#[ hard when it sticks around in your head but ]

[lcriedlastnight]

first couple of dates reader is super reserved and shy and Lando is just unabashedly flirting in the most attractive way ever

tysm anon, my first lando request! ilysm <3 also shy reader resonates so well with me for some reason.

tw: fem!reader, swears, not spell checked, lmk if anything else.

w/c: 1.8k

you found out on the first date how confident in himself lando was. you knew (and liked) how he was just unapologetically himself at every point in time. it was definitely a green flag of yours. only sometimes it was a little much to handle.

this next date lando had been very traditional, seeing as it was your second date. he had decided to take you to one of his favourite restaurants in monaco. he left you with very strict instructions over text, the day before, to dress as fancy as you possibly could. so you did just that and went last minute dress shopping with your friend. it all being her idea of course.

she finds this lovely blush pink dress that in her words “is just so you” so you get it and wear it to dinner.

lando was already at the restaurant waiting outside for you. he had offered to pick you up but your friend wanted to stay and help you get ready, you didn’t agree easily though. you’ve never seen anyone’s mouth drop open as quickly as you seen lando’s open when you got out of your friend’s car. this, obviously, brings a bright red blush to your cheeks, complimenting the dress even more in lando’s opinion.

“hi.” you mumble, shyly. not used to a gaze as piercing as lando’s.

“hey, pretty girl! don’t you look stunning?” lando grins happily as he addresses you with such lovely pet names with such ease it makes you melt. he sticks a hand out to link it with yours then holds them both high above your head. “give me a spin then, honey.”

you do as he asks and spin around, showing him every angle. when you face lando again his smile seems to be even bigger than when you first came, if that was even possible. it looked like it was sore with how hard he was smiling.

“god, now i feel underdressed. when i said fancy i didn’t mean princess of monaco fancy!” lando jokes. you know it’s a joke, a compliment even. a lovely, sweet compliment. and if you were a normal girl, you would’ve giggled sweetly and thanked him, then you would both be on your way to sit down. but you weren’t a ‘normal’ girl. you were a bit shyer than most. so instead you avoid eye contact with lando and splutter out what could be picked together to make some sort of thank you.

even though it’s the second date, lando seems to understand you already and instead of pointing out your embarrassment, he pushes it to the side and holds his arm out for you to hold.

“c’mon, let’s go inside. you must be starving. i heard that beauty makes you hungry.” you were not surviving this. where was this lando on the first date?

the waiter helps you both find your table, which of course has the most gorgeous view of the water. you sit across from each other and sit in a comfortable silence, scanning the menu’s. your eyes dart across, reading all these dishes, none of them too fancy. another thing for you to be shy about, was the fact that you were an extremely picky eater. you were very wary of restaurant or even food related dates to begin with, but lando is a very difficult person to say no to.

“d’you know what’re getting?” lando asks from across the table. you think he’s been staring at you for a while.

“i’m not sure yet.” you reply, a little quieter than lando, still loud enough to hear over the usual bustle of a restaurant. you tell him this in the hopes he doesn’t ask about your food preferences.

it’s like lando can read your mind though as he asks. “are you alright? do you not like any of the food? we can go somewhere else if you like?” the way he switches from flirty to caring in seconds makes your head spin.

“no! no. you went through all this trouble to come here. and it’s your favourite restaurant.” you refuse his sweet offers.

“so you don’t like any of the food? are you a picky eater?” lando asks, the smile returning to his almost as quickly as it left. his voice not menacing or teasing as he asks you the dreaded question.

you can feel your body heat up at the question, and before you can even try and scramble your brain for an answer, probably denying it lando speaks up.

“if you are it’s okay, honey. i can ask the waiter for anything you want. even if i wasn’t a regular here, i’m sure they would do it for a girl as pretty as you.” and he was right back into that flirty ways from before.

“right,” you nod, purposefully ignoring his compliment. “thank you. i know it’s childish but i only really eat chicken.” you try to joke about it but it comes out awkward and forced. lando laughs anyway.

you both make small talk until with waiter comes back to take your orders. lando doesn’t even give you a chance to speak to the waiter to try and explain yourself before he’s asking if you could get some chicken nuggets and fries. the waiter nods, like it’s no problem. because it isn’t.

“and to drink?” the waiter asks.

lando shifts his gaze to you. his eyes wandering yours, wondering if you were alright to speak to the waiter and order for yourself.

“d’you like wine too, honey? or we could just have water?” lando offers, trying to help you out, which you appreciate so much.

“water is good, please.” you ask politely.

“two glasses of water of us then!” lando tells the waiter as the menu’s are collected and the orders are given to the kitchen.

you wait until you know the waiter is gone before you speak to lando.

“you didn’t need to get water if you didn’t want to. you could’ve gotten wine.” your thumbs dance with each other on top of the table. lando’s reach across to pull them apart from each other and hold them in his own, thumbs swiping gently across your soft skin.

“i know. i just wanted to get what you got. makes you like me more if we like the same things.” lando teases. you laugh a little and it looks like someone has just told lando he’s won his first championship.

“i’m thinking of becoming a comedian. i’m going to quit racing.” he tells you. the conversation switch gives you whiplash.

“what, really? why? i don’t think you should quit. you’re really good.” you try to compliment him back. the boy’s cheesy grin is the greatest payment for that moment of bravery.

“i’m gonna quit so i can make you laugh every minute of every day because your laugh is my new favourite sound in the whole world.” how does he even think of this shit, you think to yourself, through a wide smile and rosy cheeks (once again.)

you both chat away throughout the dinner. lando sending about a million and a half flirty comments and pet names throughout, each one sending you into a tizzy every time. lando just watches your cheeks warm and that shy smile grace your lips.

once you both had ate and payed the bill, lando suggests just walking around for a while.

“basic, i know. i don’t think any date idea could compare to how wonderful you are.” he sighs, jokingly as if his idea actually pained him. of course this causes you to fluster again and hide your face.

lando only laughs and grabs your hand, taking you a walk along the water. you open up to him, more than the previous dates and late night texts. the boy is quiet as you talk, telling him about your childhood and what it was like for you growing up. he asks you questions seeing the way yours eyes twinkle underneath the stars as you perk up even more at the mention of your childhood dog.

“you’re so pretty, honey.” lando admits in a hushed whisper, like it was a secret he was scared to tell and not a sentence he’s said about a hundred times tonight. you both had stopped at a nearby bench to watch the ocean.

before you can even get the chance to get embarrassed he asks “can i kiss you? please?”. and he sounds desperate, like you’re depriving him of the air he needs so badly to breathe properly.

so you nod your head shyly. lando’s hands are quick to trap your head in between them, holding you still as he leans in. this is yours and lando’s first kiss together and lando kisses you like you’ll break if he touches you any harsher. it’s the sweetest thing a boy has ever done in your entire life.

you tell him so once he’s reluctantly pulled away from you. his brows raise in surprise.

“guess i’m just gonna need to top this every date we go on then.” he leans in again because there’s no way he’s not using his free time with you now not kissing you. plus he just loves to see you flustered every time he pulls away.

and that was only the second date.

by the fifth date you had just about gotten your embarrassment under wraps when lando invites you to some mclaren event. he tells you it’s fancy dress but not to go dress shopping again as he’s gotten a tie that matches so well with the dress you wore on your second date. your surprised he remembered the exactly colour because when he turns up at you door, the shade match is perfect.

your halfway through the lovely charity event and lando has not stopped touching you the entire night. even when he has to stop to talk to his teammate, oscar or his team principal, andrea, he had his arm wrapped around your waist or resting on the small of your back. the feeling of his hand resting on your back made you feel like you were his.

you don’t talk much compared to lando, who yaps away all night. his number one topic of conversation being you. he talked about how you met to some random couple he’s never seen before. he rambled about how pretty you were to mclaren’s very own ceo, zak brown. you’re cheeks stay red the entire time, zak leaving after about ten minutes because he felt sorry for you and your embarrassment.

“how you doing, honey? you alright?” lando asks as he joins you at the bar. he’s been pulled away and promised you he’s join you in ten minutes. his hands snaking around your waist, their home for the night it seems.

“yeah, oscar and lily are lovely.” you smile at lando. “thank you for inviting me.”

lando beams back at you. “couldn’t do tonight without my girl, could i?”.

“your girl?” you ask shyly.

“if you wanna be” lando tried to ask casual but he genuinely thinks that if you don’t say yes, he would cry himself to sleep for the rest of the year.

you wrap your arms around him and hide in his chest. “my shy girl, hm?” lando mumbles into your hair.

[ddarker-dreams]

It's ovulation week I am begging you to give us more blade crumbs

I'M A BIT LATE BUT !!!!!!!!!! better late than never, ig ??? anyway... here's some not sfw jealous blade. warning for mentions of alcohol and it's implied reader let a dude flirt with her just to fuck around and find out .

(definitely not a bad idea or anything when your bf is an immortal killing machine haha... aha...)

despite your affection for your morose lover, you’ve harbored a secret regarding his eyes. 

those wickedly beautiful vats of crimson can occasionally be too much to bear. staring back at them, you’re reminded of the carnage he’s inflicted. that for some, this was their final sight before they bled out a similar shade. to have those same eyes weighing you down inspired apprehension. not from the belief he’d harm you — simply that he could. 

his gloved hands are cool against your feverish skin. they grope at your bare thighs, desperate and unforgiving. you’ve made his lap your throne. your panties are embarrassingly soaked against his clothed bulge, which you’re made to grind against by his inescapable grip. the friction is exhilarating, depriving your lungs of air and his mind of any coherent thought. he’s acting on base, animalistic instinct, his composure shattered beyond repair. yours isn’t any better. the night is young and he’s made an unapologetic mess of you.

faintly, you wonder if you should apologize. next comes determining what there even is to say. 

i’m sorry i’m so hungry for attention.

i’m sorry that i laughed at his jokes.

i’m sory that i leaned in too close.

“come back to me,” blade demands. his dominant hand finds your jaw, tilting it up, forcing you to stare at your reckoning. “think of no one else.” 

the meaning behind his words doesn’t immediately register. through the haze clouding your senses, a semblance of understanding pierces through. having your body isn’t enough. he wants your mind for himself as well. your most fearsome acolyte, who’d serve as its warden and worshiper. 

his eyebrows pinch together, belying his own inner conflict.

why did you choose me? 

when will you change your mind? 

how do i get you to stay? 

your lips find his. blade’s response is instantaneous, he ravishes you, his tongue likely tasting the cocktail you sipped an hour prior. a deep, guttural growl sounds from his throat. you whimper. his sounds of gratification do something to you, altering your chemistry, making your veins hot with lust. when you part, he chases after you, only stopping once he sees how desperately you need air. 

he’s painfully hard against your cunt. a wet patch has formed from where your anatomies grind together, his precum seeping through the fabric. the constant stimulation to your clit has you breathless. you’re close — teetering on the precipice. he must be able to tell, for he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing, sparing you the physical overexertion. thighs trembling, you bury your face in his neck. his scent is a mix of anise, sweat, and blood. oddly, it makes you feel safe. 

and then he urges you back to look him in the eye. 

“did you want him to do this to you?” the question comes out like a snarl, scarcely human in its timbre. 

you shake your head. 

“would you—” he clenches his teeth, as he’s nearing his own end, “—would you have let him fuck you?”

this time, when you try shaking your head, he slows down. 

“you have a voice, girl. use it.” 

you swallow thickly. 

“i wouldn’t have,” the words stumble out. “m’ sorry.” 

the atmosphere is thick and oppressive. the low light has you squinting to better discern his countenance. as always, it gives little away. in an unexpectedly tender gesture, he brushes his lips against your forehead. he then tucks the hair sticking to your sweaty skin back. your throat feels tight. before you can try to make sense of it all, he returns to his previous ministrations. still sensitive, you gasp, throwing your head back. 

the muscles in your body tighten, threatening to snap— 

“i swear,” he murmurs against your ear, “it’s you who will be the death of me.” 

—and at that, you come undone. 

[lyrefromthesea]

You’re absolutely one of my favourite writers 💙 Please could I request hashira x reader, where the reader looks after the hashira’s family/ those they care for when they are on a long mission 💙💙

Male pillars x reader - family matters

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: none

Tengen:

who would've expected nearly the entirety of the Uzui family to fall sick? it luckily didn't hit him, but Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma all fell ill.

you would've done it without his pleading, but when he asked you so kindly to take care of his wives, you couldn't say no.

you were in a relationship with them too, it was only right to take care of your loved ones, right?

so when Tengen came home and saw you put wet towels on all their head with the outmost patience, he felt his heart swell with pride.

"i'm back, are you all feeling better?" he asked, looking down at the three sick women. they were cuddled up in their shared bed, not wanting to be alone.

he was glad when he watched them slowly nod and tell him how good you've taken care of them.

"thank you, beautiful.." he said to you, glad that there was someone he could trust. "let me help now."

Obanai:

when Obanai left for a mission and left Kaburamaru with you, he knew you would take care of his friend. however, he didn't expect finding you like this.

you have fallen asleep in the kitchen, your cheek squished against the counter. Kaburamaru had found his place around your neck, as if he wanted to keep you warm.

Iguro looked around, seeing Kaburamaru's food bowl. it was empty, but he knew the snake had eaten today. he could tell by the way Kaburamaru was sleeping with you, having filled his stomach.

furthermore, there was a plate full of food placed near you. he could see another empty plate in the sink, indicating that you've already eaten.

he had told you when he would come back from his mission, figuring that you've prepared the second plate for him.

he looked at you with a gentle gaze, not wanting to wake you up, but knowing you shouldn't sleep in the kitchen. with a quick and careful movement, he had picked you up and carried you to the bedroom.

you had taken care of him and his snake, it was time to take care of you now.

Rengoku:

multiple bottles of liquor stood in front of his family's estate. they were all empty.

he knew those were the bottles his father used to buy, but the man would never place them here.

knowing that you had been staying in his house for the past few days, he figured it would have something to do with you.

"i'm home, dear!" he greeted, happy when he saw you run up to him. perhaps you had been spoiling him too much, but he was used to a kiss on the lips whenever he returned to you.

"first you take my sake away and now this? i'll puke!" Shinjuro scolded you, but you just smiled back at him.

Kyojuro was confused at first, quickly remembering the empty liquor bottles in front the family estate.

"don't pretend like you didn't like the past days! you even played board games with me and Senjuro." you countered, sticking your tongue out.

perhaps it was because you weren't a demon slayer, but Shinjuro could speak to you much more calmly than with others. or maybe it was because you reminded him of the peace of earlier days.

"you did? let's celebrate my return with another board game!" Kyojuro enthusiastically offered, earning a happy nod from you.

"you're going to play as well, right?" you ask Shinjuro, not surprised by him rolling his eyes, knowing he would join you two and Senjuro.

Sanemi:

"is he okay?" Sanemi asked, his fists clenching hard. he was desperate to know about his little brother's state.

when he heard that Genya had been hurt during his fight with a demon, he had wanted to see his brother right away, but he couldn't look him in the eyes anymore.

he knew that Genya hated him for what he had done, he had no right to worry over him now.

naturally, his eyes lit up when he saw you take over the role of a nurse, watching over Genya properly.

"he's doing better." you answered, seeing him quiet down and nod. he felt relief settle in his heart, coming closer to hug you.

his head rested on your shoulder, his arms hanging by his side. his heart was trapped in a mix of guilt and relief.

"you know, he told me that he missed you. you should see him.." you told him, knowing the story the two brothers shared was a sad one.

"no.." he simply said, but you could hear the sorrow in his voice. he probably wanted his brother back as much as Genya wanted him.

"thank you for looking after him.."

Giyuu:

he had trouble revealing his feelings to other people, but when he heard Tanjiro being hurt once again, you noticed the look on his face.

when you told him that you'd temporarily look after the young demon slayer, you saw the man relax slightly. he trusted you and he knew you'd do your best.

he wanted to do his best for you as well, deciding it would only be fair to visit you and Tanjiro now and then.

"Tomioka-san!" Tanjiro beamed, nearly making his way out of the bed, but you held him back, letting him remember that he needed to rest as much as possible.

"Tanjirou, are you feeling better..?" he asked, stepping into the room Tanjirou got assigned. he glanced up at you, seeing a soft smile form on your face.

he made his way towards you while he listened to the boy talk.

"i'm feeling so much better already! [name]-san took great care of me!" Tanjirou said, enthusiastically fiddling with his hands. Giyuu moved to your side, placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"thank you for taking care of him." Giyuu whispered against your ear, turning your head to face him. "i have another mission now, wish me luck, love."

you nodded, knowing that you would pray for his return every day, you just didn't know Tanjirou would speak up again. "Tomioka-san! Tomioka-san!"

naturally, Giyuu hurried out of the room.

