#kind of fucked up of him to make me feel like this

[enhaflixer]

ENHA HARD HOURS: reaction to you tying them up. bf!enhypen x f!reader cw (18+ MDNI) : bondage, nippleplay, overstim, degradation, facesitting, cockslapping, humiliation, crying big fat tears, swearing so explicit no words for my ovulation demon fic obvs

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

Heeseung thought this would be easy.

When you straddled his hips and secured the restraints around his wrists, he just grinned, stretching his arms like he was comfortable, like this was just a fun little game that he was going to win.

“Damn, baby,” he chuckled, smirking up at you. “You really wanna keep me in place that bad?”

But now?

Now, Heeseung isn’t smirking anymore.

He’s panting, his chest heaving, his wrists straining against the restraints because he desperately, desperately needs to touch you. But he can’t. He’s completely at your mercy, and fuck, it is killing him.

His cock is already so hard it hurts, flushed deep red, thick and leaking, the veins along the shaft standing out with every desperate pulse. It’s long, perfectly curved, the kind of dick that feels dangerous—one that stretches you so deep it makes your legs shake every time.

It’s twitching in anticipation, the swollen tip glistening, because you’re kneeling between his legs, your hands wrapped around the base, and Heeseung is fucking dying.

“F-fuck, baby,” he breathes, his voice wrecked, his head pressing back against the pillows. “Please—”

You hum, tilting your head as you drag your thumb over his slit, spreading the wetness, watching the way his thighs clench in response.

“You’re already shaking,” you murmur, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to his tip.

Heeseung lets out a helpless little whimper, his lip trembling, his eyes fluttering closed as he tugs at the restraints again.

“I—fuck, I can’t,” he gasps. “Let me touch you—please, baby, please—”

You just grin, your breath hot against his aching cock, before you finally wrap your lips around him—slow, wet, torturously soft.

He whines.

Like, full-body tremble, desperate, broken fucking whines.

“Ohhh, f-fuck, baby—”* His voice shakes, his head lolling to the side, his mouth falling open, his brows furrowing tight in pleasure.

You take him deeper, your tongue dragging along the underside, your throat tight around him, and Heeseung lets out a wrecked sob, his hips jerking up involuntarily.

“Shit—s-shit, I—” His fingers curl tight in the restraints, his muscles locking up, his face a perfect mix of agony and bliss as he tries so fucking hard not to come already.

His Adam’s apple bobs, his jaw clenching, his eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to keep his eyes on you, watching the way your lips stretch around his cock, the way your tongue flicks so perfectly over his slit.

“Oh my f-fucking god,” he gasps, his whole body jerking, his thighs trembling hard.

You pull off with a slow, wet pop, licking the tip, smirking as his hips twitch beneath you.

“You look so good like this, baby,” you murmur, letting your tongue drag over the thick vein along his shaft, savoring the way his abs clench tight in response.

Heeseung lets out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping at nothing, his head tilting back sharply.

“Y-you’re—”* he chokes out, voice so wrecked it barely sounds like him anymore. “You’re so fucking evil—”

You just laugh softly, before taking him all the way down, your throat swallowing around him, sucking deep and slow.

It fucking breaks him.

“Ohhh—fuck, f-fuck, baby, I—” His voice cracks, his entire body locking up, his muscles going rigid as he yanks at the restraints, so fucking desperate to grab you, to pull your hair, to hold onto something—but he can’t.

All he can do is take it.

“Fucking hell, I—oh my god—” Heeseung’s brows furrow so tight, his jaw slack, his thighs trembling violently as he fights it—as he fights losing himself completely.

But when you swallow around him again, moaning softly, Heeseung lets out a shattered sob, his head thrown back, his throat exposed, his hips jerking helplessly.

“I’m—I’m gonna—fuck, fuck, baby, I—”

You suck him down one more time, hard and deep, and Heeseung breaks completely, his whole body arching off the bed, his mouth falling open in a silent scream as he comes so hard he nearly blacks out.

You swallow everything, sucking gently, working him through it, feeling the way his thighs shake violently, the way his body shudders beneath you, completely fucking wrecked.

When you finally pull back, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to his oversensitive tip, Heeseung lets out a weak, breathless laugh, his chest still rising and falling heavily.

You smirk, trailing your fingers up his stomach, watching the way his abs clench in overstimulation.

“Still think this was gonna be easy?” you tease, voice all sweetness and innocence.

Heeseung just lets out a shaky exhale, his arms going completely limp in the restraints, his face still blissed-out and wrecked.

Then, finally, his head lolls to the side, and he lets out a low, exhausted groan.

“Never fucking again,” he mutters, his voice hoarse as hell. “Never—fucking—again—am I letting you tie me up.”

You just grin, untying his wrists, pressing a soft, mocking kiss to his forehead.

“Sure, baby.”

But you both know he’s lying.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

Jay has always been a giver.

It’s just the way he is

Right now, he’s tied up beneath you, completely helpless, his wrists bound tightly to the headboard, his broad chest rising and falling in shaky, uneven breaths, his jaw clenched so fucking tight he looks like he might actually lose his mind.

