you were anyone else, he'd have fought the man harder when he bribed him to take him most earning worker off of the night shift. But you aren't. You're you. And he thinks you deserve a break.

This might not be the break you're wanting, but it's the one you're going to get.

"Are you seriously going to do this to me?" You ask a bit softer as he finally lifts his head and looks at you.

"...Yes. I'm sorry, (Y/n)."

Riddler gets slapped across the face, and he looks down while The Joker laughs quietly; still watching with fascination. "I'm so angry with you." You sneer, "I was finally going to start taking real classes, you know that. How am I going to do that when I'm working during the day? When I can't pay for them? I- Oh, Auntie is going to hear about this!"

His head snaps up as you turn on your heel and storm right back out of the room, shoving The Joker with your shoulder. They both hear the locker room door slam, followed by a muffled shout of frustration. Yunho turns his head to Hongjoong slowly, lifting an eyebrow. "Auntie?"

Hongjoong sighs, falling back in his chair. "Word of advice, Joker? Never work with your cousin."

He looks at him shellshocked for a moment before he burst into a fit of laughter.

"Get out of my office before I stab you." He groans, placing his forehead on the desk. He's starting to regret doing business with the Clown Prince of Chaos.

Yunho continues his laughter as he exits, closing the door with a sigh of amusement. He checks his watch before taking a look towards the locker room. You still haven't exited, but he's got time to kill while waiting.

When you head into the lounge room, you roll your eyes at the sight of Yunho's back facing you; sitting at the bar.

As you push the saloon like door with your hip, you speak up with a punch in your tone, "is this your doing, Joker?" You give him only a second long glare before you start pouring yourself a drink. "Has your paws all over it."

"Yup~" He leans his chin in his palm as he watches you, "think about it-"

"I should slap you, too."

He smirks at the thought, "go ahead." You tut your tongue at his evident excitement, lifting yourself onto the counter across from the bar. "Seriously, though," he shrugs, digging for his lighter in his pocket, "think about it. You can get on a good sleep schedule." He takes a long puff of his cigarette, "take those classes you were talking about."

"How can I do that when I'm working?"

"I'll pay," he says without hesitation, making you choke on your drink. "How long are the lectures? One, two hours? That's nothing."

You set your glass down next to you, wiping your mouth as you search his face for any clues to as what he's up to. "You'll- why?"

"Because I want to." That seems to be his go to answer. And, really, how can you argue with that? If the kingpin wants to do something, even if nobody understands it; it's most likely going to happen. He got you moved to days so he could spend more waking hours with you. And if taking classes will make you happy enough to put up with him, he's all for it with zero hesitation. "I'll pay for as many classes as you want to take. You just have to do one thing for me."

Here he goes again. You chew the inside of your cheek for a moment before nodding, "what?"

"Smile." It's simple enough. But it still makes you hesitate. You're used to so many commands. Lay down, kneel, shut up — why are his, of all people, so soft?

"Smile?" You repeat in disbelief. He nods, a small grin of his own playing on his lips as he watches the cogs turn in your eyes. "That's it? You don't want me to suck you off or something like a normal guy?"

He chuckles under his breath, tapping his metal finger accessory against his cheekbone; the look in his eyes saying 'do I seem like a normal guy?' "While I would love to see what you can do — I'm satisfied with this for now."

Is he serious? You ask yourself that a lot. For someone called Joker, he seems deadly serious when it comes to what he's saying to you.

You crack a smile.

ꕥ

A few weeks pass. You have a routine. You're staring to enjoy being on day shift.

You took Yunho up on his offer and he pays for you to take classes three days a week, you're technically on the clock. Just doing something completely different. He doesn't touch you — not like that.

He pays for your time more than just when you sit in the classroom. He likes to have you around when he's not busy with work. Likes for you to sit in his lap and comb his hair with your fingers as you tell him all about the lectures you're taking thanks to him. He doesn't care about the subject matter, he just relaxes into your touch and listens to your voice to calm his frazzled mind. He likes keeping his hand on your waist, or the small of your back.

The first time he gave you a gift, you cried. It was only a thick jacket, he said he was tired of seeing you shiver in 'that poor excuse of a coat'. When he picked you up from your class the next day, and he saw you coming down the stairs; bundled up in the gift — he knew he wanted to give you more things.

You're an expensive obsession, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even flinch. He's practically rolling in money. Crime happens to be profitable.

He can see you coming to life more and more each time he sees you. The fire is brighter. You are brighter.

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday you have class. Yunho picks you up then and takes you to his club, saying he should know if his money is well spent when you ask him why he's so curious about your lecture. All he does is nod and hum softly in response while you ramble and rub his head.

Today is Wednesday, and it's freezing cold as you exit the building. You check your phone. One message from 'J' which reads 'Five minutes.' You bounce on your feet while you wait, chewing on a piece of gum to distract yourself from the bone chilling cold seeping into your legs.

Yunho likes when you wear skirts, and you like when he's happy.

"Hey, kid."

You whip your head to the side quickly at the unfamiliar voice, holding your purse tighter. You look the man up and down. "Can I help you?" He reaches in his suit jacket pocket, and you're immediately doing the same.

He holds out a police ID, you brandish a pocket knife with a diamond carved in the metal. Another gift from Yunho.

"Oh, shit," you flip it closed quickly, "sorry. You should know better than to spook someone, though." He waves it off, but he keeps his eyes on the small knife until it's back in your coat pocket.

"Are you Kim (Y/n)?"

You suck in a breath, debating on lying to the man — who clearly knows who you are by the way he asked. Not inquiring, more like letting you know. You shove your hands into your jacket, nodding, "one and only."

"I remember you from when your parents-" Your glare stops his words. Touchy subject, of course. "Sorry, a bit blunt of me." He holds out his hand. "Detective Bullock." You don't shake it.

"Is there some new evidence or something? I told you all to leave me alone years ago."

"No, sorry. I'm not cold case, i'm major crimes." He reaches into his back pocket, slower this time. He turns a photo towards you, the one on the top of the stack. "You know this man?" It's Yunho outside of The Riddle Room.

"Ehhhh," you scratch your head, "never seen him."

"Don't play games, kid." He takes the top picture away and reveals one of you and the man. "Want to try again?"

"Wow," you sigh, looking away and popping your bubblegum, "photoshop is getting crazy these days." Where the fuck is the clown when you need him? You search the street for his car, finding nothing.

"Is your cousin pimping you out to him?" You freeze in your spot, jaw tightening. "How much does he pay to have you be his eye candy?"

"I dunno what you mean, Bollocks."

"Bullock-" He groans, flipping to the next picture and looking down at it. "This is a personal favorite." You look in your peripheral, and then you do a double take, snatching the stack from his fingers to get a better look.

It's a photo of you and Yunho again. Outside of the hotel after you slept together — only slept. The man's large hand cupping your cheek, the metal over his index and middle finger catching the morning light. You'd never seen how he looks at you from an outside perspective. It's like he has stars in his eyes as he looks down at you.

"You following me everywhere?" You ask shakily, despite the way you try to steady your voice.

"The Riddlers number one lady suddenly starts spending time with The Joker, we want to keep an eye. So," he takes the pictures back, save for the one that you still look down at, "did they make some sort of deal? You as a barging chip?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"So tell me. I can get you immunity. I know what you do, if you give me something incriminating on Joker — I'll let you off scot free."

A car door slams. Yunho's voice booms. "Hey!" You immediately run to him, shoving the picture into your pocket. You jump off the last two steps and hug his neck.

"Mister J!" You'd taken up the nickname when he said how it was unfair he has so many for you, and he only has one. He was only joking, and so were you when you came up with it off the top of your head. But it stuck.

He wraps his arms around you tightly for a moment, glaring at the man over your shoulder. His hands slide to your waist and he pulls back, looking down at you. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm-"

"Go wait in the car for me, princess. You're gonna catch a cold." He squeezes your sides softly before sending you on your way. You hesitate for only a moment, looking over your shoulder at him as he stalks towards the detective. He's practically steaming with anger. Whatever he's about to say, it's probably better you don't hear. You don't want to be held liable. You get in the car quickly.

"How are you, Joker?" The man leans against the wall, raising an eyebrow.

"Fucking pissed, how about yourself?" Yunho gets right up on the man, only a mere few inches between them. "Are you that desperate?"

"Are you? Paying for a girl," Bullock whistles, "I didn't peg you for that t-"

"A man can't have a girlfriend? Huh? This is a new low, even for you." He spits with venom, the metal on his fingers digging into his palm. "She hasn't done anything, so stay the fuck away from her."

"Do you think I'm stupid? She's a prostitute-"

"I will cut out your tongue and gift it to her in a ribbon soaked with your blood."

His eyes widen a bit. He curses himself for not wearing a wire, but then — Joker hasn't been so quick to jump to verbal threats before.

They've been in a game of cat and mouse for some years now. The Joker always just slipping away. Never leaving enough evidence or paper trails to be solid in court. He's smart.

"Even you should know when a line has been crossed, right? This is the line. Cross it again and you will regret it."

Yunho looks the man up and down with disgust evident on his face as he turns away. "If I catch even a whiff of you around her again, I'll will make you pay."

Bullock can only watch, perhaps in state of shock, as the man makes his way down the stairs.

"What did you say to him?" You ask as Yunho slides into the car, slamming the door after him.

"Told him I'd appreciate if he stayed away from you." He says through gritted teeth, turning the vent towards you as he turns on the heat. His hands then immediately find his carton of cigarettes, an irritated sigh leaving his lips as he glances out the window towards the detective.

"You said that?"

"That's the PG version, yeah."

The sound of your soft laugh makes his racing mind calm down, and he watches in the corner of his eye as you buckle your seat belt. He doesn't bother, though. "Thanks, Daddy," you lean across and kiss his cheek.

It's chaste and quick, but it makes his heart jump into his throat. He's still thinking about it as he starts to drive away, and then for a good few minutes afterwards.

"Man, that fucking creep," you groan as you lean against the car window, "who sneaks up on a lady in Gotham of all places? I pulled my knife on him."

Yunho looks over from the driver side, his anger slowly fading in your presence. "You did?"

"Yeah, I thought he was going to rob me. I thought, 'fuck that'!"

He laughs, reaching over and resting his hand on your inner thigh; stroking your skin softly. "That's my girl."

ꕥ

"So," you hum softly as you rake your fingers through his hair later that day. You're straddled over his lap, his hand placed on your thighs; appreciating the softness of your skin. "You going to tell me what your deal is what that cop?"

"Mh, I don't like him." His bluntness makes you chuckle. He peeks his eyes open from their blissful close, looking up at you. "Why so curious?"

"He was trying to get me to turn you in-"

He sits up quickly, hands tightening on your legs, "what did you say?" He tilts his head, eyes flicking all over your face.

"I didn't say anything. Why would I?"

His eyes lock on yours. You seem to be truthful. "You didn't?"

"No," you continue combing through his tousled hair with your fingers, "I don't want my Mister J thrown in jail."

He laughs, relieved, as he leans into your touch again. "Atta girl~" He finds his hands sliding further up your thighs without thinking about it; and he even notices it before you do — too busy putting a small braid in his hair. He keeps them there. It's comforting as he decides to open up and give you a bit more information. "His name is Harvey Bullock. The detective."

"Mhm?" You nod, urging him to continue while you settle in his lap. The heat of your cunt almost makes him gasp. You don't even notice what you're doing to him.

He clears his throat, refocusing his brain, "I knew him when I was a boy. He tried to steer me away from crime, but it's what I'm good at, y'know? He's on some self redemption mission cause he thinks he's responsible for what I do, the self righteous fuck-face. He's been trying to get me for years, now. I'm always smarter though~" He slides his hands further up, and he can tell you notice now by the way you stiffen ever so slightly when he gives your ass a squeeze. "If you see him around, you let me know. Got it?"

"Of course, J," you swipe his fallen hair from his forehead gently. "Oh-" you lean and grab your jacket from the back of the chair you both sit on. "He had," you pull out the photo, "bunch of these. At least a few weeks worth."

He keeps one hand on your ass, the other pinching the photo to take it. "Hm," he smirks as he looks down at it, "cute. He should have gone into photography rather than police work. Maybe then he'd get somewhere." You chuckle a bit, shaking your head as you go to take the picture. "Put that on my desk, doll."

You look around it for a second, the flat surface doesn't provide many places to put it. You decide on propping it up against the bowl of lollipops. "Here?"

"Perfect. C'mere," he pulls you closer in his lap again. "I'm gonna ask you to do something now," he strokes your cheek with his knuckles, "and you can say no. It's past six, you can just go home. Remember that, princess." Whether it's from the stress of seeing you with the detective earlier or he's just finally getting plain impatient — he has to ask.

He looking at you so softly, so hopefully. You can't help but ask, "what is it?"

"Kiss me."

Your heart skips a beat before it starts thudding wildly. From the way he's groping your ass through your panties, you expected something more... vulgar. "Kiss?"

He nods, "just some kisses, baby. All of our clothes can stay right where they are." He can tell you're still a bit hesitant, but it fades as you lean forward and softly press your lips to his.

Both of your eyes fall shut, a blissed out hum in his throat. Your lips are just as soft as the rest of you. Your lipgloss smells like his favorite flavor lollipop as it smears against his lips with your slow movements. And it fills his gut with tingles at the fact that you're doing this. You aren't on the clock. You're kissing him because you want to.

You open up your mouth the second his tongue flicks against your lips. You lick at him, albeit a bit more held back than how he licks at you. He tastes like smoke and sugar and you never want to pull away.

When he takes your tongue into his mouth and sucks — you let out a soft whimper, hips grinding against his lap slowly. He moans softly into you, both hands gripping your ass and beginning to guide you along his growing bulge in a way that makes you melt. You grab onto his shoulders, panting softly as he pulls back.

"Fuck-" He groans, "you're so fucking hot." Whether he means in general or the way your heat seeps through your panties and rubs against his clothed cock — probably both. Your hips stutter, eyebrows twitching as you keep your eyes closed. "Are you needy, baby?"

You're used to so much more sex than you've been having. He's been hogging your schedule almost completely and this is the most he's ever touched you. "Y-yes."

"You want to cum on Daddy's lap?"

"Yes!" Comes your response as soon as he's done speaking, making him chuckle. "Just- just like this, please?"

"Just like this, pretty girl~ You can make us both cum like this, can't ya'?"

The thought of making him cum in his pants has you a little more excited than you thought it would. Nodding quickly, you spread your knees further and earn yourself a deep groan from his throat as you grind onto him deeper. "My eager girl," he moans while his head tilts back, basking in the pleasure and letting you set your own pace, "doing so good~"

His praise makes the dams in your eyes break, now crying freely into his neck while you grind against him. He smirks at the feeling of your tears wetting his skin, pulling your head back to look at you. "Why you cryin', baby?" He hums, leaning his hips up into you and making you gasp.

"Feels-" You try to sniff back your tears, "feels so good..."

"Aww, doll~ Humping my lap got you this worked up? So good you're crying for me?"

"Mhm," you reply with a pout, leaning into his palm as he uses his thumb to wipe your cheek.

"So precious," he grins as you try to use his palm to hide your tears, his member twitching underneath you. He pulls your head to his neck, leaning his head to the side, "mark me up, princess."

You don't hesitate to start leaving open mouthed kisses down his throat, grabbing onto the ends of his hair to steady yourself as you get closer and closer to your peak. You start sucking softly, your hips swirling when he groans; his fingers twitching on your ass, wanting to smack.

"Shit- just like that, baby..." A whine breaks off in his throat as he holds himself back, sliding his hands up your back instead and pulling you close. "Ah~" He lets out a particularly loud moan as you suck below his ear. "Mmh, you're gonna make me cum, princess~ So good, so perfect," he starts mumbling nonsense as he holds back his orgasm, desperate to wait for you.

"Fuckin' can't wait to ruin your pretty pussy. Gonna make you sob on my dick, baby~ Pound you so hard you can't talk, can't fucking walk the next day. Won't even be able to run away when I try to fuck you again, will you~? No~" His pleasure drunken rambling is making you soak your panties, whimpering into his heated skin with your jaw agape.

"T- tell me more." You pant, and he starts grinding up into you harder — like he's trying to fuck you through the layers of fabric while he hugs you to his chest tightly.

"Ha~" He laughs breathlessly, panting just as much as you, "you like that idea, doll? You wanna be fucking helpless beneath me while I have my way? Maybe I'll drag you to the bar and make everyone watch while I make you cum on my cock like a good girl-"

"Ah! C-cumming~!" You squeal as his filthy fantasies send you tumbling off the edge, hands searching for purchase and finding it by fisting his vest tightly.

"Fuck, fuck!" He grits his teeth, grinding into you roughly as he finally lets go and cums with you; his eyes rolling straight back into his head and his metal nail rings digging into your back to keep you as close as possible.

You breathe heavily as you hold onto his suit vest for dear life, body wracked with sobs from the emotional release that came with your orgasm. You've never felt that before — and you'd probably be frightened or confused if not for Yunho's rumbling hum of ecstasy providing you a sense of steadiness as you both float back down to Earth.

"Damn," he moans simply, easing his grip on you until you scramble and hug him tightly; wrapping your arms around his neck as you keep your face buried in his shoulder. "Shhh," he quickly wraps his arms back around you, cradling you to him, "don't worry, princess. I'm not going anywhere."

The soft strokes of his fingers while he holds you eases your worries. Not a thought in your head other than how nice he feels against you.

ꕥ

"Hiya, baby~" He greets as you enter his office, the slow music in his club briefly flooding the room before you shut the door behind you with a smile.

It's been a few more weeks. He's been a little more open with his touches, he's asked for more kisses; but other than that, things have remained the same.

"Hey, Daddy." You quit thinking it was weird to call him that pretty quickly. Just like his infatuation with you wearing skirts or sending him photos of your outfits. Because it makes him happy and happy means you're treated well. You're spoiled even. "How has your day been?"

He points to the liquor on his shelf, and that answers your question. You giggle lightly as you grab the bottle and two glasses. "You want me to play with your hair?" You ask softly as you pour his glass first, nearly filling it before sliding it to him across his desk. You only pour a few sips for yourself. You happen to be a lightweight, and he's the opposite. But he still insists on sharing with you when he drinks; even if you only have just a sip, it appeases him.

He rolls his chair back and stands, downing his drink and sliding it back to you. He taps his metal nail on the table and nods as he heads to the couch on the wall that he put in specifically for you. It didn't get much use from you alone, you were almost always in his lap.

You pour him another glass and carry it over, handing it to him with a smile as you straddle his spread legs. "Thank you, baby," he smiles back as he takes it with one hand, the other immediately finding your waist. "Tell me about your day."

"Same old," you shrug, tracing over a fresh bruise on the side of his head, "what happened?"

"Some asshole decided to slam my head on a wall when I came for payment." Your eyes widen, a pout on your lips. "Oh, don't pout," he coos as he brings his thumb to your lips, tracing them softly. He's never practiced self restraint so much as he does with you. There's been a million and one times where he's wanted to say 'fuck it' and do everything he can think of with your mouth. "Smile for me."

"You could have gotten hurt-" Why do you care? It's not like you're dating. But... it kind of feels like it. Especially in times like this where he looks at you like you're the Goddess who hung the stars in the sky. You put a smile on your lips; or maybe it comes naturally as he cups your face.

"Worried about me, doll?"

"In your dreams, Mister J."

"I must be dreaming, then."

ꕥ

You're more tipsy than you would like to admit. The world sways a bit as you get off of Yunho's lap to pour him another drink. "Easy steady, princess," he laughs softly as he places his hands on your hips.

He's just as bad as you are, even though it took him admittedly much more alcohol to get there. His ears are flushed pink and it's spreading down his neck, his tie hanging loosely from his tugging at it.

"I got it," you giggle as you shove his hands away gently. He watches you closely as you pour the drink, all the way until you come back to him and seamlessly climb back into his lap like it's your rightful throne. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

His gaze is always so intense, but there's something else in it right now. "What are you into?" He asks bluntly, blinking up at you while he sips.

"Like what?" He knows most, if not all, your hobbies and interests by now. What can he possibly me-

"During sex."

Your eyes widen to saucers for a moment, your mouth agape. "Uh-" Your years of experience take over, "whatever you want me to be."

He tuts his tongue, a sigh that smells like cinnamon coming from his lips. "No," he shakes his head, "you. What do you like?" He's held himself back from asking more intimate questions, anything to do with sex really, because even just thinking about it has the image of you in the little white babydoll dress popping up in his head or the sounds you made while you came on his lap replaying in his mind and his cock twitching to life.

But the alcohol is winning over his self control. He's really getting impatient.

"I like..." You look down, look at the walls, look at anything but his dilated eyes. You seem to be struggling to comprehend that he's asking what pleases you. You start with what you know he's into as well. "Being manhandled."

He set his glass to the side, both of his hands resting innocently on your waist; but his words are anything but. "More. I want to know what gets your pussy dripping."

You meet his gaze for a fraction of a second, and not a moment longer because it makes your heart beat even more wildly — the pure lust in his eyes. The carnal want he has just from thinking about what you're into.

"I like... being choked." You say it almost as if it's a question, like you aren't sure if he'll like the answer. His hands twitch on your sides.

"Yeah? What else?"

You feel like your heart is going to crack a rib with the ferocity with which it's beating. "Rough sex."

"How rough?" He asks quickly, his heart matching your owns rapid pace. He can already see you spread out beneath him, crying from pleasure while he chokes you.

You yelp softly as he pulls you up in his lap, landing your jean clad heat above the bulge in his slacks. "Do feel how hard you make me? Over simple fucking things. God —" He curses under his breath, letting his head loll back onto the couch. "Tell me. How rough?"

You falter for a moment before you place your hands on his shoulders, making yourself comfortable in the new position. "Really rough," you whisper, "I like to be thrown around. I like- well, I've never done it before but... I have fantasies about it-"

"Tell me." He has to squeeze your sides so he doesn't go feral and bend you over right here and now.

For some reason, his desperation for you has you all hot; you think the alcohol is definitely adding to it but you aren't stupid enough to blame it all on that. You have feelings for The Joker. And you know it's not right, it's not healthy. But you want more. You want to explore every part of yourself with him.

"I think I'd like it if you spanked me, or... slapped me maybe? You have such big hands..."

You bring one of his hands from your waist, and he holds it up for you as you trace his fingers with a ghostly touch. His pupils are blown wide, his cock straining against his pants. The cold metal of his sharp rings sends goosebumps up your arm. "They're so big and pretty." He believes he might lose the rest of his sanity as you praise something as simple as his hands. "They could do so much to me," you mumble, not even meaning to say it out loud but not caring once you have.

You spread your hand out to mirror his, and his breath hitches in his throat as he sees just how small your hands are compared to his own. "Fuck..." He lets out in a pant, lacing his fingers with yours and looking at you a bit frantically. "You're so damn perfect, doll. I can't wait to ruin you."

The corners of your lips twitch, "don't. Don't wait anymore. I want you, Daddy."

He has never believed in divine intervention more than when he looks at the close and sees it turn 6:01. You're off the clock and you finally want him.

"Fucking finally," he sighs with relief, going on to quickly grab the back of your neck and pull your face down to his, "quit your job. Be all mine, princess. I will give you the goddamn world if you want it. You know all you have to say i-"

"Please, Daddy," you have a light smirk as you roll your hips ontop of his, rough denim of your jeans grinding on his suit.

His eyes are flicking to every part of your face, always landing back in your lips. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes." His lips feel like heaven all over again as you press yours to them. His hand slides from the back of your neck to the front, resting against the column of your throat.

You blink your eyes open slowly, meeting his. His lips split into the largest grin you've ever seen, unadulterated manic glee evident as he looks up at you. "Tell me more," he hums as his hand traces down slowly, the metal on his fingers scraping your neck lightly. Not even enough to draw blood or leave marks, but it has you dizzy. "Tell me what you want me to do to you now that you're all mine."

"Fuck-" You whimper as he cups your breast through your thick sweater. "Every- everything, Daddy."

"Everything~?" He leans forward and gets his first real taste of your skin, leaving opened mouth kisses on your neck as his hands slide across your torso. "You want me to rough you up, pretty girl?"

"Yes," you pant softly as you wrap your fingers up in his hair, instinctively grinding down on him to lessen the pressure building in your lower gut.

He grips the bottom of your sweater and pushes it up with a groan of annoyance, "take this off. Let me see you." He leans back, spreading his legs and guiding your hips at a more intense angle as you pull it off quickly. "Lose the bra, too, doll~"

As soon as you unclasp your bra, a sudden wave of shyness overtakes you. You don't know how it's even possible to be shy anymore, but you are as his eyes flick from yours to your chest repeatedly. Maybe you're afraid to disappoint him. Maybe it's because this is the first time in a long time that you've been with someone you have an actual relationship with, no matter how strange it might be.

"Don't be shy, princess," he traces on your side with his metal nail — his name. Over and over again. But you're too flustered to tell. "Let Daddy see."

You gulp past the small lump in your throat and let the fabric fall, your nipples peaked from the way he grinds you against his bulge; the cold air making you whine a bit.