Gyomei:

"namu, cat cute.." he mumbled, pressing the small animal against his body in a squeezing hug.

you chuckled quietly, seeing the cat meow and wiggle in an attempt to get out.

you had found it a few days ago, the cat couldn't walk due to it's injured paw. when Gyomei came back that day, he was fine with you keeping the cat until it was healthy.

truthfully, he was more than fine with the addition to his home, especially when he found the cat sitting on one of his shirts a few days later.

he took it as a sign that the cat liked him, first feeding it and then trapping it in his arms.

"was this really a good idea? i feel like the cat is getting more attention than me." you teased, not expecting his strong arm to wrap around you as well, now trapping you in the same hold as the cat.

"you're cute too, don't worry."

[nicka-nell]

Can i request tsukishima, kuroo, semi and futakuchi being interrumped at sexy moments with their s/o (for example, they are kissing your neck so slowly that you can't breathe and boom! the door bell)

Hi anon! I don't know what happened, but I suddenly had a big boost of motivation and just wrote your sweet request. 😅🥰 I really need to get back into writing... It was so unfamiliar and kind of hard, but it was still fun. Sorry if it's kind of bad. I tried my best. 🥹

Getting interrupted during sexy time

Pairing: Tsukishima x, Kuroo x, Semi x, Futakuchi Kenji x reader

Warning: fluff, slightly mention of nsfw, mdni

“Tsukki... are you still reading through that report on dinosaurs?” you sigh as you get up from his bed and walk over to his desk, looking over his shoulder. 

“This isn’t just any dinosaur. It’s a Camptosaurus, one of the rarest. Researchers found bones of this dinosaur a few days ago.” Tsukishima replies in his usual tone. Instead of answering him, you just nod with a slight smile. It’s actually quite cute when he talks about something that fascinates him. 

“Ooh, I see... what did they look like before?” you ask curiously, taking the opportunity to roll his desk chair backwards and sit on his lap. A grumpy ‘hey’ escapes Tsukishima as you make yourself comfortable, your back against his chest. He accepts it and puts his free hand around your waist. 

“Here... this is what a camptosaurus used to look like.” Tsukishima leans forward. You automatically move with him as he hands you his cell phone and you look at the pictures in the report. “Wow, that’s a big dinosaur. I’d be an easy snack for it.” you giggle and glance to the side at Tsukishima, who is looking over your shoulder at his cell phone. 

“No, they were herbivores. At most, it would eat your plants that you look after sporadically,” he replies sarcastically, and you stick your tongue out at him before laughing lightly. Now he looks away from his cell phone and up at you. 

“What? I’m right,” he says, and you just roll your eyes playfully. “Sometimes you’re really mean. But I love you for it.” You reply and watch Tsukishima’s eyes widen for a moment. The tips of his ears redden before he turns away. Oh Tsukki... you think and turn a little more in his lap, so that you are now facing him head-on, before you cup his cheeks with your hands and kiss him. “What, shy?” You say mischievously, but he only returns your grin with an arrogant look. 

“Shy? Did you see your reflection in my glasses?” he teases back and leans forward, trapping you between himself and the table. “Oh, now I’m scared,” you say sneeringly, as Tsukishima pulls you towards his hips by your waist, his face bent forward. “Don’t be cheeky, or else-“

“Or else what?” you interrupt him before he whispers softly, “Punishment.” Before you can get any further into your teasing, you feel his warm lips on yours. Your heart beats fast and you feel like you’re on fire. His fingertips, which sneak lightly under your t-shirt and touch your skin, make you sigh softly.

“Have you lost your tongue?” he whispers before his lips meet yours again. His kiss is slow and long. His tongue parts your lips before the kiss becomes even more intimate. 

You feel his thumbs caressing your bare skin under your shirt, slowly traveling up your sides before you break away from the kiss and look at him with a mischievous grin. “Who knows? Looks like you’re going to have to try to get me talking again.” 

“Easy.” he replies grinning, before he starts to kiss your neck. His lips are warm on your skin, his teeth nibble lightly. 

“Is that a challenge?” you breathe as you tilt your head back, your hands wrapping around Tsukishima’s neck. You feel his smirk on your neck, his hands pushing your shirt up and his upper body pressing even closer to yours, pushing your back further against the table behind you. “Mhh Tsukki...” you sigh and feel the desire for more rising inside you.

“Easier than I thought.” he smiles triumphantly as he continues to kiss your neck when you suddenly hear the door opens. 

“Do you want to have dinner with us later or are you going to the cinem-?” you hear Akiteru, who enters the room happily and quickly gets wide-eyed when he sees you both. 

“Eh, I… well... I think mum just called.” He turns around somewhat awkwardly and instantly closes the door behind him. Embarrassed, you put your face in your hands and feel like sinking into the ground. 

“Oh my God, how shameful...” you sigh, but instead of being embarrassed, Tsukishima clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Annoying... He’s old enough to know that doors aren’t decorative objects. They’re there to be knocked on before you pull the door open,” he says with a slightly annoyed undertone. 

You feel your face grimace as you glare at him. “That’s not funny Tsukki. How am I supposed to look your brother in the eye at dinner now?” 

Your snappy words make Tsukishima roll his eyes again. But it’s not an annoyed eye roll, more like an amused one. “Just don’t look him in the eye if it bothers you that much. But just for the record... my room has neither airtight windows nor doors. In other words, it’s not a soundproof room. Don’t you think my brother knows what we do here at night? I’m pretty sure he hears you every time. You’re not exactly quiet, are you?” Tsukishima teases you with a smirk before leaning forward and pulling your hands away from your face to look at you. 

“Tsukki! My God, why would you say that? I hate you!” you say mad, feeling the heat only rise to your face more before you kick him lightly and sigh more. Ah, Tsukishima loves to see your embarrassed face when he teases you. “Sure, that’s why you annoy me every day.” he smirks before giving you a kiss on the nose. 

The national team’s volleyball matches are coming up again and Kuroo is working overtime more often. He’s staying late at the office today. He's the only one except for a few colleagues there, when you knock on his office door and enter it. With a gentle smile, you hold a bag of food in the air. Kuroo still seems to be in a videoconference. You quietly unpack the box of food and place it on his desk before making yourself comfortable on the sofa in the corner of his office as you wait for his meeting to be over. 

It doesn’t take long for him to say goodbye and take his headset off his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly before clicking on the “leave” button for the online meeting. 

With an understanding smile, you walk to him, wanting to ask him if you should massage his shoulders, but Kuroo is already stretching out his hands, grabbing yours, before pulling you onto his lap and giving you a kiss.

“Don’t forget to eat something in between,” you say worriedly as Kuroo leans his head against your chest. “You know I’m not a child to look after, right?” Kuroo says teasingly, even though he likes that you’re worried about him. 

You roll your eyes lovingly before looking at the bento box you have prepared for Kuroo. You release your hands from his before reaching for the box to open it. Still sitting on his lap, you pick up the chopsticks and a small piece of tamagoyaki before you bring it to Kuroo’s mouth. “Go on, eat my little baby.” you tease him warmly as Kuroo grins and puts his hands around your waist, opens his mouth and lets you feed him. 

“Well, kitten, I could get used to that,” he purrs as you giggle. “In your dreams. Don’t get too used to it. You’re not old and fragile yet.” you say as you reach for the next piece of tamagoyaki, but you pause as Kuroo’s lips move gently over your neck, nuzzling your skin. 

“I’m actually hungry for something else,” he whispers in your ear as he starts to nibble on your earlobe. His thumb lightly caresses your hip, his breath is warm on your skin and you quickly realize how shy you suddenly feel. 

“Tetsu... there are still colleagues of yours in the office... what if someone comes in? We shouldn’t do something so naughty here.” You reply sheepishly and look to the side. But Kuroo doesn’t even think about stopping now. 

The week was more exhausting than usual. He was hardly ever at home and had many meetings with sponsors or young talents who needed to be supported. To avoid waking you up in the middle of the night, Kuroo either slept in his office or on the sofa in the living room. He misses being close to you. He was glad to see you again today after a hard day. You somehow looked even more charming than usual today. Even if that’s not possible. He’s sure you could have come into his office in sweatpants and a baggy jumper, but his first thought would still have been, ‘wow, that’s my wife’.

“Let them be. There should only be a few colleagues left, anyway. The colleagues who are still working have no reason to come into my office,” Kuroo says throatily between kisses, before his hand strolls from your hip to your chin, he moves away from your neck and peers at you mischievously.

“Besides, you’re the one who said my statement was indecent. How could you possibly think that I had something naughty in mind? I actually only wanted to eat the rice in the bento box and not the egg,” Kuroo says you with a grin. 

Embarrassed, you try to look away, but his hand on your chin stops you. “Now I feel a bit silly. Then... wait, I’ll give you the rice,” you say almost shyly, but Kuroo chuckles. 

“Where do you think you’re going? That was a lie. The thing I crave most right now is right in front of me.” he whispers almost like a predator looking at his prey as he brushes your lips with his thumb before his hand moves to the back of your head when he pulls you close to kiss you. 

His kiss is slow but firm. His tongue quickly finds its way between your lips and makes your heart beat even faster. “Tetsu...” you sigh between kisses, feeling his grin on your lips. “Oh my kitten, don’t worry about the others here. If you stay quiet, no one will hear us, and no one will find out that we’re about to give the desk a quality check.” 

“Shush, you talk too much.” You say sheepishly, feeling his hand wrap itself tighter in your hair as his other hand slides under your top. 

Kuroo is just about to say something, when the vibrating of his mobile phone makes him sigh briefly. He considers answering it, but then he ignores the call and concentrates on kissing you again, pressing your body even closer to him on his lap. “Ah, Tetsu, at least see who’s calling you. Maybe it’s important.” 

“You’re the most important thing right now,” he says hungrily, but you push him away and look at him seriously. Kuroo sighs in frustration, making a mental note to block the contact who has now called him and disturbed your togetherness and remove him from his friend’s list if it’s not really important. 

He clicks his tongue as he reaches for his phone and picks it up even before he can read who is calling him. But his annoyed expression suddenly changes. His eyes grow wide, almost panicked, as he reaches for his mouse and looks at his computer screen. “Kuroo-san, you really seem to have a lovely wife, and I don’t want to disturb you. But… You’re still in the meeting and we can hear and see you,” says an investor with whom he and two of his colleagues were at the meeting earlier. 

Kuroo checks the app he had used for the meeting and sees that instead of clicking the “Leave” button, he had simply minimized the window. He was still in the meeting and everyone could see and hear you. Caught and with a charming smile, Kuroo apologizes before quickly leaving the meeting, almost not daring to look in your direction. Because he knows that you are staring at him with a look that could kill. 

Semi is sitting in his garage as he plays a melody on his guitar and goes through the lyrics he wrote yesterday when he was slightly drunk and partying with his band mambers. 

He is not entirely happy with the melody. It sounds so sad, although the lyrics are actually beautiful. Maybe he should take a break? After all, he’s been practicing here for a while now. “Just one more time, then I’ll take a break,” he mumbles to himself as he starts to play a new melody to the song. Completely in his element, he doesn’t notice when the door to his garage opens and you walk in. 

You wait until he has finished his song before you start clapping. Semi flinches before looking towards the door in your direction. He grabs a cushion that’s next to him on the sofa and throws it in your direction. “Tell me, are you trying to kill me with a heart attack? I’m not that successful yet that it would be worth it for you,” he pouts, but he doesn’t mean any offense. 

Laughing, you catch the pillow and throw it back before walking to him and placing two bottles of juice and two boxes of noodles on the table in front of him. Before you sit down, you cup his cheeks with your hands and give him a loving peck. “Oh damn, I guess I’ll have to wait a few more years than, right? Although... if you keep writing hits like the song you just wrote, then maybe it will only take a few more months.” You say playfully with a smile and brush a strand of hair behind his ear. 

Semi’s ears turn red, his hands still on his guitar before he realizes that you must have just heard the whole song. He had written a song about you. About the woman who turns his head, who will be the death to him even in his dreams. About the woman who makes him smile every day, because that’s what she does to him every day and she doesn’t even have to be there. Because just the thought of you is enough. About the woman who makes him feel strong in every situation, who always supports him. And then there were a few lines that weren’t so suitable for minors. 

“Do you think it’s really sexy if I walk into our kitchen in the morning in just your shirt and make us a coffee?” you grin teasingly. Semi pouts, unsure how to respond. 

You lean further towards him, your fingers brush against his, still holding the guitar. “You know, I find it really sexy when you play the guitar. The way your hands move, how passionate you look when you sing the lyrics you’ve written yourself. Sometimes I wish you’d replace the guitar with me and play with me like you play your guitar,” you say seductively with a hungry look.  

Oh, you really are the death to him, Semi thinks, now also red in the face as he turns to you and his shy look has twisted into a confident and strong smile. “Hey watch out pretty-face. A wise man once said that you should be careful with your wishes, otherwise they will soon come true,” he whispers hoarsely to you, just inches away from your face. 

“Is that so? Then I hope he’s right.” You whisper just as confidently before closing the last distance between you two to kiss him. You playfully bite his lower lip. Your hand caresses his cheek before you wander down his neck, your fingers play with his necklace. You smile briefly before tugging on the necklace and pulling him closer to you. 

“Oh, God, you’re going to send me to hell,” Semi says in a raspy voice before putting down his guitar to kiss you again. He leans forwards, pushing you down onto the sofa before lying on top of you between your legs his lips never leaving yours. His kisses are stormy, taking your breath away.

“Good," you breathe, reaching for the fabric of Semi’s top to pull it off. You throw it on the floor, your hands caressing his muscles hungrily, only giving Semi an even bigger ego boost. 

“Fuck, I love when you do that,” he moans, still kissing you fiercely as his hand slides to your leg, bending it slightly and squeezing the flesh of your thigh. A murmur escapes him as his hand moves further up your skirt to your bum. “Baby, you do things to me-“ 

“Oh boy, here we go again...” a familiar voice suddenly interrupts him. Cursing, Semi flinches and pulls your skirt back into place before looking towards the door. Two of his band mates are standing in the doorway of his garage. The band’s second guitarist looks to the side, embarrassed, and scratches the back of his neck, while the bassist puts his hands on his hips and looks at Semi, shaking his head. 

“Fuck, what are you doing here?” curses Semi, before standing up and helping you into a sitting position. He always meets up with his band in his garage on Fridays. Each of his colleagues has a key to the garage so that everyone can stay longer, even after band practice is over. But today was Thursday... 

“Really? You were the one who wanted to move the rehearsal to Thursday this week because you wanted to meet up with your former school friends tomorrow. You wanted to cheer for that guy... Wakatoshi, right?” the bassist sighs, before taking a few steps forwards and grabbing Semi’s shirt. With a hiss, he throws the shirt in his face. “Can’t you find a room? This is the... fifth time we’ve caught you rubbing your love life in our faces. Or are you secretly telling us to join in? Are you into a gangbang or what?” The bassist laughs as he teases Semi with his words. 

Annoyed by his own forgetfulness, Semi rolls his eyes as he catches the shirt. He sulkily puts the shirt back on before placing his hand protectively on your thigh. “Nothing there, I’m not sharing my girl,” he says seriously, even though his band mate had only said it as a joke. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to give his bandmates a key to the garage after all. Or maybe you should just start keeping your hands to yourselves before and during band rehearsals. 

Futakuchi has just come home from work when he walks into the living room and sees you sitting there with a book in your hand. He looks around the room before his eyes land on you again. “Baby, you’ll damage your eyes if you read a book in this poor light,” he says, before flicking the light switch and turning on the light. 

Engrossed in your book, you didn’t realize that the sun was already setting. “Oh, that’s right... thank you. How was your day?” you ask him as you close the book and look at him with a smile. He comes to you and gives you a quick kiss before stretching. 

“Annoying. The customers were just extremely weird today. With some of them, I wonder how they even get through life,” he grumbles, before undoing the first buttons of his shirt. “But anyway, let’s not talk about work. I’d like to take a shower now and then maybe we can continue watching the series we started yesterday. What do you think?” 

Futakuchi has never been someone who likes to talk about his work. But perhaps it’s just as well that he doesn’t take his work home with him. In any case, he never really seems exhausted or overworked. So you just nod with a smile and pick up your book again. In the time Futakuchi is in the shower, you’re sure to manage another twenty pages. 

Fresh out of the shower, Futakuchi pulls on a pair of shorts and a shirt before rubbing his hair dry and heading back into the living room. With a sigh of relief, he heads for the sofa when he sees you lying there. You’re lying on your stomach, your book in front of you, and your ass right in front of his eyes. In those tight, sexy leggings. Oh, how he loves the way your ass wiggles in those things. 

Unconsciously, he bites his lower lip, sneaks up to you before giving you a slap on the ass and squeezing it with his hands. He jumps on the sofa, kneels over you before playfully pretending to bite your shoulder from behind. 