You’re riding him slow, rolling your hips in deep, dragging circles, feeling every inch of him stretch you perfectly, every little vein and ridge pressing inside you just right—but you never let him have more.

You keep it lazy, keep it slow, torturing him with every single movement.

“You look so fucking good like this, baby,” you murmur, leaning down, letting your lips brush over his ear, your breath hot against his feverish skin.

Jay lets out a wrecked, shuddering exhale, his fingers flexing uselessly against the restraints, his muscles tensing so hard you can feel them rippling beneath you.

“Can’t even touch me,” you continue, mocking, grinding down just a little harder, feeling the way his cock twitches inside you at the words.

His throat bobs, his lips parting, his eyes completely blown out, a desperate, frantic glaze taking over his normally confident expression.

“F-fuck,” he chokes out, his head tilting back, his biceps straining against the silk ties, yanking just enough to test them—but not enough to break free.

Because Jay is too good, too willing to give you whatever you want.

You just want to ruin him.

“You’re always so in control, aren’t you, baby?” you purr, dragging your nails down his chest, watching the way his abs clench and flex under your touch.

“Always making sure I feel good first?” Your nails scratch lightly over his nipples, and his breath stutters, his thighs twitching beneath you.

“Always such a good husband for me.”

Jay lets out a wrecked, filthy groan, his head tilting to the side, his jaw going slack, his lips parting on a helpless, choked-out moan as he bucks up instinctively—but you press your hand against his stomach, forcing him still.

He whimpers.

Actually, fucking whimpers.

Fuck, you love it.

“Look at you, baby,” you whisper, mocking. “All tied up and still trying to take care of me.”

Jay gasps, his body shuddering beneath you, his cock pulsing so hard inside you that you can feel him losing control.

“You wanna fuck me so bad, don’t you?” you murmur, letting your tongue flick out against his earlobe, biting down softly, dragging your nails down his arms where he’s straining against the ties.

“Wanna hold my hips, wanna flip me over and fuck me into the mattress, right?”

Jay groans—loud, deep, so wrecked it makes your whole body tighten around him.

“Fuck—fuck, baby, I—” His voice catches, his chest heaving, his hands clenching into fists as he struggles, trembles, tries so hard to hold himself together.

“Can’t, baby—”* he gasps, eyes squeezing shut, his head tilting back sharply. “Can’t—can’t take it—”

You grin, shifting forward, grinding down deeper, your lips brushing over his panting mouth, just barely not kissing him.

“You don’t get to take anything,” you whisper, cruel and sweet all at once, dragging your tongue along the seam of his lips before pulling away.

“You get what I give you.”

Jay sobs..

His whole body tenses violently, his breath coming in sharp, broken gasps, his thighs trembling uncontrollably beneath you.

“Please,” he gasps, his voice wrecked and desperate, his hips jerking up helplessly, his abs clenching. “Please, baby—let me—fuck, I need—please—”

You finally, finally, give him what he wants.

You start bouncing on his cock, fast, relentless, taking him deep and rough, making his headboard slam into the wall, and Jay fucking screams, his voice breaking, his eyes rolling back so hard all you see is white.

“F-fuck—fuck, I—I’m—” His entire body tenses, his muscles locking up, his jaw going slack, his fingers clawing at the restraints as he loses himself completely, coming so hard inside you it makes his thighs shake violently beneath you.

His whole body trembles, his lips parting around silent, choked-out moans, and you ride him through it, slowing down, grinding deep as he whimpers softly, his breath coming in sharp, erratic gasps.

When he finally comes back down, he just lays there, completely limp, his skin flushed deep red, his body still twitching from aftershocks, his head lolling to the side.

You reach up, untying the restraints, letting his arms fall to the bed, completely useless and weak, and he just groans, his lips parted, his entire body wrecked beyond belief.

After a long, breathless pause, he turns his head slightly, staring at you, eyes still glassy and dazed.

Then, finally, he lets out a weak, hoarse laugh, voice so fucked-out and exhausted it’s almost adorable.

You grin, pressing a kiss to his sweaty, overheated chest, tracing a finger down his still-trembling stomach.

“Still think you’re the one who’s always in control, baby?”

Jay just lets out a shaky exhale, tilting his head back against the pillows, a lazy, satisfied smirk forming on his lips.“I think,” he breathes, grinning, “I just fell even more in love with you.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

Jake is so fucking frustrated he’s actually about to start kicking and screaming like a toddler.

He thought this was going to be fun—that you’d tie him up, tease him a little, then let him have you.

Oh, how wrong he was.

He’s tied to the bed, his wrists secured tightly, his body slick with sweat, his abs tensing uncontrollably, and you’re just hovering over him, your wetness dragging against the head of his cock, so fucking close but not giving him anything.

Jake is losing his fucking mind.

“Baby—baby, I swear to fucking God—” His voice is wrecked, raspy, and thick with frustration, his arms pulling against the restraints, his fingers flexing like he’s actually about to rip them apart.