"Damn..." He licks his lips, staring unabashed. "Look at you~" He whistles as takes you in from every angle, tilting his head this way and that.

"Would you-" You waver, a moan breaking your voice, "kiss them?"

He doesn't have to be asked twice, he dives right in. Kissing every inch of skin on your chest: smooching, licking, nipping, sucking. When he reaches your nipples, he brings one of his hands up and rolls his thumb over the pebbled flesh while sucking the other; gently, at first. Then he hears the most delicious little whimper as his teeth graze your flesh.

He starts a steady suction over your nipple, flicking his tongue quickly and circling the other with his thumb. "Oh-" You gasp, holding onto his shoulders tightly for leverage as you roll your hips quicker, "oh god, Yunho~"

His hips act with a mind of their own, bucking into you as soon as his name leaves your mouth. He pulls away from your chest with a lewd pop. "Say my name again," he moans lowly before leaving a pointed lick to your wet nipple.

"Yunho!" You mewl as your head tilts back, hips stuttering and legs beginning to tremble on either side of him.

"Are you about to cum, princess~?" You let out a high pitched moan as he wraps his large hand around your neck and yanks you down, making you bend over him as you grind. "Are you? Tell Daddy."

"Y-yes! Please! I'm so close," you whine into his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he squeezes your throat for the first time. The noise you make is burned into his brain. Like you just came then and there because of the pressure of his hand on your neck. Like you're about to float away.

"Go ahead, baby," he hums deeply, his cock twitching under you; leaking so much pre-cum that there's a little wet patch forming on his slacks. "Make yourself cum on my lap again. Make yourself feel good~"

"Fuck!!" You shout as you come undone over him, your hips trembling and your fists grabbing his vest so roughly that he swears he hears a seam rip over your sweet sounds. He drinks in every twitch of your face, committing it to memory as he grips your hips tightly and guides you through it.

"There ya' go, that's it, pretty girl," he holds back a chuckle as you slump against him, hiding your face in your bundled up fists on his chest. "Catch your breath, doll. I got you. Daddy's got you~"

You shiver atop of him in the after shocks, sniffling quietly.

"You good, baby?" He asks softly as he tilts your head up, his eyebrows creasing together as he takes in your teary eyes.

"Very." You nod with a small, dopey smile. "Thank you, Daddy~" You lean and give him a kiss, hands sliding up his chest as loosening his tie enough to pull it over his head when you pull back.

He lifts you up off his lap, standing up and helping you get steady on your own two feet. "Take your clothes off." He says quickly as he starts removing his own, "everything but your panties."

You work fast, both of you watching and scanning each new inch of skin that gets exposed with burning lust. "You want me to fuck you, baby?" He leans to your level as he unbuttons his shirt, "want me to be rough?"

"Fuck, yes," you grin wildly, cupping his cheek and kissing him rougher than before. It's fleeting, but it makes him smirk when you pull back — that fire in your eyes is brighter than ever.

"C'mere," he grabs you by the neck, smirking as you lean into his grasp. "I'm going to fucking wreck you, I hope you know that."

"Do it-" The yelp you let out morphs into a moan as his palm makes contact with your ass. "S- damn!"

"You like that, baby?"

You nod quickly, rewarded with another smack to your ass. You jump a bit, a large smile on your face all the while. "Come on, Daddy," you yank him closer by his belt loop and expertly undo his buckle, sliding the belt off of his hips in one fluid motion. "Let me treat you for a change."

"Another day, baby-" You pout at him as he pulls you back up when you try to kneel, "I want to eat you out."

You pause, feeling a whole new wave of heat in your body. "W-what?"

"I want to eat you o-"

"Oh my god, please-" You grab at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him down to peck his lips repeatedly. "Please, Yunho, don't say that unless you mean it. It's been so long-"

"I mean it." He nods sincerely, "I've fantasized about making out with your cunt more times than I can count." He backs you up with his hands on your hips until your thighs hit his desk. "I want to spoil your pussy, make you soak my face~"

He looks down at you with dark eyes, chewing on his lip as he guides you to sit on the edge of the desk. "Yeah?" You breathe shakily as he spreads your knees, your throat suddenly dry despite the pools of saliva you keep swallowing.

"Yeah." He nods again, leaning down to kiss across your neck while he removes his rings. "You ever squirted before, baby?" His breath tickles your skin, his hands are hot while he caress down your thighs.

"No," you whisper, slightly hesitant but still letting him maneuver you however he likes; spreading your legs across his desk and tracing teasingly soft patterns in your inner thighs.

"Don't worry, pretty girl," he smirks as he pulls back, going on to kneel in front of you, "I can make it happen~"

"You can?" You swallow again, your heart in your throat as you take in the sight of The Joker on his knees for you.

"I bet so," he nips your thigh softly, making you jolt. "Ask me nicely, princess. You know what to say~"

You lift your hips towards him, and he quickly pulls down your panties — shoving them in his pocket before he slides you closer to the edge. "Please, Daddy, I want you to eat my pussy until I squirt- g-ah!!"

His mouth is so hot. He wraps his lips around your entire cunt and sucks. Slurping and drinking up all the arousal that's pooled up from his teasing; letting his tongue dive into you and twirl around to gather up your previous orgasm.

"Oh, good hell!" You cry, hands immediately wrapped up in his hair roughly to ground yourself. "Don't- don't fucking stop," you groan as you pull him closer, hips bucking into the sensations, "I swear- I'll kill you if you stop."

He moans into your cunt, lapping up and down your slit faster. He can feel the fire inside of you, he can see it as you look down at him. This is exactly what he wanted from the very beginning. To stoke your hidden flame until it burns so brightly that it consumes him.

He's making out with your cunt like his life depends on it — because with the way you're gripping his head, it might. You might keep true to your threat and kill him if he dares to pull away. He doesn't mind, because he wouldn't be stopping anyway.

He closes his mouth around your clit, making you wail at the sudden focused suction. You fall back on his desk, papers scattering. He presses closer, humming with amusement as your thighs close around his head — nearly smothering him in your precautions to make sure he doesn't pull back.

"J- oh, yes! Yes!" You nod frantically as you feel two of his fingers teasing your entrance, eyes closed to bask in the flood of pleasure that keeps coming.

His fingers are so long; they press right against your g-spot as he fucks them into you knuckle deep, immediately starting a punishing pace in the way he curls them. "Ha~" You pant out, laughing in shock at just how skilled he is, tears falling from your closed eyes as your peak grows closer quickly. "You fucker," he moans again at the way your frazzled brain lets things slip, his eyes threatening to roll back into his head, "you're gonna make me cum..."

The way you're absolutely gushing on his tongue and fingers; he doesn't doubt it. "You're — oh, god — you're gonna make me cum!" You yell as the realization dawns on you through the mind-numbing ecstasy of his hot tongue and his deeply curling fingers. He's about to be the first person to make you cum from giving you head. And it's going to be big, you can both tell by the way you sweat and tremble while grinding into his mouth. "Please, please, oh please- Daddy!!"

Your back arches off the wood, jaw slack and knuckles losing their color from how tightly you grip his tousled hair. He did make you squirt. And it's an entirely different type of euphoria washing over you as you soak his chin, his hand, his forearm, his chest even gets splashed as his roughly curling fingers send your release sloshing around lewdly.

Your thighs shake around his head violently as he continues to thrust and curl his fingers as your peak passes; working you right back up to another one. "Nghhh~" You moan unintelligible as you slump on his desk, bringing one of your arms up to cover your eyes as you sob from the overwhelming pleasure. But, you don't want him to stop even as your body starts aching from the intense sensation of another orgasm building up.

Much to his dismay, Yunho has to pull back to breathe. But his disappointment while filling his lungs is overshadowed by the sight of your pussy leaking and twitching around his fingers and the view of you lying across his desk in an absolute mess of tears. "Fuck-" he pants, the hot puff of air meeting your clit and making you jolt. "I could eat your pussy all damn night, pretty girl~"

The nickname makes you clench around him, wordlessly begging. You swallow with a fair amount of trouble, your lungs burning from the soft moans that just won't stop spilling from your lips and the sobs wracking your ribs. "D-Daddy!"

"Mh~ Yes, baby?" He reaches his free hand down, palming his neglected member with a deep groan.

"P-uh!" You gasp as he spits right onto your throbbing clit. "Please, Daddy, fu- fuck my pussy~" You moan through your tears, eyes still covered with your arm.

"Are you ready for that? I'm pretty big, doll, and I've only stretched you on t-"

"Yes! Stretch me on your cock, pleaseeee! Make me fucking feel it-" He's yanking you up in the next second, holding your dizzy body to his chest and letting your feet drag across the ground as he pulls you towards the couch.

"Oh, you're gonna feel it~" He grins as he tosses you to lay across the length of the sofa. "I'm going to reshape your cunt so it only knows me. Rearrange your fucking guts while I'm at it — would you like that, princess? I bet you would, you're just as much a freak as me~"

You nod dizzily as he crawls over you, not even bothering to take his pants off all the way, only pulling his stiff and leaking member out. "I would." You have fuzzy hearts in your eyes while he spreads your legs for himself again, letting one of them dangle off the couch.

"Mh? Tell me. Wanna hear you say it." A shiver runs down his spine as he grabs the base of his length, sliding his tip up and down your messy slit.

You wipe the tears from your face roughly, looking up at him with a sniff, "Daddy..." You trail off, too distracted by his warm cock head rubbing against your clit.

"Say it. Tell me how much you want me, you can do it~" His free hand slides up your stomach, through the valley of your breasts, and lands on your throat. "Fucking beg." Something in your brain snaps into place. Realizing this is what you've always wanted, how you've always wanted to be treated. Stern and rough but so sweet and spoiled.

"Ffffuck-" You shudder, completely lax underneath him and tilting your head back to expose more of your throat as you start doing what he asked.

You start begging. Like your fucking soul is at stake. And he watches close. Eyes dark and filled with lust, smirk planted firmly on his slick lips and ears burning as he takes in your downright filthy words.

"Daddy, please! Oh, god, please- give it to me! Fuck me~ Fuck me rough, I- I need you! Ruin my pussy! Make it yours! I need you to pound me until I can't think, for the love of- ahh!" You moan out, elated, as he sinks his fat tip into you; fluttering around him so nicely that he has to dig his fingers into your neck to control himself. You let out a choked sigh, your eyes flickering shut as he slides into you. Slowly. Savoring every inch as he stretches your gooey walls, carving you out to fit his thick girth. "S'good~"

Your slurred hum makes him crazy. His brain short circuits as he bottoms out inside of you, relishing the feeling of your cunt hugging him. "Fuck me..." He groans lowly, "you feel fucking perfect~"

"Thank you~" You mumble, lost so deep in your pleasure that you don't even know what you're saying thank you for.

He laughs breathlessly, leaning over and kissing you gently for a moment while he starts a slow, experimental thrust. "You're so wet, baby~" He breathes in your soft gasp as he bottoms out again, taking your breath as his own. "Have a listen," he put his thumb over your lips and quiets your moans; giving another painstakingly slow thrust.

Your slick walls are squelching as they work to accommodate his girth, filling the office with lewd, wet sounds.

"Open your eyes, doll," he whispers, leaning over you, "look at me." Your eyes are filling back up with tears already — it makes him throb inside of you. You try to blink them away, but they aren't going anywhere. "Fuck, you're so gorgeous... You can cry all you want, princess, I don't mind." He rubs your cheek bone softly with his knuckle, "makes me hard."

You start letting your tears free fall, relieved that he's not going to call you a cry baby or flip you over so he doesn't have to see. You always cry when things feel good. You've tried to train yourself not to, but it's something you can't help.

His brows push together, a moan breaking off in his throat. "Mm- I'm going to fuck you for real now, no more playing around." He cups your heated face, resting his forehead on yours as he looks deep into your eyes. "I'm gonna make sure your pussy remembers who it belongs to."

You don't even have the wits about you to scream or moan or do anything other than cry and look up at him in awe as he starts a brutal pace; your eyes soft with passion behind your tears and you jaw slack as he pounds into you.

Before you even know what's what, your back arches towards him and you let out a shaking yelp of, "c-cumming!"

"Fu- Goddamn, baby!" He hisses, gritting his teeth as you clamp down on him. Your cunt trembles around him, convulsing in waves with your orgasm as your eyes roll. He pins you to the couch with his body, hugging your head to his chest as he continues to fuck you through and past your peak.

It's then that you start making those noises that make him go even harder; as he overstimulates your poor pussy and glides against your g-spot. He can hardly hear your skin slapping against one another over your pornographic moans. Each of his thrusts pushes another up your throat, and you get some of your own from him as you shakily wrap your arms around him; scratching his back.

"Shhh," he grins as his hushing does nothing to slow the lewd flow of your moans. "Mhmm~ So good, doll- like you were made to take me. Don't you agree?" You nod into his chest furiously fast, grounding yourself with your nails in his back.

"Hm? My little pretty baby likes getting her pussy pounded?" You clench around him tightly again, his words going straight to your cunt. He pulls your head back to look down at you, slowing his thrusts; but they're still just as harsh. Snapping into you hard enough to knock the wind from your burning lungs. "You like it when I fuck your brains out?"

"Uh-huh!" You whine, your piteous voice wracked with pleasured sobs. He leans down and licks up a stripe on your cheek, moaning deeply as the saltiness of your tears meets his tongue. You slap at his back as his hips still, begging him to keep going even though you're a trembling mess.

"Uh-huh," he mimics you, "use your words, baby." He smiles darkly as he leans to lick at your other cheek as well.

"I li- I like it," you sniffle, trying to grind your hips under his.

"You like what? C'mon, doll, tell me exactly what's got your cunt soaking wet~"

His soft teasing has you pouting, crying fat tears that he licks right up. "When- ahhh," you whimper, "please... I love it when you pound me~ You feel s'good, Yunie."

His heart skips a beat. Then, another. Then, he's back to trying to fuck your soul out of your body and claim it as his own. You don't even register that you've given him a new nickname in your fucked out bliss, it came so naturally while praising him.

"F-uck," he stutters, his hands all over you before they grip your legs and pull them up over his shoulders, making you groan quietly at the stretch in your muscles as he folds you in half underneath him. But the discomfort is quickly aided by the fact that he's prodding your g-spot as he starts slamming into you again and making you see stars. "Say it again. Call me Yunie."

His tone leaves no room for argument, and you don't have any anyways. "Yunie!" You sob out, grabbing at anything you can reach to steady yourself. One of your hands lands back in his hair, the other reaching and grabbing the armrest.

"M- ah, ah!" Your eyes screw shut tightly, shaking your head as you squeak in a single quick breath, "Yunie, please! Daddy!" His entire body is tingling. He can't tear his eyes away from you for even a split second — he curses himself for even having to blink.

He cups your face roughly, keeping your legs folded up and squishing them to you with his torso, "look at me when I fuck you." His voice waivers slightly as he approaches his peak, plunging into you deep and slow and hard as he locks his eyes with yours; your hips ache from the force of his slamming into you and fucking you into the couch. "Whose girl are you?" He hums as he wipes some of your tears, reveling your fucked out expression.

"M'your girl!"

"You are~" He coos, his cock painful hard and begging for release but he wants more. "My pretty girl. All mine. If anyone else even thinks about touching you, I will fucking gut them."

You gasp sharply, gushing around him and shouting his name as you cum unexpectedly. His words, his unhinged possessiveness reaching an all time high as he ruins you has your head rolling dizzily in his hands, feeling like it's filled with nothing but cotton candy. "Y- P- please, Daddy..." You stutter and snivel, wrapping your arms around him tightly as your entire body shakes.

"Mhm~?" He moans in response, not even trusting his voice anymore as your overworked walls pulse around him; letting him feel your heartbeat. He wraps his arms around your head, cradling you to his chest softly again as he ruts into you roughly.

"Cum," you whimper, officially toeing the line between pleasure and pain with the amount of overstimulation he's putting you through. "Pr- pretty please? Cum inside of me-"

You yell in shock as he suddenly sits up and drags you with him, not an ounce of hesitation in him as he rolls off the couch and lands on his back — immediately thrusting up into you. "F-fuck! What the f — oh, shit~" You only have yourself together enough to chastise him for half a moment before your brain catches up to the new position and realize how he's deeper.

"You want my cum? Huh? Fucking take it then~" He grins up at you wildly, one hand on your hip and the other on the back of your head, keeping you bent over him while he plows into you from below. Pressing your forehead against his.

The millisecond that one of your hot, overstimulated tears falls and lands on his cheek; he cums. And he cums hard. Letting out a guttural moan and letting his jaw fall open as he pumps all of his release into you. Keeping you still on top of him with a tight grip as he wraps his arms around you.

"Fuuuck~" He pants as his hips finally still, his brain flooded with dopamine as he cradles you. "How the hell a-are you so damn perfect?" His warm hands softly rub your trembling back, a dopey smile on his lips as you sniffle and press your face into his neck. "Hey," he lifts your head softly, "don't hide, baby."

You look down at him with eyes full of stars and hope and tears. "Yunie..."

He wipes your puffy eyes with a tenderness that he didn't even know he had in him. "Yeah, princess?"

"Will you hold me for a while?"

"Of course I will."

ꕥ

The floor of Yunho's office is shockingly comfortable, but maybe that's because you're mostly laid on top of him.

You're on your side, snuggling into his as he lays on his back; menthol cigarette between his fingers in one hand and the other arm wrapped around your shoulder. He switched brands when you kept complaining about the smell. The menthol was cooling, calming. You didn't mind it nearly as much.

You're laid with your leg over his hips, tracing patterns on his chest as you watch the smoke billow into the air. The silence is comfortable. It feels safe. You feel safe.

Of all the places in the world, you feel the most content you've ever been right here. Body sore and eyes dry from the way you exhausted all of your tears, laid on the shag carpet of The Jokers office with his cum wiped off your inner thighs with his silk vest.

He hums of soft melody between puffs of his cigarette, copying the patterns you make on his chest back onto your shoulder to tell you that he's paying attention to you even as you're both quiet. You close your eyes, moaning softly as they rejoice in the well deserved break. "I like that song." You say softly, sighing blissfully before you hum; picking up where he leaves off.

He looks at you with a small smile, reaching up to the table to put his cigarette out before rubbing your arm that's draped over his torso. "Maybe tonight, I'll call ya' after my blood is drowning in alcohol, mm-mm," he whispers the song as he laces your fingers together.

He can't believe he's finally got you all to himself. He doesn't remember a time when he's been this happy in the presence of another person. "All I want, is the taste that your lips allow..."

"My- my, give me love," you giggle before peeking your eyes open and looking up at him, "who'd have thought that you like love songs, Mister J?"

"What? I have taste," he shrugs playfully, giving you a smile as he rubs up and down your back. "Aren't you getting cold, princess?"

"Mmh, a little, but I'm not ready to leave you yet. Is- is that okay?"

"Hm? You don't have to leave," he reassures you softly, planting a kiss to your head, "you can get dressed and stay, baby."

"Thank you, Yunie."

It was almost a mission to get off the floor, even with Yunho doing most of the work for you. He still had your panties in his pocket, and he wasn't giving them over. You're thankful you still keep your pajamas in your bag out of habit, because they're much more comfortable than your day clothes would have been in your fragile state.

He helps you into them, giving you another tender kiss to your head and pinching your cheek with an affectionate smile before you slap his hand away. "Couldn't help myself~" He laughs, finally zipping his slacks up before kicking up his shirt off the floor and catching it. "You feel okay?" He, in all honesty, has no idea what he's doing.

The only experience he has is a good handful of one night stands. He's never been with someone he actually wanted to keep around and therefore; doesn't know how to go about making you comfortable enough to do so.

"I'm more than okay." But you don't notice it. Because all of the experience you have is through your job — your ex-job. You were used to getting the job done and going on your way, taking care of yourself with the help of Hongjoong; who would bandage any bruises while telling you how proud he was. It made you cry a great handful of times. Like now.

"Princess," Yunho pouts, immediately kneeling on the floor infront of you and cupping your hands gently. He thinks you're so pretty when you cry — but only when he's the cause. "What's- what's wrong? What can I do?"

"I d- I don't know." You look down, holding his hands tightly, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me-"

"Yes, you do." He can see it. He can tell. He can tell so much by your eyes, they give everything away. "You can tell me."

He gives you the time you need to breathe, and you're thankful for the moment to gather your thoughts. "I... hated my job. Not- not the actual doing it. But after, and the people..." He rubs his thumbs over your hands, his eyes soft and urging. "People who just got up and left. I wanted to strangle them. Leaving me alone after I did everything in my power to please them."

He waits for a moment to be sure you're done speaking before he does. "You don't have to go back. Ever. And I will never leave you, I promise you now. I will do anything you want." He cups your cheeks gently and makes you meet his gaze, intense as ever. "I will take care of you. In any and every way you need me to."

You swallow your tears, leaning into his touch, "but why?"

"Because I want to. I want to take care of you. I want to watch you thrive. I love the fire in your eyes, it makes me crazy." He doesn't think he's ever been so straightforward with anyone like this before. He might have felt vulnerable exposing his true feelings if you were anyone else. "You're mine now, right?" You nod into his hands, cradled like a fine china doll. "I take care of what's mine. So tell me; what will make you happy? What will set you free from that place?"

You think for a long moment, eyes drifting away from him. "Do you remember... when you asked if I ever fantasize about getting revenge on people who have wronged me?"

"Mhm?" You had said no, but you had hesitated. And he had noticed.

"I lied. I do think about it. I think about it a lot. There's a man..."

"And?"

"I want him to suffer like I have."

"Who?" He has zero hesitation. If you want someone gone, he'll make sure they can never show their face in Gotham again. If you want someone to suffer, he'll make them beg for death to just come already.

"Earnest Holmes." Your lip trembles. "He's the reason I was working at The Riddle Room."

Oh, he's going to die slow. That's what Yunho decides. In a split second, he's coming up with a million different ways to torture the man. He doesn't press you for the reasoning. All he needs to know is that you want him to hurt like you do.

"Give me two days, baby. And you will have his heart in a gift basket."

ꕥ

[strang3lov3]

Let Me Try

Benji makes you cum when you can’t do it yourself.

Tags - sexual frustration, finger fucking and clit rubbing, ruined orgasms, benji talking you through it, softest of soft dom!benji, hint of somno at the end, blue balling a gentle n patient Benji :’) he forgives ya tho

A/N - for my soft and sweet dearly loved court :) cum hard, my friend.

Benji���s not deaf, and he’s not an idiot. He knows what you’re doing in there. Or rather, what you’re trying to do. It’s obvious in the way your mattress squeaks and  how each of your whines are stuttered out and broken, whimpery. Every so often you groan in frustration, too. There’s never that beautiful symphony of moaning that signals your release. And it’s been hours. 

Days, even. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. You feel fucking broken like this, unable to make yourself cum, and isn’t that fucking stupid? It’s one thing to be with another person and be unable to get there - there’s a lot of things at play, of course. Are you comfortable with them? Are they doing everything to your liking? Are you anxious about something, got some stuff on your mind, maybe? 

While alone, you should be able to just…cum. You know how to do everything, after all. How to turn yourself on and how to rub your fingers on your clit and pump them in and out of your cunt. Been doing it since you were a kid. So why the fuck isn’t it happening? You feel like your body’s failing you, and you feel like you’re failing yourself. The cycle of defeat is making you grow weary. Pissed off. 

Your hair is mussed when you finally come out of your bedroom, cheeks shiny with a light sheen of sweat. Benji notices the way you pout and glare at nothing, crossing your arms when you sit opposite him on the old, torn, navy couch. 

“Have a good nap?”

You shrug and mumble something under your breath, frustration still painted over your features. You can feel Benji glancing at you, his brows raised in concern. “I didn’t sleep,” you mutter, looking out of the sliding glass patio door. It’s rainy outside, and there’s a couple of birds jumping in and out of puddles. Benji’s got some pancake scented candles lit to mask the smell of his weed. 

“Yeah? Why not?” He’s focused on his Nintendo switch, deftly moving his fingertips on his controller. Another shrug from you as you watch him play the game - Unpacking, which you bought for his Switch. You can’t really keep track of whose shit is whose anymore, though. Yours and Benji’s lives have bled into each other so much at this point, it’s hard to tell where yours begins and his ends when you’re sipping tea out of his favorite mug or when he’s eating Lucky Charms with your favorite little spoon that you stole from some shitty diner. Whatever you and Benji are, it’s nice to have him by your side. “Don’t wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” you answer.

Benji offers you a warm, sympathetic smile and then lifts up his oversized knitted blanket, inviting you over. You crawl over and snuggle up to his side, but Benji doesn’t want that. He turns and wraps both of his strong hands around your hips, then grunts as he pulls you into his lap, spreading his legs to make room for you. Benji would cut himself open and put you inside his ribs if he could, but this’ll have to suffice for the time being.