“Kenji! Haha stop, that tickles.” you laugh, close the book and try to turn around, but Futakuchi won’t let you. 

“You’re doing that on purpose. Showing me your sexy ass like that.” Futakuchi grins, before leaning forwards and trapping you between him and the sofa, kissing your shoulder again. His still damp hair gives you goosebumps. 

“Kenji... I thought we wanted to continue watching our series.” You say a little more quietly now, feeling your body react to his kisses and his touch. 

“Yeah, sure, the series...” mumbles Futakuchi as he moves from your shoulder to your neck, buries his head in the crook of your neck and slides his hands between the sofa and your body, hugging you from behind. “Just let me lie like this for a while,” he sighs contentedly. 

His body lies on top of yours, but he doesn’t press his full weight onto you. You can still breathe. His cool hands on your stomach caress you, his fingertips graze your lower for a moment, and you don’t know what makes your breathing most uneasy. His hands on your body, his body on yours or his breath landing hot on your skin. 

“Ah... Kenji... that’s not the remote that’s between you and me on my butt, is it?” you say as you hear him smirk.

“No baby, you don’t need batteries for this thing to work,” he says mischievously, continuing to rub his pelvis against your ass. A soft moan escapes your lips, Kenji starts kissing your neck, his hand moves up to your breast, the other down between your legs. 

“It’s easier if I turn around- “ you’re about to say, but Futakuchi interrupts you. “But it’s pretty hot like this,” he murmurs, and you feel him rubbing his pelvis harder against you, your own desire growing. With a groan, you lower your head, push your ass upwards and hear Futakuchi murmur. 

“Yeah baby, just like that,” he says, playfully biting your neck before kissing you on the same spot. You both want more. The mood is charged, when you suddenly hear the ringing of your front doorbell. You startle, Futakuchi also briefly considers answering the door. But opening the door with a erection in his shorts wouldn’t be the best idea, anyway. So you both try to ignore it, but the doorbell rings again. 

“Damn!” Futakuchi curses, stands up, pushes the curtains aside slightly and looks out of the living room window. From the living room, you have a good view of the entrance to the front door. His eyes widen and he looks at you. “Oh shit, shit, shit. Go on, say something. Something that really turns me off!” Futakuchi says, almost in a panic. 

You look at him in confusion before sitting up. “Kenji... what’s wrong with you?” you ask, irritated. But Futakuchi seems to be thinking hard about something to get rid of his erection. 

“I forgot that I promised my mum I’d look after my sister for the weekend. The two of them are just outside the front door...” says Futakuchi with a desperate smile. 

“W-what? Kenji! Oh god, open the door, these two can’t stay outside! Or no... wait... you’re not opening the door with that...” you say, pointing at his massive erection. “Go, go into the bathroom and wait there until it’s gone again. And then come to us. I’ll tell your mum and sister that you’re still in the shower,” you say, before straightening your clothes and heading for the door, when Futakuchi comes up to you and hugs you from behind. 

“You’re the best,” he says, kissing your cheek before letting you go. However, he can’t resist giving you a slap on your butt before he leaves. 

[lokisgoodgirl]

Measurement : The Rite (III)

A Masterlist for The Rite is HERE A Link to my Regular Masterlist is HERE Summary: (3) Loki gives you a taste of luxury, a visit to the Asgardian Weaving Crones - and his inseam isn't the only thing measured up. (w/c 3.9k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smuttish. Language. Loki being a tease. Ridiculous Asgardian lore.

‘I’ve never wanted anything so badly,’ Loki drips in your ear: warm, hot, desperate. With every impossibly calculated push of his hips, your spine arches off the bed: inch, by inch, by inch.

His lips meet the hollow of your collarbone with a hungry growl, like he'll eat you alive. ‘I’ve never wanted anyone so—’ You wake with a violent shudder, wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling. An oil of sweat covers your naked body, tangled in the sheets. The air is sticky, mind racing as you squint towards the window. It’s barely daybreak.

Noon, Loki said. The boy will come at noon.

Loki’s stone-faced apprentice seems unimpressed when you open the door before the second of his tiny knocks. It’s exactly midday. Not desperate at all, you think, as his lips form a thin line. He’s judging the neckline, you can tell.

“After you,” you say, forcing a smile. You don’t like him, and the feeling is clearly mutual. You catch the start of his eye-roll as he turns away and his silly little boots clack across the stone.

Shameless stares fall on the two of you walking the bustling corridors of Asgard’s court. Looks are followed by whispers. It feels…naughty - a tingling feeling that starts in the seat of your belly and seems to plump the ends of your hair, giving it a bounce as you walk.

You wonder what they’re thinking, seeing you led by the boy with Loki’s symbol emblazoned on his chest. You hope they think it’s something scandalous. And, maybe it is.

At every turn, you expect to see Loki standing in the middle of the corridor with his hands clasped behind his back; a smirk curling at his lip and the start of a hard-on in his ridiculously tight trousers at the mere whiff of your approach. But alas, it’s not to be. Just more stares, more whispers. They’re starting to get annoying.

“How much longer?” you hiss. He glances over his shoulder. “Not long, pipe down,” he says with all the enthusiasm of a bag of sand.

You stick your tongue out at the back of his head and suddenly his fist rises, a burst of blue smoke curling between his fingers. It undulates in the air, a ball gaining the shape of a small fist identical to his own. Slowly, one finger unfurls in your direction: the middle one.

Little shit, you think. But honestly, it’s pretty impressive. Loki's clearly teaching him well. Sort of.

Eventually, after passing through the courtyard and out the palace gates, he stops under a lemon tree. There’s a massive, bronze door cut into the stone walls with one large turret protruding from the top. Your eyes dart over the door, and then to him, and then the door.

“Well?” you ask, trying to be polite but the impatience bleeding through. This dress is pretty tight; your breasts look incredible but fucking Norns, it’s hot today. He gestures to the tree. “You have to bite into a lemon to open the doors.”

Your arms fold, eyebrows rising. “Be serious. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

His beady gaze drops down to the hem of your dress and back to your face. “Clearly,” he says. Your eyebrows rise further and you chew the inside of your mouth, reminding yourself he’s a literal child. He shrugs with a sudden burst of youthful innocence. “I don’t make the rules. It's some kind of test so they get no time wasters.”

“Who?” “The Crones.” No...way.

The Asgardian Weaving Crones are second only to the royal family in their legendary status. How many times had you pranced around in your aunt’s scrap fabrics from her sewing table, playing 'Ceremony' – inventing all the spells you’d have woven into the fabrics the Crones create with their famously nobbled fingers. The more nobbled, the more revered.

It's said the robes can make you more beautiful, more lucky, more fertile. Whatever you desired. Every piece is a work of art, cost more than a summer-palace in the hills, reserved only for the highest…highest…members of the court. I guess Prince Loki wasn’t kidding about the luxury, you think, eyes sliding to the plump lemons hanging over your head. “Just a bite?” The boy nods, and you reach up – pulling down the nearest one. He gives an unnerving smile of encouragement just before you bite into the peel, and stinging juice floods your tongue. A rogue spurt splashes into your eye and you yelp, dropping it on the ground. Through the burn, doubled-over, you see a fading wisp of blue smoke. Little shit, you think again, more violently this time. “What’s going on?” Loki’s voice is somehow everywhere all at once, smooth and heavy in the stifling air, falling like rain.

You squint up towards it. He’s hanging out a window in the turret, propped on his elbow with that smirk on his face. But no hard-on, you think. At least, not that you can see. Rumour is he’s always sporting at least a semi. Side-effect of all the mirrors in the palace, you figure. From this angle, his taut jawline cuts like an anvil, and his hair hangs apart from his shoulders as he cranes to get a better view. He's not wearing a shirt, and the temperature rises another few degrees. “Are you tormenting her?” he chides casually, and through the half-blind haze, you can tell the boy is squirming. The bronze door swings open from invisible hands, and you shoot the kid a withering glare with your one good eye before disappearing inside. The first, fresh waft of marble-chilled air hits like an orgasm and you let out a sigh of relief. “Come upstairs,” Loki’s velvet voice commands from above. You follow the spiral staircase in the direction of his soft laughter, skirts bunched in one hand, hoping your face isn’t as sweaty as it feels by the time you reach the top.

Ignoring the burn in your lungs, and your eye, you set your face in a mask of cool indifference totally at odds with the rabid excitement clawing in your veins. Long curtains of chiffon which ripple in impossible colours with each waft of breeze surround the turret walls.

Loki lounges in a chaise in the corner, loose green silk trousers slung low on his hips. One leg dangles off the end of the short seat, the other slung to the side as his laugh tapers and his eyes fix on you.

You swallow, unable to stop the rolls of your gaze up his exposed torso above the silk stretched across the bulge in his pants: pale, deep lines of muscle highlighted in painfully arousing definition as he brings a hand behind his head, raking those black waves back as he does it.

“Did he ask you to bite into the lemons?” Loki asks innocently. A solitary dimple crushes into his cheek as one side of his lip curls. You nod, mouth dry and knees weak. Loki sighs with a short tut. “He did the same to my brother. And what’s worse, my brother has been here before many times: he’s just an idiot.” You’re not sure if you should agree. It might be treason; you can never tell. Thankfully – that’s the moment you notice someone in a black robe hunched over at a wide table in the corner, laying out a selection of colourful fabrics so fine they seem to breathe. “Like what you see?” she croaks, wearing a matching smirk to the one Loki sports, just visible beneath a dark hood. You swallow, glancing between them. The two of them burst into laughter; the old woman’s hoarse cackle somehow twists perfectly with Loki’s deep, melodic mirth. Heat crawls up your cheeks. She waves a hand, brushing the hood down to reveal a shock of white hair plaited in a low bun, folds of tanned wrinkles creased in mischief. “Sorry dear, where are my manners? This one brings out the worst in me.” Loki scoffs, bounding from the chaise and crossing the floor in two long strides. He falls to his knees, gathering her hands in his own and places a gentle kiss on the crepey skin. The way he’s looking at her, the wide-eyed sincerity...it makes an unexpected lance of jealousy spear through your chest.

“And you bring out the best in me, my dearest Lagertha,” he says in earnest. “Still beautiful: inside and out.” She pulls the hands from his with a quicksilver grin, curling thick chunk of black hair behind his ear. “Mmm,” she hums, flashing you a wink. “At least where garments are concerned, I do my best. What you do in them, is your concern. Now, onto your usual perch.”

Loki raises a eyebrow and she watches him stand. The two of you follow the methodical shift of his muscular ass in those silky pants all the way to a small, raised block in the centre of the room. “You’re next, dear,” she says and you startle, realising she’s hovering at your shoulder. She turns her head fractionally, hiding the movement of her lips from view. “For now, take a seat, enjoy the show. Hmm?”

You shift to the same seat Loki occupied, still warm from his body. Spreading your skirts, it’s difficult not to feel the weight of the prince’s stare as Lagertha fusses around him.

And suddenly, the questions start. Loki’s eyes narrow and widen in perfect time to the cadence of your answers: hobbies, studies, the time you saw Thor fall into a well on his way back from a tavern. His laugh is music, as sweet and filthy as the best of your dreams – and you find yourself reclining on the chaise just like he was, a fist resting beneath your temple as you talk. It’s nice, it’s…easy. He's interested. And all the while, Lagertha works silently; the only indicator she’s listening at all is the covert smile that occasionally pushes her cheeks up.

“You have to stop making him laugh so much, the hemline will be askew if I get the lengths wrong.” “Nonsense,” Loki smiles down at her, before meeting your eyes again. “Lagertha has never put a stitch out of place. I have every faith in her.” “You’ve never had someone entertain you so much before…”

“I thought you’d have his measurements written down somewhere,” you say like the three of you are old friends. She pushes the silken tape into the hollow of his ankle, stretching up the length of his thigh to the bulge of his crotch. Loki shifts, spine straightening, and he shoots you a wicked smile that makes the pulse in your throat race.

You trace the angle of his chin, the sharp lines of his jaw, imagining how perfectly they’ll fit between your legs; only his strong brow and devastating eyes drunk with pleasure visible as he laps at your clit. A shudder wrenches down your spine.

“I don’t need to take Prince Loki’s measurements, dear,” Lagertha says brightly. ‘I’ve been fashioning garments that make his public weak for many centuries, I think I can remember an inseam.” “So why are…?” “Lagertha and I have an understanding, don’t we darling?” Loki tips her chin up with his finger and even beneath the heavy folds of wrinkles, she blushes. “Lagertha turns a blind eye to my family’s archaic demands of style, and we pretend that she forgets my measurements.” Lagertha meets your stunned expression, offering a self-assured shrug. “I may be old, but my eyes are just fine,” she says, winking. Suddenly, you wonder where Lagertha’s been all your life.

“What…demands of style, do they have?” You sit up, crossing your legs. Loki tilts his head, and you note his gaze drop to your lips. You wonder if he’s been thinking about last night’s kiss-come-dry-hump as much as you have, and as Lagertha loops her hands around his bare abdomen, pulling the measuring silk tight, he lets out a sensual, silent ooof that makes your pussy clench.

“My father and his ilk have very set notions of what ceremonial robes should be; you’ll be shocked to learn I don’t agree. In their eyes, we should parade ourselves in sack cloth and ashes—" “—Sack cloth? How dare you!” Lagertha screeches, mortally wounded. She slaps his thigh again, shooting you a look. “This one has a very specific set of requirements for his ceremonial garbs, ones that tend to highlight his…assets. Things which don’t concern the other family members quite so much – not even when Odin was a strapping one too." She sighs wistfully. "Loki likes the spells woven in to be just so: make it smell like orange blossom when the folds move, cape fluttering to a particular rhythm…that sort of thing.” I fucking knew it; you think with silent vindication. Loki looks down on her with adoration. “And you never disappoint.” “You should be more worried about disappointing her,” she jabs, nodding towards you. A sudden clarity settles in your stomach like a stone. “Wait, is this for our…the…Rite?” Loki looks up, impossibly beautiful; a slat of sunlight splitting the symmetry of his face. “You agree, then?” “If you don’t, I will…” Lagertha mutters loud enough for you to hear, and Loki snorts. “You know the stipulations, Lagertha. You don’t qualify, much as it pains me.” He presses a hand to his chest. “Otherwise, I’d have been at your door on my hands and knees centuries ago.” She slaps his thigh again, and then, they both look at you in perfect sync.

“I agree. I’ll be your partner,” you blurt without an ounce of doubt. As if it could have been any other way. Because now, as his eyes fall to your lips again and his tongue nips over his own; pulling the bottom one between his teeth like he doesn’t know he’s done it, you know he wants it as much as you do. Loki says nothing: a close-lipped smile skating across his lips and a regal bow of his head that his father would be proud of.

The next fifteen minutes passes in pleasantries and then, it’s your turn. You stand on the podium. Even in the strangely cool air in this secret place feels like hot needles; breaths growing short and heart hammering. The fucking…bodice, you curse as Loki’s expression hardens at your distress. He raises his hand, long fingers poised and his eyebrows raise like he’s asking for permission. You give him a small nod. He clicks them. The dress melts into a light cotton shift that blows around your ankles, and the relief is immediate. “Oh my…gods, Loki…that feels amazing,” you moan, head falling back. Lagertha shuffles at your feet. “Getting some practice in, good idea, dear.” Your neck snaps up, catching the back end of her sly smirk, before glancing to Loki reclined on the chair. He shrugs, picking at a bowl of nuts – his eyes are alight with amusement, and you wonder if he's always like this or you’re…special. Don’t think that, you chide. Don’t start being an idiot and actually falling for him. He needs you, that’s all. Just enjoy whatever this is.

Somehow, your measurements don’t take as long as Loki’s did. You’ve got a feeling that has something to do with the agreement they have. She creaks to her feet, shuffling to the wide table and notes something down on a scroll of parchment which reaches the floor. “Oh,” she says suddenly, patting the long folds of her black garb. One extra-nobbled finger rises. “I left something in the other room. Stay here,” she says, hobbling to the stairs. She glances over a hunched shoulder. “Behave yourselves, won’t you?” You figure it would be rude to follow her down the stairs to make sure she doesn’t fall to her death. Looking at Loki, you’re surprised to see the mirth dancing beneath his skin has somehow grown. “What?” you ask, skin prickling under his stare. The god’s dark hair spreads over his bare shoulders, the point of his chin lowered as he observes you beneath his lashes. Something occurs to you. “There’s only one room in this place, isn’t there?”