You just smirk, dragging your nails down his trembling stomach, feeling the way his muscles clench violently.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you whisper, tilting your head, mocking him. “You look so… tense.”

Jake lets out a high, desperate groan, his thighs twitching, his cock throbbing angrily, a sharp pulse running through him every time you roll your hips just enough to tease.

“You fucking—”* he gasps, his eyes wild and unfocused, his lips swollen from biting them so hard, his hips jerking up just for you to press him back down.

“I swear to fucking GOD,” he growls, thrashing against the restraints, his head pressing into the pillow, his voice shaking. “If you don’t sit the fuck down on my cock right now—baby, I will scream so fucking loud the neighbors will call the fucking cops—”

Your eyes widen, caught between shock and amusement, and before he can say another word, you slap a hand over his mouth, muffling his wrecked little gasps, and shove two fingers past his lips.

Jake chokes on a whimper, his whole body arching violently, his tongue immediately latching onto your fingers, sucking so hungrily, so filthy, his cheeks hollowing out as he moans around them.

“That’s better,” you murmur, watching the way his eyes flutter, the way his breath stutters, the way his hips keep twitching desperately beneath you, like he physically can’t control himself anymore.

His fingers curl into fists, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths, his thighs trembling uncontrollably as he moans around your fingers, his whole body writhing beneath you.

“Such a fucking brat,” you purr, dragging your free hand down his throat, wrapping your fingers around it just enough to make him shudder.

“Always so fucking mouthy, always acting up—”* you press your fingers down slightly on his tongue, feeling the way it writhes against you, hot and slick, the way his lips tremble around them.

“Now look at you,” you mock, grinding down just a little, just enough to let the head of his cock push inside you, squeezing tight around the tip—but not letting him have more.

Jake screams into your hand, his back arching off the bed, his fingers flexing violently in the restraints, his whole body on the verge of breaking.

“F-fuck—fuck, I—please—”* his voice is a mess, muffled and wrecked, his hips jerking up wildly, but you slap his thigh hard, making him yelp into your palm.

“No, baby,” you breathe, smirking, pressing your wet fingers deeper into his mouth, feeling his tongue swirl desperately around them.

“You don’t get to act like a little fucking menace and still get what you want.”

Jake whines, actually whines, high and desperate, his eyes rolling back slightly, his breath coming in shaky, choked-out sobs.

“Y-you’re—oh, fuck—you’re so fucking mean,” he gasps, his words slurred around your fingers, drool slipping down the corner of his mouth, his whole body trembling like he’s on the verge of breaking completely.

You grin, finally pulling your fingers from his mouth, dragging them down his heaving chest, feeling the way his skin burns beneath your touch.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, your lips ghosting over his ear, your voice sickly sweet and cruel.

“You haven’t even seen mean yet.”

Then, without warning, you slam yourself down onto him, taking him all the way in one deep, brutal motion.

Jake screams.

Not moans. Not groans.

A full, raw, broken scream, his head snapping back, his eyes rolling back so violently you almost think he passed out, his fingers pulling against the restraints like he’s trying to rip himself free.

“F-fuck—fuck, f-fuck, I—”* his voice cracks, his hips jolting up wildly, his whole body tensing violently beneath you, like he’s teetering on the edge of cumming already.

You don’t let him.

You slow down, grinding instead of bouncing, rolling your hips in deep, torturous circles, feeling the way his cock twitches inside you, the way his thighs jerk helplessly, the way his breath comes out in weak, shaky gasps.

“You feel so fucking good like this, baby,” you whisper, dragging your nails down his chest, watching the way his stomach jumps under your touch, the way his lips tremble helplessly.

“Completely helpless, completely mine.”

Jake sobs, full-body shaking, his wrists pulling so hard at the restraints that the headboard is knocking against the wall, his hips stuttering violently.

“B-baby, please—fuck, I—”* he gasps, choking on his own moans, his voice so hoarse, so destroyed. “I c-can’t—please, please—”

You grin, dragging your tongue up his throat, biting down hard on his racing pulse, making his whole body jolt violently beneath you.

“Aww, baby,” you mock, grinding down even harder, feeling the way he chokes on a wrecked little cry, his whole body convulsing.

“Are you gonna cry for me?”

Jake screams, his thighs clenching beneath you, his cock pulsing so violently inside you that you know he’s seconds from breaking completely.

“I—I’m gonna—f-fuck, fuck, I—baby, baby, please, let me—”

You slam your hips down one last time, and Jake breaks completely, thrashing beneath you, his breath coming in desperate, choked-out sobs, his whole body tensing so hard it shakes the bed.

And when he finally goes limp, completely wrecked, his chest heaving, his throat raw, his body still twitching from the aftershocks, you grin, running a lazy hand over his sweat-slick stomach.

“See, baby?” you hum sweetly, pressing a soft kiss to his panting mouth.

“That’s what you get for being a fucking brat.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

Sunghoon didn’t take you seriously at all.

When you told him about your friend tying up her boyfriend and ruining him, he just blinked at you, his expression bored, unimpressed.

“Okay?” he had said, scrolling through his phone.