You’re watching him unpack his digital boxes, and you like all those quiet, satisfying little noises the game makes, as well as Benji clicking the Joy-Con’s buttons and joysticks. You could fall asleep listening to it, sort of like you did when you were in school. Laying your head on your desk during some downtime, listening to your teacher reply to emails on her laptop until the bell dismissed you. Always on a warm spring day for some reason, close to when school lets out for the summer. The breeze pouring in from the open window. It gives you the same sort of feeling.

“Do you wanna play?” Benji murmurs quietly, gently tapping your side. 

“Mhm,” you mumble, taking the Switch from him. Benji adjusts and sits more upright against the couch, but you stay lying against his warm torso. He’s got such a welcoming body, like all of him was made just so, for you alone. His belly is soft for you to snuggle, and warm for you to warm your hands against. His shoulders are broad and there for you to cry on, and his heart beats calmly to steady your own. His beard is there to tickle your inner thighs and your cheeks when he’s kissing your face or your pussy. His fingers fit in between yours like they’re puzzle pieces. He’s yours, in a way. Your Benji. You think he was always your Benji, always meant for you. 

Benji lets you play the game for a couple of minutes, and he finds that as you get lost in it, you start to relax. He worries about you and the tension you carry in your shoulders and your jaw, you know. Because it’s always there, right? Always lingering, until he brings you close and you just…melt against him, just like you’re supposed to. Benji lures you in and relaxes you in these clever little ways, by having you play quiet, mindless games and by stroking your hair until you calm. 

He kisses your head and notes the way your breathing slows, how your shoulders drop a little. Benji’s hands slide down your body and he tugs your shirt up a little, and rubs his palms over all that soft, bare skin. 

Benji draws circles on your abdomen with his middle finger, with a hangnail gently dragging against your skin. His hands are like that, always. Overworked and rough and calloused, but so soft in their own way. Like a sweatshirt gone through the wash too many times, where the inside of the fabric is all rough and pilled but so fucking warm and cozy. Or a child’s stuffed animal, loved to the point of charming disfigurement. A missing tail, sewn on with thread that doesn’t match the color of the body. Eye paint rubbed off, drawn on again in Sharpie. 

Benji’s hand slips beneath the waistband of your sweatpants, and you gasp when you feel him playing with your pubic hair. “Hey, wait - Benji.” 

“Hm?” Benji hums softly. “Want me to stop? I can stop.”

You shake your head. “No, I want–” you begin, then trail off into a stutter. “I want it, I just - it’s - I can’t…y’know. Lately.”

“Can’t what, dude?” 

You pause before answering. “Cum,” you admit, finally. 

“That’s bullshit.” 

“It’s not bullshit, it’s true,” you argue. “I’m just…yeah, I don’t know. Broken or something.” Broken, yeah. That’s a good way to put it. Broken, like you’re a misfit toy or something. 

“Okaaaay,” Benji drawls. “But I’m handy.” 

You scoff. “Well yeah, sure, with opening jars and whatever but you can’t–”

“Let me try, though?”

You’ve heard those words before. Benji’s infuriatingly adept at fixing shit, because he is exactly what he says he is: handy. He’s great at hanging pictures and adjusting the screws in your glasses and whatever else. And usually how it goes is Benji finds you getting all huffy and pissy about something broken and fucked up, and you tell him you’ve got it, or that it’s fucked forever. And Benji goes ‘can you just let me try?’ and whatever’s broken is then fixed. Wrongs are righted, because Benji’s handy.

He’s a bit of a jack of all trades, and a whisperer of everything. Benji’s got this special way about himself where things just sort of go his way. He charms a lot of people, and even animals, too. There’s this feral cat that’s been coming around for the past seven months or so, and she wants fuck all to do with you, but Benji, well. She’s Benji’s girl. He sits outside with a can of tuna to lure her close, then gives her belly rubs in a patch of sunlight until she wanders off again. Benji says he’s playing the long game, that he’s gonna get that cat one of these days. He says he’s gonna bring her inside and turn her into his familiar or some shit. 

You sigh and part your legs, making more room for Benji. He adjusts you so he can reach your pussy a little better, and you move the Switch out of the way to watch how he touches you. “No, don’t - don’t look at what I’m doing. I’m not here,” he tells you. “Just play your game.”

You sigh deeply. “It’s not gonna happen, Benj.” 

“Uh huh, well, shut up. Positive mental attitude.”

Benji waits for you to start playing again, and then his fingers find your seam. He slides them low, feeling you out. You’re not wet yet, and not particularly warmed up, so he licks his fingers, and hums at the taste of you. 

“Pervert,” you whisper, earning a chuckle from him. He touches you again with slick fingers, simply dragging them up and down your folds, sometimes passing over your clit. You wriggle a little and push yourself against him, letting out soft sighs as he touches you. 

“Shh,” Benji whispers. “Relax, dude.” 

Benji patiently works you up, and he feels satisfied with himself when he gets you to drip. You’re using your hips to follow his hand, and you’re sighing his name when he pushes his fingers inside your entrance. In and out, in and out, slowly teasing you. 

“Benji,” you whine, arching your back a little. 

“I got you.” Benji kisses the side of your head. “M’right here, dude. Not going anywhere.” 

He fucks you on his fingers, then rubs your clit for a moment or two, alternating between both actions. He knows what your problem is, and it’s impatience. He can feel it in the way you chase his touch, and he can hear it in your frustrated little noises. You’ve tensed all up again, too. “Try not to force it, okay?”

“I’m not, I just–” you huff, restless and already annoyed. 

“I know - hey, I know. It’s not a race and I’m not going anywhere, so just…yeah, yeah, perfect.” Benji smiles, happy when you settle against him again, all that strain melting away again. “Attagirl.” 

You’re having trouble focusing on the game as Benji touches you, but you’re trying to follow his instructions. It’s all made worse as he kisses your ear over and over, drawing the tip of his nose over it, too. You’re close, and release is right around the corner if you let it come. So you drop your game and roll your hips in time with his ministrations, breathing heavily, chasing that special feeling. And it’s right there - you are right fucking there, and then it’s gone, like the memory of a dream vanishing when you open your eyes. 

You groan loudly and cover your face, feeling tears prick your eyes. They build quickly and fall down your cheeks, and fuck - you feel so fucking pathetic, crying over this. You scoff when you watch Benji pull his hands away, but he pays your attitude no mind. 

For fuck’s sake. It’s been hours - no, days, you realize. Because you couldn’t fuck yourself earlier, and not yesterday, and not the days before that and–

“C’mere,” Benji murmurs, pulling you a little closer against him. He tugs the sleeve of his hoodie over his hand and wipes your cheeks and your nose. “It’s okay, man.”

“It’s not, though,” you tell him, choking on a sob. You sniffle and gasp as you cry, feeling worse about yourself as Benji continues to dry your tears. He’s not mocking you, but it’s hard not to feel mocked when your own body is doing such a thing to you. 

“I know, I know, I know. You’re all fucked up, huh?”

You don’t answer Benji, and he doesn’t mind. He lets you cry it out for a while, patiently, silently. Lets you have your little temper tantrum. You poor thing, all out of sorts. He scratches up and down your arms until you quiet yourself, and those wet sniffles of yours have spaced themselves out. 

“Hey.” Benji taps you. “Look at me.” You turn and look at him, met with his kind and empathetic eyes. Benji pushes some hair out of your face and rubs your swollen, sticky cheeks with his thumbs. “I know you’re upset, but you can’t get all worked up like this,” he tells you quietly, noting how you look away. Benji turns your face gently, bringing you back to him. “Hm? Right?”

“M’guess.”

Benji nods. “Yeah, because that’s half the problem,” he says, matter of factly.

You’re annoyed at his tone, and you’re mad because he’s right. Angrily, you argue. It’s instinctual. “But you fucking–”

He shakes his head, cutting you off. “Nope, cool the fuck off, dude. I’m on your side,” he says, encouraging you to take a breath for a beat. “We’re gonna figure it out,” he says softly, wiping the last of your tears away. “Yeah?” You shrug as you sniffle, hesitant to agree, so Benji tries again. “Hm? Yeah? You wanna keep being a baby or do you wanna party?” he asks, poking you in the ribs until you break into a giggle. 

“Fine. But I’m not a baby.”

“Mm. Crying like one, though, aren’t ya?”

You say nothing as you flip back over, but Benji laughs behind you. His hands slide beneath your pants again, and he’s back to teasing you. You’re still nice and wet and swollen, and you’ll cum for him so long as you don’t get all in your head again. Just breathe, dude. It’s gonna be okay.

Benji’s got two fingers inside you, curling against your g-spot, and he’s using his other hand to rub your clit in tight, steady little circles. He can feel that sensitive part of you twitch, and he knows by the way you’ve gone quiet that you are right there. “I got you. You can do it,” he coos. “Doing so fuckin’ good, kid. Like that, just like that. Just let it come to you, let it happen...” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as the pleasure builds, chasing that little spark until you feel it wash over you. Fuck, it’s everywhere, coursing through your veins and making your muscles tense and release, rippling through your body in waves. Benji fucks you through it, his fingers never faltering until you tell him you’re done, enough, enough. 

You flip back over on your belly and hug him tightly, breathing heavily as you come down. Jesus, you’re fucking crying, still. You’re relieved to have cum, even more so to know that you’re not broken like you called yourself earlier.

“See? I knew you’d fuckin’ do it,” Benji says softly, rubbing your back. He laughs when you tell him to shut up.

And you stay like that for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen. Drifting off into a well-earned nap as Benji strokes your hair and scratches your scalp. “Hey, you. You gonna return the favor? Aren’t you supposed to - I don’t know, you pay it forward or some shit, right? Hm?” He adjusts so that you’re not putting so much pressure on his cock, left all stiff and aching. “No? Just gonna leave me high and dry to nap on me?” 

“Mm.”

“Ohhkay, you fuckin’ dick. That’s fine. Just don’t be all fuckin’...whatever when you wake up and my cock’s in your–” 

You’re already snoring, you fucking asshole. But whatever. Benji giggles and kisses the top of your head, then picks up where you left off in Unpacking. 

you know the drill :) reblog and dirty talk me in my inbox. love ya :)

[lohotine]

Would you perhaps… write nsfw poly head canons for Azure and Two Time if you’re okay with that 🥺

˘꒷꒦˘꒷꒦꒷˘꒦꒷꒦˘꒷꒦˘꒷꒦꒷˘꒦꒷꒦˘꒷꒦˘꒷꒦꒷˘꒦꒷꒦˘꒷꒦˘꒷꒦꒷˘꒦꒷

Azurewrath x GN! Reader x Two Time (poly)

CW: NSFW content, not proof read.

Time period; post stab unless specified

How do I make a hc post again?

---

○ Azure is 100% a service top, but I can see him subbing if you asked him to. Two Time, on the other hand, is a switch with the slightest preference for dom. This doesn't change between pre and post stab. The only thing that might be different is Azure being less willing to sub because of the fear of being vulnerable again.

Pre stab, their main goal within these sessions is to make you feel good. They both prioritze your pleasure over thier own, while also ensuring the other is satisfied as well.

Post stab gets a bit more complicated... of course, they both still want to make you feel good, but it turns into more of a competition than anything.

The attention is nice and all, but sometimes it can become overwhelming.

And they no longer have any care for the satisfaction of the other.

Well, maybe Two Time attempts to interact with Azure every once in and while, but he is having none of that. Just ignores them most of the time.

○ Two Time often finds themselves between your legs, using their mouth to make you feel all sorts of sensations as Azure pampers you from behind, whispering the sweetest of praises into your ears.

The difference between Azure's slow, sensual pace and Two Time's frantic, almost needy one is dizzying.

If Azure hears you getting a little too loud for Two Time, he'll cover your mouth somehow.. He gets a bit jealous.

Will never admit it, of course, but it's true.

○ Azure is always, always gentle with you, like you're something made from porcelain. He's always checking in with you and asking you questions like "is this alright?" Or "tell me where you want me, okay?"

Two Time, on the other hand, is very... passionate. And not in the same way that Azure is. It's something almost manic.

Often times, Azure becomes the voice of reason in your sessions and will scold Two Time if they ever do or say something a little too... Two Timeish?

They can't help it with you. You're just so perfect, so undoubtedly divine. How could they not want to be hopelessly devoted to you?

○ Azure's sex drive is much lower than Two Time's (little freak).

This sometimes leads to Two Time jerking off to the thought of you in a bathroom or closet in the middle of the night, stiffled groans coming from their lips.

Azure has caught them once and ignored it and tried to forget it.

(Pre stab may or may not have offered to help them.)

Breakfast that morning was kind of awkward, and you never found out why.

○ Azure and you are the ones mostly in charge of aftercare since Two Time has no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.

Will try to take care of you guys here and there, but yeah, it's mostly Azure and you doing the work.

○ They often rile the other up during sessions with you. Small, mocking comments and whatnot.

Turns into somewhat a back and forth on who pleases you more...

○ Azure has wrapped one of his tendrils around Two Time's arm once without noticing.

It was pretty cute.

○ You're nearly always covered in marks at the end of each session.

Azure wouldn't normally leave any, but when he sees the one Two Time leaves on you, he simply can't help it. It's only fair, right? That he leaves a mark of his own, too...

Then Two Time will see that the mark Azure leaves is deeper, and somewhere more intimate on your body than their own. So now they obviously have to leave another one...

You get the idea.

○ Azure may be nice to you, but he most definitely is not towards Two Time.

Often degrades them and pulls on their hair as they lap at your sex.

Other times, he'll edge Two Time into oblivion while forcing them to use their hands on you.

They usually become a blabbering, whimpering, oversensitive mess by the end of it, and Azure has to finish the job that Two Time can't so you can cum.

○ They both are into nearly whatever kinks you are.

Actually, let me rephrase that;

Two Time is one kinky MF, and Azure is simply along for the ride.

But yeah, Two Time is into almost everything. Humiliation? Worship? Bondage? You name it!

○ They may say that they hate each other, but nobody can deny how well they work together when it comes to making you cum...

Azure is a lot more vanilla, but if I had name one thing he's be into, it would probably be hearing you beg.

Of course, Azure wants nothing more than to pleasure you. But can you really blame him for being turned on after hearing you beg for it so nicely?

[mattslilies]

Play Fight - M.S.

"oh, you're into that?" or... the one where play wrestling with matt turns into something more when you end up pinning him down. warnings: sub!matt, dom!reader, unprotected sex (do not try at home), riding, slight overstimulation (m receiving), bondage, more warnings to be added as i write word count: 773 a/n: sorry this is so short! im super busy today but i wanted to get something out for you guys!!

a whimper left matt's lips as your hands circled his wrists, pinning them down to the bed.

you sat up in surprise, a questioning look on your face as matt's cheeks turned as red as his sweater. he coughed, avoiding eye contact.

you and matt roughhoused a lot. being almost the same height, tickle wars often turned into slight sparring, which had gotten you into this... interesting position.

releasing his wrists, you stayed straddling him, not saying anything for a second. then, just as he moved his hands away from where you'd held them, you reached for them again.

you held them together and pushed them above his head, shifting your hips downward when you leaned over him.

another whimper left his mouth, much louder this time. you smirked, feeling his pelvis adjust underneath you, trying not to push into the friction you were unintentionally giving him.

"oh, you're into that?"

his blush deepened, stuttering over his words as he attempted to respond.

"n-no, i don't know what you're talking abou-"

you laughed a bit, moving off of him and stepping into his closet.

"yeah? so if i grabbed... this, maybe, and restrained you with it, you wouldn't like it?"

you played with a tie from his closet in your hands, looping it around your knuckles before straightening it back out, walking back over to him.

he stared at you in shock, lips parted open, not expecting you to actually play into this. he didn't think that you would've ever found out about this kink, even though he does sub for you often. he wasn't embarrassed of it, necessarily, but it wasn't something he was going to ask you to do for him.

you straddled him again, pulling his arms in front of his chest and easily tying them together before pushing them up and tying them to the headboard, faster than he could form a coherent thought.

"when did you- how do you know how to do this?"

you smiled down at him, a glint of mischievousness in your eyes.

"i know a large amount of miscellaneous things that may come in handy for your little... fantasies one day."

he swallowed, watching you move on top of him, his bulge straining against his pants. you decided to remove your own shirt, leaning over to kiss him, giggling at the way that he strained against the tie holding him.

you traced a finger down his cheek, admiring him.

"you look really pretty like this. tied up, desperate, i bet i could get you to beg for me..."

he opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off.

"don't worry, i'll play nice tonight."

you tapped his hips, signaling him to lift them as you helped him remove his shorts and boxers. tracing your finger around his tip, you watched as his face scrunched up in sensitivity, biting his lip to avoid whimpering as you tightened your hand around his shaft, beginning to stroke him.

"none of that. i want to hear you."

you pulled his lip from between his teeth with your other hand, a low whine falling from his lips as you praised him.

"much better. good boy."

kissing him passionately as you slowly sunk down on him, you swallowed every moan and gasp that left his lips, watching his arms strain against the hold as he reveled in the feeling of being inside you.

"oh, baby- i, oh my god-"

his fingers twitched as if reaching for you, only to remember he couldn't move them. you didn't give him much time to get comfortable before setting yourself a steady pace, your hands bracing on his chest to keep yourself upright as the pleasure ran through your veins.

there was no effort to drag it out, enjoying the rush of the new experience with matt. there were few things you enjoyed more than seeing matt feel ecstatic underneath you.

"you're perfect, fuck-- always make me feel so good."

matt let out a loud moan at your words, the praise pushing him even closer to the edge as his hips began to lose rhythm, frantically bucking as his hands balled into fists.

"that's it, go on baby, you've earned it, look iso pretty for me..."

your stream of praises and encouragement talked matt through his climax, seeing his back arch as he pressed deep into you, cock twitching and pulsing as he completely filled you up.

riding out your own orgasm, you tiredly smiled at him, brushing some of his hair off of his forehead before removing the tie from around his wrists.

"maybe i'll tie your legs down too next time."

taglist <3

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[blitziwitchwrites]

pairing: teacher!ryomen sukuna x teacher!reader x teacher!satoru gojo

content tags/warnings: MINORS DNI, smut, threesome/three way, mfm, mmf, sukugo, overstimulation, anal play/anal (sukuna fucking satoru), teasing, crying/dacryphilia, slight switch/dom sukuna, slight switch/sub satoru, switch reader, brat! satoru, brat taming/punishment, handjob (satoru), biting, choking, hair pulling, gagging, dumbfucking, rough, satoru and the reader end up like fucking JELLOO, sukuna’s FERAL, cockdrunk reader and pussy drunk satoru, safe word mentions, praise, degredation, oh my god they’re all just shameless sluts, unprotected sex, polyamory, polyamorous marriage, double husbands, love free for all, dude tis is just an absolute whorefest i’m being so fr here, true form sukuna, porn without plot, mlm missionary, full nelson (sukuna doing the work while reader’s on satoru), riding, agh this is a mess

author’s note: THE HORNY TIDES ARE HIGH TONIGHT GUYSSSS… i’m picturing an au where sukuna is a teacher at jujutsu tech with the others and the reader teaches with him and satoru and the three of them are married because YAY POLYAMORY anyways hehe enjoy

word count: 2.2k

—————

imagining teacher!ryomen sukuna pounding out teacher!satoru’s ass on his desk while you, their shared wife, tease and overstimulate satoru from behind…

it had just been such a long day! sukuna was exhausted. you were exhausted. satoru was exhausted. unfortunately (or, moreso, fortunately-), being exhausted often led to satoru being mouthy and clingy. and, when you walked to sukuna’s office to find satoru already there- having followed sukuna around like a lost puppy dog all day since he couldn’t find you- it was evident that sukuna was having a hard time reeling himself in from retaliating against the constant “make me”s leaving satoru’s mouth after every request, the random pokes and squeezes, and the whimpers and pouts and huffs. 

so, it was evident what you all needed after such a long thing. it took maybe five minutes before sukuna’s desk was cleared, satoru laid back on it, stripped bare with nothing but his blindfold wrapped taught around his throat, gripped tightly in your hand. sukuna stood on one end of the desk, satoru’s ankles draped over sukuna’s shoulders, pushing himself into satoru after using nothing but his spit and fingers to prep the white-haired man, while you knelt next to satoru on the desk, leaning over him, your hand wrapped tight around satoru’s cock as you squeezed the blindfold around his neck, his blue eyes dripping onto his pale cheeks.

 one thing about sukuna? sukuna was big. inhumanely so, with over eleven inches of thick, heavy meat between his legs, throbbing and pulsing as he pushed into satoru’s tight hole. satoru’s toes curled, his eyes watering as he let out a scream from the sting of sukuna’s stretch- the two didn’t do this often, never outside of your request- but they’d done this enough that satoru’s face turned red with embarrassment at how he still hadn’t managed to get used to the feeling of sukuna pulsing inside of him. tears dripped down satoru’s cheeks, his cock twitching in your hand, growing harder and thicker and engorging in your grasp. his bright pink tip weeped pre-cum nearly as quickly as his eyes did tears. you squeezed your hand, some of his pre-cum flooding out as he hissed, gently dripping down his cock and onto your knuckles as he spasmed, letting out a loud gasp as sukuna began to withdraw from inside of him, only to push deeper into him again.

“shit! shit! shit!” satoru sobbed out, his eyes dripped with tears as his back arched, his sphincter squeezing hard around sukuna, trying to push him out as sukuna pushed into him. satoru shook, trembling, his lip quivering as his cock throbbed, his balls swaying above sukuna’s cock as sukuna bottomed out, a low chuckle erupting from his gut. you watched, unable to hide your fit of giggles, the sound making satoru’s gut do backflips as he whimpered, his toes curling beneath sukuna’s back. “too much! too much!”

“now, now, ‘toru,” you coo down to your husband, your grip on the blindfold tightening, squeezing your throat as you look down at your husband while he sobs pathetically, trying to accommodate the stretch of your other husband. “‘kuna says you’ve been being a brat all day today. you know what happens to brats. you made the rule up yourself!”

satoru whimpers, looking up at you, his tears dripping down his cheeks, before he lets out a yelp at the feeling of sukuna withdrawing again, the pink-haired man chuckling at your words. “what’s the matter, gojo? thought you wanted all of this attention?”

“too much! shit- agh! too much!” satoru whines, his back arching, before he cries out your name as you start to slowly drag your hand up and down his cock, leaning over it to loosely drip a trail of spit onto his throbbing erection. more pre-cum pulses out of his hands, his balls growing heavier with need as satoru pants, before he squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a weak sob. “i’m sorry! i’m sorry! please! please slow down!”

gently, you lean over. you softly kiss satoru’s cheek, moving your hand holding his blindfold, twisting it slightly and brushing some of his salty tears off his face. “do you remember your safe word, baby?”

meekly, satoru looks up at you, nodding his head. “mhm,” he hums quietly, his eyelashes fluttering a bit as his bright blue eyes stare up into your soul. you squeeze his cock again, staring down at him, causing satoru to hiss, his cock twitching in your hand. “r-r-ramen! safe word is ramen!”

“good boy,” you giggle softly, kissing his cheek again. “don’t forget your safeword now, m’kay?” you coo down to him, to which satoru weakly nods his head, before he lets out a loud cry when sukuna begins to speed up his pace. satoru lets out a low groan, his cock throbbing angrily in your hand as his ass tightens, squeezing around sukuna as sukuna grabs ahold of satoru’s hips, squeezing them hard enough to bruise his pretty pale skin. satoru arches his back, and you reach down, pressing against satoru’s stomach, pushing him down again as you start to stroke him faster, pumping satoru’s cock up and down as he sobs. 

satoru’s stomach flinches back beneath your hand, sucking in as his cock glistens, his pre-cum dripping over your hand as you stroke it, pumping up and down as you spit on his again, moving faster. satoru’s hands grip the edge of the desk for leverage, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he tries to arch his back, only to be held down by you, his adoring wife, as his husband begins to snap his hips forward faster, the sound of skin and low groans filling the room as satoru sobs, weeping and begging for more while begging for everything to halt all at once, biting his lip to try and muffle his sounds until you lean down, biting satoru’s lip for him, biting it until you broke skin and his lip bled as punishment for trying to muffle all of his pretty sounds.

satoru’s chest rises and falls quicker, his adams apple bobbing as he swallows, his body tensing and his thighs squeezing as his cock spasms, his balls twitching as he cums, his creamy white seed splashing hard all over your hand, and up into the air, splattering onto his chest, some small bits even flinging onto sukuna’s chest as satoru lets out a high-pitched scream of ecstasy, his ass squeezing so tight that sukuna nearly busts on the spot, his balls clenching as he holds squeezes satoru’s hips rough, having to slow down. 

and yet, you don’t, your hand refusing to slow down for even a moment after satoru comes, causing him to shriek and jerk, his hips raising off the table enough as he flings himself off the table, trying to escape your relentless hand, until sukuna pushes satoru down onto the desk again with a hard thud. he takes one hand off of satoru’s hips, grabbing satoru’s ankles with one head and pinning them together above the air as you relentlessly squeeze and jerk satoru’s cock, twisting your wrist and spitting on it as he sobs. “wait, wait, ah shit wait! too much! baby baby baby please slow down!”

you huff, gently wriggling satoru’s blindfold up from his neck. however, instead of taking it all the way off, you stop when the fabric is above his jaw, secured on his head by his lips, before you shove the fabric of the blindfold into his mouth for him to bite down on, gagging his screams and sobs before someone staying late came in and heard you all, witnessing you and sukuna absolutely slutting out your husband- not even managing to make it home before you did so. once satoru was gagged, you shifted, lifting your hips. you slip off your skirt and your panties, letting them drop to the ground with satoru’s clothes, before you shift. you take satoru’s ankles from sukuna, pinning satoru’s ankles above his head, his ass up in the air as sukuna snaps his hips rougher, harder, while you sit on satoru’s sensitive cock after he comes a second time, pushing his pulsing and bruised cock into your pussy, your walls enveloping satoru mercilessly as you move your hand to rest on his throat, your other hand tugging at his hair as you lean down, bouncing up and down on satoru’s cock.

you bite at satoru’s tear-stained cheeks while cries, gently kissing and nipping at his flesh, before you begin to kiss at his neck, biting and sucking and nibbling as you begin to scatter satoru’s pale white skin with dark purple bruises that’ll last for days, showing no mercy as his hard and sensitive cock weeps inside of you, pulsing and filling you past your brink, a bulge forming in your tummy from satoru’s size as you bounce up and down, the swaying of satoru’s body from being pummeled by sukuna behind you assisting you in your relentless riding as you swirl and swing your hips.

suddenly, you let out a scream as you feel satoru slam against your g-spot, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as your eyes roll back, satoru’s rolling back in unison. sukuna grunts from behind you, gently grabbing ahold of your hair from behind and yanking you upwards towards him, tilting your head back to look up at him as you rock your hips back and forth on satoru’s cock, a whimper escaping your lips as satoru bursts inside of you, screaming into the blindfold as he fills you up, your eyes locked on sukuna as he tsks down at you, shaking his head.