Without breaking eye-contact, without a falter in that low smirk, Loki nods. Just once. You step off the podium, wobbling a little. Forgot he took my shoes, but somehow you manage to maintain a sultry approach. Loki straightens against the chair’s back, a sudden nervousness flashing in his eyes. A silent conversation seems to pass between you. ‘What are you doing, little owl?’ his raised eyebrow says. ‘What are you doing?’ His legs widen, as if of their own accord. The forest green silk at his crotch stretches tight, an unmistakable bump rising on the right-hand side. You stop in front of him, and his eyes move from their level place on your torso to your face. ‘What are you waiting for?’ the flicker of his lips says.

Hands slide past his temples as you fasten one knee beside the thick line of his thigh – and then the second. You press tight to the crease of his hips, staring down at him. Loki of Asgard gazes up like the prettiest sub you’ve ever seen; but there’s nothing submissive about the slide of his large hands over the curve of your ass. The cotton of the robe he manifested for you is as thin as a spider web – but somehow opaque. You feel his touch like it’s bare skin; the lazy circles he’s making on the small of your back sending sharp shivers tingle across your limbs. “We must be very, very careful…” he murmurs, that famously stoic brow rippling in front of your eyes. You draw a finger down his cheek, cupping the angle of his jaw; brushing your lips against his. He sighs into your throat: shuddering, warm, desperate. Loki’s tongue feels like heaven in your mouth. Growls rumble in his chest as he pushes forward and pulls back in time with your body, completely in sync. Your hand creeps to his cock, fingers grazing the impossibly hard length of him. He must be eight…surely not nine, inches. Gods, what if he doesn’t fit. And then you remember, that isn’t part of the deal. He pulls away as your squeeze at the root, stark fear in his eyes.

“I know…I’ll stay away from the tip, I promise,” you whisper, catching his lips again. Loki melts into it.

His cock was made to fit in your hand – even the outline of it through the silk is like a legendary sword made for your grip. He palms ravenously at your breast with every work of his mouth, lips travelling to the curve of your neck and drawing his teeth over the supple skin they find.

The fact you can’t touch him…really touch him, somehow makes it even hotter; like you’re terrified virgins around the back of the stables. The other hand rocks you dangerously on his lap, and the sudden fear the thin fabric separating you both won’t be enough is very real. Loki’s thumb grazes against your nipple, pinching gently, rubbing in a way that shoots a lance of primal fuck-me energy straight to your cunt. Arousal tides between your thighs: tacky and warm and screaming for you to have him right here. You’ve never been more turned on in your entire life. You didn’t even know it could be like this.

“Gods, I want to taste you,” he husks through gritted teeth. Saliva rings his lips, and Loki’s head falls back against the sofa, back arching under the ghost of your fingertips trailing up the ridges of his manhood like it’s made of spun sugar. “Slower…Norns…I—"

His eyes fly open, pupils as wide and deep as fresh tar and his jaw slack. Loki’s hand flies to your wrist, wrapping it tight and pulling it away. His abdomen clenches as he breathes: slow, heavy, restrained.

“Did you almost…?”

The look in his eyes gives you the answer, and you can barely stifle the look of pride. You lean forwards, noting the shiver that tightens his thighs as your lips fasten around his earlobe. “Four moons, my prince," you whisper, bold as sin. He releases a low, ragged exhale that vibrates through his chest.

“I need to see you,” he says slowly, searching your face, “every day, from now until then.” You roll your lips together. “You said there was a feast?” Loki nods. “The night before – for the next two days, we can do whatever we want.” That smirk lights from its embers. “Almost.”

Your heart drops somewhere around your knees and you shuffle off his lap, shifting to the small edge of the cushion beside him. Suddenly, somehow, time is moving too fast; slipping through your fingers like sand. “Not that I’m…” -desperate- “…but, are you free tonight? Maybe we could go for a walk, or, something.”

Loki’s brows peak. It’s something he isn’t expecting, and suddenly you wonder how much of this charming afternoon has been staged. “I can’t, I’m afraid,” he says, lingering over each word like its passing quality control. “My brother-“ “-It’s fine,” you cut, forcing a smile. He’s a prince. Of course he’s not free, idiot. “Maybe tomorrow.”

At that moment, Lagertha heaves herself into view at the top of the staircase. Her face contorts in a staggeringly fake caricature of innocence. “Oh, I almost forgot you were here.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see Loki pluck a cushion from his side and place it on his lap. But Lagertha misses nothing, and her eyes slide to yours with a sparkle of approval.

“I’ll take my leave,” you say, standing and giving a quick curtsey. Loki calls your name as you cross the floor, but you need to go. You need to think – shake away these ridiculous, girlish thoughts in your brain before you embarrass yourself any further.

A faint glow of green colours your vision and you realise Loki’s magic has restored the dress you came in, and like before…it’s far too tight. At the bottom of the stairs, you press a hand against the marble; steading your breaths. The bronze door swings open.

“Ah, the jester,” a sneering voice craws. “Are you lost?”

You look up, locking eyes with Fandral. A cape slings jauntily over his shoulder: pale blue, rippling silk the same colour as the cloudless sky. His hair is particularly resplendent today, and as much as you’d like to kick him in the balls and run – he does hold clout. People like him, for some reason.

Fandral chuckles, and it makes your stomach turn. He paces forward, the tap of his heels on marble echoing until they stop in front of you. “May I offer a little advice?” he asks, in a way that says you’re hearing it whether you like it or not.

“Prince Loki likes shiny things, pretty things.” His eyes narrow. “He likes playing with new toys; the novelty, you know? I’m sure rumours of his appetites have even spread to whichever hovel you crawled out of.”

You open your mouth to call him a cunt but he raises a finger to his lips, eyes closed like you’ve interrupted the sweetest melody in the nine realms. They open slowly. “I will perform the Rite with Prince Loki, little jester. It will be my thighs shaking under the work of his regal, royal mouth. And do you know why?”

Anger, white hot and thick, curdles beneath your skin.

“Because,” he says with black delight, eyes dropping down to your feet and back to your face, “the pleasure of the subject is only one part of the ritual. You cannot possibly fulfil the second.”

He leans forward, and the scent of his cologne chokes up your nostrils. “But I can.” Fandral twirls the golden lock hanging over his forehead and stalks towards the spiral staircase. The periwinkle cape shimmers as he spins.

“I expect he didn’t tell you about that,” he says with feigned regret, pouting. It crawls into a shit-eating smile, and he offers a wink that makes your blood freeze.

“For him, you’re just a bit of mischief - best you know sooner, rather than later. You'll thank me...sometime. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a certain ceremonial robe to be measured for.”

The click of his heels ascending to the turret room fades as you tear gasping into the open air; heart hammering as you run; his words beating in your ears with every breath.

The Masterlist for The Rite is HERE Chapter Four coming Wednesday 10 July ❤️🕯️❤️ Tags in comments x

[dark-and-kawaii]

Okay but mean domestic discipline rolan spanking tav for being bratty and not doing her chores around the tower. I feel like you understand me

Anon I totally get you and my thighs are pressed together right now thinking about this!!! Mean Rolan is such a good side of him!!! We love mean domestic Rolan around here!!!

Content: NSFW - Spanking - Fingering

You knew you were a good cleaner, knew how Rolan liked all his things in a special order… How he enjoyed not seeing a spec of dust… How the tiefling would always give you that warm smile after seeing everything in order, thanking you for working so hard, and giving you that sweet kiss on the lips you always craved.

That smile, and that attention, it was enough to make the hard work worth it… But lately- for the past week, he had been ignoring you, keeping his distance, and when he did notice you it was always a dismissive gesture, a small grunt or sigh of displeasure, as if your presence itself annoyed him.

You couldn't figure out what you were doing wrong but you were done doing as he liked, not until you got the attention you so desperately wanted.

For days you hadn’t touched the tower, instead you lounged around, each day frustrating Rolan more and more, until finally one day he had enough, calling you to his main area in the tower, a serious frown on his face, arms crossed.

And that’s how you found yourself in the position you were in now, bottom exposed and over his knee, cheeks bright red.

You wiggled uncomfortably, face burning from a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, as Rolan scolded you.

“Do you know why you're here?” He asked sternly, and you whimpered, shaking your head- you knew why.

Rolan tutted, running a hand over your the handprint he left across your bottom, “Lying gets you know where, dear.”

You hiccuped, tears springing to your eyes, feeling even more ashamed that he had to point out how bad you were, “I- I really don’t know-“

Rolan cut you off with a harsh smack, making you cry out, “Ah~!” and jump, your eyes welling with tears, but despite the sting, your core heated, your clit twitching with need, a wetness growing in your panties.

“Not doing your duty as my little house wife, leaving the tower filthy- what would Cla and Lia think of us? Not only that but the tower is not the only thing that is filthy. Your attitude is absolutely wretched.”

Another hard spank to your ass had you bucking, his knee digging into your tummy, making it difficult to breathe, a choked sob escaping your throat, the heat growing hotter in your stomach, arousal growing.

Rolan hummed disapprovingly, rubbing a large hand over the red flesh, the stinging making you squirm, wanting more, needing more-

“Please, I-“ You choked, but Rolan shook his head, his hand slipping lower between your legs, and he made a surprised noise, “My, my, is this the reason why you've been misbehaving?” His sharp nail trailed the damp spot of your panties, the wetness making the cloth stick to your swollen clit, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine, “greedy for my attention?”

He pulled the material aside, exposing you to the towers cool air, causing you to gasp, the cool air tickling your cunt.

Rolan hummed in thought, his finger sliding down your puffy lips, teasing your entrance, spreading your juices along your slit. You looked good like this, maybe he should punish you more often. He brought the finger up to your mouth, shoving it inside, a muffled squeak leaving your throat, his dark gaze boring into your, “Clean it.”

You lapped at his finger, tasting your own arousal, swirling your tongue around his digit, moaning softly at the taste before Rolan pulled his finger away from your mouth with a soft pop. A nice strand of saliva still connecting his finger to your lips, breaking slowly.

He moved his hands down to your sloppy cunt, rubbing two fingers up and down your soaked slit, collecting your slick and pushing it back inside you. He slowly began pumping his fingers inside, scissoring them, making your back arch, your hips rocking into his palm, chasing your orgasm.

It had been too long since he touched you, and the fact that he was doing it now, after days of nothing, had you reeling, your core burning, clenching around his digits, “R-Rolan!~”

A loud smack was delivered to your ass, he was careful at first with his sharp nails, but he allowed his finger to curling against your walls, his nails barely scraping your walls making you yelp, his other hand coming up to cover your mouth, silencing you.

Rolan leaned down to your ear, growling softly, “You brought this upon yourself, you’ll sit here like the good little wife you are- the obedient one I married. If you wish to act like one of the whores at the brothel, I will treat you like one. I will have you clean up your mess with your tongue- do I make myself clear?”

His words shot right to your core, and you moaned against his hand, nodding eagerly.

He moved his fingers faster, the pad of his thumb pressing down on your clit, rubbing circles around it, your vision going white.

And suddenly his hands were gone, leaving you to flop uselessly over his knee, breathing hard, confused-

“This is your punishment.”

And with that Rolan stood, dropping you onto the floor with a small thud, his body kneeling down with yours as his hand grasped your chin, pulling you into a searing kiss, his tongue diving into your mouth, taking what he pleased.

Your eyes were wide with shock, and you reached up to hold him, to keep him from going anywhere but- A sharp pain ran across the back of your head, his hand gripping a fist full of your hair, pulling away from the kiss with a growl, a dark look in his eyes, making you whimper, “Finish cleaning the tower and I’ll see to it that I satisfy you when you’re done.”

With that he let you go, standing tall as he turned his back and headed towards the shelves with the scrolls while listening to you scramble to your feet. He knew you would clean fast, but he also knew this was now about to turn into a little game for the two of you. Knew he’d have to find new ways to punish you because he knows he’ll purposely ignore you again and you’ll purposely act like a brat once again. He’ll have to find a new ways to punish you.

[the-fiction-witch]

Lady Ayrnn

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Daemon Targaryen Couple - Daemon X Reader Reader - Lady Y/n Ayrnn (Blind) Rating - Sweet Word Count - 1167

I stood in the chamber they had supplied us with, and I felt the warmth of the fire against the left of my face. Feeling the stroke of cold leather gloves of my handmaidens against my skin as they dressed me slipping up the soft cotton stockings from my toes to my thighs and folding them over at the top, they guided my hands above my head as they pulled down the silk shift the hem settling just below my knees and my wrists, softly sliding my feet into the slightly pinching shoes. I gasped as my corset was slipped onto me and tightly laced around me having to roll my shoulders to prevent my annoyed face, and the cotton petticoats quickly wrapped around my now thinner waist.

“My lady,” Melina my handmaiden spoke running her gloved hands on my own,

I nodded and ran my hands over the underdress selected for me feeling the dark blue velvet, and slowly I felt it being slipped down over me and down to my ankles, next were silver organza sleeves from my wrists to my shoulders slightly scratchy to the touch.

I ran my hand so slowly over my favourite part, my outer dress a deep blue button with metallic white and silver embroidered birds and moons. I slipped both arms through it and attached the metal clasp at the front of my waist, letting the skirt flow to my feet open to expose the velvet below.

Once this was on a maiden brushed my hair and pulled it into an intricate braid setting a blue and silver headband on top, while the others gave my dress small adjustments before finally attaching my dress front to a large velvet blue panel with my house sigil embroidered on it, slipping it into metal clips on my outer dress,

I sighed when their hands finally moved away,

“You look beautiful my lady,” Melina told me,

“Thank you,” I nodded as I took my stick in hand feeling the craved bird handle in the wood, “shall we begin?”

“Yes my lady,” My handmaiden agreed and I heard the doors to the chamber open,

“Take my arm, my lady,” Melina offered,

“No thank you, Today… I must walk alone,” I answered tapping her hand before I began my slow and tender steps tapping my stick as I walked making sure to learn each stone I walked on as I made my way through the unfamiliar red keep.

I walked as best I could being tender and tentative with every single step, I held my breath as I heard the doors be opened,

“Lady Y/n Arynn, Heir to the Vale, the Eyriee and gates of the moon.” The guard introduced “Betrothal to Prince Daemon Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne,”

I began my steps making sure to keep my stick as hidden by my dress as I could even if I still needed it, my handmaidens followed behind me,

As I walked across the aged hall I heard gasps, whispers, and mutterings but I kept my chin high and walked.

I felt my stick touch the stone steps of the throne so I stopped and curtsied low almost to my knees but as I tried to push myself back up my stick slipped dropping onto the floor sending me tumbling down, I heard choked laughter from the others of the hall. But I forced it away and tapped my hand around the cold stone trying to find it, luckily I did. So I quickly got to my feet and brushed off my dress without assistance.

“Lady Arynn, your beauty proceeds you,” King Viserys spoke,

“Thank you, your grace. I am honoured to be in your presence and that of the Red Keep and kings landing,” I spoke up,

“Such a shame you cannot fully enjoy it,” He said,

I grit my teeth, “It is a shame your grace, but perhaps I shall enjoy elements others would not,”

“I imagine so my lady,” He said,

I heard heavy steps move closer and a callus hand stroke mine his skin was warm and even if his skin was hard and rough he moved it so sweetly, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you lady Arynn,” his voice thick with charm,

“Prince Daemon I presume?” I asked,

“You presume correctly,” He chuckled, “What gave me away?” “Lucky guess I suppose,” I blushed, “It is lovely to finally meet you,”

“Shall we go, speak privately?”

I nodded and held his arm feeling the leather of his doublet sleeve, as we walked I could imagine him dressed up in Targaryen red and black, his silver blonde hair long and well braided, he led me out to the courtyard and I felt the grass tickle my ankles, he took me to a small seat under a canopy from the sun we spoke of simple pleasantries until the conversation turned where I of course knew it would,

“... Forgive me,” he said, “I was unaware of your…”

“Most are not privy to it,” I admit,

“How much can you see?”

“I see some colours, some light, sometimes shapes depending on the light behind them,” I admit,

“But everything else?”

“Darkness.”

“I see,” He said, “How do you see me?” He asked,

“I don’t much, I can guess given what I have heard.” I blushed, “But… if I may?” I offered my hand,

“You may,” He said,

So I moved my hand to his doublet feeling the warm leather, stroking my fingers over the metal dragon clasps, running up his neck feeling the heat of his skin far softer than his hands, I ran across his jaw and up his cheeks being gently and trying to also be respectful of the man I just met as I trailed my fingertips and knuckles to learn the curves of his face,

“You see with your hands?”

“I more just… learn the shapes to visualize it in my mind,” I smiled as I stroked his hair noticing it was far shorter than I had imagined,

“And?”

“And?”

“What do you think of my face?” he asked and I could feel his smile against my hands,

I chuckled, “It… its very handsome,”

“I must say, you are very beautiful,”

I blushed, “Thank you,”

“All except your eyes,” He said,

My heart sank but I nodded my chin falling as I tried not to feel upset by his words, but his hand took my chin and pushed it up once more so he could better see my eyes,

“I think they’re gorgeous,”

“You do?”