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s it? No reaction?”

“What do you want me to say?” He finally looked at you, tilting his head lazily. “I mean, it’s not that crazy. You tie the guy up, tease him a little, make him beg, then fuck him. Right?”

You licked your lips, leaning in. “You think you could handle it?”

Sunghoon snorted, smirking as he leaned back against the couch. “Baby, please. I could handle you with my hands tied behind my back.”

Your smile turned dangerous.

“Then let’s find out.”

But in reality, Sunghoon is fucked.

His wrists are tied above his head, stretched tight, his chest slick with sweat, his abs flexing uncontrollably as you ride him with no mercy, bouncing on his cock, taking him deep, rough, and fast.

He literally hasn’t said a word in ten minutes.

At first, he grunted, let out those deep, guttural groans, his thighs tensing, his body shaking beneath you as he tried so hard to hold on.

His jaw is slack, his lips parted, his eyes completely unfocused, so fucking gone that he can barely even breathe properly.

“Too much, baby?” you mock, dragging your nails down his sweaty chest, watching his muscles twitch violentlybeneath your touch.

Sunghoon just nods frantically, his breath catching, his fingers curling uselessly against the restraints as his hips twitch up, completely involuntary, completely desperate.

“But you’re taking it so well,” you purr, grinding down deep, rolling your hips slow and heavy, making him feel every inch of you.

Sunghoon lets out a choked, breathless groan, his thighs trembling violently, his whole body locking up beneath you.

“G-gonna—f-fuck—”* His voice finally breaks, and then—

He comes so fucking hard that his whole body tenses violently, his head snapping back against the pillow, his chest heaving as his cock pulses inside you, filling you so deep you swear you feel it everywhere.

But you don’t stop.

Not even when his thighs twitch, not even when his stomach spasms, not even when his breath stutters violently, too overstimulated, too much, too good.

You just slow down, rolling your hips deep, teasing, milking him through it, your nails dragging over his flushed skin, your lips tracing down his chest—

You pull off him completely.

Sunghoon lets out a sharp, broken breath, his whole body trembling, but before he can even process what’s happening, your hand wraps around his cock, slick and so fucking sensitive, and you start stroking him all over again.

His head snaps up instantly, his eyes wild and unfocused, his lips parting on a silent, breathless moan as his body jolts violently beneath you.

“W-wait—fuck, baby—”* His voice catches, but you ignore him, leaning down, letting your lips brush over his flushed skin, your tongue flicking over his already-sensitive nipple.

You bite down.

Hard.

Sunghoon shouts—the first full sentence he’s spoken all night—

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!—”*

You just grin, suck harder, dragging your nails down his quivering stomach, feeling the way his cock twitches uncontrollably in your grip, his whole body rocking with overstimulation.

“Oh, baby,” you mock, licking the bruise forming on his swollen, overstimulated nipple, squeezing his cock just right, watching his abs flex violently.

“I haven’t even gotten started yet.”

Sunghoon lets out a wrecked, helpless moan, his breath coming in frantic gasps, his head thrashing to the side, but you just lick a slow, teasing stripe up his throat, biting another dark hickey into the soft skin just below his jaw.

“Everyone’s gonna see that one, baby,” you whisper, grinning against his feverish skin.

Sunghoon just shudders violently, his eyes fluttering shut, his jaw going slack as his cock pulses in your grip, his breath coming out in sharp, erratic gasps.

“Ohhh, f-fuck—fuck, I—”* His whole body locks up, his fingers weakly twitching, his thighs spasming— he comes again, his hips jerking helplessly, his chest rising sharply, his lips trembling from how hard he’s shaking beneath you.

But you don’t stop.

Not until he’s come four whole times, his breath ragged and uneven, his body twitching violently, his lips parted in silent, choked-out sobs, his wrists weakly flexing against the restraints.

When you finally, finally untie him, letting his arms drop, he just lays there, completely limp, his chest heaving, his eyes unfocused.

After a long, shaky exhale, he blinks up at you, his face completely wrecked.

Then, finally, he lets out a hoarse, breathless laugh, his voice weak and ruined.

“You milked me dry like a fucking cow.”*

You just grin, pressing a soft, tender kiss to his damp forehead, brushing his hair out of his face.

“You were perfect, baby,” you whisper sweetly, kissing him like he’s the most magnificent, precious thing in the world.

Sunghoon lets out a tired, shaky exhale, his body still trembling beneath you, his eyes fluttering shut.

“There’s something fucking wrong with you,” he mutters.

You just laugh, kissing his jawline, his nose, his flushed cheeks.

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

Sunoo was always dramatic, but this?

This was a new level.

“You want to tie me up?” He gasped, clutching his chest, staring at you like you’d just suggested burning his wardrobe. “Baby, are you planning on murdering me?”

You rolled your eyes, straddling his lap and pinching his cheek, making him pout even harder.

“No, baby,” you murmured, running your fingers down his jaw, tilting his chin up. “I just wanna see you squirm.”

Sunoo huffed, looking anywhere but at you, but you caught the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched slightly against your thighs.