“such noisy whores,” sukuna grumbles. “all of tokyo’s going to hear you two if something isn’t done about this.” he says, snapping his hips harder into satoru, his cock throbbing inside of satoru’s clenching ass as he looks down at you. “take your revenge, satoru. shut her up, before i shut her up for you.” he insists, looking down at satoru with a grumble, causing satoru to lift one hand up from the desk. “open.” sukuna coos to you, which you reply, as satoru shoves his fingers inside your mouth. you eagerly close your mouth, sucking on satoru’s fingers as satoru’s second hand moves up, gripping the back of your head to hold you in place as sukuna lets you go.

sukuna moves his hands, looping them beneath your knees, bringing your knees up in his hands as he lets out a low growl, shaking his head. “promiscuous sluts.” he grumbles to himself. “you both are lucky i have the tolerance for such insatiable messes- making me do all the fucking work to appease your needs.” he grunts, before he lifts you up on satoru’s cock, only to bounce you down. his second set of arms grip satoru’s legs, holding them in place to keep them out of the way- it was a miracle satoru was as flexible as he was, his ankles up past his head and in the air from how he is folded. sukuna switches his rhythm, lifting you and raising you as he pushes his cock deep into satoru’s rectum, pumping and pushing as he manually bounces you up and down on satoru’s cock, satoru’s grip on your hair tightening and his fingers pushing down your throat as sukuna fucks into him, satoru’s eyes rolling back as the three of you sink into bliss, the sound of your muffled moans and sukuna’s grunts and groans, the desk creaking, and skin slapping all echoing throughout the classroom.

finally, sukuna quickens his pace, pummeling himself into satoru’s ass until satoru is screaming, bouncing you up and down on satoru without mercy, your legs becoming jello as you squirt on satoru’s cock when it spasms again, cumming inside of you, your fluids mixing as you both see stars. sukuna buries his face in your chest as he groans lowly, before he suddenly bites down on your shoulder, pushing himself to the hilt inside of satoru as he bursts inside of him, filling satoru up until he is dripping, satoru panting and half-conscious on the desk, before finally, satoru releases you, sukuna following soon after.

you collapse on satoru’s chest, your face burying into his neck as he gently wraps his arms around you, pulling his blindfold from his mouth as the two of you lay on sukuna’s desk, both completely fucked out and even more exhausted than before. slowly, you turn your cheek, glancing up at sukuna as he slowly pulls out of satoru, causing satoru to gasp and whine, his legs finally able to rest, dangling over sukuna’s desk until his feet touch the floor, his legs even more sore than yours, the two of you nothing but watery gelatin on sukuna’s desk.

and gently, carefully, sukuna leans over. he pinches your cheek, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, before he grunts, lifting his head in time for satoru to kiss the top of your head, holding you close and snuggling into you as sukuna stands, brushing himself off, already preparing himself for the weight of having to carry you both to the car once you’re dressed… or at least preventable to the public view.

at least he had four arms, he supposed.

—————

masterlist!

not proofread.

please do not copy, steal, repost, and/or translate.

copyright protected by blitziwitchwrites.

[felixfrecklesandhoneyjisung]

hiii! mlt cry after subspace? (if you get the sub!skz vibe you get me)

Oh I definitely get you 😏

WARNING: NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Felix is the sweetest, most perfect sub you could ever ask for. He just wants to please you and will do whatever you ask: he'd happily spend hours with his head between your legs, tongue eagerly lapping over your clit and his deep moans vibrating through your body. However, he is extremely sensitive and cries easily, especially after subspace. The slightest touch of your fingers on his skin has him whimpering, and when your lips gently brush his forehead while he's laying spent and panting and you tell him how good he was for you and make him feel so loved he will burst into sobs and cling to you for the rest of the night.

Changbin is not a natural sub. As a dom-leaning switch he usually prefers taking charge, but when he's had a tough week or gets caught in a spiral of self-doubt he will crave affection and being pampered. He's completely comfortable with you and trusts you enough to give in to those submissive instincts when they arise, but they tend to leave him feeling vulnerable afterwards. He loves it when you pin him down and ride him hard, telling him how good his cock feels inside you and showering him with praise. Needs a lot of reassurance "Do I really make you feel good?" "Tell me again baby, tell me you love me please I need it." The tears often follow as he comes down from subspace, mostly out of a sense of relief and a rare moment of raw openness that only you get to see.

The opposite of Changbin, Hyunjin is a sub-leaning switch and simultaneously one of the most romantic and filthiest lovers you've ever had. Depending on his mood, he'll fuck you on a bed of rose petals or the bathroom stall of a restaurant. His darker kinks tend to come out when he's in subspace. He wants you to use him and degrade him: will ask you to bite him, smack him and call him awful names. He loves it. But what he loves most is that he knows you don't really mean it and this is all just an exercise in trust and intimacy... isn't it? The doubts start to creep in after the fact: what if you think less of him now, is there something wrong with him that he would want those kinds of things done to him? Will begin to panic and cry if you don't give him immediate aftercare with gentle words of affirmation.

If you want to request a SKZ MLT send me an ask 💜

[saucyplayfulsmile]

Days like today make me really long for a Dom. The executive dysfunction is kicking my fucking ASS and I just need someone to put food in front of me then carry me into the shower. Then make me clean my doom room on the promise of tying me up and fucking me afterwards. Is that too much to ask? I feel like no.

[donghoonie-3]

I love how I wanna be more dom with some people but with others it doesn't matter lmao

[c0rinarii]

someone mentioned that the red embrace love interests are basically MTC and i havent been the same since that realization

[salemthepuppylover]

I have said it SO MANY TIMES and I will SAY IT AGAIN.

AS A DOM. YOU DESERVE CARE TOO.

aftercare is often times sub-focused, and while that’s always great, it’s often seen as “only subs need aftercare because they’re the ones that took the brunt of the acts.” and as a disabled dom, that’s absolutely not true.

dom drop is very real. I often experience it as guilt for hurting someone, or being “too aggressive,” as trans women are often seen. especially for doms that take care of subs, pretty please take the time to take care of yourself too!!

and for all the subs out there, if you’re able, please please please go get your dom some water or a snack. even if neither of you can walk, it’s imperative that you *talk to each other.* in my past, even the smallest things made me feel so much better. I’m going to list off some great things to say to your dropped dom here (feel free to add in reblogs!!)

“I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me too much.”

“Thank you for doing (self care act) for me, do you need anything?”

“I liked everything you did.”

“everything was within my boundaries.”

“you did great, (name/nickname).”

“do you need anything?”

“would you like (self care act)?”

“can I help (task: clean up, get water, etc.)”

just doing something like talking, showing physical affection, kisses, comfort, etc, is so so so important, and everyone deserves it!

and to all my fellow doms out there, don’t feel guilty for asking for help! if you need it, ask for it! your partner is there to show you love and care too!

[willyoubemycherryy]

“Who’s your new friend?” (Salesman x reader)

Summary: Your dad’s dark stranger is the one for you. Too bad about his cruel streak….

Contains: sit down chicas this is a LONG one, plot but gratuitous p+rn, dads!friend au, rough sex, edging, pussy spanking, he’s mean :( , choking, drugging, everything IS consensual bc I’m tired of everyone writing him as a domestic terrorlzing rapist, he’s still psychotic and unhinged tho, just not psychosexual because psychotic traits don’t always translate to sexual violence, your dad is sweet but trusting and naive, squirting, pussyspanking unprotected sex (don’t be a dummy, wrap your gummy) begging, degradation, praise, cursing, reader is a bit of a bitch, light dom/sub dynamics, his cock is stuuuupid fat bc I said so and have eyeballs, ur 22 in this period and he’ll spit in your mouth in the next installment of this series :)

A/N: Yeah, he got me y’all😔 Gong Yoo sexy, fine, tall, handsome ass got me😞I’ve been tripping out for 17 days straight over this man sooo…

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ _ _

_ ➵ ✩ ◛ ° . +

You knew your dad often had strange friends but this one takes the cake.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow at the tall man your father was currently introducing you to. Standing over 6 feet in a pitch black suit he was extremely easy on the eyes with full lips, perfectly styled hair, relaxed posture and not a wrinkle in sight paired with the darkest almond eyes you’d ever seen. You rove your eyes over him once more before looking back up to find him staring back at you…

Yes, he was perfectly lovely but was it too soon to assume something about him was..off?

You feel your face warm at how strong his gaze is but you stare back defiantly, mentally cursing your too trusting dad.

“…and since we chat almost everyday during our commute to work- would you guess that we’re both in sales and marketing?- I thought it’d be great to invite him over and talk more in a more comfortable setting!” Your dad says excitedly, smiling as he tells you all about his new friend. The man smiles alongside him, cheeks faintly dimpling and despite your distrust, you can’t take your eyes off of him as you feel your heart beat harder in its cage.

“I was going to call to tell you I was bringing company but you know I forget to use that thing.” ‘That thing’ being a modern phone to a man who was awful with tech. You scoff but nod to let him know you don’t mind (completely) and because you already know how your father is and he continues,

“Oh right! Speaking of forgetting, I don’t remember if I ever mentioned my daughter even though I know I probably did-“, you listen to your dad introduce you and the man smiles even wider as he steps forward, offering his hand to yours in a shake.

“How pleasant to meet you.” Holy shit. His voice is a lot deeper than you expected and you absentmindedly place your hand into his waiting one. The way it completely encases your hand due to its sheer size makes your heart stop before it melts down to a warm pool in your lower stomach, settling in your core like hot tea as you breathe out a shaky exhale. His hand is also rougher than you thought it’d be for a simple businessman as it squeezes yours and a quick flash image of that same hand around your throat has you snatching your hand back as you shoot him a tight smile.

“Right. Back at ya. Um, how old are you again?”

“Ah. Isn’t that improper to ask new people?”

“I’m just curious to how you maintain a career as developed as my dads because you seem so young.”

Oh. You’re quick witted; that makes things a potential hassle for him.

“Well, I’m much older than you. I’m certainly older than your father.”

“Ha! Are you also the Emperor of China-”, You’re cut off as your dad says your name in the way he does when you’re being rude but you ignore it, glaring at the man.

“Be polite! He’s older so you should speak respectfully”, you barely hide the roll of your eyes but your fathers new friend catches it and you swear you hear a huff of amusement from him, the low sound makes you shiver as you turn on your heel to go back upstairs, your dads scolding calling after you.

“Aish! Spoiled! Brat! You were so much cuter when you were younger!”

“Whatever!”

“Bellybutton lint!”

“Old man!”

“Oh yeah?! You won’t be 22 forever!”

The only response he gets back is the sound of your bedroom door slamming while you’re all too aware of the eyes on your back when you’d left. Your dad sighs as he runs a hand down his face. The salesman simply stands quietly, grinning as always as he observes your little spat. Something about it caught his attention though.

“She’s young.” And your father agrees, insisting that’s part of the reason for your behavior, you apparently were “much nicer” and he nods in understanding.

“College age is tricky. I met her mom around her age and things are so much more different than they were back in our day so I try not to be too hard on her but sometimes she’s so-!” He tilts his head as he waits for your dad to find the word.

“Difficult!”

Ah. How cute. A little attitude problem.

That honestly doesn’t surprise him because most pretty little things almost always had one- you were no exception. Though, you yourself were a pleasant surprise. He’d maintained a friendly relationship with your father on a mere whim, finding him to be…nice unlike most he considered nuisances, so when the man invited him over one day he accepted and as he trailed through the door behind him, taking in the warm tones of your house when he spotted you. Standing near the island by the kitchen in shorts so tiny the wide waistband made them look like a mini skirt, the words ‘PINK’ on the back and a snug white tee shirt, the blue of your bra peeking through, you walk towards them smelling of fabric softener and cold vanilla. Your hair was down as you stared at him like you were both scared and wanting with big eyes full of suspicion. The gloss of your lips shining back at him as your lips curl during your inspection of him, lightly arched brow raising as you gave him a thorough once over, eyes flicking back up to his when you were done. You were absolutely delicious to look at. Short, smart mouthed, pretty and prissy.

He didn’t mind the rude way you spoke to him- no- because your eyes tell. You were weary but interested; cynical in all the ways your father wasn’t but that was perfectly fine.

His smile slowly shifted into a smirk as he followed your father to the living room, humming whenever he would speak, but his thoughts were preoccupied.

Thinking of smooth legs on a cute face he’d love to see wet with tears as he spanked your smart ass raw.

•

•

•

When you went upstairs the first thing you did was grab your headphones and tune out.

What the fuck was your dad thinking??

You huff as you flop on your bed, scrolling through your favorite apps while you tried to slow your thoughts.

Everything is fine.

Your dad always has the most unconventional friends and acquaintances so this was probably just that and you were freaking out more than usual because he was unfathomably attractive. That’s it. You just needed to get a grip. But fuck would you love to ride him through the weekend if only he didn’t have such a concerning aura…and wasn’t pals with your dad of-course.

About 2 hours later when you go downstairs to get food and bring it back to your room-answering curtly when your dad asks if you want to join him and the hot stare of the suited man you’re trying to pretend isn’t there.

“Hard no. Do I look like a nurse? You two senior citizens can play amongst yourselves.”

You sigh when you get back up to your room, FaceTiming your friends as you eat, talking about whatever and whoever before you remember you need to organize some of your class notes and say goodbye before you hang up.

It takes less time than you thought it would so when you’re done, you go about your night routine. Teeth, skincare, oversized cotton shirt, lights off as you put on a movie you’ve seen a million times. It’s harder for you to fall asleep when you can still hear his deep voice through the walls talking and laughing with your dad, shaking your core as you toss and turn- physically fighting the feeling- until you fall asleep.

X

Another few hours later, you wake with a start. Something’s not right.

You can still hear the tv downstairs but no voices. The hairs on the back of your neck stand and as you turn your head towards your door- pulling the covers off your legs, the sight of a tall dark figure rips a blood curdling scream from your throat. In that same second the figure steps closer, the light from your tv illuminates him and your heart races as you stare back wide eyed at your dads suited stranger friend. You’re still gasping and reeling as he sits down on your soft bedding, watching with rapt eyes at you trying to calm down from the near heart-attack he almost gave you.

“W-what..what the fuck?!” He smiles as you get up to yell in his face, gesturing wildly.

“Why the hell are you in my-“, you cut yourself off as another realization dawns on you completely and he can’t help the compulsion he feels towards you.

“How long have you been in my room- wait where’s my dad?!” If you knew who he was and what he did for a living, you’d be much more agreeable…or maybe not and that’s what fascinated him about you. You were so unusual. Wanting to steer clear of him instead of on, even though he’d piqued your curiosity, you didn’t blindly follow like every other nuisance did; instead he was the inconvenience and the way you let him know via sharp words and distrusting looks was something he hadn’t gotten in a while. The way you brushed him and your hard working dad off with no more than a pretty glare while probably never having actually worked for anything in your life made him itch to correct you. Make you say sorry- break you back into the sweet girl he knew you could be.

“I swear to god- WHERE IS MY DAD-!“, before you can raise your voice anymore, turning to go find him yourself, he’s pulling you back by your wrist, covering your mouth with his other hand as he hooks his chin over your shoulder cooing at you to calm down - listen to him a bit.

“Shh. Your father is alright, had too much to drink so he’s passed out downstairs but safe nonetheless.” You feel your body relax against your will at his words but you still bite his palm for scaring the hell out of you. The pain that blooms up his wrist from his hand makes him hiss against your ear and you wish it didn’t sound so good before it trails off into a light chuckle.

“I’m going to move my hand. You won’t scream. Understand?” You roll your eyes but nod anyway and a few seconds later his hand is lowered but he keeps you sitting up against him.

“Look- if you’re some kind of extortionist or blackmailer, my dad only works for clean honest compan-“,

“I’m none of those things.” Huh. You’re even more confused but the silence that follows he doesn’t break instead he waits for you, enjoying your discomfort as you shift against him.

“Then what the fuck do you want? Nothing better to do in your ancient age on a Tuesday night besides creep around?” Your mouth would be the death of you and this might very well be the moment as you mouth off to a complete stranger who could be (and actually is) very dangerous but bravado was all you had. You’d seen and heard more than enough to know that an older man in a suit visiting a young girl he didn’t know in the dead of night never ended well.

“I want to chat for a bit.” You tilt your head a bit in confusion but he takes your silence as the go ahead, making your heart pound when he shuffles even closer causing you to feel his firm pecs through his expensive smelling dress shirt; the heady combination makes your pulse race as you fight yourself on whatever it is exactly that you’re feeling but shouldn’t be.

“When your father mentioned you, you sounded like such a nice girl…”, the low way he speaks resembles a purr, words vibrating his chest, thick arms holding you tight to him as his warm breaths coast across your chest and neck.

“Imagine my surprise when I meet you and you’re nothing more than an ungrateful little princess with a pretty face but very nasty attitude.” You feel your face warm in shame at the blatant way he calls you out, immediately defensive as you shoot back,

“What’s it to you? If you want to see some obedient thing then get a boarder collie-!” Enough of that. His hand claps down over your throat, squeezing not enough to hurt but enough to make you shut up as your heart rate spikes, nerves going haywire at the sudden cut of oxygen. You get dizzy quick. Blood rushing through your ears like a current of cotton, hand flying up on instinct to pull at his muscled forearm but it doesn’t budge and you whine- biting your lip as your heart beats liquid fire through your body. You were so fucked up, clamping your thighs shut as if that will stop you from getting wet but it’s hard to pay attention to that with a tight hand around your neck and mean lips against your ear.

“Didn’t your father tell you to respect your elders?” He tuts out and you nod desperately, willing to swallow your snideness if it meant getting air. He loosens his grip enough for you and you gasp so hard you nearly choke, the sound turning him on more than it should; he grabs your chin so you face him with teary eyes and he nearly groans at how weak you look. The sedatives he slipped in your dad’s drink would last for a while so for now it was just you and him.

“Answer me.”

“You first-“, you’re quick to shut your mouth as a smirk grows on his face. A fast learner.

“Smart. But”, he pauses to put you on edge before continuing, “because I quite enjoy your father and his company, I don’t like the thought of him being troubled by anything.” His words are sweet but they also fill you with dread because you know how much you intentionally butt heads with your father. Mouthing off at him just to amuse yourself sometimes. You never meant to stress him but messing with him a little was how you showed your affection.

“That includes you as well.” He rasps against your neck, nipping the sensitive skin there with more teeth than tongue and you choke on a moan, breathing hard.

“Okay. Got it. I need to be nicer-”,

“No, you need a firm hand.” Oh fuck. You bite your lip at that, watching through bleary eyes as he rubs his other hand down your chest, brushing your hard nipples through your shirt as he feels up your soft curves. The hand around your throat tightens when he feels you might move but when you don’t he doesn’t loosen it- instead he rewards you with wet, scalding kisses behind that spot under your ear, suckling down until he reaches your collarbones. Your eyes water from all the sensations as you try to rationalize what’s going on before you lose yourself to how good you feel.

The hand caressing over your body doesn’t stop, threatening to burn you alive with the heat it ignites in you. To make matters worse, you can’t even breathe deeply enough to calm down with the hold he has on your neck and you’re reminded of how pathetically wet you are whenever you move your legs as you’re completely naked underneath your shirt. So much is happening but it’s not enough. Fleetingly scarce touches is all you’re being given but you need more. You shouldn’t want this, want him- or anything having to do with him- but you do and that thought scares you more than any potential repercussions.

He watches you with an unreadable expression as you shift constantly, sliding a hand under your shirt to cup your tits, flicking and twisting the stiff nubs cruelly between his fingers. Laving his tongue over each bruise he’s left on your neck before choking you harder, making the veins on the back of his hand show and your mouth drops open, hoarse broken moans falling as your hips twitch upwards. This was how he liked you. Melting into him so obediently…

“You’re going to be a good girl now?” He asks like it’s a question but the even in hazy state you’re falling into, you know it’s an order. He loosens his grip again so you can answer, voice hoarse,

“..y-yeah.” The softened tone you use when you respond makes him hard beyond belief and he bites your shoulder with a satisfied groan and you swear your cunt has a pulse. The familiar burning ache is so blinding that you listen immediately when he tells you-

“Open your legs.”

He almost didn’t hear your sharp intake of breath. He barely noticed the way your hips snapped up to hump his hand… he was preoccupied with just how wet you were. Your arousal coats his fingers as he slides them between your sopping lips making you keen through shuddering breaths as you try to control yourself. A few hard circles to your clit shatters that control as you cry out, needy sobs falling from your gloss smeared lips while you beg prettily for him.

“Please! I-! I’ll-anything! Just-!” His hand collar tightens again as he slides two fingers knuckle deep in your spasming hole, immediately curling them towards him, grinding them against that spongy bundle of nerves inside you and the fire that’s been steadily burning inside you almost makes you black out from how quick it threatens to consume you. You’ve never felt more out of your mind, your cunt so soaking wet it’s audible. White-searing pleasure shoots electricity through every nerve and you’re screaming. Between the fuzz in your head from oxygen loss or the brutal way he’s fucking you with his fingers- the one thing you do know is that if you cum now, you’ll faint.

“Waittt- mm-! S-stopp!!” It’s the struggle of a lifetime to get the words out but you do and when you do, surprisingly- he listens. Taking his fingers out as the strings of your slick drip from them and you cry at the loss, the ache still there but you could at least breathe. You feel a nip at your ear and you only then notice the way you’ve rested your weight completely against him.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” His voice is thick with arousal from how wonderfully you responded to him. So wet he could taste it in the air as you trembled and cried against him. The water in your eyes spilling down over as they rolled back into your skull. Your face was the perfect erotic expression of tormented bliss as he made you earn air and fight off an orgasm so strong it would’ve put you in a vegetative state.

The sound of your weak sniffles make his cock ache as he lays back on your bed, maneuvering your hips over his as he opens his pants, taking his length out he moans at the pressure relief. Swiping his fat head through your messy folds but not inside.

“Well? I need you to answer me. Or do I need to get it out of you myself?” You shake your head, lifting your arms when he moves your shirt up off you and now you’re completely naked while he’s still clothed. As much as his stare intimidated you, his attentions felt even better, moaning at the dirty kisses his cock gave your hole.

“Was gonna cum…but you didn’t say I could yet”, you reach up to use his arm as leverage while you wiggle your hips and your submission drives him mad with how much he wants to ruin you.

“Aw. That’s cute…but if you came before I let you, what then? Are you smart enough to tell me?” He asks sweetly but the condescending undertone makes you feel dumb as heat blooms in your chest and you will away the fuzz that’s making it hard to think so you can give him a proper answer. One that would please him. The fact that you even wanted to please him was something you’d have to get back to.

“I’d be in trouble?” You say it like a question and less of an answer and he finds your uncertainty so cute as he laughs indulgently at you.

“Close. It’s because you’re my good girl. And my girl only does as she’s told, yeah?” The same trickling tingle at the base of your skull is back again as you mindlessly repeat after him.

“Yeah.” He hums, lining himself up with your drooling pussy, sliding in with one thrust. Gritting his teeth with a heavy groan while you choke on a sob.

“Fuckin’ tight-!” Deep grunting in your ear overwhelming you in the best way and you lose it from how full you are. You could’ve guessed by his height and frame that he’d be packing but it felt fatter than you would have ever been able to accurately guess, pressing effortlessly against every spot that made you see stars.