“I do,” he nodded taking my hands in his and giving them a soft kiss, “The most unique eyes I have ever seen,”

“Thank you,” I smiled, “You uhh you do not have to worry..”

“About?”

“Our… our children it is not genetic,”

“I wouldn’t mind even if it was,” he said, “Then our children would be as beautiful as their mother,”

I did my best to hide my blush,

“You shall make a wonderful bride Y/n,” He cooed,

“I… I am sure you shall make a lovely husband Daemon,” I nodded, 

[leeyammie]

Wonbin def is a top but likes sucking stuff yk yk. He always teases the reader whilst practice or before a concert. And when they are alone at a hotel. Wonbin would def say stuff like “cmon. It’s my turn to get head..” and the reader has no choice but to suck him off

No One Got To Know

Warning: Minors DNI / NSFW

Masterlist

Pairing: Top!Wonbin Park x Bottom!Male reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 1,154 words

Summary: It wasn't the first time you and Wonbin insist on sharing the same hotel rooms butting in "your comfort" as a reason, except that this night seemed a little more special than the others.

You and Wonbin have known each other for ages now, and it wasn't anything for you to engage and partake in each other's sexual life. It actually became a daily habit for you two to sit in your room at night watching sexual videos while wanking each other off, bringing yourselves to your limits. However, tonight was a little different. You don't recall how things escalated that way but you do know that it all started by you ending up faced with Wonbin's proud dick in front you, it's rose tinted tip glistering with precum.

"What's the matter pretty boy? Are you gonna keep this big guy waiting?" Wonbin asked lifting your chin your eyes interlocked and forming a grin on his face. "Big?..." you thought to yourself, indeed, his "big" would be an understatement to describe his shaft. It had that nice, round, and proportional girth along which bulgy veins added to its structure. Having snaped out from your daydream, you grabbed it by both hands feeling its warmth and hardness. You then wiped off the precum leaking from the tip and smeared all along his dick. "You know if I wanted a handjob, I would have done it myself" he said looking down at you with those lewd eyes of his.

Having understood the assignment you leaned forward, sticked out your tongue and started running it all over his member. You couldn't believe that even his precum tasted better than expected. You then went back up to his tip again before engulfing his shaft slowly yet fully for the first time in your mouth. It went all the way back until it touched your throat, feeling about to gag. "Fuck~ It feels even better than any of the fleshlights that I've used before~" he let out moaning softly. You never pictured yourself getting compared to a fleshlight, let alone by Wonbin, yet for some reason you felt so turned on by his lewd comments that you wanted more.

You started sucking his member at a steady pace, lowkey enjoying the way it would twitch inside. "You like that pretty boy? You like feeling a meaty cock inside that slutty mouth of yours huh?" he started whimpering while matching your speed as he was thrusting his hips up and down, every time his small manly bush hitting your nose, which made you inhale his mighty musk. Eventually, you could feel how pleasured he got once he grabbed by the hair pulling his dick roughly in and out of your mouth, practically face fucking you. "Oh yes baby~ Keep on sucking it out~ I'm gonna be done soon~" And by "soon" it literally took him 5 seconds before emptying his thick, sticky and surprisingly sweet load inside your mouth.

As he got up standing, he grabbed near the bed turning you around. "Hop in all four bitch". And you didn't even think twice before obeying his orders. Looking down at your exposed butt he bit his lip before spanking it forcefully, the sound resonating in the whole room. You gasped at his touch while tearing up. You turned around amazed by the figure in front of you, there stood Wonbin with his shredded and sculpted body, holding his throbbing dick in his hand, "Binnie~ I- I need inside~ Please it's itching~..." you requested shyly looking down embarrassed to meet his gaze. Then, he caught you off guard as he shoved one his long fingers up your hole forcing you to whimper and look back at him. He leaned forward "I'll prep and fuck you so good you'd beg to ride this stick every night~" You'd lie if you said that you didn't feel hard almost leaking from his words.

Soon enough you found yourself generating muffled moans, gripping on the bedsheets as Wonbin was eating out your ass like a buffet to feast on. "Your ass tastes so much better than I've expected. Have I known we'd get to this I would have fucked you up a long time ago" he said as he took a breath from attacking you hole. Unconsciously, you replied to him "Then what is taking you so long to get inside me already~" You didn't realize what you said until you were brought back to your sense by sharp sensation of getting penetrated. Wonbin seemed to have gotten a little to excited and decided to get it in all in one go. He remained still for a minute allowing you to adjust to this new feeling.

"I'll make you regret those words fucking whore~" and he sure was a man of his word. He gripped at your hips tightly as he pushed himself in and out of you enjoying the view of your ass eating up his dick so nicely. He gradually started to quicken his pace, feeling the way his bulging veins would rub against your inner walls, sending shiver up your spine. "Fuck~ Wonbin slow down a little you're too big to handle~" you whimpered in despair as your body started to sweat out. Yet, Wonbin didn't listen, quite the opposite, he increased the force of his thrusts turning them into a rhythmic motion. "I. Finally. Got. To. Tame. That. Hole. Of. Yours. And. You. Want. Me. To Stop?" he said in a groaning tone after every single thrust.

He pushed you down further as he leaned down his own body, still maintaining the same pace fucking you into oblivion. He started to kiss your back praising how good you were taking him. "That's right~ Milk daddy's dick that you love so much~ You're taking me in like a champ big guy~" Those words only made your hole grip around his cock even tighter as if it feared feeling void again. "Eager to squeeze out that load inside you aren't ya?" He then flipped you around spreading your legs apart before cruising inside you again. "That's right~ I wanna see the way my cock makes you feel when it brushes that sweet spot of yours~" Feeling to lightheaded to speak you brought him closer to you, your lips crashing into each other. Yet, you couldn't hold yourself from moaning in his mouth and that only turned him on even more until he finally felt it coming, and so did you. Your insides got warmer, fuller, messier but you were feeling so pleasured that you gripped on his shoulders as he kept on emptying into you what felt like an endless amount.

As you rested your head back to take a breath, you found yourself carried up with your legs locked around Wonbin's waist and your hands wrapped around him. "You really thought that would be it? " He asked with a frown on his face as he carried you, pressing you against the wall. And let's say, you felt too sore the next day to even move a finger spending the rest of the day in his arms.

note: Hey! Hope you enjoyed the read. If you'd like to write about other idols or other themes where you see that my style would fit do not hesitate on sending them away! Thanks again for passing by! (I apologize in advance for any typos)

[artdcnaldson]

looove the patrick’s sister au where art is super mean to her but hear me out im having thoughts and behaving in ways

im gonna emoji sign this if i may just in case you’d like to enable me

alt au where patricks sister is just super super mean and unapologetic like patrick. think sarah michelle gellar in cruel intentions kinda. like fully a bitch and she has a craaazy corruption kink with repressed art

like mayyybee patrick mentioned art wanting to save himself for marriage or smth like that to her and her brain goes brrrrrr i need to defile him… maybe everytime arts at their house she’ll like flirt with him unabashedly… suck on lollipops while looking him in the eye… rub her ass against him pretending to reach for things… and her just having so much fun when he gets all red and flustered and hard :(

idk just some thoughts

- 🐚 (if its available)

This made me need to take a walk. Had to crack open a cold Diet Coke to address this.

But yeah :(( art comes to stay with you and Patrick a lot for summers and holidays since, y’know, he can’t exactly stay at his grandmother’s nursing home.

You and Patrick have lived in the pool house forever— pool house is actually a stupid name for it. It’s a guest house, two full bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a whole loft upstairs. It’s obscene how fucking rich you two are.

And he gets so squirmy when he’s around you and Patrick, but even more when it’s just the two of you alone. He’s been staying up in the loft, pads down the stairs after a lazy, midday nap. And it’s just you on the couch, watching a movie. It’s dark, maybe he slept later than he thought he did.

“Where’s Pat?”

You shrug, pat the sofa beside you. He sits, but leaves an entire cushion between the two of you. “I think he’s fucking the neighbor. The one with the cute curly hair.” Art flushes, ducks his head. You smile, showing off pretty teeth. “Aw… I’m sorry, should I have said he’s making love to the neighbor?”

“Shut up,” he mutters. He’s pink to the tips of his ears.

It’s interesting, you think, that he told Patrick he’s saving himself. It’s sweet, very… admirable. But it’s such a fucking waste. He looks so yummy in his flannel pajama pants and grey tank top that shows off his muscles.

“So, you’re a virgin?” You ask, turning to face him. His eyes go wide before his face twists in annoyance. He splutters out weak— what did Pat say— That’s none of your business— you’re so out of line— but you interrupt. “No need to be shy about it, Art. I think it’s… very cute you want to wait until your wedding night. I’m sure you’ll have a really riveting time figuring out where it goes.”

“Shut up.” It’s the second time he’s said it that night. He really needs to work on his comebacks.

“I can give you a hint,” you say with a grin, scooting across the empty cushion until your knees touch. “There are two main holes down there, and it’s the one that gets all slick and wet when she’s turned on.” He clenches his jaw, looks away.

You laugh and sit back, only slightly. “Aren’t you going to thank me for the tip?”

He turns back, eyes narrowed. “You’re not very funny.”

“Was I joking?” You trail a finger up his arm, give him a crooked smile. “Really, Art, it’s sweet. Maybe I should’ve saved my virginity for a nicer boy instead of losing it in the golf cart shed at the country club.”

He stammers. “You— you could always—“ he can’t even meet your gaze, it’s too humiliating. The smug expression you wear pins him in place. “Start now. Promise to not have sex anymore, not until it’s with someone you love. It’s— it’s more special that way.”

You stick out your bottom lip. “You think I deserve special?” You ask softly. He shivers as your fingers trace swirls onto his chest. “That I need candles and rose petals and soft jazz music when someone stuffs me full of their cock?”

It’s too precious. Too good. His cheeks flame and he sits back. He stands suddenly, doesn’t even look at you as he marches back upstairs. You grin and listen to the sound of the shower turning on upstairs.

You wait until you hear the scrape of the shower curtain closing to pad upstairs and sit outside of the door. A smug grin spreads across your lips at the sound of him jerking off.

All whiny, poorly muffled moans, the slick sound of him beating his dick. All, ah! ah! ah! oh, fuck! god— fuck! You can tell when he cums based on how pitchy and whiny he gets, and the way you hear his head knock against the tile.

You fight the urge to let him know you heard, instead you slip back downstairs. When he comes down, you’ve switched the movie, act like you’d never left at all. You can see the guilt in his expression, like he knew he’d done something bad.

God, he’d be so easy.

[cohldhands]

sebastian x new farmer!reader | sfw | seb and reader meet for the first time | alcohol mention (reader orders a beer), smoking (seb has a cig), gender neutral, no other warnings unless you consider this was written on my phone as one | i miss my edgelord husband and this demanded to be written asap so here we are. i will likely expand on this bc im thinking about seb and ****** **** and i gotta get from point a to b somehow (aka the warnings will come later)

when you moved to pelican town, you anticipated the dirt and dust. the absence of city noise, the waves crashing along the shoreline in the distance, the clean air despite the one corporation in town, even the eerie moans that echo in the forest. the ache in your muscles after working the land became expected, almost satisfying; you even started to enjoy fishing.

what you didn’t expect, though, was to meet a man like sebastian.

at first, you weren’t sure he even existed. robin and demetrius mentioned having a son, though you’d only met maru, and lewis was adamant you hadn’t met everyone. the ever-elusive sebastian became a whisper on the wind, a folktale the harder you looked.

until one evening you decide to visit the saloon. you’ve been here long enough, and gus invites you to stop by every time he sees you. what harm could it be? a drink at the local saloon would be a nice way to settle more into the community.

by the time you get there, it’s packed. pam is at the bar, her eyes heavy and cheeks flushed like grenadine. shane is in one corner, willy in another. clint watches emily dance on her own to the music coming from the juke box; robin and demetrius attempt to work as one, and it’s almost endearing to watch them stumble over each other.

gus greets you like any other customer, an excited glint in his eyes at the fact you’ve finally decided to come in. you order, and once you have the cold glass in your hands, you continue to take in the bar.

it’s cozy and small-town, with rustic decor and natural accents. there’s a short hallway leading to another room on the far end of the space, and the glow of lights catches your attention. as you walk through the hallway, you realize the light is coming from arcade games, and this area is a game room. a pool table, soda machine, a small tv, and a couple chairs and tables litter the space.

looming over the pool table is someone you haven’t seen before. raven hair, almost a deep purple in the lighting, hangs over an angular face. black on black, from head to toe; slender hands donning multiple rings guide a pool stick, nonchalant focus in his dark eyes. the blinking arcade lights reflect off of black metal jewelry in his ears and on his nose, and a cigarette is pressed between his lips. he makes his shot with a swift motion of his arms and straightens up, pulling a hit off of his cigarette, smoke swirling around him and along his mouth.

as he straightens up, his eyes don’t fall on the pool table. he doesn’t watch the path of his turn, or how the ball glides along the felt material into the intended pocket. they find you instead, trailing up from your thighs to your hips to your chest and finally, your eyes.

he maintains contact as he pulls at the near-dead cigarette. his gaze is hard to read, but it’s intentional, observant, with flickers of turbulence, chaos. oceans at midnight working to learn you without a word.

“hey farmer!” sam hops up from one of the dated armchairs, a bright grin on his face and pool stick in hand. “didn’t expect to see you here. you’ve met sebastian, right?”

“no,” you shake your head and smile, a small but warm notion. you work hard to ignore the flutters in your stomach from nerves, or the heat prickling your cheeks. “I don’t believe we have.”

[vicsy]

chalex / care ❤️

"Oh my god."

Alex hears Charles before he spots him sidestepping Fernando's ridiculous scooter, weaving through the Saturday paddock crowd and beelining towards the entrance of the Williams motorhome, which had just enough luck not share the fate of McLaren's. The weekend promises to be shit on a stick but something's gotta give. Alex is grateful for small miracles like the one he's currently trying to prevent from jumping out of his rather capable hands.

"Found him chewing on a plant in catering," Alex quips and as soon as he does, Leo finally wiggles his way out, leaping into Charles' waiting arms. "Little guy gave you quite a heart attack, yeah?"

Charles can't really respond, busy being under the merciless attack of puppy kisses all over his face and Alex can't help a smile, endlessly endeared. It's the cute puppy factor, he half-convinces himself, shirking his hands into his jean pockets. Charles yelps when Leo bites him on the chin and Alex's heart wraps itself in fondness. Definitely, it's just the dog, not the one enduring all the slobbering. Sure.

"Oh my god, Leo! I don't know how he got out," Charles says, breathless with relief. He tucks Leo into his chest and Alex notices how much the puppy's grown, no longer fitting in the palm of Charles' hand. Leo starts bumping his snout at the chain Charles wears around his neck. Alex stares at the picture perfect for entirely too long. "I almost lost my mind looking for him before you texted me. Thank you so much, Alex. You're my hero. This could have been a disaster."

"Well, I do have a zoo," Alex enunciates and Charles laughs, so bright and open, his face all scrunched up as if he's looking at the sun but that's just Alex is front of him. Just the little ol' him. "Solving an animal related crisis is sort of a given. So yeah, any time, mate. If you ever need any help, I'm your guy."

An underdog for your dog, Alex's mind provides and he bites the inside of his cheek.

Charles looks like a dream in a white, baggy t-shit and those abysmal jeans, holding a puppy to his chest like it's the most precious creature in the world. And it's a dream catered specifically to Alex, wired straight to his synapses, and his mind veers dangerously close to the pits of yearning. Every week is a losing battle as it is. Alex can't compete.

He kind of freezes, momentarily stumped, when Charles goes in for a quick hug. Which is fine and super normal thing to do, he's high on emotion, whatever. Leo gets inevitably sandwiched between their chests. Alex eventually figures his way back into the basics of human interaction and wraps one arm awkwardly around Charles, then places his other hand on Charles' forearm in a makeshift attempt at a barrier. The usual hubbub of a race weekend passes them by and Alex hopes to keep his wits about him while he's got 'em. At the back of his mind, he registers the press of something cold and wet to the underside of his jaw.

Leo's sneeze goes off like a tiny bomb.

"Oh, Leo," Charles sighs apologetically, rocking back and out his embrace. Alex doesn't mind some dog snot. He lets his touch linger, fingers tucked into the crook of Charles' elbow, next to Leo's tiny paws. "Thanks again, Alex. For taking care of Leo for me."

"No worries, Charles."

Alex wishes he didn't need to let go but they've got to race and he can't keep staring at Charles' lovely, mole-dotted face all fucking day. He plasters on a smile that digs into his cheeks way too hard and his hand falls limply to his side in quiet surrender. Alex wishes for unattainable and watches Charles head back to his team, to his red car, to the people who worship the ground he walks on. Before he disappears around the corner, Charles turns, carefully grabbing Leo's tiny paw, and waves Alex goodbye with it.