“I don’t squirm,” he said stubbornly.

You smirked, leaning in, whispering against his lips—

“We’ll see about that.”

An hour later, Sunoo is tied up and completely fucked out, his wrists bound tightly to the headboard, his chest rising and falling in uneven, shallow breaths, his pretty lips swollen from all the pouting and whining he’s been doing.

But the best part?

He still hasn’t cum.

You’ve been playing with him for what feels like forever, keeping him on edge, bringing him right to the brink of release, then pulling away at the last second—again and again and again..

His cheeks are flushed deep pink, his eyelashes damp with unshed tears, his thighs trembling as he tugs uselessly at the restraints.

“B-baby, please—” His voice is soft, desperate, breathless, his lips trembling as he squirms beneath you.

You grin, dragging your nails down his stomach, watching the way his body jolts violently at the sensation.

“Please what?” you murmur, your fingers hovering over his leaking cock, but not touching him at all.

Sunoo whimpers, his hips twitching helplessly, his fingers clenching into fists.

“I—”* he gasps, his head tilting back, his pretty throat exposed and begging for attention, his chest rising sharply.

You take advantage of it, leaning down, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the delicate skin just below his collarboe, sucking until you know it’ll leave a mark.

Sunoo gasps sharply, his whole body tensing beneath you, his breath stuttering as a wrecked little whimper slips past his lips.

“You’re so mean,” he pouts, his voice cracking on the last word, his wrists twisting against the ties like he wants to throw a tantrum.

You just smile, letting your lips trail down his collarbone, over his flushed chest, lower and lower.

“Oh—fuck—” His voice breaks completely, his eyes squeezing shut, his thighs snapping together in frustration.

“Oh, baby,” you murmur, kissing your way down his chest, your hand finally, finally wrapping around his aching cock. “You’re shaking.”

Sunoo lets out the most desperate little noise, his breath catching, his whole body going taut beneath you.

“B-baby—”* he gasps, his voice so high and sweet and helpless it makes you clench around nothing.

“Shhh,” you coo, stroking him slow, torturous, teasing, feeling the way his cock twitches uncontrollably in your grip. “Be my good boy and take it.”

Sunoo whimpers, his fingers flexing uselessly, his breath coming in short, frantic little gasps.

“I—I c-can’t—”

“Yes, you can, baby,” you whisper, dragging your thumb over the swollen, sensitive tip, watching as his stomach tenses sharply, his breath stuttering in his throat.

Sunoo shakes his head frantically, his lips trembling, his eyes squeezed shut so tight that tears slip down his cheeks.

“B-baby, please—p-please, I—I need to—”

You lean in, lips brushing against his ear, your voice soft, teasing, dripping in affection—

“Then cum for me, baby.”

Sunoo lets out a sharp, shattered little cry, his entire body seizing up, his thighs clenching, his fingers curling into fists, his mouth falling open in a breathless, high-pitched moan as he finally, finally spills over your hand.

His chest heaves, his wrists straining weakly against the restraints, his whole body convulsing violently as he rides it out, his breath coming in ragged, uneven sobs.

When it’s over, when he finally collapses against the sheets, completely limp and wrecked, you untie his wrists, massaging the delicate skin where the fabric had been.

Sunoo’s eyes flutter open, dazed and glassy, his lips still parted, his breath still unsteady.

“You,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, “are actually evil.”

You just laugh softly, pressing kisses to his damp forehead, his flushed cheeks, his trembling lips.

“But you were so good for me, baby,” you murmur, cupping his face, kissing him like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

Sunoo huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically, but his arms immediately wrap around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, his voice weak and breathless. “Now shut up and hold me.”

You just smile, curling up against him, feeling his breath slow, his body relax beneath you.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

Jungwon was always so composed.

Always the one in charge, always the one controlling the pace, making you beg, making you squirm, dragging things out just to hear you cry for him.

“You get so cute when you’re desperate,” he had said once, watching you fall apart, mocking you while he kept you on edge for what felt like hours.

“I wonder how long I can make you last before you break.”

That night, you had cried for him.

Tonight, he’s going to cry for you.

You’re going to tear him apart, ruin him so completely that he’ll never, ever try to put you through that again.

By the time you’re finished with him, he won���t just be begging for release—he’ll be begging for mercy.

Looking back it almost makes you laugh because Jungwon is so far gone that it’s almost pathetic.

His wrists are bound tight to the headboard, his fingers curling helplessly, his thighs trembling violently, his cock twitching, untouched, leaking all over himself.

The worst of all?

He hasn’t cum once.

You’ve edged him so many times that his body doesn’t even know how to handle it anymore, his breath coming in frantic, choked-off sobs, his cheeks slick with real, wet, desperate tears.

“P-please—please, f-fuck, I can’t—” His voice is so hoarse, so completely broken, his breath ragged and uneven, his body twitching, shaking, begging for anything.

You just smirk.

“Aww, poor baby,” you mock, gripping his jaw, forcing him to look at you, watching the way his lips tremble.

“You always act so tough.”