You were everlastingly grateful your dad was knocked out because the sounds coming from you and your room were beyond incriminating. Even though he wasn’t moving, every-time you did, you could feel the deliciously heavy pressure against your slick walls. Shivers wracking up your body as wheezing fucked out moans left your mouth and you grind down in messy circles until the hand on your throat stops you.

“Look at you. Desperate n’ wet begging to cum. You’d do anything I tell you, huh? Just like a dog.”

A disgustingly pathetic warble is his reply but he wants more from you, choking you hard as he pinches your sensitive nipples.

“Uhhn! Yes!” The sheer desperation in your shaky voice gives him a sick head-rush.

“Open your legs for me.”

You obey before he even finishes his sentence. Thighs falling apart, cooled air over your center makes you moan wetly as you wait patiently. So patiently that the first heavy slap against your pussy winds you by the time the pain registers. As soon as the sting settles, warmth pools in its place, sensitivity heightened as you wail. The stricken sound makes his cock throb inside you.

“Wha-!”, another slap cracks down on your swollen lips, hitting your clit spot on and again and you try in vain to wriggle away.

“You still need to prove to me that you’re sorry for your behavior earlier.” He says, voice casual but no less mocking and you cry. Tears running down your cheeks as your body struggles to adjust and obey. Before you can shout out however many strings of apologies it’ll take for him to let you cum, he strikes your center again, hissing in pleasure at your screams. He feels it. That somehow you’re even wetter, dripping down his balls and smearing your slick all over the front of his slacks. He has half a mind to make you clean it up when he’s done with with you as he spanks your cunt again, biting your ear hard until it reddens.

“If you cum before I tell you, I promise I’ll make this the longest night of your life”, he groans darkly in your ear. You’re blessed that you can still hear him through the bass of your heart’s beat and the loud, wet connect every time his hand comes down. You were so close. The sharp sting and the pained pleasure of swelling warmth his heavy hand left behind was too much and your poor clit couldn’t take much more. Gasping through your tears, you scramble to find the right words.

“‘Lease- please! Ah-m’sorry!” Your raspy voice breaks halfway through when lifts you only to slam you back down on his fat length, flicking your sensitive nub when he meanly asks you,

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Try again, little girl.” You night just be in for a long night after all.

You could barely breathe from how hard he was choking you, swollen pussy enflamed from countless spanks, and your center was stuffed to the brim as he was so big that he didn’t even have to try to hit your spots. You scratch and wrestle with his hand until he loosens it, gasping and whining, you pray you don’t come from the instant relief it gives you. The rush settling over you like a fuzzy blanket. He shifts below you and you hurry to get the words out before he makes you come without his say-so.

“I’m- I’m sorry! So sorry! Please Sir, can I-!”

Sir. You called him sir.

It’s less of you apologizing but more of you submitting to him, acknowledging him by title that he held superiority over you that pleases him enough to let you cum. Cutting off your sweet begging with more mean, heavy slaps to your wet pussy, basking in your delighted wails as he fucks up into you.

His hand tightens around your throat and this time, you welcome the suffocating pleasure. Scratchy cries escape when they can but you’re so far on the road to ecstasy that you don’t even care how you look or sound, chest heaving as your eyes water. Your cunt feels like it’s on fire but you beg him in every way you can to keep going even though you can’t take it and he does, groaning against your ear as he rubs messily at your throbbing clit.

“So good, baby- you can cum. Make your little mess before I make you beg some more-”, he does not have to tell you twice as everything you’ve been holding, releases and you do make a mess.

Mouth dropped open as you sob and for the next couple minutes hot unending pleasure is all you know as the stinging slaps get faster, ending with harsh circles on your bud after each one and your hole gets even tighter before you go limp- liquid jetting out of you. He fucks you through it with a tight grip on your windpipe, using you like a snug fleshlight until he’s coming harder than he has in a while at the state he’s put you in. He waits until he catches his breath to slide out of you- who’s deadweight as he lifts you off him.

Rolling off the bed, the silence makes him look over at you only to see that you’re out cold. His eyebrows raise as he huffs out an amused laugh, fixing his pants before brushing his hand over your pretty face. He might have overdone it he thinks as he sees your face return to it’s normal, less flushed hue. Leaning down, on impulse he presses a kiss to your cheek, his gentlest touch of the night before getting up and covering your worn naked body with one of the many blankets on your bed.

“You’re a treat in more ways than you know.”

As he stands, before he opens your door to leave, he pulls a card out of his pocket and leaves it on your nightstand then heads back downstairs to get his shoes and jacket. Turning off the tv where your dad sleeps easily and quietly slipping out the door, smiling the entire way. Now he has even more fun.

You.

•

•

•

When you wake up the next morning, you turn with a pleasant ache and stinging between your legs as you stretch, sighing with a blissful smile until you remember why you ache and who caused it.

Pushing yourself up, you stop when you see a card on your stand, rolling to the edge of your bed, you swipe it off and raise it to your face. It’s a picture of lollipop, a simple circle on a stick but the words below it make your chest warm and you don’t even bother pretending to yourself that you aren’t interested in seeing him again.

“Next time I’ll make you even sweeter.”

In part 2…

Or 3…

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”

[meganegatari]

You should definitely write for Vi bc oml she’s so fine 😮‍💨

DO U EVEN KNOW THE WAY IM TWEAKIN OVER HER like omfg. my poor moots getting bombarded with fucking piles of edits upon edits of her and my thirsty comments...yeah...i gotchu, you don't needa ask me twice ♡ tbh feel like this is one of the better short smutty thingies i've written, lol. it was really fun.

nsfw drabble—dom!vi + spit kink. originally i was gonna make this three smaller blurbs, but decided to just smash em all into one longer drabble situation. cw: praise, bossy vi, finger sucking (r! receiving), oral (v! receiving), vi bush mention RAHHHH, yapping... yk how it is by now. + 1.1k wc.

you were gazing up at her with watery eyes, kneeling by vi's seated form, trying your hardest to ignore the deafening ache between your thighs.

vi is loving, and she knows how to treat you well. she always provides you with tons of care and happiness, however—she also possesses a dirty side to her.

a bandaged hand swipes at the bottom of your chin, her thumb prodding at your pursed lips. there was a smirk playing on her scarred lips, her powder-blue eyes twinkling with pure lust at the scenario playing out before her.

“open.” she says roughly, and who are you to deny her? you were willing to take anything she'd give you, so you obediently part your lips, allowing her to fully push her digit inside your hot mouth.

almost instinctively, your puffy lips wrap around her thumb and you begin to suck, your eyes rolling ever so slightly at the taste of her salted skin. she hums, “atta girl—keep going. just like that, until i say you can stop, alright?” you open your eyes and nod in approval, wishing to commit her expression to memory.

see, vi wasn't one of those mean, degrading doms with an icy exterior who get off on hurting you an excessive amount, and in moments like this where she's got you in a position of submission under her, her natural “switchiness” peeks through. you see it in the way her throat bobs as she swallows, her unsteady, shallow breathing coming out in rasps, and the distinct furrow in her flaming brows while she struggles to maintain eye contact. regardless, you both enjoy toying around with various dynamics, she makes it fun.

you get lost in a daydream while staring into her eyes, but are startled out of it when she strongly presses down on your wet tongue, and pushes her thumb further inward until you gag.

it surprises you, but you know she would never overdo things. tears well up in your eyes, their presence only widening her voracious grin.

then she soothes, her now-soft voice caressing your ears, “exactly, just like that. good job, baby. you're so perfect f'me—yeahhh.” she continues rolling her thumb around your wet muscle, every so often dragging the pad of her finger over the ridges of your teeth, then pushing experimentally up against the roof of your mouth.

saliva has been gathering all this time, and she hasn't given you a moment to swallow it, so it dribbles out of your mouth and down your chin, decorating your chest as it slides down your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps along its path.

her face gets impossibly redder as she observes the sight, still while playing with—rather, using—your mouth. her movements speed up a touch, and she triggers your gag reflex once more before abruptly stopping. she pulls her hand out of your mouth with a pop, and throws her head back as she tries to steady her breathing. “you're so fuckin’ hot, god—i can't.”

you smile up at her, reveling in her break of character and being pleased with yourself. she's panting, and examines her hand; it's shiny and dripping with your spit, she's mesmerized by the sparkle it emits in the low light. her periwinkle eyes gloss over and suddenly there's a flash of fabric flying by, and you realize she has undressed herself in one fluid motion, throwing everything on her bottom half across the room. she’s so desperate, you can’t help but sneer at her horny distress, even though technically you were the one being overpowered.

your eyes drop, meeting a wild tangle of vermillion and crimson, her muscular thighs separating east and west to make space for you.

she leans back and gently nudges your head towards her tender, drooling core, her chest heaving at the way you're just melting under her touch. turning to jelly, you let her guide you where she wants. needs.

vi groans quietly, her breath hitching, “c'mon angel, you know what to do.” and you very much did. with her assistance, you advance and bury your face in her center, tongue finding her scarlet pearl—twitching and ready for you to obliterate.

you flick, you suck, and you moan at the heavenly taste of her essence, revel in the noises she's producing above you. she pulls you further in, bucking her hips frantically to chase your skilled mouth. you push your tongue inside her quivering hole as far as it'll go, taking as much of her in your mouth as you can, and ignoring the lack of oxygen you're experiencing—you would be more than pleased if you were lucky enough to die this way.

she's watching you intently through half-lidded eyes, chewing on her rosy lips. when you meet her gaze from in between her legs, her face contorts and she releases a guttural whine, more slick leaking from her and filling your hard-at-work mouth.

her grip on your hair tightens and her abs tense, providing you with an image that's worthy of a climax just on its own. her head falls back, her lips parting to allow for pretty, high pitched and pathetic pleas to grace your ears. “ple—please baby, just like that. you're so fuckin' good, don't you dare stop—ah!”

without any warning she makes a vulgar mess of your face, the vice grip on your crown causing you to wince, but just as she requests, you don't dare move.

you tilt your head to get a better angle, practically making out with her swollen pussy. you drink up her cum, the near-sickly sweetness clouding your mind, coating your thoughts in a drunken haze.

the high is rippling through her at such an intensity her loud moans are replaced with pornographic whimpers, the sensations utterly ruining her. she squirms and arches, caging your head between her thighs until she gasps.

"hah—okay, okay, oh—fuck.” she stutters while she pushes you away, the tremor in her body evident. you sit back and examine your work, feeling proud of yourself, her fucked-out condition proving you did a good job.

she's sprawled on the bed like a starfish, still trying to slow her racing heart but manages to chuckle, basking in the aftershocks of a mind-melting session.

her words are slurred, yet satisfied. “did so good, that was so good…love your mouth s'much babe.”

you guffaw, and throw at her through chuckles, “i know, i am the best.” that sends her into a fit of giggles as well, and once she's calmed down she confirms.

“yeah, you really are.”

thanks for reading! comments, reblogs, and asks are appreciated more than you know ♡ if you'd like to be tagged in future works, fill out the form here! until next time ;)

@andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ne @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @mascdom @ashaynep @angelynn-nicole @wilddrown @aylabv02108 @lonelyfooryouonly @melsmunch @e11williamsgf @spncrrdlvr @flowrmoth

[artficlly]

show me again [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x mutant!reader

you were born a mutant, gifted with the power to manipulate bodily sensations. until now, you've only ever used it to cause pain. but now, stuck in a remote safehouse with bucky for the next few months, tension crackles between you. when you finally confess that your ability can also bring pleasure, he looks at you differently, more than a little curious to experience it first-hand. 

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, magical smut??, fingering, edging!!, praise kink, so much sexual tension, vague enemies to lovers, forced proximity, lowkey brat reader at times??, soft dom! bucky (at times), kissing, angst, miscommunication (not badly), protective!bucky, grumpy!bucky, bodyguard!bucky, mention of torture, wound description, injuries, mention of human trafficking, hurt/comfort, there's some plot if you squint, reader has survivors guilt, reader is horny lol, use of the pet name sweetheart, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 17k (jesus fucking christ)

A/N: hi this is a fucking monster of a fic. i've been working on this for weeks now. if it flops i might cry and go die in a hole. pls like/reblog/comment etc <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

In the short time you had been acquainted with Bucky Barnes, you had quickly learnt three things. 

One, he didn’t talk much, if at all. Most of your conversations consisted of little more than grunts, terse glances, or unimpressed scowls. He didn’t ask questions, nor did he answer them. At one point, you suspected he might have had his tongue cut out. That changed when you began to hear him muttering under his breath as he stomped past, his heavy boots reverberating through the safehouse. ‘Securing the perimeter’. Always the same phrase, always delivered in the same grim tone.

Two, he was paranoid. He never turned his back on you. Always kept you in his line of sight. There was always a weapon within arm’s reach. He checked every door and window twice. His movements were systematic, almost compulsive. He prowled the safehouse like an animal on the hunt, slipping into view when you least expected him. More than once, he’d startled you so badly you’d dropped something. A shattered coffee mug still lay in the trash as proof. And each time you flinched, his eyes would narrow slightly, suspicious, as if trying to decide what exactly you were hiding, why someone like you could be so easily spooked. You didn’t know what his employers had told him, but obviously it was not the whole story.

And three, he didn’t want to be here.

He made no effort to hide that fact.

You bit your tongue more often than not, swallowing every snide remark that burned its way up your throat. Surprise, I don’t want to be here either, assshole. But you knew better than to lash out at the only person you'd be stuck with for the next few months. The only person standing between you and whatever might come crawling out of the woods. Protection wasn’t something you could afford to alienate.

The officials who dumped you here had been full of promises. They said you’d be safe, hidden, far from the reach of the Menagerie. They told you to wait. This storm would pass, and when it did, you could return to your everyday life.

But after two years under the Menagerie’s thumb, normal didn’t exist anymore.

What even was normal?

This safehouse felt like the eye of a hurricane, but you could sense the storm circling just beyond, the pressure building in the air, the wind pressing at the windows. It was only a matter of time before it rolled over and consumed you whole. And maybe that was the truth of it, that you were already in the belly of the beast, already chewed up and digested. There was no normality to return to.

There never would be again.

The safehouse sat on a stretch of farmland, tucked far enough from the world that it felt like the end of it. No internet, no cell service, not even a TV. Just enough power to keep the lights on and the water running. It was midsummer, and the air was thick and syrupy, heavy with the scent of clover and sun-warmed hay. At night, the frogs and cicadas sang in overlapping rhythms, insects tapping softly against the mesh of the window screens. Rolling meadows stretched in nearly every direction, grass tall and wispy, swaying lazily in the breeze, cattle grazing along the fence line. Beyond the weather-worn red barn, the woods waited. You could sometimes hear deer calling in the dusk, birds chattering high in the canopy.

You’d tiptoed downstairs about a week after your arrival, barefoot on the old wood planks, a floral sundress brushing your shins as you crept through the lounge. The sky outside was streaked with soft orange and watercolour pink, the quiet hush of dawn holding everything still. Bucky was asleep on the couch again, arms folded across his chest, his boots still on. He rarely slept, and when he did, it was always here, not in the bedroom just across the landing from yours.

You hadn’t asked why.

Maybe he was afraid he wouldn’t hear someone break in. Maybe he didn’t trust doors. You were half convinced he’d sleep on the porch if you hadn’t caught him doing it once and given him a look harsh enough to make him reconsider. Not that it mattered, he seemed to wake at the slightest shift in the air. Twice already, you'd startled him by just breathing too loudly on your way to make morning tea, trying to be as quiet as possible as you filled the kettle and set it to boil. 

This time, he didn’t stir. Or maybe pretended not to, just so that he could avoid your regular awkward morning exchange. You slipped past him, easing open the front door, wincing as the screen squeaked. The sun hit you square in the face, gold and blinding, warm even this early. You stepped out into the grass with a long breath and crouched, brushing your fingers through the delicate strands as the world slowly began to stir.

The farmhouse had a few animals, just enough to feel lived-in. A small coop of chickens, a handful of cattle, and a scraggly white barn cat who seemed to claim the place as her own. You called her Alpine, after the word etched into one of the barn beams above the old hayloft she slept in. Whoever carved it there had long since disappeared, but the name remained, half-claimed and half-given.

“It’s not safe out here alone.” The gruff voice shattered your moment of peace, and you jumped, heart lurching in your chest.

Bucky stood behind you, all shadows and hard edges.

He filled the doorway without trying to, broad shoulders bracketed by the frame, thick arms folded across a chest that strained the seams of his faded henley. He was massive in a way that made rooms feel smaller, as though the very architecture had to shift to accommodate him. 

Even when still, he gave the impression of movement barely restrained, like some great machine idling under the surface. His frame was built like something forged rather than born, towering over you with muscle carved deep into every inch of him, from his sculpted chest to the veined forearms visible beneath pushed-up sleeves. 

His stance was always solid, unmoving, as if the earth itself would sooner shift than he would. The glint of his vibranium arm caught in the low morning light, brushed in gold from the rising sun, each plate moving in smooth precision as he adjusted his stance.

His face sported an unimpressed scowl, his jaw shadowed by stubble, brows drawn low over stormy blue eyes that swept the fields behind you with disinterest. And though he said nothing, you could sense his irritation as clearly as the heat rising off the sun-touched grass. 

He had a particular hatred for you being outside alone. Most days, he’d trail after you reluctantly, watching with narrowed eyes as you wandered the fields for an hour or two. When his patience wore thin, he’d herd you back inside like a sheepdog. He preferred enclosed spaces. Contained. Controlled.

Places where he could see you—track you—where your every movement could be accounted for.

You were beginning to feel like you escaped one prison just to enter the next. 

“You gonna roll around in it next, sweetheart?” he called, voice stern with impatience.

Sweetheart. That damn condescending nickname. It wouldn’t have got under your skin so much if it didn’t make your stomach twist and flutter every time it rolled off his tongue.

You didn’t answer, but you could feel his gaze like a weight between your shoulder blades. Any second now, you wouldn’t put it past him to stomp into the grass and haul you inside himself, fingers fisted in the back of your dress like he was pulling a wayward stray by the scruff of its neck.

“Come on. Inside,” he barked again. “I haven’t checked the perimeter yet.”

Ah. Of course. The perimeter. God forbid a tree shifted in the wind without his knowing.

Suppressing an eye roll, you finally pushed to your feet, brushing bits of grass from your palms. The porch creaked under your steps as you ascended, pausing as he stepped aside with his usual stern silence.

You gave him a sugar-sweet smile as you gripped the handle of the screen door.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” you said, voice light but laced with venom. “Go check your precious perimeter.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. He didn’t answer, but the scowl that crept across his face said enough. He caught the bite in your tone, felt the edge beneath your pleasantry.

You didn’t wait for a response. The door snapped shut behind you, a little harder than necessary, rattling the frame.

—

The next time you saw Bucky was early afternoon. You’d been irritated enough to barricade yourself in your tiny room, thumbing through the stacks of old paperbacks until you finally landed on something vaguely interesting. It was some tacky romance novel that was amusing enough not to let your mind wander, but not quite good enough to engulf you completely. 

Though, eventually, it was hunger that won your imagined standoff, your stomach growling so loudly you were half-convinced it had gained sentience and was protesting its conditions.

Bucky was still on the couch, right where you’d left him hours ago. You couldn’t make out what he was doing from the doorway, his broad shoulders alone blocked most of your view, but he appeared to be fiddling with something in his hands. You didn’t ask. You weren’t in the mood for another grunt in place of conversation. Instead, you turned sharply into the kitchen without a word.

The safehouse was well-stocked, rows of canned goods crammed into the cupboards, their faded, illegible labels boasting things like beef stew, baked beans, and mystery meat in gloopy gravy. There were jars of peanut butter with oil slicking the top, stale crackers sealed in military-grade packaging, and boxes of instant mashed potatoes that looked more like powdered chalk than food. 

On better days, you had the garden out back, knobbly carrots, bitter greens, the occasional undergrown zucchini, and the chickens, who begrudgingly gifted you eggs when they felt generous. You found yourself wishing for a dairy cow, not that you had any idea how to milk one, just to be free of the powdered imposter you stirred into your coffee every morning. Whatever it was, it tasted like plaster. 

You could feel Bucky’s gaze flick toward you through the doorway. You didn’t look up, instead pretending to study the cans as if they held the answers to life’s greater mysteries, silently tossing up between which mystery soup you would try today. 

Before the Menagerie, you’d loved to cook, baking especially. Anything stuffed with chocolate chips or drowned in frosting had your full attention. But you dabbled in savoury dishes too, the kind your mother used to call ‘real people food’. The two of you would stand shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, elbows knocking as you bickered over seasoning or whether the onions were truly caramelised. Your father and brother would crowd around the TV, shouting and drinking cold beers while watching the big game.

You swallowed hard at the thought of it. You wondered where their headstones lay, if they had even been buried at all. Who would’ve organised their funeral? That thought soured quickly, festering as your eyes dropped to the stove. The idea of putting time and care into a meal now felt wrong. Hollow. Maybe two years ago, you would’ve tried, scavenged herbs from the garden, scrubbed the vegetables clean, dared to open one of the suspiciously labelled cans of meat. But today, it felt like a step too far.

Bucky didn’t cook for you. It was clear from the start that you were on your own in that regard. A true fend-for-yourself arrangement. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen him eat a single bite since your arrival. You weren’t even sure the man had taste buds.

Mystery soup it was. 

Your curiosity got the better of you. You stole a glance over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes. He was still planted on the couch, and for the briefest second, his gaze met yours before flicking away again. He turned toward the empty fireplace, posture drawn tight like he was trying to fold himself out of sight, which, of course, failed rather comically since he was a beast of a man.

You sighed and pulled two cans from the shelf, the metal clinking dully as you set them on the counter. You’d heat the soup for both of you, maybe as a peace offering, maybe just an effort at civility. Either way, it felt a little ridiculous. But at least you could say you tried.

—

You dropped one of the bowls onto the coffee table with a soft clack, Bucky blinked, slightly startled, his eyes flicking from the bowl to you as you sank down cross-legged on the floor across from him, the wood grain sticky against your thighs.

“Food. For you,” you said simply.

He didn’t answer at first, still hunched over the thing in his hands, something metal and half-disassembled, probably a weapon. His shoulders shifted, just barely. Like the faintest show of surprise, or maybe gratitude he didn’t know how to express. 

“Bit hot for soup,” he muttered, glancing toward the window. He wasn’t wrong. The sun had been relentless all day, and the old farmhouse was holding the heat like a kiln. The single desk fan that you’d claimed did little more than hum uselessly upstairs. You were sure it was a fire hazard from the sheer amount of dust it had collected on its plastic blades.

You shot him a look.

“Fine. Suit yourself. Make your own damn food—” You’d barely started uncrossing your legs when his hand lifted, palm open in a wordless command.

“Sit down.”

You did, settling back into place with a muted huff. He set the metal part aside, definitely part of a gun, now that you were looking. He picked up the spoon beside the bowl, eyeing it like it might bite him, and you watched as he took a mouthful, wincing slightly at the heat.

“Bland.” He commented.

You rolled your eyes. So, he did have taste buds after all.

“It’s from a can, god knows we’ve got enough of those to last the next ten years, let alone a few months.” You replied dryly, and you could’ve sworn the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

You both ate in silence for a while. The soup was as terrible as you had anticipated, watery broth, sad carrot chunks, and what might have once been chicken. It was bland, just as Bucky had stated, but you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of admitting it. 

It was only as you were halfway through your bowl, the sound of spoons scraping against the ceramic, the occasional creak of the old farmhouse settling while the cicadas droned outside, that you finally found the words to speak up. 

“Your employers,” you began, eyes still on your soup, “did they tell you much?”

Through your lashes, you saw Bucky’s head lift slightly.

“No.” He stated. Simple. Gruff. Then he hesitated, leaning back on the couch, eyeing you in that analytical, quiet way of his. You could practically hear the thoughts ticking behind his silence. You, small—in comparison to him, at least—unassuming, wrapped in a floral sundress, hardly looking like a threat. How dangerous could you be? How much danger could you truly be in to warrant exile in the middle of nowhere, locked away like a state secret? “Just said you were mixed up in that mess with the Menagerie raid. That someone might be looking to hurt you.” 

“Right…” You stuffed another spoonful of soup into your mouth to keep from saying something foolish, letting the heat sting your tongue.

Silence stretched. He’d already emptied his bowl, positively licked it clean—so much for being too hot and bland. Meanwhile, while you pushed a discoloured chunk of carrot in slow, grinding circles, the handle of your spoon tracing the rim of your bowl. His eyes hadn’t left you.

You inhaled deeply, then blurted it out before you could stop yourself. “Do you know how long I have to stay here?”

He hesitated, just long enough to tell you he didn’t know either. “As long as it takes to eliminate the threat.” 

You finally looked up, catching the shift in his gaze. Less neutral now, more calculated… Suspicious. You recognised that look, it said I’m piecing something together. Like the soup had been some sort of tactic. A quiet kindness with strings attached. That you were slowly manipulating him with every gentle smile and soft word. 