Alex wishes it wasn't just about the dog.

Send me a ship/character(s) and a one word prompt and I will write a 5 sentence fic about it.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - "Comeback"

Read Olympics AU "Beginnings" if you're new here.

AU summary: Paris 2024 Olympics. Gale is on the U.S. equestrian eventing team, Bucky is a U.S. gymnast, they meet on the plane to Paris, and a love story ensues.

Author's Note: This is probably not what @avonne-writes had in mind when asking for a massage scene (at least not the beginning), but I think it worked out anyways. We take a deeper dive into Bucky's story and what it took to make it to Paris, and Gale is a good boyfriend (Wait are they dating? Neither of them know)

---

The world loves a comeback story. 

They love to watch a star rise from the depths of a sport. And they also love to watch them fall. Like pulling out a bucket of popcorn to witness a train wreck – it gives them something to talk about. Something to lament. Something to circulate in newspapers and on morning shows and around social media for weeks. Something to sell headlines.

“A shame,” they say. “So much potential. Lost just like that.”

“He’ll make it through,” some say. “He’s strong. If anyone can do it, it’s him.”

“Impossible,” others say. “There’s no way. He’s done.”

They shake their heads. They send their thoughts and prayers, empty words. They say they’re wishing you a speedy recovery. And all the while they’re talking about what the future of the sport will look like without you in it. They write you off. Done. Over. Forgotten to time. 

Nothing but a name that once was met with such veneration.

But then, you set out to prove them wrong. Even when there’s only a small handful of people still holding out hope, even when those people are just glad you’re alive and couldn’t care less about your name, you put one foot in front of the other. You grit your teeth and pull every ounce of strength from the depths of your soul and pretend the world doesn’t matter. Pretend you can’t hear what they’re saying about you, about how disappointing it all is, about how there’s no coming back from a catastrophe like that — pretend you can’t hear those cynical, whispered words, even when they’re needling at your skin, trying to break through. 

And slowly, slowly, slowly, pretending the pain isn’t there, pretending your heart is stronger than you believe it is, pretending you never had a single doubt — slowly, you rise again. 

Like a phoenix from the ashes, except the ashes keep trying to pull you back down. 

Bucky kind of wishes the reporters would just shut the fuck up about his amazing comeback story. 

“U.S. gymnast John Egan seeking another Olympic medal less than two years after terrifying high bar accident,” the headlines say. 

“Incredible.” “Inspirational.” “Insane.” “Invincible.”

Those are the words people use when they talk about him. After the accident, he was “done for.” He was “hopeless.” They whispered his name and grieved his legacy. But now he’s “strong” and “unstoppable” and “relentless.” He’s back. And that’s the stuff a good story is made of.

“It’s hard to believe he’s made it this far,” they say. “It’s incredible that he’s able to do any of this right now. I can’t imagine how he does it.”

And it’s flattering, really. But he’s well aware of the unbeatable odds that he overcame to make it to Paris this year. He’s well aware of the courage and the strength and the determination that it took. He was there. He went through it. He’s the one that screamed in pain when the world shattered around him and cried his way through grueling physical therapy day after terrible day. He’s the one that nearly tore his sports psychologist’s head off when he couldn’t get past the mental blocks, couldn’t push through the fear. He was there. He remembers all of it in more detail than he wishes were possible. He remembers every gasp, every drop of sweat, every skill that he had to relearn, every landing that he prayed he’d stick. 

It’s all in his head, and he’s fought hard to keep his head on straight in spite of it. He doesn’t need it thrown in his face, too. 

But he’s learned to deal with it. He’s learned to smile to the reporters and answer their questions and move on. Because it’s part of him now, and he has to accept that. That’s the price he has to pay for living and breathing this sport that he loves.

–

It’s only the day after opening ceremonies, but Bucky feels like he’s been here for weeks even though he has several days of competition left. A big meet is always a strange limbo for him — feeling like he’s going at full speed, unable to catch his breath, even as he feels like it’s dragging on, no end in sight. That feeling has been worse this season. 

His whole body is exhausted; he’s used to that. His left leg is sore, though, like it has been at every meet this year. He’s gotten used to that, too; he’s not sure it’ll ever be 100% again. But he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. He feels too lucky, being here, regardless of how much of himself he poured into his comeback. It feels too fast, too easy, like he shouldn’t have gotten this far but instead should’ve been stopped at the gate, told ‘sorry, you don’t belong here anymore.’ He might as well have sold his soul to get himself here, and he keeps waiting for someone to tell him his time is up. 

He keeps waiting for his leg to give out. 

He checks his brace again, under his pants. It’s still secure, just like it was when he checked it two minutes ago, and two minutes before that. He shakes his head and curses the universe for assigning the high bar as his last event today. 

Bucky has had a phenomenal qualifying round, as have his teammates. John Egan, Curtis Biddick, Harry Crosby, John Brady, and Alex Jefferson: that’s the men’s gymnastics team that stands a chance of putting the U.S. back on the podium for the first time since 2008, and their qualifying round looks promising. Particularly between Bucky’s floor and rings, Curt’s vault and high bar, Croz’s pommel horse and parallel bars, and Brady and Alex’s ability to seamlessly fill in the gaps in any event, they look pretty unstoppable right about now. They just have to keep this going for the finals, and hope some of them qualify for individual events and all around.

Bucky and Curt cheer loudly as Croz completes his dismount on parallel bars. The team swarms him as he leaves the apparatus, patting him on the back and telling him he did an amazing job.

“Can’t believe you stole my dismount,” Bucky jokes. Croz had perfectly executed a parallel bars dismount that, in the code of points, was dubbed “the Egan” the year before Bucky’s accident.

Croz laughs and bumps his shoulder against Bucky’s. “You just wish you did it as good as I do.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and ruffles Croz’s hair, saluting his team as he follows their coach to the high bar. He’s the last athlete on their team to finish their final rotation. As he chalks up his hands, bounces from foot to foot and hypes himself up, his eyes skim over the crowd of spectators. It’s nothing compared to the crowd for women’s gymnastics, especially just for qualifications, but it’s something. It’s big enough that he shouldn’t be able to pick out a face unless he knows where to look. 

And yet his eyes are drawn like a magnet to Gale Cleven – and wait, what the hell is he doing here? Blonde hair and a cheerful smile, undoubtedly fresh from Versailles where Bucky knows he was riding dressage for the eventing team earlier today. He’s looking off somewhere in the distance, beyond where Bucky is prepping for his final event. But Marge and Benny are on either side of him, and when Marge sees Bucky looking up at the stands, she excitedly smacks Gale’s arm and shouts, pointing to the apparatus below. Gale’s eyes lock right onto Bucky’s, and he takes a deep breath before he waves and yells, “GO JOHN!” Benny and Marge even join in.

Bucky blows Gale a kiss, and he finds himself honest to god grinning before the high bar for the first time since before his accident. 

The world notices it, too. 

“John looks almost excited about this event for the first time since his comeback,” the commentators are saying on TV. The camera focuses on him as he steps onto the mat next to his coach. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like that’s… Gale Cleven? In the stands. Is that who he’s smiling at? The equestrian athlete.”

The other commentator says “I think you’re right. You know, they’ve been spotted together quite a lot in the last few days. Including at the opening ceremonies.”

The Paris opening ceremonies had been historical, as the first summer games opening ceremony to take place outside of a stadium. The night was straight out of a fairy tale, with colorful lights all along the Seine as athletes stood on boats that traveled down the river at sunset, spectators watching from the sides and from above. They sailed in a 6 kilometer parade that ended right in front of the Eiffel Tower. Some of the equestrian team had been spotted with the men’s gymnastics team on the U.S. boat, all of them orbiting around John and Gale, who were seen laughing and talking, always an arm slung around a shoulder or a hand on a waist. Social media, of course, has been going crazy over those photographs.

So if the media wasn’t interested in John Egan and Gale Cleven as a potential item before, well, they are certainly interested now. 

“John Egan has been very open about his sexuality in recent years,” the first commentator says. “So one definitely has to wonder if there’s something between those two.”

But Bucky doesn’t care about that at the moment.

He raises his arm in salute to the judges, and his coach helps lift him up to the bar. “You got this John,” he says, and then it’s just Bucky and the bar he’s determined not to fear.

He breathes deeply as he swings himself up and around, forcing his focus to narrow to nothing but this moment. No past. No future. Just now. He takes that with him into his first release, a simple straddle. Then he works himself up to a Kolman, a backflip with a full twist. Then a Cassina, the same thing in a laid-out position. The Cassina is the exact release that almost ruined his life. But today he completes it, and he’s on to the next skill, and the next and the next. He can feel his heart beating through his entire being every time his hands seek out the bar, every time he completes a skill and surges into the next.

Somewhere off to the side, he can hear Curt and Croz shouting encouragement at the top of their lungs, as they always do. He can feel the bar gripped beneath his fingertips, and the air rushing by with every swing, every release, every flip. He can feel the exertion in his face and in his arms with every handstand. He can feel the tension in his legs.

But then his body is flipping through the air, his feet are hitting the ground. He’s staring down at them, pressed into the mat with his arms out to the side. He’s done it. 

It’s only qualifying, so he’s far from done here. But he stuck his dismount perfectly, not even a step off balance, and his teammates are going wild because they know how much every little success means this year. Bucky salutes the judges before yelling “LET’S GO!” as he pumps a fist in the air and walks off the mat, where he’s greeted with slaps on the back and tight hugs from team USA. 

Curt and Croz practically lift him into the air in their excitement, and Bucky’s eyes catch Gale’s again. He’s right in the front of the grandstand with Marge and Benny, and they’re on their feet, waving their arms in the air as they celebrate this small victory right along with him. 

–

“Are you okay?” Gale asks later that night. Bucky has been quiet for several minutes now, rubbing absently at his left lower leg and knee as he stares off into space. It’s a couple of hours after qualifications ended, and they’re in Gale’s room, Benny having gone out with some of the other equestrian team members for the evening. Gale is sitting on the floor next to his bed, his back against the wall, so Bucky can sit comfortably on the bed. Damn cardboard.

Bucky nods at Gale and tries to give a reassuring smile that falters at the edges. “Yeah, my leg is just a little sore I guess.”

He doesn’t miss the way Gale freezes, just for half a second. The way his eyes flick to Bucky’s left leg, the way he nervously licks his lower lip in concern. Fuck.

“You watched the video didn’t you,” Bucky asks. He groans when Gale stays quiet, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “I should’ve told you not to look it up.”

He shouldn’t have let Gale search for that terrible video that has no business being anywhere online. That Bucky tries with every fiber of his being to forget exists because, if he doesn’t, he might be masochistically drawn to watching it himself. And that is the last thing he needs.

But they showed it on the news when it happened. The whole gymnastics world has seen it. Everyone who cares to watch it has seen it. The whole world witnessed his downfall in disgusting clarity. And with the Olympics now, it’s circulating yet again. 

It gives curious and sadistic spectators a front row seat to the moment that almost destroyed John Egan’s career. He was at the World Gymnastics Championships in the UK in November 2022. High bar was his last event; he was so close to a world medal. But then the unthinkable happened. His hands sought out the bar at the end of a Cassina, a skill he’s been doing for years now, and all of a sudden, the bar just snapped in half. Bucky vividly remembers the sensation of his heart plummeting in his chest, the air whipping past his face too fast too fast too fast, the stunned silence around him as if everything was happening in slow motion. And then an explosion of pain that made his vision go white before there was just nothing.

The video shows him hurtling through the air off of the broken bar, landing in an ugly heap with a crunch and a blood curdling scream that supposedly came out of his own mouth. His leg can be seen twisted at awful angles as he lay unconscious on the mat, crumpled like a rag doll, as if he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes that had been tossed to the ground. Everything was too still, everyone too shocked to move. 

Then suddenly the world remembered that it was supposed to keep turning. His coach, who would torment himself for months over whether there was any way he could’ve stopped this from happening, rushed to him, followed by Curt and Croz, who would rarely leave his side through his whole recovery. Medics pushed through them all, saying they needed space. They tried to wake him up, tried to find signs of life. They lifted his limp body onto the stretcher. The crowd murmured nervously as they watched, wondering if they’d just witnessed the end of a record-breaking career.

Bucky doesn’t remember any of that, though. He doesn’t remember anything between the excruciating pain immediately following his premature dismount and waking up, still in excruciating pain, in a white hospital room. He’d hit his head somehow during the fall, knocking him out for two straight days. It was a miracle, they said, that he didn’t have any brain damage. But the same could not be said about his leg. He’d fractured his tibia and destroyed just about everything in his knee that there was to destroy. 

The surgeon told him he may never do gymnastics again. 

He practically spat in the surgeon’s face.

Because Bucky doesn’t know who he’d be without gymnastics. He doesn’t want to know. 

“I would’ve looked it up either way,” Gale says quietly.

“Why? I knew it would only scare you.”

“I don’t know,” Gale admits. He looks back up at Bucky, his eyes worried. “Everyone keeps talking about your comeback. Back at the top again after a career-ending injury. They talk about how awful it was. I needed to know what they meant… I couldn’t stand not knowing.”

“You won’t be able to stand knowing, either,” Bucky insists, picking at the fabric of his tee shirt to keep his fingers from shaking.

Gale frowns. “I’m not the one that lived it.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and looks Gale in the eye. “I don’t talk about it much.”

“I understand.”

“It was… it was a long process. Getting here again.” 

And then Bucky does something he never does. He tells Gale about what it took, what it cost him. He doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s a need for Gale to know him, that same aching need that he’s felt the last several days. Or maybe it’s just a need for someone to hear this story that he only ever shoves down, down, down where it can’t hurt him anymore. 

He tells Gale about the pain – physical and emotional – of destroying your body and your career at the same time. He tells him about the physical therapy, the occupational therapy, the weeks and weeks he spent just trying to walk again. About the way Curt and Croz refused to let him push them away, how they stuck by his side and went through all of the physio with him no matter how insufferable he could be, no matter how angry at the world he got. He talks about the months spent with a sports psychologist trying to stop being afraid, and how he still talks to the guy sometimes to keep his head level when the anxiety picks up again. 

He tells Gale about how excruciating it was trying to train again, trying to get his body to listen to his brain again. Trying to push through the pain just enough to keep going, but not enough to break. And how utterly humiliating it was at times, being in his old gym with his Olympian teammates but being unable to perform and land skills that once were simple. He talks about how he felt so much gut-wrenching guilt at the thought of letting his late sister down, as absurd as he knows that was. And he tells Gale about how he bailed out in a panic his first several times back on a high bar, flipping into the foam pit that was mercifully below him. He explains the slow, aggravating process of trusting himself again, and accepting the fact that he can’t trust anything but himself and the people close to him in this crazy, unfair world. 

He doesn’t even remember how he got there, but by the time Bucky has run out of words, he’s on the floor with Gale. He’s letting himself hide away in Gale’s strong arms, which are wrapped tightly around him, one hand on his back and the other cupping the back of his head. He’s curled into Gale’s side with his head tucked against his shoulder, and he’s fighting to make sure he doesn’t start crying all over this man’s shirt.

After learning about how hard Bucky has pushed himself, how unrelenting he’s been in his recovery, a part of Gale wants to say please don’t hurt yourself. But he knows he has no right. He knows firsthand that those words are empty. When anyone says it to him, a quiet plea to be careful, slow down, he laughs and tells them that’s not how horseback riding works. He does what he can to be smart, be safe. But in the end, his control stops at a blurry horizon where Lady Luck begins. He loves his sport, and he knows John loves gymnastics in the same exact way. It’s who they are, simple as that. 

So instead he rubs Bucky’s back, whispers to him that it’s alright, holds him tight as if Gale alone can protect him from the world. He gently kisses Bucky’s temple, and when Bucky pulls away at last, Gale pats his knee. “Come here, let me try to do something about that leg.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him, motioning questioningly to his bad leg. Gale nods and makes a shooing motion with his hand. “Yep. Scoot back, let me see.”

Bucky does as he’s told, leaning against the bed frame so that his leg is in Gale’s lap. Gale shoves up the leg of Bucky’s sweatpants, and then there’s surprisingly strong, warm hands on his skin, working at the sore muscles in his lower leg and around his knee. 

“Oh fuck,” Bucky groans, letting his weight collapse against the side of the bed.

Gale smirks at him. “What? Is it that surprising that I can give a massage?” he asks. Bucky shrugs, and Gale shakes his head at him. “I’m a horseback rider. My body’s been acting like it’s 45 since I was 20.”

“I didn’t know it was that hard on the body,” Bucky admits. 