You drag your nails down his chest, watching the way his muscles tense, his abs flexing, his stomach spasming involuntarily.

“And now look at you.”

You slap his cock lightly, watching as his hips jolt up violently, his breath catching in a sharp, helpless moan.

“F-fuck—ohh, f-fuck, please, please, baby, I—I n-need—”

You slap him again.

Right on his leaking, swollen tip, precum splattering onto his stomach, his whole body jolting from the impact.

Jungwon screams, his thighs shaking uncontrollably, his wrists yanking at the restraints, but you just laugh softly.

“Oh, you need something?” you taunt, gripping his jaw, forcing him to look at you, watching the way his swollen lips quiver.

“What do you need, slut?”

Jungwon sobs again, completely humiliated, his body betraying him.

“P-please—please, let me cum—please, I c-can’t, I c-can’t—”

You tilt your head, fake pouting.

“Oh, baby,” you whisper, voice sickly sweet, cruel, condescending. “You can’t?”

Then, you grab a fistful of his damp hair, yanking his head back, making his throat expose itself to you, his breath stuttering, a choked-off moan spilling past his lips.

“That’s funny, baby,” you whisper, dragging your tongue up his throat, feeling his pulse hammer violently against your lips.

“Because I remember you making me fucking beg. I remember you edging me until I was crying, just like this.”

Jungwon lets out a sharp, desperate sob, his thighs clenching, his hips twitching, completely lost in it.

“I—I’m s-sorry—please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be so f-fucking good, I s-swear—”

You grin, gripping his chin harder, tilting his head up, forcing him to stare at you.

“You’re already my good little fucktoy, baby.”

You slap his cock again, harder this time, watching as his body twitches violently, his mouth falling open in a silent scream.

“My pathetic little bitch.”

Jungwon whimpers, actual sobs wracking through his chest, his tears slipping down his temples, pooling on the pillow beneath him.

“You gonna cry harder for me, baby?”

He nods frantically, completely lost, completely gone.

“P-please—please—please—”

“Then cum, you fucking whore.”

The second you wrap your lips around his cock, sucking him deep and tight, Jungwon fucking loses it.

His entire body seizes up, his legs shaking so hard the whole bed moves, his wrists pulling at the restraints so violently that the headboard slams against the wall, his mouth falling open in a broken, wrecked scream.

He fucking breaks.

Jungwon cums so violently his entire body shudders, his stomach spasming, his throat bobbing as sobs rip through him, his voice so destroyed he can’t even form words anymore.

You swallow every drop, humming around him, your tongue dragging along his overly sensitive tip, watching the way his body jerks violently with overstimulation.

But you don’t stop.

You stroke him through it, slow and tight, dragging every last drop from him, his cock pulsing, twitching, his whimpers turning into helpless, wrecked cries.

“T-too much—f-fuck, b-baby—”* His voice is so weak, so ruined, so utterly fucking destroyed that he can barely even breathe.

But you keep going.

You suck harder, dragging your nails down his trembling thighs, taking him all the way back into your mouth, and he shrieks, his whole body flinching violently, his breath catching in sharp little gasps.

“Oh, f-fuck—oh, f-fuck—oh my god—please—please—”

He’s struggling now, actively fighting against the restraints, his body jerking uncontrollably, trying to pull away, trying to escape—

But you don’t let him.

“Awww, baby,” you coo, mocking, your mouth still wrapped tight around his cock. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked being in control?”

Jungwon sobs, thrashing beneath you, actually trying to get away, but he can’t.

“N-no more—please—please, baby, I-I can’t—”

And then he cums again.

So hard that his whole body convulses, his legs shaking, his chest rising sharply, his voice breaking completely, his sobs turning into nothing but gasps for air.

This time, his body just stops working.

Even as you slow your strokes, even as you lick the last of him away, even as you finally pull off of him, Jungwon is completely still.

His head lolls to the side, his chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths, his body weak, trembling, completely destroyed.

He passes out.

You carefully untie his wrists, massaging his twitching arms, pressing soft kisses to his damp forehead.

Just as you start to move away his arms shoot out, wrapping around you like a fucking koala, pulling you into his chest so tight you can barely move.

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles, his voice wrecked, hoarse, completely fucking gone.

You grin.

“Sure, Won”

“You’re a fucking demon.”

You laugh softly, curling into him.

“I know, baby.”

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

“Come on, Niki,” you pouted, straddling his lap, holding the silk ties up with big, pleading eyes. “Just once. For me?”

Niki just raised an eyebrow, giving you that infuriatingly smug grin, stretching his long limbs behind his head like he wasn’t even taking you seriously.

“I don’t see the point,” he mused. “I’m already stronger than you. If I wanted to get out, I’d just… get out.”

You groaned, throwing yourself onto his chest dramatically. “It’s not about that! It’s about the experience, the control, the trust, the—”

“Blah, blah, blah,” he mocked, rolling his eyes. “Fine. I’ll let you tie me up. If it’ll make you happy, baby.”

You perked up instantly, grinning as you grabbed his wrists.

“Finally!”