Like he was finally seeing you clearly, and not liking the picture.

“If you’re being this well hidden,” he said slowly, “you must’ve been real deep in it. What were you, a mole? Scared they’re gonna hunt you down for revenge, sweetheart? You don’t look like the usual type they send out for infiltration.”

You froze, soup curdling in your stomach, your appetite gone before he even got the last syllable out. You placed your half-eaten bowl on the coffee table before you, refusing to meet his eye.

“I wasn’t a mole.” You clarified, though your tone did not sound anywhere near convincing. 

It was like he could smell the guilt and shame you reeked of. His mouth curled slightly. Not a smile. Not quite.  

“An informant, then?” He pressed. There it was, the snide bite you were waiting for. He thought this was some glorified babysitting gig for a rat. “Too scared to put you in prison in case you are killed before a court date?”

“No, I—” The words jammed in your throat like splinters, and all you could do was stare down at the coffee table. Coffee rings. Cigarette burns. Ghosts of the past.

Bucky leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, voice lower now.

“So what was it that made you finally turn on the Menagerie, huh? A guilty conscience, fear?” He asked, a disgusted sneer joining his words. “Or did your morals only click after they started trafficking mutants, caging them and tagging them like inventory?”

Your throat closed up.

He thought you were part of it.

He thought you were one of them.

“Or was it just about self-preservation?” He continued.

You hadn’t said it aloud. Not properly. Not in a way that made it real. The interviews after the raid had scraped the words out of you, hour after hour, voice raw, eyes dry. Endless questions. Demands. ‘Be specific’, ‘Start from the beginning’, ‘What did they do next?’. They made you relive it again and again until your memories felt like ash in your mouth, so many retellings that they stopped sounding like your own.

Some mornings, you still woke to the phantom scent of damp stone and bleach. Still braced for cold concrete beneath your palms, for the echo of distant footsteps clattering through narrow halls. You could see it all too clearly in the dark, that stone labyrinth, windowless and humming with distant electricity

You’d think of the auctions. The buyers. Their laughter. The way the air thickened with rot and perfume. The casual smiles of men who knew they wouldn’t be stopped. The shouting. 

The cages.

The screaming—

Still, sometimes, you thought you could hear it, just beneath silence. Not memory, not quite. Like something still screamed through you.

“You don’t know shit about what I went through.” You spat out finally.

“No,” he admitted, coldly. “I don’t. But from where I’m sitting, you’re not exactly making yourself look innocent, sweetheart.”

You stared at him, stunned for a heartbeat.

Part of you wanted to cling to that flicker of delusion, that at least he cared. That the horrors of the Menagerie upset him, that he hadn’t brushed it off the way so many others might. There was something almost noble in his anger, in how deeply the injustice of it all seemed to affect him. 

But the moment cracked and fury surged up like bile, but it caught in your throat before it could be spoken. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, useless. The words wouldn’t come. They never did. Not the right ones.

Because how could you explain it? How could you possibly untangle the last two years into something coherent, something clean, when nothing about it was? You wanted to scream that it hadn’t been your fault. That they’d taken everything from you. That you’d been a victim.

But the voice in your head always whispered something else.

You’d done what you had to do. Survived the only way you could. But survival had never come without cost. Not in that place. And even if you knew that you hadn’t chosen any of it… there were still stains on your hands. Still moments when you looked in the mirror and didn’t see someone worth saving. 

You couldn’t find the words to defend yourself.

Because maybe, just maybe, you didn’t deserve to defend yourself.

“Fuck you.” You seethed.

You shot to your feet so fast your knee clipped the coffee table, rattling your half-eaten bowl. The room tilted slightly, breath caught between rage and something dangerously close to grief. Your legs carried you before you could think, before you could cry. You crossed the room in quick strides, soup abandoned, the sting of unshed tears heating your face.

—

A week of silence had followed your argument with Bucky.

You moved around each other like ghosts, haunting the same space but never touching, orbiting in sullen, silent patterns. You ate meals in silence on opposite ends of the house. Dishes piled beside your bed. Books stacked on the floor. You let yourself be swallowed by the mattress, the weight of silence slowly pulling you under.

When you did venture downstairs, it was only for chores. The division of labour had happened wordlessly. He’d take the barn, the treeline, his perimeter. You’d feed the chickens and cattle and refill the water troughs. Alpine was the only creature who seemed to move freely between you, accepting a can of tuna from Bucky one day, curling up against your legs the next when she wasn’t out prowling for field mice. 

You’d stopped asking him anything. Stopped trying to close the gap with awkward, tense conversation. And he seemed relieved, like silence was some kind of reward. At least now he didn’t have to pretend to care. His silent judgment was not something you were blind to. It followed him like a cloud of smoke, obscuring his vision as he regarded you as something malicious rather than wounded. So you started wearing your own bitterness like armour. Met every cold glance with a glare of your own. 

If he wanted to hate you, you could make it easy.

You already hated yourself enough.

The heat had been unbearable all afternoon, the worst it had been since you arrived. It was the type of heat that made the air feel thick and heavy, clinging to your skin no matter what you did to cool down. You opened every window in the house, splashed cool water on your face, tied back your hair, and even stood with the fridge door wide open, ignoring the quiet huff of disapproval from behind you. Still, it wasn’t enough to distract you from the fact that you were boiling alive in your own body with every passing hour. 

Bucky, of course, was perfectly composed. During your second attempt to fold yourself into the fridge, he sat at the kitchen table like a statue, sharpening a knife with slow, meditative strokes. Not a bead of sweat on his brow. Like the fact that you were both slowly roasting to death didn’t bother him at all.

You wanted to scream.

It wasn’t just the heat. It was him. His silence. His stillness. His looming, suffocating presence, like he was pressing the full weight of himself onto your chest without ever touching you.

You needed air. Space. Anything that didn’t feel like breathing your own recycled breath. You were going to lose your mind in this goddamn house. And if it came down to who’d walk out of here alive, it wasn’t going to be you. Not at this rate.

You had laced up your boots and stormed down the stairs before the thought had even fully formed, impulse overriding reason. Bucky didn’t look up at first. From his silence, you could guess he thought you were just being dramatic again, stomping around like a sulking child.

It wasn’t until your fingers curled around the doorknob that you heard the scrape of his chair against the kitchen tiles. “Where are you going?”

You didn’t look at him. You shoved the screen door open and muttered flatly, “The woods.”

He paused. You could feel it, the change in pressure, like the atmosphere thickened just from him standing up. The summer heat already clung to your skin like syrup, yet somehow it had become one step closer to suffocating.

“No.”

You turned, one foot already on the porch. Bucky was rounding the corner from the kitchen fast, eyes sharp, shoulders tense, like he was bracing to grab you by the arm if you took another step.

“I need air,” you snapped, backing away slightly. “It’s like five thousand degrees in here. It’ll be cooler under the trees.”

He didn’t flinch, just stared at you with that wolfish intensity, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. You could see the twitch of frustration behind them. Not anger exactly, but something more primal. Protective, maybe. Possessive. Something you didn’t have a name for.

His nostrils flared as he narrowed his eyes. 

“It’s not safe,” he said, stepping closer like a warning. A hunt was unfolding between the two of you. You took a step back. He mirrored it forward.

Your eyes flicked down. He wasn’t wearing shoes.

Interesting.

You glanced at the couch, his boots tossed haphazardly at the base, probably kicked off after his last perimeter sweep. A grin tugged at your lips, sharp and cunning. You released the screen door with deliberate calm.

“Don’t you dare—” he growled, voice already rising, warning.

The door slammed shut behind you as you took off, boots hammering down the steps, sundress flying around your legs as you sprinted into the field.

You could already hear him swearing behind you, scrambling for his boots, but you didn’t look back. The grass was tall and wild, slapping against your calves as you tore through it, laughing breathlessly as you darted toward the barn like a madwoman. The sun beat down mercilessly, warming your skin, but you didn’t stop. Not when you heard your name shouted, not even when the chickens exploded into squawking chaos as you shot past the coop.

The fence loomed just ahead, waist-height, made of metal wire and wood posts. You’d never gotten close enough to inspect it properly before now. The top was wrapped in barbed wire, coiled like a snake. Of course it was.

“Shit,” you hissed, skidding to a halt and eyeing the fence with frantic calculation.

Behind you, Bucky’s footsteps thundered across the clearing. You glanced back once, just once. Your breath caught.

He was a storm.

Boots only half on, shirt clinging to his chest with sweat, barreling toward you with terrifying speed. Determined. His eyes on you like a target.

This was your only shot.

“Fuck it,” you spat, grabbing the fence and hoisting yourself up. The metal rattled under your weight, one foot jammed between as you swung a leg over. You hissed as your dress caught, barbs slicing the fabric and catching the tender skin of your thigh. Pain spiked up your leg, but you didn’t stop. 

You heard him yell your name just as you dropped down the other side, hitting the dirt hard, knees skidding through dry grass. You shoved yourself upright, wiping your hands on your dress as Bucky skidded to a halt on the other side of the fence, face wild with disbelief.

“What the fuck are you—”

But you were already gone, vanishing into the trees.

The woods swallowed you whole. The world shifted the moment you passed beneath the canopy, sunlight shattered across the leaves, scattering gold and green over your skin as branches closed above you like cathedral arches. You ran until the burn in your thighs twisted into fire, until the pounding of your heart drowned out everything else. Behind you, his voice grew distant, swallowed by underbrush, bark and birdsong.

You didn’t know where you were going.

You just knew you needed to be gone before he caught up.

And for a fleeting moment, you thought you’d done it, lost him in the thick underbrush, outpaced him through the tangles of low-hanging branches and bramble. The heat had begun to slip from the air, replaced by the cool breath of the woods and the low, rhythmic drone of cicadas. A sea of green unfurled before you, layered in moss and leaf-shadow, still and quiet now that your footsteps had slowed—

The world tilted.

You hit the ground hard, air knocked from your lungs, before your mind even registered that he had caught up to you. A blur of limbs and gritted teeth, the two of you rolled through the dirt and fallen leaves, snapping twigs and kicking up soil as you struggled against each other in a mess of instinct and fury.

You twisted, tried to scramble away, but his body was too heavy. His arm caught your leg as you kicked, his weight pressing you down, pinning you like prey.

When the momentum stopped, he was already on top of you, straddling your hips, shoving you deep into the damp forest floor. His hands pinned your wrists above your head with effortless control. His face loomed close, his eyes dark and glittering, and his breath harsh from the chase.

“Are you done?” he growled, voice low and raw, every syllable biting.

You glared up at him, chest heaving. “Get off me—”

Your voice caught as he laughed, a low, humourless sound, breathless but amused. There was dirt smeared across his cheek, a leaf tangled in his hair, and his shirt clung to him with sweat and blood. He looked wild. Feral. Alive in a way that made your stomach twist.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered.

And then he was moving, the sudden loss of his weight a brief mercy, but it didn’t last. Before you could twist away and draw in a proper breath, his arm was around your waist, and you were tugged up, slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Your stomach hit the edge of his metal shoulder blade with a thud that knocked the wind from you again.

“Hey, put me down, you asshole—!” you protested, breathless, your voice muffled slightly by the sway of his shirt against your cheek.

But he was already moving, circling back toward the house with slow, deliberate strides like he hadn’t just chased you through half a mile of forest. His arm was iron around your thighs, locking you in place against the solid plane of his shoulder. You bounced with every step, your ribs pressing painfully against the hard ridge of his collarbone and the metal edge of his arm.

“No,” he barked, tone clipped. “You’ll just bolt again.”

Your stomach was twisted sideways over his shoulder, blood rushing to your head until your vision pulsed at the edges. It was dizzying, the world tipping and tilting with his gait, trees, sky and earth passing upside down in a blur. His shirt clung damply to his back beneath your arms, soaked through with sweat and forest humidity. Every inhale brought the scent of dirt, pine, and something distinctly him into your lungs.

“I won’t! I swear, just—” you tried, squirming, but he adjusted his grip and hoisted you higher with a grunt, one hand sliding firmly up the back of your thigh to keep you from slipping.

“You lost any of my trust when you decided to hop that fence, sweetheart,” he said coldly.

His hand stayed there, splayed wide and strong, fingers flexing against the curve of your leg in a way that made something flutter low in your stomach. You writhed, trying to ignore the way your skin heated under his palm, how aware you suddenly were of every place his body touched yours, his forearm hooked tightly around your knees, his breath steady and close.

“Put me the fuck down!”

“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll find something to gag you with.” His voice turned harsh, and the end of his patience showed. “I’m sick of your whining. This is your own fault.”

“My fault?” you choked out, exasperated, pushing at the small of his back, which did absolutely nothing. “You’re the one keeping me locked up!”

“It’s for your safety, or did that little detail slip your mind?” he bit back, unbothered by your wriggling.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere!” you snapped. “Who the hell is going to find me out here if I go for a goddamn walk to cool down?”

“I’m not worried about people.” His grip on your thighs tightened again, just enough to send another shock of awareness through your core. “I’m worried about animals. Do you know how many bears, cougars, and other shit that can rip you in half live out here?”

You froze, the fire in your chest faltering. “…There are bears out here?!”

“Yes,” he snapped, voice rough. “Now would you shut the hell up? Every living creature within a hundred miles already knows where we are thanks to your squealing.”

You clamped your mouth shut, heat prickling at your ears, though whether it was from embarrassment, exertion, or the lingering burn of his hand against your thigh, you weren’t sure. Upside-down, half-breathless, and bruised with indignity, you told yourself it was just the blood rushing to your head that made your heart beat like that.

He reached the fence a few seconds later, barely slowing his pace before tossing you over it with an unceremonious grunt. You yelped as you hit the ground with a solid thump, your knees scraping against the packed dirt and scattered stones. Pain bloomed across your palms as you caught yourself, your breath stuttering.

You looked up at him just in time to see him plant his boot on the middle rung and vault the fence with practised ease. He landed beside you, his chest rising and falling with the exertion, his expression furious.

Your eyes caught on his shirt, the fabric torn open across the side of his ribs. Blood welled from a sharp gash beneath it, slow and dark, soaking into the material. He must’ve hit the barbed wire trying to chase you down.

The fence: two. You and Bucky: zero.

You shifted uncomfortably, your own thigh still stinging, a warm line of blood trickling down your leg. The barbs had bitten deep. It felt like the forest had left its mark on both of you.

Bucky stared down at you with a scowl.

“Now…” he said slowly, “do I need to carry you all the way to the house, or are you going to be a good girl and walk by yourself?”

You blinked up at him, heart hammering, pulse still roaring in your ears and gulped. “I’ll walk.”

—

Bucky didn’t seem to care that he was smeared in a mixture of dried blood and dirt as he slumped heavily onto the couch with a grunt, his broad shoulders sinking into the cushions. He kicked off his boots with a purposeful carelessness, one of the pair nearly smacking you in the shin as you shied out of its path. 

He’d practically herded you back into the house, his gaze never leaving you as you limped your way up the porch steps. His scowl never wavered, only deepened with irritation as he finally realised the state you were in, hair tangled and sticking to your damp forehead, your dress torn and stained with streaks of mud and blood.

You stopped in front of the empty fireplace across from him, arms crossing tightly over your chest, jaw clenched. You leaned slightly on your right leg, the pain flaring hot in your thigh. The cut burned like it had been licked by flame, no doubt packed with dirt and whatever else you'd rolled through during your messy scuffle. But your eyes drifted from your leg, caught instead by the quiet rustle of fabric. Bucky peeled off his shredded shirt with little fanfare, exposing the sheer, ridiculous expanse of muscle beneath. His torso looked sculpted from stone, every line and shadow painfully defined. And yet, infuriatingly, even in all his dishevelment, he looked good. Unfairly so. It was almost nauseating how perfect he looked. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and tapped your fingers against your arm, gaze snagged for a beat too long as he examined the fresh gash slashed across his abdomen. He winced slightly, dragging a finger through the blood and grime that caked the wound. It was a deep cut, raw and filthy, and the dirt clinging to it made you pause. You knew that kind of wound, the kind that festered fast if left unchecked.

“Where’s the first aid kit?” you asked, stepping forward despite yourself. “I’ll get it for you—”

“No.” His voice cut through the air, low as a growl, stopping you cold. “You’ve done enough. I’ll get it.”

You blinked, the words catching in your throat. “Hold on—”

But then he looked at you. Really looked at you. And whatever flicker of protest had been building inside you died right there.

“Sit. Down.”

You sank onto the couch without another word, the tension knotting in your shoulders as he disappeared up the stairs. You ran a hand through your tangled hair, wincing as your fingers snagged on leaves and twigs embedded in the strands. Somewhere above, you could hear him rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, drawers slamming and clattering as he searched.

Your attention dropped to your leg. You hesitated, then slowly hiked up your skirt, trying not to wince as you exposed the wound. The barbed wire had torn a lash up your inner thigh, the skin swollen and angry. Blood had dried in thick, flaking streaks down your leg. You hissed as you prodded the edges, trying to gauge the depth through the grit and grime. It stung like hell, sharp, hot, and pulsing, and the thought of cleaning it out made your stomach churn.

Bucky thundered down the stairs behind you, dumping the first aid kit on the coffee table. A few medical supplies spilt out from the jolt. He barely looked at you before muttering, “Stop fussing. You’ll make it worse.”

Your hands stilled instantly, retreating to your lap. You didn’t dare test his patience again, not when he was like this, all bruises and blood and stormclouds behind the eyes.

He sank to his knees in front of the couch, wedged between your legs and the coffee table, and reached for you without hesitation. His grip was firm as he caught your leg, fingers wrapping around your calf and sliding upward, tilting your thigh to get a better look at the damage.

Your breath hitched, chest tightening. The cut stung, but it wasn’t the pain that made you tense, it was him. The heat of his skin against yours, the way his rough palms guided your leg, thumb grazing perilously close to the seam of your underwear. Your dress had ridden high, bunched around your hips, leaving you far too exposed. And his face, god, it was right there, inches away from the softest, most private part of you—

You let out a small yelp, the sharp sting of antiseptic dragging you back to reality as he pressed a wipe over the wound with no warning, scrubbing away dried blood and filth like it was nothing. You squirmed on instinct, gasping.

He tutted with annoyance, locking your leg in place with his forearm like you were nothing more than a twitchy animal.

“Stop squirming.”

“It’s kind of hard when you’re manhandling me—”

“I’m not in the mood for babying you, sweetheart,” he shot back, glaring up at you briefly, his voice low and cool.

That shut you up.

You swallowed hard and stared past him, fixing your gaze on the constellation of scars across his chest and shoulders. Old wounds. Some shallow, others deep. Your heart thudded against your ribs, the silence between you prickling with static.

He dipped his fingers into a small tin of ointment and began slowly and deliberately, working it into the wound. His touch was firm, steady, maddening, his hand creeping higher with each pass, inching up your inner thigh until his knuckles grazed dangerously close to the pulsing heat between your legs. Your entire body shuddered lightly, a tingling up your spine, and for one wild moment, you were sure he was savouring this. You could feel his every breath against your thigh, every callused inch of his palm.

Your breath hitched audibly. Embarrassingly.

“There you go,” he murmured, almost to himself, patting your knee. “Good girl.”

A whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Then, he was gone. Peeling off some large sticky bandages and slapping them on hard enough to make you jolt in surprise. 

You jerked your leg back, retreating into yourself. Your fingertips hovered at the edge of the bandages, trailing the sticky outline. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he did and didn’t care—as he climbed up off the floor and took a seat beside you on the couch, the cushion dipping under his weight.

You sat there with your mouth slightly agape, still recovering, still too aware of how much of you had just been laid bare.

He stared at you.

“Are you even listening?” he barked.

You jumped. “Sorry—what?”

“I said,” he gestured toward the gash slicing across his torso, “I need you to help me clean this cut, repeat the steps I just did for your leg.”

You floundered uselessly like a fish for a second. 

“Did you hit your head?” he asked, voice laced with irritation. “Do I need to check you for a concussion—?”

“No!” you blurted, too fast. “No. I’m fine. I can do it.”

Without waiting for permission, you slid to the floor, knees brushing against his shins as you settled between his legs. Your fingers fumbled through the mess of gauze, scissors, and ointments strewn across the coffee table, deliberately avoiding his gaze. When you found the antiseptic wipes, you cleared your throat, peeled one open, and hesitantly pressed it to the wound carved deep into his side.

The muscles under your hand were corded tight, heat and tension rising from him like steam. You dabbed lightly at first, uncertain.

“You’re gonna need to press harder than that, sweetheart,” Bucky muttered, voice rough. “You’re not picking up all the—”

You shot him a look flared with annoyance and dug the wipe in harder than necessary.

He hissed, breath catching between gritted teeth, and his abdomen flinched beneath your hand. The skin twitched as you worked, dragging out a stubborn patch of grit and dried blood. You grimaced, wiping again, watching the red bloom spread.

The gash was far worse than yours. Red, angry, and deep. The kind of wound that would’ve sent someone else into shock. When you pulled the wipe back, it was streaked with fresh blood, revealing a glimpse of raw muscle beneath.

“This is going to need stitches, it’s too deep—”

“It’s fine.” He shook his head, his breath uneven as you reached for a fresh wipe. “It’ll heal faster than a normal person.”

You paused, cloth hovering just above the end of the slash curving around his ribs. “You’re a mutant?”

That stopped him cold.

His body stiffened, almost imperceptibly, but you felt it. His jaw ticked, and the muscle beneath your touch turned to granite.

“No, uh—” He began, and the words faltered. For the first time since you’d met him, his voice wavered. This voice was uncertain. Defensive. It didn’t match the sharp-edged man who barked orders and silenced you with just a glower. You looked up in time to catch the flicker of frustration in his expression, the way his brow furrowed, not in pain, but regret. Like he’d just given away something he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Super soldier,” he muttered finally, quieter like the words tasted bitter.  

You frowned, forcing yourself to keep your fingers moving as you continued to clean the lash. 

“Super solider… like serums?” You dared to mumble in question.

“...Yeah.”

You nodded. You were familiar with the rise of serums and super soldiers, they had been a hot commodity, just as coveted as mutants. Weapons given flesh. The perfect stock for the Menagerie to peddle. Easier to control, more predictable than the mutants among their inventory.

“There were a few of those at the Menage—” The words slipped out before you could catch them. As soon as they crossed your lips, your stomach dropped. “I—Nevermind.”

You didn’t need to look up to feel it, the shift in his posture, the way his presence recoiled. Not from pain. From you.

He was flinching from you.

Shame roared up your throat like bile. You didn’t have to ask what he was thinking. You could feel it. The disgust. The assumptions. You could almost hear his thoughts shaping you into a creature of cruelty. A collaborator. A willing participant.

Did he think revealing this information would illicit a perverse curiosity within you? That you’d start viewing him in the same way the Menagerie had viewed you?

And for once, there was a sadness that lingered. A sadness that you couldn’t tell him, couldn’t explain. You let him believe you were complicit, that you were broken in a way that was your own fault. Would it have been better to tell him? To offer up the whole, rotting truth and see what he did with it? Not one clouded by the lies and falseities you used to punish yourself?

When you had stumbled free of that place, you had sworn never to use your powers again. Never be a weapon again. Never let anyone twist your gift into something cruel and unrecognisable.

What if this was different?

What if you could use it for good this time? Not to tear someone apart from the inside out, not to entertain monsters, but to soothe. To help.

Would that balance the scales, even a little? Would that scrub the blood from your conscience, the memory from your skin? Would it make you more than what they turned you into?

Would it make you… better?

Your hands had stilled. The wound was only half-cleaned, blood still trickling sluggishly along his side. You looked up.

His expression was unreadable, like a wall had been placed between you.

Your voice came quiet and uncertain. “Can I… can I show you something?” you asked. “I think it’ll help.”

He tensed. His jaw was tight, the suspicion in his gaze sharp and waiting, as if he expected you to pull a knife, like your soft-spoken words were nothing but bait in a trap he hadn’t seen yet. But you didn’t wait for a reply. For once, you wait for a command. You balled up the bloodied wipe in your fist and tossed it aside, the fabric landing with a wet slap on the cluttered table behind you. Then, without ceremony, you raised your hand above the wound stretching across his ribs.

His mouth parted, breath catching, ready to protest, but you were already committed, brows drawn in concentration as your palm began to glow. The light bloomed, like dawn bleeding through morning mist. A ball of pale, gold light that cast long beams between your fingers, casting his skin in a haze.

You didn’t dare look up at him. 

Instead, you pressed your focus into the magic pooling in your hand, letting it spill like silk across the jagged tear in his flesh. As you touched your fingers to him, you hovered a moment longer than necessary, and a soft, invisible pulse of heat radiated from your palm to his abdomen. 

He didn’t flinch.

That was the point.

The knot in his abdomen uncoiled. His muscles slackened, his body loosening inch by cautious inch beneath your touch. Your fingertips hovered over the torn skin, skimming the edges. When you finally dared to glance up, his face had slackened in sudden, jarring relief. 

He stared at you like you weren’t real. Disgust turned to horror and then to shock.