Gale laughs mirthlessly as his palm presses up the side of Bucky’s leg, damn near making him moan again. “It is,” Gale explains. “People who don’t ride never really notice how hard the rider has to work. How much stress and strain it puts the body through. Not to mention the way horses can throw you around like you’re nothing.”

“Have you ever been hurt?” Bucky asks. “Badly?”

“I have,” Gale says easily. He looks at Bucky with a wan smile. “Not as bad as you. But I’ve broken my wrist, had my fair share of concussions. I took a hard fall when I was about 18, right after I started college. Fucked up my back real bad. It was one of those injuries where not even the doctors were sure what went wrong, you know? MRIs showed what looked like a stress fracture, but it was strange for that to happen from blunt force trauma like that. I’ve had chronic back pain ever since. Couldn’t even breathe without pain for weeks. I lived on borderline dangerous doses of Advil for months.”

Gale sighs, flexing his shoulders like he’s trying to stretch out his upper back. “It still bugs me sometimes. There’s a lot of simple things I can’t tolerate so well anymore, or that I have to be careful about.”

Bucky blinks at him, tensing like he’s about to move away. “Then why the fuck am I making you sit on the floor?”

Gale shushes him and pats his leg gently before he keeps working at it. “It’s fine. You deserve all of this after today. I can sit on the floor for a little while, I won’t break.” Bucky gives him a skeptical look and Gale rolls his eyes. “Stop that. I’m okay, Bucky. Really.”

So Bucky relents, if nothing else because he needs the magic in Gale’s hands not to give up on him now. He’s curling his fingers, seething through his teeth when those hands hit a particularly sore spot, gasping when Gale sets to work on a knot in the muscle. “That’s- that’s really good,” Bucky grits out. “Keep doing that.”

Gale is watching him carefully, no doubt amused by the actually obscene sounds coming out of his mouth right now, but Bucky doesn’t even care. He just focuses on those perfect hands, those long fingers, so sure and so deliberate and so soothing, as they work up and down his lower leg. He feels like those hands might be able to single-handedly take away every bit of pain he’s ever felt. And the way Gale’s attention is so wholly on him is intoxicating and endearing at the same time. Gale Cleven could slap him in the face and Bucky would say thank you, but here he is, taking care of Bucky without a second thought, like he actually means something to him. Bucky really doesn’t have the wherewithal right now to sort out why that’s such a turn on. 

“I’m sorry I missed your ride today,” he says instead.

Gale shrugs as his hands move up around Bucky’s knee, his touch turning gentle around the fragile joint. “It’s not a big deal.”

Except it is. “I’ll be there for cross country,” Bucky promises. “Maybe even part of jumping before I have to get back to the stadium for finals.”

“It’s fine, John,” Gale reiterates. “I don’t expect you to be there. And cross country is boring in person anyways. Spectators basically stay near a single jump for most of it, since the course is so long. You’d see a lot more of me if you just watched online.”

“Oh I’ll be there,” Bucky says resolutely, even though he’s admittedly terrified at the prospect of Gale hurtling down a cross country course, flying over jumps on the back of a strong-willed animal. “I would’ve been there today if it didn’t clash with my schedule.”

“Maybe I’ll give you an exhibition ride sometime.” Gale’s fingers stop working at Bucky’s knee, and he smooths one hand down Bucky’s muscular leg.

Bucky tracks the movement with hungry eyes, busy thinking about what else he knows those hands can do. “I know you’re joking,” he says. “But I’d like that.” 

When Gale glances up at him again, Bucky is biting at his lower lip, looking right at him with such earnestness that Gale can’t help but blush. “Okay, we can do that.”

“You know.” Bucky glances over his shoulder at the bed. “I’ve been hearing reports that these things are sturdier than we thought this time around. They supposedly hold up well to… extracurriculars.”

Gale tilts his head thoughtfully, his eyes flicking from Bucky to the bed and back. “Is that so?”

Bucky nods, biting his lower lip, teasing. So Gale lets Bucky’s pant leg fall back down to his ankle again, and Bucky crawls forward until he’s right in front of Gale. In one smooth motion, he practically scoops Gale into his arms and settles him on the bed, hovering over top of him. The bed frame holds. Gale grins up at him, his hand reaching up to stroke Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky’s hand settles underneath Gale’s shirt, finding its home on the side of his waist where it’s decided it belongs. 

“Maybe I can do this for you sometime,” Bucky offers. “You know, the massage.”

Gale nods, his cheeks flushed. “Yeah. The massage. Of course.” Then he pulls Bucky down into a desperate kiss.

---

---

Bucky's injury is in part based on Brody Malone, who is making his comeback this year after suffering a similar leg injury off high bar just over a year ago. I am heavily rooting for him going into gymnastics trials this weekend! If you're interested in what a high bar routine is like, watch his amazing US Championships routine here.

(Gale's back injury is loosely based off personal equestrian experience ✌)

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

this is so deranged and depraved but andrei and one of those dick mold kits 👀

the idea is yours after andrei catches you using a vibrator that in his mind doesn’t measure up to the size of his cock

he fucks you deep into the mattress, muttering how his cock is the only one that can make you feel good, can make you cum, the only thing big enough to make you satisfied

after you’re in a totally fucked out state, andrei reminds you that he’s off on a two week road trip, leaving in a few days, and he trails his fingers over your still sweaty skin saying, “don’t even think about using that silly little toy while i’m gone. want you dripping for my cock when i’m home”

the next morning, when your orgasm haze is a distant memory, you realize what you agreed to. two weeks, no orgasms? no chance.

if andrei thinks only his cock is good enough for you, an evil little thought occurs to you.

you place the order and thanks to amazon prime, you’ve got your hot little hands on the kit two days later

andrei’s playing video games with neci, headset on and shouting into the microphone, when you dance into the den, kit hidden behind your back

he looks at your briefly before flicking his gaze back to the screen, clocking your mischievous expression and worrying just slightly about it

you wait patiently for him to die in the game, shifting your weight on the balls of your feet, bursting with excitement until andrei finally puts the controller down and lets the headset rest around his neck

“what has you like a…a…” he waves his hand in the air, looking for the expression. “jumping bean? cat that ate the canary? energizer bunny?” you supply options. “jumping bean works,” andrei huffs, furrowing his brow at the strange expression

“so you know how you said i’m not allowed to use my vibrator while you’re gone?”

“a silly piece of plastic isn’t going to make you as satisfied as i do, solnyshka”

“okay but what if the piece of plastic was as big as you are? contoured just like you, with that amazing vein on the underside?”

andrei looks at you like you’re crazy and then when you show him the kit, his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he shakes his head. “what is that?”

“it’s a kit, we mix up this gel stuff and then you stick, you know, your dick into it to make an impression and then i can pour silicone in there and tah dah! my very own piece of you while you’re on the road”

andrei’s deadpan. “no”

you wheedle and whine and complain that two weeks with only using your fingers to get yourself off is cruel and unusual punishment and at least he has his fist to fuck

andrei sighs and takes the box from you, studying it. you can see him considering it and you change tack, “obviously it wouldn’t be as good as your cock, not as hard and i love it when you cum in me, but it’s going to be better than my silly little vibrator. and! when you’re back you can fuck me with it too or i’ll suck on it while you fuck me…”

it’s that mental image that seems to send andrei over the edge on his decision. he nods, a little twinkle forming in his eyes. “okay, we’ll do it. but i get to be the one to use it on you first, yes?”

you’ll agree to anything so your head bobbles on a nod and you take the kit back, already skipping off to the kitchen to mix up the ingredients for the mold

andrei leans back on the couch, legs spread wide, lazily palming his cock while he watches you work. he’s more than half hard by the time you finish and he grins at you, “come finish the job, solnyshka. long way to go before i’m ready for that kit”

you leave the kit on the counter and practically dance over to the couch, settling yourself on your knees in front of the couch, andrei’s legs bracketing your body. you eye him hungrily, “i don’t think i’ll have to do too much work,” you grin

andrei shrugs, leaning back and draping his arms over the back of the couch. he gestures at his cock with one hand, “get your hands on me”

you don’t have to be told twice, leaning up on your knees so you can reach for the waistband of his basketball shorts. you pull them down, tapping his thighs so he’ll lift his ass off the couch so the pants will come down. his cock springs free from its confines and you snicker a little at the realization that he was going commando “were you hoping to get lucky later, mr. svechnikov?”

“didn’t have to wait until later, did i?” he asks, hissing when you brush your thumb over the sensitive head of his cock

you hum thoughtfully before licking your palm and wrapping your hand around his shaft

andrei’s hips buck off the couch and he groans at your touch, you keep stroking him until he’s as hard as you know he’s going to get, the head of his cock angry and red and leaking

for good measure, you wrap your lips around the head of his cock and suck gently, enjoying the way he groans your name and tangles his hand in your hair. you pull your head back and press a little kiss to his slit, making andrei moan deep in the back of his throat. “stay still,” you grin wickedly up at him

“i’m going to come in that silly gel,” andrei grunts, fingers gripping the couch cushions

“you can’t, not until it’s set and i have my toy,” you grab the tube and after a little gymnastics and a lot of giggling, andrei’s hard cock is in the tube, the gel leaking out all around the sides and over your hands while you hold it in place

he complains about the temperature and the sensation but you climb onto the couch and distract him with your mouth on his while it sets

after you take him out, he grimaces and rubs his hand over his cock to get the feeling of the gel off, bringing himself close again

this time you take pity on him and wrap your hand around his base and your lips around his head

andrei finishes in your mouth with a grunt of your name and he slumps back into the couch, spent

“thank you for your service,” you giggle hoarsely, dancing off into the kitchen to pour the silicone into the mold

later, when the toy is ready (a perfect replica of andrei’s cock, right down the the veins) he’s true to his word, using it to fuck you to a wet and fast orgasm

“god, wish it were hotter,” you whine around his fingers, stuffed in your mouth, “not the same”

it feels good, so much better than your other toys, but it doesn’t throb inside of you like andrei’s cock

“good,” he growls, “nothing but my cock for my solnyshka”

he ends up having you suck on the toy while he fucks into you hard and fast with the real thing

stuffing you from both ends and seeing you run your tongue over the replica of him, makes andrei see stars when he comes inside of you

definitely loves to get the videos and pictures of you using the toy when he’s on the road but always makes sure to remind you that nothing feels as good as his cock

[narcissablackbxtch03]

this is my first microfic so… here’s some rosekiller.

Evan did not wince as the blindfold was ripped off his face.

“What do you want with me?” he asked angrily.

There was no reply but before Evan could ask again he heard the unmistakeable sound of a match being lit. The single, bright flame illuminated the whole room, including the person holding it.

Evan smirked as he took in the messy green hair and dark eyes of Barty Crouch Junior.

“Fuck Ev,” Barty said, “don’t resist so much next time. It’s really hard to kidnap someone when they’re your own size. That’s why I tend to stick to children.”

Evan rolled his eyes and then he realised the rest of the room. He was sitting at a small table, big enough for two, covered in a dark green tablecloth and on it were two glasses, filled to the brim with blood red liquid.

It was almost mesmerising, the colour of the drink and Evan found himself leaning ever so slightly forwards towards it.

“Try it.” Barty sat down opposite Evan and gestured to the glasses.

Evan stared at Barty curiously as he picked up a glass and took a sip. It was intoxicating. He felt like his own body was on fire, flames licking his sides and dancing around his head. It was good… too good.

“You poisoned it.” The words came out of his mouth before he had registered what just happened but, strangely he felt no fear.

“You’re right.” Barty grinned.

“How did you know which one I would choose?”

“I didn’t.” Barty grin widened as he grabbed the other glass and downs it. “I poisoned them both.”

Evan smiled.

“See you in hell, B.”

“Race you there.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Three items

A note, tea, and a rose for Duke Crocker?

Tagging: @of-mice-and-mirth @bunnybarnes1917 @princessmermaid1289 @jeysbae @gatefleet

You wake up to the sensation of petals trailing over you skin, they tease over your bare shoulder and down along your bicep towards the crook of your elbow. You sigh contently at the feeling, your eyes flickering open to reveal Duke lying on the bed alongside of you, a pink rose clasped between this fingers.

He’s wearing jeans with a baby blue shirt with only two buttons fastened. His feet are bare and his hair falls loose across his features as he watches you with those tender brown eyes of his. The scent of the ocean clings to his skin, the aroma of salt and sea breezes.

On the nightstand steam plumes from two freshly made mugs of tea.

“You certainly do pull out all the stops don’t you?” You murmur as you stretch out amongst the sheets.

“Only when I want someone to stick around.” He tells you as he sets the rose down on the nightstand. You don’t have to ask where he got it from, you know his neighbour as a small garden on the next boat.

You shift into a sitting position, your back coming to rest against the headboard as you tuck the sheets around your body. He hands you one of the mugs. You take a sip from it before smiling because truly it’s perfect.

“You do make a good cup of tea.” You tease.

“I will add that to my list.” He tells you picking up a piece of paper from the nightstand before he settles alongside of you, his legs tangling with yours.

“You wrote a list?”

“I did.” He tells you as he smooths it out in the space between the two of you. “It’s a list of reasons why you should stay.”

He means with him, here, forever. He wants to show you that this was more than just a one time thing, that you belong here in his bed.

“Number one, I’m great at orgasms.” He reads out loud and you laugh, your head tipping back against the wall. “Both giving and receiving.”

“I think I may need more clarification on that point.” You inform him, setting your mug down on the nightstand and propping your head up the pillow. “You know evidence helps to prove the hypothesis.”

He smiles then, tossing the list aside as he drapes himself over you. His lips brush over yours as his firm body presses you into the mattress. He’s hard already, you can feel him through the denim of his jeans as he arches his hips.

“I meant what I said.” He whispers, his eyes fixed on yours as his thumb chases over the apple of your cheek. “I want you to stay here in Haven with me.”

Love Duke? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[goblinontour]

Spread Your Love So Thickly

alex is very needy, and ready…so he gets what he asked for

warnings: sub!alex, smut, fingering (m receiving), anal (m receiving), rimming (m receiving), unprotected sex, piv, spit, very porny, just porn, it’s literally just porn. and kinky.

word count: 4.3k

“Too tight?” you asked him as you neatly tied the material around his wrists. The decision was already made in your head. It wasn’t too tight, and even if he said it was, it wouldn’t matter. You still liked to ask, to make him feel a little more in control than he actually was. In reality, he was all at your mercy, just as he’d been begging to be all night.

This all started because of him, of course. Tying him up wasn’t a daily occurrence, but he’d earned it, so to speak. Maybe as a punishment, maybe as a reward. Perhaps both?

He’d been sticking to you all night long, breaking physical contact only when absolutely necessary. Most of the evening, he’d spent lying on his side on the sofa, nuzzling his face into your shoulder, your neck, your hair. He was breathing you in and leaving tiny pecks on the patches of naked skin he could reach, soft sounds escaping his mouth every now and then. And this would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the fact that your friends were also in the same room. Having Alex next to you, quietly moaning, wasn’t really something you wanted, given the circumstances. Especially considering how he was making you feel, completely blocking out whatever conversation was going on, all your focus on how he was tracing his fingers over your thigh.

At one point, he got up without saying anything, heading not for the bathroom but the bedroom. You excused yourself and followed him, catching up with his lazy pace and grabbing his throat the second you were out of the others’ view, alone, hiding from all your friends around the corner.

“What are you doing, Aly?” you whispered. His response was just sighing and giving you those irresistible puppy eyes. Well, not only that, but also pushing his hips against yours, making you feel the bulge in his trousers against your thigh.

“I’m bored…” he drawled, nudging his face into your neck again and rubbing his growing hard-on into you. “I want you.”

“I know, you’re so needy, aren’t you? Had to put on a show in front of everyone, hmm?”

Whilst your hands were busy around his neck, his own sneaked down to his pants, unzipping them and pushing them down so he could feel more, and so you could feel him better too. No doubt already leaking and tainting you, he arched his back and pushed into you, letting out a muffled moan at the way the textiles were rubbing against his cock.

Once you broke eye contact and looked down, you noticed just how much of a tease he was. Planning this out all along. He didn’t just have his usual boxers or underwear on. No, your dirty little boy had lace panties underneath his jeans all night long, and you could even spot the garter leading down to his stockings…the matching set he got for his birthday, for himself that is. He wanted it after seeing how lovely you looked in your lingerie, and as you were exploring more together, he became more interested in trying something like that out. And you loved it. He looked fucking amazing in it, though he only wore it when he was in a very specific mood, you’d noticed…when he wanted to get fucked.

“Go to the room.” you commanded.

“I want you now.” he protested, voice dripping with need.

You tightened your grip on his throat, your eyes narrowing. “Be good, or you’ll get punished.”

He pouted but obeyed, heading to the room with a sad little sway in his step. You watched as he took off his pants completely, his perfect ass adorned with the lace patterns bouncing slightly as he walked towards the bedroom. His long hair and feminine figure, with those thin legs, almost made him look like a woman.