Now?

Now, you’re two seconds from losing your damn mind.

Because Niki is absolutely ruining this.

Every time you tie him up, every time you think you’ve got him right where you want him—

He fucking escapes.

Like it’s nothing.

Like you’re not even trying.

The first time, you had him tied up nicely, wrists secured, headboard shaking, your lips trailing down his throat—and the next thing you knew, he was flipping you onto your back, his arms suddenly completely free as he grinned down at you.

“What the—NIKI!” you yelped, smacking his arm. “How did you—”

“Baby, come on,” he laughed, scooping you up effortlessly, pinning you beneath him like the whole tying-up thing never happened. “I’m literally taller than you. Did you really think I’d stay tied up?”

You pouted angrily, wiggling under him. “THAT’S NOT THE POINT!”

Take Two: Riding Him?

“Just stay tied up,” you whined, adjusting the silk restraints around his wrists again, glaring at him. “And don’t you dare break free this time, or so help me—”

Niki snorted, smirking up at you as you sank down onto him, taking him deep, your hands braced against his chest.

“Mmm, I’ll try, baby,” he murmured, watching you grind down, slow and deep, his lips parting on a low groan.

For once, it seemed like he was actually taking it seriously.

You relaxed, rolling your hips, settling into the moment—

Until—

SNAP.

You felt it before you even saw it.

The ties? Gone.

His hands? Completely free.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even do it on purpose—he just shifted slightly, and the fabric came undone like it was fucking Velcro.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” you screamed, shoving his chest in frustration, but the bastard just laughed, gripping your hips, rolling you deeper onto him.

“You really thought that would hold me?” he mocked, tilting his head, grinning like the little shit he was.

“I SPENT FIFTEEN MINUTES TYING YOU UP!”

“And I appreciate the effort, baby,” he cooed, flipping you onto your back effortlessly, pinning you beneath him again.

“But let’s be real… you can’t actually keep me down.”

Final Attempt: Face-Sitting

At this point, you were ready to lose it.

“Okay,” you said, shaking out your hands like an athlete preparing for battle, retying his wrists so tight that there was NO WAY he was getting out.

“This time, you’re staying put.”

Niki grinned up at you, that cocky glint in his eyes. “Sure, baby.”

You scowled, climbing up, hovering over his face, settling your weight down as you finally—finally—had your moment of victory.

Or so you thought.

Because the second you lowered yourself onto him, the second his mouth made contact, his arms shot out, grabbing your thighs, yanking you down so hard you almost fell forward.

“NIKI! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE TIED UP—”

He didn’t even let you finish.

Didn’t let you breathe.

Didn’t even let you process the betrayal.

Because in the next second, he was devouring you like a man starved, his grip on your thighs bruising, pulling you down so tight against his face that you had no choice but to take it.

Your body jerked violently, your fingers gripping the headboard for dear life, your breath knocked right out of youas his tongue moved so filthy, so deep, so desperate that your brain literally stopped functioning.

“N-Niki—oh my god—”

Then you heard it.

He was laughing.

Actually laughing against you, like this was the funniest fucking thing in the world, like he had just won some kind of twisted competition you didn’t even sign up for.

That’s when you snapped.

“GET YOUR FACE OUT OF THERE, YOU MENACE!” you shrieked, trying to pry his head away, trying to push yourself up, but it was fucking useless.

He had you locked down tight, had you right where he wanted you, and there was no escape.

“Nope,” he mumbled into you, smug as ever, lips dragging slow and torturous, his tongue curling in a way that made you tremble uncontrollably.

“I think I like it better this way.”

You don’t know how long he kept you there.

It felt like forever.

Your thighs were shaking violently, your body weak and useless, your mind nothing but static as you finally collapsed against the headboard, trying to catch your breath.

Niki had the fucking audacity to grin up at you, wiping his mouth like he’d just finished a damn meal, looking completely unbothered.

“So,” he mused, tilting his head innocently. “How’d that tying-up thing work out for you?”

You glared, your body still trembling, still trying to recover.

“I fucking hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You wanted to smack him, you really did.

But you had no strength left.

So you just flopped onto the bed dramatically, groaning into the pillow, accepting your fate.

“I give up,” you muttered.

“Oh, baby,” he purred, grinning as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he hadn’t just betrayed you on every level possible.

“You gave up the second you tried to tie me up.”