You didn’t stop. Your palm pressed lightly to the curve of his ribs, the glow now flickering as your focus thinned and the pain siphoned away. The magic never hurt, not directly, but it drained you all the same. You could feel it in the weight of your limbs, in the tremble behind your knees. Your breath had turned shallow. Sweat prickled along your hairline.

“You’re a—”

“A mutant,” you interrupted quietly, light fading as you squeezed your hand into a fist. “I know.”

The silence was thick as you reached behind you, grabbing a clean antiseptic wipe from the dwindling supplies. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink as you swept it gently through the remaining dirt and grit, revealing clean, ragged flesh beneath. Crimson welled at the edges like dew.

“I took the pain away,” you clarified as you blindly searched the table for the small tin he’d used earlier. You couldn’t meet his eye, couldn’t deal with any guilt he was likely feeling. “My powers… I can change how the body perceives sensations. I can nullify nerves or amplify them. Make you feel things that aren’t there, or take away feeling entirely.”

You found the tin at last, fingers fumbling slightly as you pried it open with a soft metallic click. A faint herbal scent rose as you scooped a generous, pearlescent smear of ointment onto your fingertip. It clung thickly, catching the light like a melted pearl.

“You were a victim,” Bucky said, voice breathless and stunned, like he’d received a punch right to the gut. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me you were a victim?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you pressed your fingers to his skin, spreading the salve along the length of the wound in slow, deliberate strokes. The half-translucent mixture turned pink as it blended with the fresh blood that beaded the surface.

“It’s complicated,” you muttered, eyes fixed on your hands instead of his. 

But he didn’t let it go.

Of course, he didn’t.

Bucky Barnes, ever the soldier, ever the protector of the broken and bruised. That part of him, the part that saw pain and didn’t look away, that part that burned with justice, that was maybe the only thing you’d truly admired from the start.

Not the cold commands, not the steel-blue stares, not the way he could make your breath hitch with just a word.

It was that he cared.

Beneath the hard edges and combat scars, he gave a damn. About the ones who couldn’t fight for themselves yet. About the ones others would write off. When he looked at something shattered, his instinct wasn’t to discard it—it was to fix it.

“You’re a victim. When they pulled you out of there, why didn’t they send you back home? Back to your family?”

You swallowed hard. “Like I said... It’s complicated.”

When you dared to look up, he was looking down at you like he was expecting an answer. You sighed.

“My powers, it’s a gift and a curse. They can be used for good, like this.” You nodded toward his side, where the blood had begun to clot under the thin sheen of ointment. Withdrawing your hands from him, you tucked them into your lap, fingers curled inwards, guilt weighing heavily in your chest. “Or it can be used… used to create pain.”

His brow creased. “Pain?”

“You think the Menagerie were above torture?” you asked, sharper than you meant to. Then your face twisted apologetically, and you looked away quickly. “Sorry. I just—” 

You drew in a breath, steadying yourself. 

“When they captured enemies, or anyone who defied them, they interrogated them. Asked their questions. And if they didn’t get what they wanted…” You paused, voice tight. “They brought me in.”

His face changed, eyes sharpening, expression folding inward.

“They made me hurt people,” you explained. “Amplify their pain, make them feel things that weren’t even real. The body doesn’t know the difference. It responds anyway.” 

You rubbed your wrist with your other hand, as if scrubbing the memory away. “Sometimes… sometimes they made me do it for fun. For their entertainment. Just because they knew how much it broke me—” Your voice broke on the last word, the sound caught between a sob and a gasp.

Turning away, you reached for the coffee table with trembling hands, shoving through the disordered supplies until you found the large, sticky bandages. Only as you felt confident that your voice wouldn’t tremble, you spoke up again.

“I was their prisoner, their weapon for two years. Decided I was to be kept, too valuable to be sold like the rest of the product,” You mumbled, the plastic crinkling as you tore one free, fingers fumbling with the edges.

“That’s why you’re here,” Bucky said at last.

His voice was quiet, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. You watched the gears turn behind his eyes, watched the truth slot into place piece by piece. 

“You know too much,” he murmured, breath catching in his throat. “The Menagerie... they’re not hunting you because you ran.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

“They want you dead because you know. You know too much.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, the initial shock gone. Something had shifted. The realisation landed like a crack of thunder as anger reared its head, hot and bitter.

“And the officials…” He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “They don’t care what it costs you. They just want you on that stand. They want a witness.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides, a tremor running through his arm. 

“God,” he muttered. “They used you. All of them. They’re still using you. They’re all just passing you around like you're fucking evidence.”

You nodded, blinking hard as you peeled back the adhesive strip. “Not a rat, you see?” you said with a brittle sort of humour, trying to cover the tremor in your voice.

He looked down at you sharply, eyes dark, nostrils flared, coiled tightly enough you were half-convinced he was going to march out there and tear them apart himself. “I’m sorry.”

That startled you more than it should have. 

“Shit, sweetheart. I was wrong about you, very wrong,” he added. “From the start. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “I should’ve… I should’ve just told you. I just—”

Your fingers splayed out as you smoothed the bandage carefully across his ribs, palms gentle as you coaxed it into place. “It’s hard. To defend my actions. To relive it over and over again, to think of what I could have done differently, what I could’ve done to stop it. And I’m sick of people telling me it wasn’t my fault, sick of the nightmares and the memories I—”

The warmth of his skin still lingered under your touch. You were about to pull away when he caught your wrist. You jolted, breath stuttering. His grip wasn’t tight, just enough to hold you there. His thumb circled slowly over the inside of your wrist, right over the soft thrum of your pulse.

“No, I… I get it.” 

Your lungs stalled, breath coming out in a sharp wheeze as you looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“It’s hard sometimes,” he said, gaze haunted, “to justify defending yourself when you feel like a monster. Even when you weren’t the one who chose the violence.”

He glanced away, then back, not with judgment, but understanding. Maybe even shame.

“But you’re not that,” he affirmed. “You never really were.”

You got the sense he wasn’t just saying it for your sake. Not entirely. That maybe he was saying it for himself, too.

—

Bucky had been truthful. Within a few short days, his wound had knit itself into a pink, raised scar, the kind that would fade in time.

Yours, however, wasn’t healing nearly as well.

It wasn’t an infection, you knew that much. Bucky’s borderline militant efforts to clean and dress your wound had paid off. No, the problem was its intimate placement. Too high on your inner thigh, too close to where the skin was soft and constantly moving. Every step rubbed it raw. Every shift of your legs, every twitch or stretch, irritated it further. The adhesive bandages clung stubbornly, chafing the tender flesh surrounding.

And the weather wasn’t helping.

The dry heat had broken sometime during the night, replaced by a soupy humidity that clung to everything. It made your clothes stick to your back, your sheets damp, your skin slick with a sheen of sweat you couldn’t seem to shake. That morning, as you fed the cows, Bucky had tilted his face to the sky, eyes narrowed.

“Storm’s coming,” he muttered, gaze fixed on the horizon where dark clouds had begun to crawl over the hills like an advancing army.

You’d followed his eyes and silently agreed.

It was the third day since your reckless dash through the woods, and you could feel every inch of it. Your body ached with dull protest, knees bruised, but it was the wound that made you grit your teeth every time you moved. Bucky had noticed, of course, he noticed everything. He’d watched you hobble halfway down the stairs that morning, frowning in that deeply displeased way of his, jaw set like he was at war with the world.

Ever since your reluctant confession, something in him had shifted. The hostility had bled out of him, replaced by an overwhelming guilt. You felt sorry for your dejected bodyguard. You both knew it wasn’t his fault, that he had acted true to his nature with the information given, yet he still reeked of regret. 

His protectiveness had turned soft at the edges. Where once he’d shadowed you out of suspicion, now he hovered like a sheepdog with a wounded charge, not willing to leave your side for a moment.

He gave up his place on the couch without a word, fetched things before you asked, and adjusted pillows behind your back with silent focus. When you’d had enough of being babied and escaped upstairs to your room, he’d only watched you go with those impossibly blue eyes, gaze desperate and stricken.

But today… Today, he took it further, determined to take his coddling the extra mile. 

You only made it to the corner of the stairs before you saw him coming up with purpose written in every line of his body.

“Wait—Bucky, I can walk—!”

Your protest was cut short by a startled gasp as he swept you effortlessly into his arms, cradling you against his chest like you weighed nothing at all.

Your breath caught, not just from the motion, but from the sudden, intimate closeness. His body radiated heat, even through his shirt. You could feel the curve of his shoulder beneath your cheek, the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“I can walk myself down the stairs,” you tried again, more weakly.

“You keep aggravating it,” he said simply, descending with slow, sure steps. 

With uncharacteristic gentleness, he placed you down on the couch. He crouched in front of you, one knee pressed into the floor, his eyes scanning your face with quiet intensity before dropping to your thighs.

You opened your mouth to argue—too late.

The hem of your dress was already lifted.

“Hey—!” You flinched, hands moving to cover yourself, but he was faster. His fingers curled gently around your knee, not forceful, but firm enough to stop you from snapping your legs shut.

“It’s irritated. Look.” His voice was low, focused, the pad of his thumb brushing dangerously close to tender skin as he inspected the wound.

You inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the heat that jolted through you at the contact, the way your body betrayed you with the pulse that bloomed low in your belly. His breath ghosted across your inner thigh as he leaned closer, and it was all you could do to hold still.

He pointed, fingertips skimming just above the angry, raw skin. “See that? It's from friction. The humidity is not helping. The bandage is rubbing it raw.”

You tried to speak, but he was already speaking over you.

“I’ll change it over,” he said, already rising to grab the supplies. “Stay here.”

“It’s fine, really—” you began, trying to wave off the concern in your voice, but Bucky hit you with a look so sharp it cut your words clean in half.

His brow dipped, jaw tight. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” you shot back with a whine, already shifting upright from where you’d been slumped between the couch cushions. The movement made your thigh throb.

Before you could get far, his hand shot out—broad, calloused, and unbothered—pressing gently but firmly against your middle. The ease with which he pinned you back made you blink.

“I said stay,” he said, with exasperated authority. “What is it with you and always making things difficult?”

Your mouth hung open in disbelief. “I don’t want to be babied.”

“I’m not babying you.”

“I feel like dead weight.”

His brows shot up, incredulous. “If I were to describe you as anything, it would not be dead weight, sweetheart.”

“Oh?” you challenged, folding your arms, eyes narrowing. “Then what would you describe me as?”

That made him pause.

His hand fell away slowly, drifting up to rub along his jaw. He turned his gaze downward and away, suddenly studying the floorboards like they held some grand revelation. You could see the calculation flickering behind his eyes, like he was deciding if his true answer was worth whatever calamity he was anticipating or not. 

Your heart kicked in your chest.

You held your breath, shamefully hopeful. Like some stupid, soft part of you, some battered, longing part, was enamoured with him. Even when he’d been cruel, cold, dismissive... you'd wanted him to see you. Wanted him to like you. And now, beneath all the banter, you were hanging on the edge of a confession you weren’t even sure you wanted to hear.

He finally looked up. His eyes, storm-dark and unreadable, met yours.

“If this is some ploy to distract me,” he said, voice rough, “it’s not working.”

You deflated, oddly disappointed and sank back into the cushions with a huff. “Fine. I’ll play along. Just get one of the books from my room, would you? If I’m stuck on this damn couch, I’d rather not die of boredom.”

His expression broke into a crooked, lazy grin. “Sure thing.”

And before you could blink, he was halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

You let out a breath through your nose, dragging a hand down your face. The house was suffocating you. The stillness, the isolation, the tension that bloomed every time he entered the room. Maybe it was the ridiculous number of romance novels you’d burned through. Maybe it was the heat. Or maybe it was just him—Bucky, with his quiet protectiveness, so noble with his brooding silences, and the way his hands had felt against your bare skin in the forest.

You bit your lip, cursing yourself.

His rough palms. The way his body had pinned you down, heavy and solid, the way his breath had ghosted across your cheek, your thigh. It was a memory you couldn’t scrub out, no matter how hard you tried.

And now, you were wondering… wondering how it would feel if he pinned you to this couch—

You jolted upright as Bucky returned, slapping the first aid kit and one of your smuttiest romance novels onto the coffee table like a dealer laying down a hand of cards.

He didn’t say a word, but his lips twitched at the corners. His poker face was cracking.

Your face burned.

You reached for the book, praying he wouldn’t comment on the shirtless man with windswept hair on the cover, but of course, he didn’t have to. That stupid, knowing smirk was already doing the talking.

So much for subtle.

You swallowed thickly as he settled between your legs again, his weight pressing into the couch, his broad shoulders framed by the curve of your thighs. There was something maddeningly composed about him, like none of this fazed him in the slightest. If anything, he almost seemed amused by your discomfort, eyes flicking upward just enough to catch the squirm in your hips, the shallow hitch in your breath. 

He looked far too comfortable for someone in such a compromising position, like he knew the effect he had on you, and maybe even enjoyed drawing it out.

He gave your knee a light pat, a silent signal to open up. You obeyed hesitantly, and he brushed back the hem of your skirt. Your underwear, thin and barely holding modesty, was now fully on display. You bit down a wince as he took hold of a loose corner of the bandage. He tugged gently, slowly peeling the adhesive away from the inflamed skin. Pain flared sharp and immediate, white-hot beneath the stretch of gauze.

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped your throat before you could muffle it. Your hand shot out, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you gripped his shoulder for stability, or maybe just to anchor yourself against the sudden wave of discomfort.

Still, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up. His voice came low and steady, a rumbling murmur as his free hand drew calming circles into the uninjured thigh. “Nearly there, sweetheart. You’re doing great.”

Your nails dug into him as your head lolled back, breath ragged. Every muscle was taut, braced against the conflicting signals. Pain prickled your nerves, comfort stirring from his voice and touch. You weren’t sure whether to pull away or lean in.

“You’re doing so well,” he continued. “Just hang in there for me, won’t you?”

The bandage continued its slow ascent, dragging higher and higher up your thigh, until his knuckles were brushing the very edge of your underwear. The skin there was more sensitive, flushed, overheated, and the gentle pull of the adhesive felt too much, too raw, too close. You hissed through your teeth, muttering a broken string of half-coherent words.

“Shit—ah—”

A particularly harsh sting made your hips buck. Your legs tried to snap closed on instinct, but Bucky was faster. He caught your knee with his forearm and pressed it down, holding you open, firm and immovable.

“Easy,” he murmured, steady as a rock. “Don’t tense up. You’ll just make it worse.”

You squirmed beneath his touch, back arching slightly, breath caught between agony and embarrassment. Finally, he peeled the last sticky corner away, and your skin gave a soft snap as it sprang free from the bandage’s grip. The rush of fresh air was immediate, and with it came a strange kind of relief, tinged with something dangerously close to arousal.

“See?” His voice dipped into something almost indulgent. “Good girl. It’s all done now.”

You nearly passed out on the spot. Your head swam, vision dancing at the edges. A ragged exhale wheezed out of you. “God... Sorry. You probably think I’m being dramatic—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said, smoothing a hand briefly down your thigh. “That’s a nasty spot. Fence got you good.”

You finally dared to look down at him, cheeks flushed, heart a mess in your chest. You were almost certain there was a wet patch on your underwear now. You prayed to whatever higher being was listening that he hadn’t noticed, but when you chanced a look at him, down between your legs, a wave of heat coursed through you. You could see it now. The slight flare in his nostrils. The way his jaw tightened. He knew. And he wasn’t saying a damn thing.

His attention drifted only briefly from your wound as he balled up the used bandage and tossed it somewhere behind him with little care.

“Why don’t you ever use your powers?” he asked, casually. “To stop your own pain?”

You exhaled, long and slow. 

“Doesn’t work that way,” you muttered. “I can use it on others, sure. But not myself. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s a mental block or something... I just... can’t read my own body the same way I can read others. Or maybe the universe just hates me.”

He didn’t reply immediately, just nodded slightly in understanding as he cleaned the area with another antiseptic wipe. You winced, hissing through clenched teeth as the sting bit into your already flayed nerves.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “One more second.”

You braced yourself again as he smoothed a fresh bandage over the wound. You could feel the ghost of his fingers lingering there, just for a moment longer than necessary, just enough to make you question it.

—

Outside, the sky had deepened from moody grey to near-black, the clouds rolling like smoke across the heavens. The wind picked up, rattling the windows. Somewhere far off, the first crack of thunder rumbled.

You had expected Bucky to drift off somewhere once he had finished tending your wound, the kitchen maybe, or the porch to watch the storm roll in, or even just to sit on the floor nearby. Anywhere that wasn’t with you. You’d stretched yourself out across the length of the couch, limbs heavy and warm, your upper body propped up by a mess of pillows and the armrest as you lost yourself in the pages of your book. It was a position meant for solitude.

So when Bucky returned from putting the first aid kit away, he didn’t hesitate. With casual ease, he lifted your outstretched legs and sat down, settling your feet squarely in his lap, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But the moment his hands touched you, your entire system short-circuited.

He did it so easily, like it was a habit. Like it was his right.

Your breath caught mid-page.

You didn’t dare move. Didn’t speak. Your fingers hovered over the paper, your eyes glazed across the lines, but your brain refused to register a single word. Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to break free. It took twenty agonising minutes, maybe more, before you could even pretend to read again.

And what didn’t help, what made the entire ordeal a million times worse, was that your book had finally reached the scene, the one everyone waited for. The part where the tension cracked wide open, and the protagonist was getting thoroughly ravished against a wall in some expensive villa by the kind of dark, brooding man that only existed in fiction... or maybe sat next to you.

You swallowed dryly, heart lurching again as the male lead slid his hand up the heroine’s thigh, just like Bucky’s had earlier when he’d peeled off your bandage. Only… you’d imagined it going further. Higher. 

Maybe you were delusional, but every time he’d touched you, even under the guise of first aid, you’d felt it—the maddening restraint.

You bit your tongue hard, forcing yourself not to let your thoughts spiral, even as arousal simmered low in your belly and pooled with heat between your thighs. You were already flushed and aching and halfway to combusting, and now he had the audacity to sit there, thigh under yours, body close enough to feel his warmth, like he wasn’t slowly unravelling you.

You were seconds away from imploding, from throwing your shitty romance novel across the room and throwing yourself at the goddamn furniture—

“Did you know,” Bucky drawled suddenly, voice low and casual and way too close, “that super soldiers have enhanced senses?”

You practically jumped out of your skin. “What?”

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he continued, that smug glint in his voice unmistakable. “It’s pretty fast. Erratic.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Your cheeks went up in flames.

He added, far too pleased with himself, “That’s actually how I found you in the forest. I followed your footsteps and your pulse.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you hissed, snapping your book shut with a hard thwack, trying—and failing—to sit up with any grace.

Outside, rain hit the house in a violent curtain, a sudden hisssssh as the skies split open and water poured down in thick, slanted sheets. It rattled on the roof like pebbles hurled from the sky. Wind clawed at the windows, moaning through the seams.

He chuckled, one hand sliding over your shin, fingers curling around your ankle as he held you in place. “Couch rest,” he reminded you, voice dipped in that annoyingly firm tone.

You struggled half-heartedly, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he tugged gently until you sank back into the cushions, his hand still wrapped securely around your leg.

“No,” he scolded, like he was denying more than just your movement.

Your blush deepened, spreading to your chest. You let out a breath, half-frustrated, half-flustered, and melted into the cushions like you wished they’d just absorb you whole.

His thumb brushed a soft, slow arc along your calf—

Then, with a sharp pop, the power snapped off.

The lamps blinked out. The steady hum of the fridge died mid-breath. Silence swallowed the room for a single heartbeat before a thunderclap shattered it, a crackling whip of lightning illuminating the windows in a brief, unnatural white.

You jolted in fright. 

Bucky didn’t move right away. He remained seated, your legs still draped across his lap. You squinted into the darkness, instincts already urging you to move, to rush and shut the open windows before the rain crept in.

Bucky’s grip on your shin tightened, silently reminding you to stay put. 

“I’ll get them,” he said quietly, voice calm as thunder rumbled loudly overhead once more. “The windows. And some candles.”

You nodded, throat dry, unsure if he could even see the gesture. He moved slowly, easing your legs off his lap and lowering them onto a pillow with tenderness. Then he vanished into the gloom.

You tracked him by sound, the soft thud of his feet on the floorboards, the swift click of windows shutting, one after the other. Each flash of lightning lit the farmhouse like a shuttered camera flash, brief glimpses of movement, shadow, and form. You caught sight of him once, silhouetted in the doorway, jaw set.

When he returned, he carried a bundle of stubby candles and a matchbox. He set them on the table in front of you, crouching low as he arranged them.

He struck a match, the flare hissing into life, and held it up to one of the candles.

You watched, horrified, as he held it aloft for too long. Far too long. The flame crept toward his fingers, the wood blackening, curling with heat. It licked the vibranium tips, skimming the grooves like the metal had been soaked in fuel.

“Bucky—!” you gasped, lurching forward. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

He blinked up at you, brow furrowed in quiet confusion.

“The vibranium?” he asked, glancing at his hand like it was some borrowed object. “It doesn’t feel pain. The tech…there are no nerves.”

You stared at the charred ends of the matchsticks and the still-glowing candlelight flickering against his dark silhouette. The flames cast golden halos along his jaw, his cheekbone, glinting off the grooves of his metal fingers.

“You looked terrified, sweetheart,” he murmured, amusement warming the edge of his voice. “You okay?”

“I just—you let it burn you.”

He smiled, slow and crooked. “It’s not me. It’s metal.”

But you didn’t agree. Not really. Because it was him. That arm, the weight of it, the precision and restraint in it. It was as much a part of him as the careful way he spoke, or the way he touched your leg like it might bruise.

You swallowed again, watching as he struck the final match. It flared to life with a dry rasp, briefly lighting his face in warm gold before he tipped it to the last candle. The wick caught with a soft sputter, the flame settling into a steady flicker. He sat back on his heels, eyes lifting to meet yours. Smoke curled faintly in the air, mingling with the subtle sweetness of melting wax.

Your voice was small. “It is you. All of it.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you, something in his gaze softened. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out again, resting one calloused palm on your shin. His thumb moved in an easy rhythm

“Explain it to me,” you breathed. “How it works.”

Bucky seemed to turn that over in his mind. A low rumble of thunder murmured outside as he eased himself up, returning to the couch beside you. His hand lingered on your leg, tracing up the curve of your shin in thought, pausing lightly over your knee.

“The technology…it simulates nerves, mimics what touch feels like,” he said quietly. “I can touch an object and understand I’m holding it. Feel its weight. Its texture. But I can’t feel temperature… not heat, not cold. I can’t feel pain. I could sink my hand into a fire or take a bullet straight through the palm and feel nothing.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away. Instead, you reached out, your touch featherlight as your fingertips skimmed the metal of his wrist. There was precision in the construction, elegant, engineered, but it was still him. You traced along the inside of his forearm, up to the sharp line of his palm, feeling the grooves, the seams, the impossibly subtle notches between each plate. Then you curled your fingers gently around his, lifting his hand.

You turned it upward. Candlelight caught along the joints of his fingers, gleaming in liquid amber.

And then, deliberately, intimately, you ran your hand down the back of his vibranium hand. Knuckles to wrist.

“Can you feel that?” you breathed.

He inhaled quietly, eyes locked on yours. “Yes.”

You traced your thumb across a seam in his palm, a soft circular motion like brushing the edge of a scar. “Not temperature. But touch?”

“Yeah,” he said. His voice was rougher now. “I can feel the pressure. The motion. Just not... the heat of your skin.”

You didn’t speak. Just guided his hand upward, toward your face, your breath catching as the cool pads of his vibranium fingers grazed your cheekbone and rested there. You could’ve sworn he shuddered. A thrill passed through you at the sensation, not for you, but for him, a quiet hope that maybe this gesture still meant something, even if he couldn’t feel the warmth.

“And now?” you asked, voice barely audible over the rain.

His gaze dipped to your lips, then back up. The flickering darkness had devoured the familiar stormy blue of his eyes, leaving only a hungry void in its place.

“I feel your skin,” he said, low. “It’s soft. Smooth.” 

His fingers flexed gently, tracing the line of your jaw in a slow descent. “But I can’t feel the warmth. Just… the shape.”

A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips, bittersweet. A silent war was waged behind his expression, trapped between desire and duty. Between what he wanted and what he was allowed to reach for.

“I used to have another arm,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter now, like the admission cost him something. “A silver one. I couldn’t feel anything with it. Not even this.”

Your brows furrowed.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” he murmured. “Feeling everything… or feeling nothing at all.”

You leaned into his touch, your cheek pressing fully against the metal. Even if it didn’t give him warmth, maybe it gave him presence.

“I think,” you mumbled, “that feeling is the most natural thing of all. It’s the experience of living. Of life.”

His hand stilled against your face.

“People who try to push aside feeling,” you said, softer now, “to cut it off and pretend it doesn’t exist… they’re the ones who are suffering the most. Not the ones who feel everything.”