Returning to the living room, you came up with an excuse for the guests, saying Alex was feeling sick. They quickly understood and began to leave, offering their well-wishes. Once the last guest was out the door, you locked it and turned towards the bedroom.

When you joined him in the bedroom, you found him splayed out on the bed, one arm thrown above his head while the other was used to touch his cock. He was almost petting it with light touches through the lingerie, his eyes half-lidded with lust.

“Look at you.” you murmured, moving towards the bed, the anticipation thick between you. “Such a pretty little thing, all ready and waiting for me.”

He responded only with a sigh, murmuring soft, needy sounds. His eyes fluttered closed, and his breath hitched, but he didn’t speak.

You raised an eyebrow, stopping just short of the bed. “What’s wrong, Aly? Cat got your tongue?”

He let out another breathy moan, his fingers trembling as they grazed his cock through the delicate lace. His hips lifted slightly, as if to emphasise his need, but still, he said nothing.

“If you’re going to act like that,” you said, your tone turning stern, “then you can touch yourself. I’m not going to reward you if you can’t even ask for it.”

A flicker of frustration crossed his face, but the overwhelming desire in his eyes made him comply. He pushed the panties to the side, just enough to free his cock from its confines. His movements were desperate yet deliberate, his fingers travelling lower, past his balls, down to that sensitive patch of skin, all the way to his ass. He teased himself around the rim, his whole body shivering from the touch. He arched his back like a cat, every muscle taut with need. His soft whimpers grew louder, his chest heaving with each breath.

One hand came up, while the other kept the lace pulled aside, and he brought two fingers to his mouth, sucking on them with a lewd, wet sound. His eyes closed, putting on a show just for you. When he pulled them away, they were so wet that a trail of saliva still connected them to his lips before he went back down and eased one finger inside his hole.

You watched intently as his body responded to the intrusion. His finger slowly breached his tight entrance, the muscle giving in reluctantly at first but then greedily pulling him in. Each push and pull of his digit was slick, the wetness pooling and dripping down, making the sight even more erotic. His legs, clad in sheer black stockings, looked stunning. Taut and elegant, yet trembling with need at every movement.

His eyes rolled back at the sensation, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips. The sight of him was so dirty, so utterly captivating, that it turned you on even more. His body was a picture of seduction, his movements so wanton and desperate.

He wasn’t satisfied with just one finger. You saw the frustration in his eyes, the need for more. He pushed another in, the strain visible as his body tensed, arching beautifully as he adjusted to the intrusion. His moans grew louder, more desperate, as he struggled to find that one spot. When he finally did, his back lifted off the bed, his inner thighs flexing with each thrust, the muscles there making him look bigger now from the way he was writhing on the bed. His legs looked truly beautiful in those sheer black stockings, taut and defined, and adding to the visual appeal, the lace garters clung to his skin, pinching him in places.

You could see his spit had dried up by now, but he needed it so bad he didn’t care if it hurt. He pushed another one in, making him gasp, his body jerking from the pressure of the stretch. The raw, aching need in his eyes was palpable as he continued to finger himself with those three fingers, pushing them as deep as he could. He raised one of his legs up in the air to get a better angle, the movement making the muscles in his legs and ass clench and release in a mesmerising rhythm. His fingers moved faster, pushing even deeper.

You could see the struggle and the pleasure on his face as he worked that perfect spot inside. The sight of him, so needy and vulnerable, was almost too much to bear. His trembling fingers, the arch of his back, the sheer stockings clinging to his legs, mixed with his whimpers and moans did it for you.

You couldn’t resist anymore. Seeing him like this, a beautiful, filthy mess, was too much. You moved closer, your own desire igniting as you watched him fall apart. His body was a picture of desperate want, every movement designed to drive you wild. You needed to touch him, to feel him, ready to give him what he so desperately needed, to make him fall apart completely.

Gently, you reached out and took his wrist in your hand, slowly stopping his thrusting fingers. He whimpered in protest but didn’t resist. You pulled his fingers out, bringing them to your mouth and sucking them dry, tasting his musky sweetness. His eyes widened as he watched you, his breath hitching with every movement of your lips and tongue.

With deliberate slowness, you detached the clasps that connected his panties to the stockings, the soft sound of the snaps making him shiver. You dragged your fingers down his legs as you took off his underwear, the touch teasing and light, sending shivers through his already over-sensitive skin. When you reached his feet, you pulled the panties completely off and brought them back up to his face. He looked surprised at first as you stuffed them into his mouth, but then he closed his eyes, a soft moan escaping around the fabric. The lace felt strange against his tongue, slightly rough yet intoxicating. It made him feel incredibly vulnerable, unable to speak, exactly what he wanted. To be completely at your mercy.

You started by teasing him, dragging a finger from his ass up the soft, plush skin at the base of his cock. He squirmed, trying to push against your hand for more contact, but you kept your movements slow, torturing him with anticipation. As you continued to drag your finger up the length of his cock, you could see him straining, his body arching off the bed. Just as you reached the tip, you retreated completely, denying him the touch he craved the most.

You went back down to his balls, touching them delicately at first. His body reacted instantly, a shiver running through him, his whimpers muffled by the panties in his mouth. Every touch made him twitch, the sensitivity almost too much to bear. Without warning, you squeezed them hard in your hands, making him moan loudly, his back arching off the bed. His eyes were wide with surprise, the pain mixing with pleasure in a way that left him breathless.

You then took them into your mouth one by one, rolling them with your tongue, biting gently on the thin skin occasionally. Each time your teeth grazed him, he gasped, the sound raw and desperate. His body was trembling, every nerve on fire, the sensation of your mouth on him driving him wild.

You could feel his desperation, his need for more, but you took your time, savouring the control you had over him. You were going to give him everything he craved, one slow, torturous touch at a time.

You suddenly got up, and Alex's eyes flew open, his legs kicking in protest. He didn't want you to leave him, not now, not when he was so close to losing himself in the pleasure you were giving him. But you were undeterred. You walked over to the dresser, pulling open the drawer and grabbing what you needed. For now, you just waved the cock ring in the air, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. He moaned, the sound muffled by the lace panties in his mouth. The thought of what was to come both excited and terrified him. He knew it would feel amazing, but it would also be painful to some degree.

You returned to the bed, sitting back down between his legs. His eyes were fixed on you, wide with anticipation. You took the ring and wrapped it around his balls instead of its intended purpose. It was tight, so tight, constricting the delicate skin and making him gasp. The sensation was intense. The ring bit into his flesh, squeezing his balls in a way that was both painful and incredibly arousing. Every slight movement made him acutely aware of the tightness, the pressure building as his arousal grew. His cock twitched, and it felt swollen, heavy with need, the constriction amplifying every pulse of desire that coursed through him. The tightness made him hyper-aware of every touch, every brush of your fingers against his skin. It was a constant reminder of his submission.

You reached out and touched his cock, but instead of taking it into your hand properly, you left it to sit on his tummy. His breath hitched as you pulled down, revealing the red, swollen, hot tip. It glistened with a mixture of precum and sweat, the skin smooth and taut, the sensitivity making him shiver.

The sight of his exposed head was intoxicating, a deep, angry red that contrasted starkly with the pale skin around it. Every vein stood out, pulsing with his rapid heartbeat. You could see the tight band of foreskin stretched at the base of the head, and you couldn't resist running a finger lightly along the ridge, making him whimper.

You continued by scratching his tip lightly with your nails. The sensation wasn’t painful, but the sheer sensitivity of the spot lit him on fire. He gasped, his body tensing, the feeling almost too intense. The edges of your nails on the head of his cock were like electric shocks, and he couldn’t stop leaking, the clear fluid spilling out and making a mess all over his tummy.

You kept rubbing circles on the head, your movements slow and deliberate. Occasionally, you slid your fingers under the foreskin, the smooth, slick skin making him moan loudly. The sensation was overwhelming, the wet warmth of your fingers combined with the tightness around his balls creating a perfect storm. His cock twitched and jerked with each touch, more precum dribbling out and pooling on his abdomen.

When you finally took his cock in your hand, wrapping your fingers around it, he moaned, the sound deep and desperate. It felt so good, the warmth of your hand a welcome relief from the teasing. You squeezed gently, feeling the hardness, the heat, and he thrust into your hand, seeking more.

You went back to pay attention to the head, pushing on it, squeezing it between your fingers. Each squeeze pushed out even more of the thick, clear precum, letting it drip into the pool that had already formed on his tummy. Your fingers on his tip, pressing and rubbing, made feel every ridge and bump of your skin, every movement amplified by the tightness, the restriction. His breathing grew ragged around the lace, his body trembling with a mix of pain and pleasure, making his muscles tense and his toes curl. He felt like he was on the edge, every nerve ending on fire, every touch pushing him closer to the brink. His entire body was a live wire.

“You’re not going to get fucked.” you said, a wicked smile playing on your lips. “I want to ride your cock.”

He spit out the panties, struggling against the tightness. “No, please, I need you now.” he begged, his voice desperate.

You frowned at his protest. “If you’re going to act like that, I’ll have to tie you up. You’re going to do whatever I want.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t resist as you tied his hands to the headboard using the lace panties.

“You’re ruining them.” he muttered, his voice a mix of brattiness and annoyance.

You shook your head, your smile turning into a smirk. “I’m not here to ruin anything else other than you.” you said, and the words made him go all submissive again, his defiance melting into compliance.

You went back to the drawer and came back with lube in one hand and a vibrating dildo in the other. It was your special toy, one he was not allowed to use and never had before, not even on you. His eyes followed you as you climbed back onto the bed, watching intently as you started teasing yourself with the vibrator, without even turning it on. You dragged it from your hole, sliding the wetness around all the way up to your clit and teasing yourself, circling it slowly.

Then you took the lube, squeezing some onto the tip before positioning it at his entrance. His breathing quickened as he felt the smooth, cool object being pressed against him. The dildo slid in easily, thanks to how thoroughly he had stretched himself with his fingers earlier. The sensation of the smooth toy pushing into him was overwhelming. It filled him in a way his fingers couldn’t, the hard surface rubbing against his sensitive inner walls, making him moan.

You started to move the dildo in and out, slowly at first, watching his reactions. His body responded immediately, arching off the bed, his muscles tensing with each thrust. The tightness around his balls and the restriction of his bound hands heightened every sensation, making him feel everything more intensely.

The feeling of the dildo fucking him was indescribable. It was different from anything he had experienced before, the material pressing against his most sensitive spots with each movement. The slickness of the lube made it glide effortlessly, but the girth and length of the toy stretched him in ways that had him gasping, his cock leaking even more onto his abdomen.

You watched him closely, enjoying the sight of him writhing beneath you, completely at your mercy. The way his body moved, the sounds he made, all of it drove you wild. You played with him like that for a while, fucking him with the dildo, each thrust eliciting louder and more desperate moans from him. He was a beautiful, needy mess, and you loved every second of it.

You pushed the dildo all the way inside him, leaving only the very base visible, and his body tensed as he felt the toy stretch him, filling him completely.

You moved to straddle him, positioning yourself so his cock was at your entrance. Leaning down, you captured his lips in a deep, hungry kiss, and as you slowly sank down onto his cock, you turned on the vibration of the toy.

The shock of the vibrations, combined with the sensation of entering your tight, wet heat, made him gasp into your mouth. His body was overwhelmed by the dual sensations, his mind barely able to process the intensity.

Being fucked by the vibrating dildo while his cock was enveloped in your warmth was just- Fuck. There was only so much he could take. The feeling was indescribable. The vibrations from the toy sent waves of pleasure radiating through his body, each pulse amplifying the feeling of your pussy squeezing around his cock. The intensity was so overwhelming that he could hardly think, only able to feel what was happening to him.

His cock throbbed inside you, the heat and tightness of your body driving him wild. He couldn't do anything other than move his hips to keep the toy from slipping out, each thrust driving the dildo deeper inside him and making the vibrations press harder against his prostate.

He wanted to touch you so badly. Your breasts were bouncing right in front of him with each movement, tantalisingly close yet completely out of reach. His hands strained against the bindings, desperate to feel your skin, to squeeze and knead your breasts, but he was helpless. The frustration only added to his arousal, making him moan louder, his voice broken by the never ending gasps.

You rode him with a steady, unrelenting pace, each descent taking him deeper inside you, your walls squeezing him tightly. The vibrations of the toy inside him seemed to sync with the movements of your body, creating a rhythm that pushed him closer and closer to the edge, but he couldn’t find his release due to how you had him restricted, he could only cum when you’d allow him. His body trembled, his muscles taut with tension, every thrust and vibration sending him spiralling. You could see the struggle and the pleasure on his face, his eyes half-lidded with lust, his breathing ragged.

You began to touch your clit with your fingers, your rhythm quickly increasing in pace. Your breaths became shallow, your moans louder as you chased your release. The sight of Alex beneath you, so desperate and helpless, only added to it, pushing you over the edge.

You came hard, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your fingers circled your clit faster and faster, riding out every last tremor of your orgasm. You steadied yourself with your hands on Alex's chest, feeling his heart race beneath your palms. The intensity of it left you breathless, but you revelled in the power you had over him.

Before you even caught your breath, Alex started begging, his voice delirious and broken.

"Please, please, let me cum. I can't take it anymore." he pleaded, his words a jumbled mess from how clouded his mind was with need. The toy still vibrated inside him, amplifying his desperation.

"Maybe you won't get to cum at all." you teased, watching the despair in his eyes. He continued begging, his pleas growing more pathetic and desperate. You had never intended to deny him, but seeing him like this was incredibly satisfying.

You finally relented, sliding off his cock, leaving it still rock hard. You got on your knees between his legs, wrapping your hands around his throbbing length. You gave him a few teasing tugs before removing the ring from around his balls, swollen and red, almost purple from the prolonged restraint. The immediate relief he felt was palpable, a low groan escaping his lips.

You began to stroke him more quickly now, your hands moving up and down his length firmly. His cock visibly throbbed, the veins standing out as his orgasm built. He sucked in his tummy from the intensity, his ribs showing from the way he arched his back, and his release hit him so hard, his entire body tensing as he came.

"Fuck- fuck." he cursed, his voice hoarse and broken.

So much cum spurted from his cock, painting his tummy and chest in thick, white ropes. His orgasm seemed to last forever, his body shaking with each spasm.

When the intensity became too much, the overstimulation driving him wild, he began to writhe beneath your touch, trying to push you away. But you kept going, determined to milk every last drop from him.

"Good boy," you whispered, your voice soft and encouraging, “You're doing so well."

Finally, when he was spent, you slowed your movements and turned off the vibrator, his body shuddering with the aftershocks of his release. He lay there, completely exhausted, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, proud of how well he had taken everything.

You wiped the cum from his body with your finger, making him shiver as the touch tickled his sensitive skin. Alex was so lost and spent that he didn't even realise what you were doing until he felt you taking out the toy. The emptiness was immediate and intense, a profound sense of loss as he felt himself gaping, his hole still pulsing from everything.

Watching his hole, still twitching and open, you couldn't resist. You pushed your cum-covered fingers inside of him, making him gasp. The sensation of his own cum being pushed back into his body was overwhelming, and he shivered uncontrollably. Leaning down, you licked around the rim, your tongue teasing the sensitive skin, making him jerk and his hole spasm under your touch. The cum leaked back out, right onto your tongue, the taste salty and musky.

Satisfied he had enough, you decided to have some mercy on him and stopped, moving back up to kiss him. Alex responded eagerly, wanting to feel you close. He didn't realise at first, but you still had his cum on your tongue. As the kiss deepened, he felt it flow onto his own tongue, shocking him at first, but then he hummed in pleasure at the taste, accepting it.

You then untied his hands, letting him wrap them around you at last. Alex turned you over so he was on top, his eyes filled with a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. "I feel…used." he admitted, his voice soft.

“I’m sorry, Al, did I go too far? I would’ve stopped if I’d known…”

"No… liked it…I just need you to hold me.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, and your heart ached with tenderness.

"Of course, baby.” you said gently, wrapping your arms around him. "You did so well. I'm so proud of you. I'm here for you, always."

He melted into your embrace, holding you tightly as he buried his face in your neck. You held him close, your hands soothingly rubbing his back, offering him the comfort and reassurance he needed. The intensity of the moment faded, leaving him soft in your arms, so vulnerable.

a/n: uhm…i feel like this turned out a bit cynical but i had those things i wanted to ‘explore’ let’s say. i mean in my head it all makes sense i hope it translates. also i had this alternative cover, but i decided to keep the collage style for just the series bits. the second picture is what inspired it.

tags: @4chaos @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @ohladymoon @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @menace-to-the-devil @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @feyasgotgroove @aacheinthejaw @hellcatshalalalaa @zayndrider @humbuginmybones