His breath left him in a slow exhale. A subtle release, like he hadn’t even realised he was holding onto something tight in his chest until now. The candlelight caught the faintest tremble in his throat as he swallowed, as though your words had struck a nerve.

“I feel everything now,” he said at last, voice barely above a breath, like a truth he hadn’t meant to say aloud, like it had just dawned on him. His fingers twitched, then slowly withdrew, curling into a loose fist in his lap.

Silence settled between you, and you watched as the plates in his metal arm shifted with a subtle hiss, the faint whir of unseen mechanics clicking into place as he flexed his fist open, then closed again. The movement was restless, almost unconscious, like his body was speaking the turmoil he wouldn’t voice. You could feel the heat where his hand had just been, the ghost of his touch clinging to your skin.

For a second, you worried he was retreating inward again, lost to whatever troubles consumed him, but then his voice, low and quiet, cut through the static. 

“Come here.” 

You blinked, unsure you’d heard him right. “What?”

“Just... closer.”

You moved without thinking. Slowly, cautiously, you slid forward on the couch, knees grazing his, breath shallow in your throat. The space between you disappeared. You could feel his warmth, his stillness, the quiet restraint in the way he held himself.

When he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you didn’t flinch. His fingers lingered against your cheek, almost like he was afraid you might vanish if he wasn’t gentle.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he murmured, his voice barely audible beneath the rain. “You’re killin’ me here.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I thought you didn’t notice.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice rough and honest. “I notice everything about you.”

Your breath caught, lips parting on instinct, but no sound came.

God, was this really happening? You could feel it, his gaze, the pull of something simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for a spark. But was this wise? You were holed up here, alone together for who knew how long. If you were wrong and misread this current thread between you, it would ruin everything. There’d be no slipping away, no easy out, just long days and longer nights of awkward silence and sidestepped glances.

You didn’t know if you were ready to be seen like that. To be touched like that. To fall headfirst into something that might not let you come back the same. You swallowed hard, unsure if you wanted to lean in or away. 

And then you took the plunge.

“Let me… let me show you something.”

His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t pull away. “Yeah?”

You focused, just a small pulse of energy through your fingertips, a delicate twist of sensation sent skimming through his nerves like a shiver. It bloomed slowly at first, a gentle, spiralling warmth that coiled from where you touched and then unfolded, spreading like ripples in water.

He inhaled sharply. Eyes fluttering closed. A tremor ran through him, his spine arching ever so slightly as the feeling expanded, not sharp or overwhelming, but deep. A full-body shudder, unforced and unguarded.

You squeezed your fist shut just as his eyes opened in shock. “What was that?”

“Pleasure.” You muttered, almost sheepishly, as heat crawled up your neck. “It’s just another way I can manipulate the senses. Pain, pleasure, hot, cold—”

“Show me again.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard right. Momentarily stunned as your nervous ramble melted to nothing on your tongue. “What?”

His eyes met yours. There was no teasing in them, no bravado. Just raw honesty. Curiosity. Need.

“The feeling,” he said. “The pleasure.”

You hesitantly pressed your fingertips gently to the curve of his throat this time, just under his jaw. A warmer spot, closer to where his pulse thrummed, let the sensation unfurl more slowly this time. Syrupy and coaxing, a velvet ribbon of warmth that traced along his neck, over his chest, down his sides. 

He exhaled sharply through his nose, body caught somewhere between a shudder and a squirm.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

You bit your lip, focusing, and let it continue, sliding up through his arms, his back, the curve of his stomach. A steady rise and fall of sweetness and shimmer, like goosebumps made of sunlight.

“Tell me,” you said. “What’s it like? How does it feel?”

His voice was strained, breath catching. “It’s—fuck—it’s like… some is pouring honey down my spine. Like every nerve’s waking up. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s… good. So good.”

You swallowed hard, your own fingers trembling slightly now. The intimacy of it, watching him react, watching the pleasure ripple through him, watching him feel, it was dizzying. You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected how much it would undo you.

You hadn’t meant for it to turn you on. But there was something so dangerously intoxicating about the control, not over him, but over what he felt. To give something gentle. Something sweet. To offer pleasure instead of pain.

And God, he took it like he’d been starving for it.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, barely recognising your own voice—breathy, tight, trembling with restraint.

“No,” he said immediately. “Please. Don’t.”

Your fingers drifted lower, brushing the soft fabric just above his chest. His eyes locked with yours, dark and dilated, his pupils swallowing the colour. Every inch of him was taut, vibrating beneath your touch. His thighs twitched from the phantom of sensation, his breath ragged. You held still, the thrum of your own pulse deafening. Your underwear clung uncomfortably to your skin, soaked through with want. You shifted instinctively, a slow grind against nothing, desperate for friction.

A wicked thought slid through you. Before you could talk yourself out of it, the magic spilt from your fingers, liquid light snaking down his torso, following the line of muscle, dipping lower, lower….straight into the heat of his groin.

His hips jerked up in response, a shocked, broken moan ripping from his throat.

Both of you froze, eyes locked, stunned. The golden glow in your palm flickered, fading, the magic receding like a tide.

And then something snapped.

Your lips crashed into his, sudden and sure. He kissed you back instantly, almost desperately, his hands coming up to cradle your face. You barely registered the storm outside anymore, the flicker of lightning on the windows, the hush of rain. He shifted, and suddenly he was between your thighs, pressing you back into the couch cushions. His weight blanketed you, but it only made your need ache sharper.

One hand cradled your jaw, thumb swiping across your cheek as his lips moved against yours, needy and desperate. You fumbled at the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward and over, your palms dragging over heated skin and hard muscle. His stomach flexed beneath your touch, and you traced along his ribs, up the carved lines of his back, just to feel how he moved.

He groaned into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that went straight to your core. His hips ground down against you, bandage and gash completely forgotten, lost beneath the press of flesh and want.

Your wrap dress loosened under his hands, fingers slipping beneath the knot and unravelling the fabric with an urgency that made your breath stutter. The fabric parted, cool air brushing your skin as he exposed your chest.

Your head tipped back as his mouth left yours, trailing lower in a feverish line, across your jaw, down your throat, over the arch of your collarbone. His head dipped beneath your chin, kissing his way down your sternum like he was worshipping every inch of you.

Then you sent another slow pulse of magic through your fingers and into him, this time directly into his skull.

His kisses faltered, breath catching. Teeth scraped gently across your skin as he let out a sound that was half growl, half groan.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart,” he rasped against your chest, breath hot and trembling. Goosebumps rippled over your skin in waves, the warmth of his voice sinking straight into your bones.

You only laughed, breathless. “Good.”

You sent another wave of pleasure, molten and slow, slithering down his spine.

He stiffened, body arching slightly as he rode the feeling. You used the moment to shift, rolling him carefully onto his back. He let you, too lost in sensation to resist. You knelt beside him, half draped off the couch, hair hanging wild around your face as you gazed down at him.

He looked wrecked. Beautiful. Lost. His eyes unfocused, lips parted, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. You watched the way his muscles jumped and twitched under his skin, the way his mouth struggled to form words.

When he blinked back into awareness, the first thing he did was reach down, hands fumbling at his belt with shaking fingers. You helped him, breath caught in your throat, both of you working together to strip him down.

And when his pants came off—

You stopped, just for a second.

Your breath hitched.

He was huge, hard and flushed, resting against his belly. Your mouth went dry.

“You have to tell me how it feels,” you murmured.

Your hand flattened against his stomach, fingers splayed wide. A deep, pulsing bloom of heat channelled through your palm, arcing downward into the thick, aching weight of him.

His reaction was immediate.

A sharp cry tore from his chest as his hips bucked up off the couch, hands flying to your thighs, fingers digging in as if he needed something to anchor him.

The pleasure took him like a tide.

And you could only watch, trembling, as he unravelled beneath your hands.

“I—I… fuck, sweetheart.” He stuttered, breathless, mouth slack as your magic surged through him, pushed to its limits. The strain already throbbed in your arms and back, a dull, familiar ache blooming beneath your skin, but you didn’t let up. Not yet.

He was beautiful like this, utterly undone. His cock flushed at the tip, slick with precum that beaded from the slit, catching the golden shimmer of your magic. His chest heaved, muscles tensing and quivering as pleasure rolled over him. His eyes were clenched shut, brows knit tight as he rode every pulse of sensation.

Then, just as he trembled on the edge, you withdrew, your magic vanishing abruptly.

He choked out a curse, hips jerking uselessly toward the absence, left hard and aching.

“Holy fuck—” he muttered hoarsely, blinking up at you with dazed eyes. “You’ve been holding that back, sweetheart?”

You giggled, warm and wicked, delight blooming in your chest as his vibranium hand slid up your belly and cupped your breast through your bra. His grip was firm, thumb brushing slow circles that had your spine arching.

“I didn’t think you wanted me,” you whispered, almost shy despite the heat between you.

He stared at you like you’d just told him the sky wasn’t real.

“Didn’t want you?” He looked stricken. “Shit, I thought you didn’t want me. If I had known… if I’d known you didn’t hate me, after everything, I would’ve had you pinned to this damn couch days ago.”

Your head spun. The words lodged in your throat. You couldn’t speak, not when your body was buzzing, not when your heart was hammering like the thunder overhead.

So you showed him.

Your palm lit once more, gold heat pulsing from your fingers like molten thread, weaving into the core of him. His face crumpled beautifully, a groan tearing loose as he squeezed your breast harder, his body lurching with the force of it. Precum spilt onto his stomach in a slippery trail, his hips trembling with the need to move, to finish.

You watched as his right hand dropped, trailing down his stomach in desperation, fingers clumsy, desperate for friction.

You caught his wrist before he could touch himself, eyes narrowing as your breath came in sharp pants. His gaze shot up to meet yours, pupils blown wide.

“I… you fucking minx—”

His voice caught, and then his eyes rolled back. His chest rose and fell rapidly, wrist twitching in your grip as he fought for release. His hips rocked into the air, helpless, caught between your magic and your mercy.

He was close. You could feel it in the way his muscles trembled, in the sounds he made. You wanted to see him fall apart. To come undone under your power, not in pain, not in fear, but in ecstasy.

For once, you wanted someone to reap the rewards of your magic—

But just as your focus began to flicker, just as your grip faltered, Bucky struck.

With a growl, he surged upward. His weight hit you like a wave, knocking the air from your lungs as he flipped you beneath him. Your magic sputtered out, lost in the sudden jolt. You gasped, blinking in surprise as he pinned you with his body, his hips snug between your thighs.

He grinned down at you, smug and breathless, as he locked your legs around his waist.

“You wanna say it?” he murmured, voice rough with lust and teasing threat as he rolled his hips with one testing thrust. “Or do you want me to make you?”

You arched up into him instinctively, a cry caught in your throat, the space between your thighs pulsing with need. Every nerve ending felt electrified, begging for contact, for friction, for him.

“Touch me, please,” you whispered, voice raw and aching.

That was all it took to break him.

“Good girl.” He purred, and then he surged forward, crashing into you with a kiss that was all teeth, tongue, and hunger. Your gasp was swallowed by him, your hands fisting in his hair as he kissed you like he was trying to devour you, like he'd starve without you. His hand slid beneath your skirt in one bold motion, cupping the heat of your soaked underwear.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice cracking with disbelief and lust. He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to watch his fingers press into you through the fabric. “You’re dripping for me.”

You whimpered, head falling back against the cushions as his thumb found your clit, rubbing maddeningly slow circles through the damp cotton. Every movement sent a jolt up your spine. You couldn’t help the way your hips bucked, chasing after every scrap of friction he offered.

“God, Bucky—”

He latched onto the underside of your jaw, kissing and nipping, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. 

“Should’ve known,” he muttered against your throat. “Sitting here all sweet and pretty, thighs clenching, practically vibrating with it. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

Your only answer was a breathless moan as he hooked his fingers under your underwear and tugged them down your legs. The fabric clung to your slick folds before peeling away, leaving you bare and glistening, trembling beneath him.

Cool air hit your wetness, and you jerked, but he held you in place, palm braced firmly against your thigh.

“You’ve been so fucking patient,” he murmured like a promise, and then, finally, his vibranium fingers found you again, brushing through your folds, gathering your wetness before teasing at your entrance. “Such a good girl. Let me take care of you.”

Then he pushed inside, one thick finger curling into you with devastating control. You cried out, hips lifting from the couch as your walls fluttered around him, greedy and clenching. Then another finger followed, stretching you, filling you, and the stretch burned just right.

“Christ,” he groaned, voice ragged, his lips dragging over your collarbone. “You’re so tight… gonna squeeze the life outta me, sweetheart.”

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, his back, anywhere you could find purchase as he fucked you slow and deep with his fingers. His thumb circled your clit in time, the rhythm perfectly matched.

But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. 

Without thinking, your magic stirred, wild and hot and instinctual. It bloomed at your fingertips, golden light flickering like flame across your skin. You pressed your palm to his back, right between his shoulder blades, and poured it into him.

Bucky gasped, his body convulsing above you as the magic hit him, raw pleasure cascading down his spine. His fingers faltered inside you, but you grabbed his wrist and pushed him deeper.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Let me…let me feel you feel it.”

His mouth dropped open, a strangled moan escaping him as the heat of your power flowed down his nerves, threading through his blood like lightning. His arm flexed beside your head, trying to hold himself up as your magic made him quake.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he rasped, voice nearly unrecognisable, jaw slack as he rocked his fingers harder into you, magic fueling his every movement. “You—fuck, sweetheart—”

“I know,” you cooed, hips stuttering. 

You pressed another surge into him, palm glowing like molten gold. His body shuddered against yours, and this time, he groaned your name. And God, with his fingers driving into you, his mouth on your skin, and your magic wrapped around his soul like silk, you were close. So close.

“Fuck—what are you doing to me?” he groaned, voice cracking as your magic threaded through his chest like silk. “Feels like—feels like I’m burning—”

“You are,” you gasped, your back arching, thighs shaking. “Burning for me.”

Your walls clenched around his fingers, drawing him in as if your body was desperate to keep him there, to never let him go. Every drag of his fingers, every stroke of his thumb over your clit, sent a new wave crashing through you, building like a storm on the horizon.

“Bucky, I—” Your voice broke on a moan as pleasure threatened to spill over. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, pressing his forehead to yours, sweat beading at his temple. “You’re gonna be a good girl and fall apart for me. Right here.”

Your magic surged in answer to his voice, responding to the ragged way he spoke, to the desperation in his touch. You reached for him again, palm pressed flat to his chest this time, and pushed, magic pouring from your body into his, sparks dancing where your skin met his. It hit him like a shockwave.

His breath caught, a strangled gasp punching out of his lungs. “Oh fuck—”

His entire body shuddered. His hips jerked forward reflexively, grinding against your thigh as his body buckled under the pleasure, his orgasm taking him by force, torn from him by the sheer intensity of your power. A guttural, broken sound ripped from his throat, and you felt the warmth of him spill across your stomach, hot and thick as his cock twitched against you.

That was all it took.

Your climax slammed into you with brutal force, your body seizing around his fingers as the pleasure snapped through you. Your legs trembled, your hips rolled uncontrollably, and you cried out. Your back arched off the couch as your magic exploded outward in golden waves. You clung to him, trembling, your body pulsing around his hand as the orgasm rippled through you, again and again.

Bucky felt it all, every tremor, every pulse, every wave. He grunted, his eyes fluttering closed, mouth open in pure awe as you came around his fingers, your walls fluttering and spasming, slick dripping down his wrist.

Bucky groaned against your throat, his lips open and gasping against your skin, voice gone to gravel. “Jesus Christ.”

He collapsed half on top of you, arm catching his weight as his vibranium hand slowly slipped free, fingers drenched in your juices. You were both breathless, wrecked, his cum smeared across your stomach. You crumpled beneath him, limbs shaking, still tingling from the aftershocks. 

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing your damp hair from your face with trembling fingers.

You managed a breathless laugh. “Are you?”

He chuckled, dropping a kiss to your collarbone. “You just hijacked every nerve in my body and made me see God. So yeah. I’m fucking great.”

You winced sheepishly, heart fluttering. “Sorry. Lost control a little there.”

“Don’t apologise,” he insisted, voice low and reverent. “If that’s you losing control... I want it. Again. And again…”

He kissed your temple, then pulled back slightly to look at you, eyes half-lidded and hungry even in the aftermath. “But next time, sweetheart… I get to make you lose it first.”

You grinned, your pulse still fluttering. “Deal.”

---

hi, if you made it to the end, holy shit congrats. if you enjoyed please let me know! drop a comment below, reblog or send me something through my inbox! thank you for reading my work :) if you want to stay up to date with any series updates or new one-shots being posted, follow my sideblog @artficlly-updates and turn on notifications.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The way Nanami subtly doms you

Tags: dom!Nanami x fem!Reader, sub!Reader, dom/sub relationship, NO age regression, sub space.

An: yeah idk i feel like nanami’s very subtle with his domming style, but i see shiu kong as full on dom.

• Nanami isn’t the type to flex his dominance over you. He doesn’t have to be rude or degrading to drive the point home. You know exactly when he gives you that look, it means to behave. His hazel eyes cut in your direction, and his eyebrow raises ever so slightly, like he’s amused by your disobedience. However, he doesn’t smile — doesn’t reward bad behavior.

• “Want to say that again?”, “Language.”, “Didn’t I tell you no pouting?” when you’re being a brat and mouthing off. bonus points if he’s pulling his tie away from his neck and slowly wrapping it around his palm.

• It’s simple, but he gives you his hoodies or coats to wear when you’re out and about. He likes seeing his clothes encompassed your body, and he enjoys that everyone will immediately be able to tell just whose you are.

• Speaking of clothes, Nanami’s not the type to tell you when you can and can’t wear something. He’s confident in his abilities to keep you safe, but that doesn’t mean he won’t make suggestions. “Are you sure about the skirt, sweetheart? I don’t want your legs getting cold.”

• He takes great care of you in an inconspicuous manner. He’ll adjust your clothes on you, buttoning up your top or gently fixing your unruly hair. He’ll throw your towel and pajamas (that he picked out for you) in the dryer when you’re in the shower, so they are all warm and cozy for you when you get out.

• Nanami is also the type to set a pretty firm bedtime for you. He knows how much you like to stay up and how ill you get in the mornings if you hadn’t had a minimum of 8 hours of rest. So, he sets you on a pretty strict bedtime schedule and routine. Don’t worry. He’s there every night to cuddle you to sleep.

• Insistent that you hold his hand while you two are out. He knows how distractible you are, and it eases his mind when your palm rests in his.

• The way he talks can throw you straight into a more submissive headspace, and he knows it too. He doesn’t do it often, but when he notices you getting too stressed or burnt out, he’ll immediately start with the dom talk, “My baby needs a break, doesn’t she?” He’ll coo and pull you into his lap, and when you inevitably lean into his touch, “There she is. Did my baby miss me?”

• Nanami sees it as a gentlemanly thing, but it could also be seen as another form of domming. He doesn’t let you touch a single door handle if he’s with you, and you best believe he’s walking on the outside. You’re tucked beside him on the inside of the sidewalk. He’ll also never let you hold a shopping bag. No, he does not care that he’s holding a bunch of Victoria’s Secret and Ulta bags. He pays for everything. If your car needs gas, Nanami fills it up.

• On the off chance that you two are out, and he’s not right beside you, all he has to do is curl his finger and point at the ground in front of him to let you know that he wants you to come to him, and you better do as you’re told.

• The king of giving simple stern instructions. “Look at me.” “Speak up, baby.”, “Come here, now.”, “Give me a kiss.”, “Ask nicely.”

• Nanami will sit on the couch, spread his legs, and pat his knee when he wants you to sit on his lap. He doesn’t even have to give simple instructions for that.

• Even while he does all this, he respects your independence, autonomy, and intelligence. Let’s bffr rn he’s your biggest supporter in everything you do. He’s so in love with you because he knows how smart and hard working you are. He’s so damn lucky that he gets to be the man to pamper you and ease your weary mind. He loves being that safe space for you, so you can just relax, lean on him, and just be you.

[stellamarielu]

first thing

jack abbot x female reader

summary: lazy mornings with jack are few and far between, but they always exceed your expectations or jack topping you from the bottom while you ride him first thing in the morning!

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, literally nothing but smut, established relationship of some sort (let your imaginations run wild), p in v sex, dirty talk bc of course, excessive use of the nickname baby, jack being a veryyy lowkey pleasure dom

word count: 1.1k

author’s note: i’m a firm believer that our dear dr. abbot has a filthy mouth, so of course i had to write something nasty for him. the lack of smut for that smug son of a bitch is criminal. also i am convinced that he would call you baby in bed, but only in bed. i dont think he’d be one for pet names, but something about him being all pussy drunk and calling you baby through low raspy groans. yeah. that is all… enjoy!

“You havin’ fun up there?” Jack’s voice was peppered with self-righteous teasing. His words melted into the air through a lazy drawl as you straddled his lap, his dick buried deep between your legs.

Fifteen minutes ago, you were both fast asleep, bodies intertwined under his linen sheets.

You stirred awake in each other's arms, a tangled mess of limbs in the soft yellow hues of morning light that fought through the blinds. Slow sensual touches on bare skin led to your body on top of his. Feeling the familiar stretch as you sunk down on him, you took your time rolling your hips and coaxing quiet grunts from the man below you before either of you could even think about getting out of bed for the day.

It was rare for you to have an upper hand in the bedroom. When it came to Jack, dominance was his territory, the power associated with it fed his ego. It was uncommon to catch him in a moment of vulnerability, but sometimes you found him trading his strong willed attitude for a more docile demeanor. It often appeared when he was preoccupied or overcome with the need for relief, giving into the soft comfort of your hands on his body. He had to be just needy enough to willingly let take the lead, and even then, he could never fully submit.

He used his words in retaliation.

Maybe his rigid frame would melt under your touch, or his inhibitions would fall to the side at the sound of your pathetic little moans, but he would always rely on his words to remind you who was really in charge. 

“Nice and slow just like that.” The deep rasp of his voice echoed between your bodies; his instruction still laced with sleep. 

A smirk peeked through his slumber worn expression, fingertips resting at the flesh of your waist as your body pressed into his.

His head fell back into the pillow, eyes threatening to close, and you could feel his fingers hug harder into your skin with each rock of your hips.  

“There you go.” He held you, trying his best to let you set the pace, but desperately wanting to tighten his grip and drag you along his body— rough and impulsive. 

Your fucked-out stare scanning him from above was the only thing keeping him in check.

Your pleading eyes begged for control. They practically oozed with desperation as you rode him. It was enough to make his grasp soften as he surrendered to your desire, watching as you used him to please yourself. Used him. His dick pulsed at the notion. 

Jack was addicted to you, mind numbingly obsessed with the soft gasps that fell from your lips every time you came. He swore those sounds alone could give him a buzz unlike any drug. Some nights, he’d make you finish on his fingers so many times he’d lose count. He needed to make you feel good— wanted to watch the way your body reacted to his touch. It held a different kind of control, witnessing you give yourself over to him with your back arched and your head thrown back.

“Show me how you want it baby.” His voice was attentive as he fed into your delusion of power. 

You were grinding into him. Your movements bordering on pitiful with your palm flat against his chest as you held yourself upright. Little whimpers of surrender made their way from your chest with each pass of your hips over his, angling yourself just right so that his tip brushed against the perfect spot with every movement. 

Fluttering shut in the inevitable anticipation of release; your eyes left his. You were basking in the warmth of his hands on your bare body; one of them trailing up your torso, the pads of his fingertips tracing into your skin, higher and higher until,

“Eyes on me.” Delicately, he held the nape of your neck, forcing your stare back on his as he pulled you closer to him. 

You dumbly nodded your head. Handing him back an ounce of authority as you followed his command through a hooded gaze.

“Look at you. So goddamn pretty for me.” 

Your jaw went slack at his words, mouth slightly open and brows knit together as the pressure building in your abdomen threatened its release. 

He could feel each greedy response of your body— could sense your impending orgasm with every clench of your thighs, and he was done letting you take the reins.

His hips snapped up to meet yours. Thrusts moving in tandem with each grind of your hips.

“Shit- you feel too fuckin’ good.” Profanities spilled from his throat at the satisfaction of having full control.

He was holding onto your hips and fucking into you from below. The tensing of your body and the sweet moans dripping from your tongue only adding to his pleasure. You were his. He needed it— craved the promise of your devotion in the breathless praise of his name on your lips.

“Come on baby let me have it.” Growling out in a low moan, he all but begged you to finish for him— finish on him. Pushing you right over the edge with just a few simple words and the persuasive quality of his voice. 

Your walls hugged tight in obedience, a string of whines leaving your throat as you came undone around him.

“There she is.” His statement of recognition seeped with affection while his grip on your hips remained unrelenting.

The high of your release persisted as Jack’s thrusts kept purpose, his hands on your body holding you steady. 

“Got another one for me?” A sadistic warmth took over his voice, and he drove into you harder. The question obviously rhetorical as he made sure to hit the spot that made you clench around him.

The day began around you as gentle sunlight filled the room, but neither of you had a single thought of getting out of bed anytime soon.