-

@naurwayyyyy @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @zzhengyu @annybah @ddolleri @kristynaaah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway143 @tiny-shiny @simbabyikue @koizekomi @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586

[cameronsbabydoll]

spoiled kook reader is everything rafe wants: soft, naive, and effortlessly pretty, with that clueless, wide-eyed charm that makes him feel needed and in control. she’s not dumb, but she’s oblivious to danger, which fuels his overprotectiveness. rafe gets frustrated when she doesn’t take things seriously—like when she giggles at something he’s mad about or brushes off red flags because she’s too caught up in her own little world.

but at the same time, rafe loves it. he loves that she needs him to make decisions, loves that she’s so wrapped up in her pink-tinted bubble that she doesn’t see how crazy he is about her. she’s the kind of girl who pouts when she doesn’t get her way, who spends hours doing her hair just to lounge by the pool, who buys expensive things without thinking about the price. and rafe? he enables it. always tells her she doesn’t have to worry about anything—that’s his job.

the way he grips her jaw and forces her to listen when she gets too lost in her own head? the way he growls out, “pay attention when I’m talkin’ to you, princess,” because she’s too busy twirling her hair and admiring her manicure?

and can you imagine when rafe brings her around his friends? she’s completely out of place in their conversations, sitting pretty in his lap with her pink manicured fingers wrapped around a vodka cran, her lips glossy and slightly parted because she’s only half-listening. rafe is of course deep in conversation about something serious—money, business, or maybe even something dumb like the stock market or sports —and she just blinks up at him, twirling a strand of her perfectly curled hair.

“rafey, what does offshore mean?” she asks, tilting her head, genuinely clueless while the guys snicker.

kelce will mutter something like, “god, she’s adorable,” and topper will laugh and say, “you keep her around for the looks, huh, rafe?”

and rafe? he hates when they talk about her like that, like she’s just some dumb, pretty accessory. his grip on her thigh tightens, fingers digging into her soft skin as he glares at his friends. “shut the fuck up.”

but she doesn’t even realize what’s happening. she’s just giggling, clinking her nails against her drink. “ugh why are you squeezing so hard, rafey? gonna leave bruises,” she pouts, not even realizing that’s exactly what he wants.

and when another guy—maybe some no-name Kook douche—tries to flirt with her, assuming she’s too airheaded to notice? rafe will lose his shit. because sure, she may be ditzy, but she’s his.

“she is not interested,” rafe snaps before she can even process what’s happening, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him.

but instead of understanding, she just blinks up at him, wide-eyed and confused. “omg wait, was he flirting?”

rafe clenches his jaw, barely containing his frustration. because of course she didn’t. she’s far too sweet, too oblivious. and it drives him crazy.

and later, when they’re alone, he makes sure she knows who she belongs to. “you don’t even get it, do you?” he mutters, pressing her against the nearest surface. “y-you walk around lookin’ like that, talkin’ like that, and you don’t even realize what you do to me.”

and she just blinks up at him, chewing on her glossy bottom lip. “…like what?”

and rafe just groans, dragging a hand down his face. Because he loves her, but she’s gonna be the death of him.

[starryjake]

toxic situationship jake

he was such a sweetheart on the outside which is what initially made you fall for him. however, as you started talking, you found that he was not as sweet as you or anyone else would’ve thought.

as the two of you became closer, jake got more and more jealous. if he saw you walking with a male friend to class or grabbing a coffee together, he would absolutely lose his shit.

he’d yell and pick fights with you over it, then absolutely break down when you started to cry. by break down, i mean he would fall to his knees and practically beg for your forgiveness.

and if that doesn’t work, then he finds another way to make it up to you. this includes lapping at your pussy for hours on end until you’re pushing his face away, or fucking you dumb until you can’t feel your legs or utter out a coherent sentence.

after sex, he would assure that he’d never be so mean to you again, but the next time he saw you with another guy, the cycle repeated.

jake was obsessed, and how could he not be? how could he not want you to be his when you were absolutely fucking perfect and seemingly made just for him? you let him fuck you so good and hard and sucked him off so sweetly, sucking his cock like it was your favorite flavor lollipop.

he didn’t talk to other girls. he wished you didn’t talk to other guys, and since it didn’t seem like you were going to stop, he had to stop for you.

he’d threaten the other guys you were talking to and that included guys you were strictly just friends with. he wanted everyone who wasn’t him out of your life. he knew you would cave at some point, so why wouldn’t he help move that process along?

he’s the kind of situationship who fucks you real deep and slow, and at the end when he’s about to cum, he utters out the words “i love you.” and god, does he love you.

“say you love me,” he’d demand, his hips gliding out before snapping back inside you.

you looked up at him in awe, your eyes glistening from both pleasure and emotion.

“i-i—fuck!” you sputtered out, feeling your high approach.

“i said say it,” he instructed sternly, squeezing your cheeks slightly. “i know you love me so fucking tell me.”

“i love you!” you cried out, choking on a sob as your orgasm washed over you.

-

a/n: haven’t posted in a minute so here is my apology <3

[image-id-amateur]

[image 1-6 IDs]

Screenshots of a Reddit post from r/TrueOffMyChest by u/Empty-Ad-2301

First post reads: "I miss my husband so goddamn much. UPDATE I (35M) divorced my husband (36M) three years ago. And God, I miss him. I asked for a divorce for a few reasons, most of which being that his depression got exponentially worse day after day and he refused to seek treatment. Sometimes he wouldn't even go into work and ended up getting fired from his job. I stayed with him for so fucking long, praying that one day he would start trying to get better. It was all I ever wanted, but that day didn't come. I sobbed the entire time signing those papers, and when I handed them to him and asked for a divorce, he just gave me the emptiest, deadest look and signed them without a word. My heart felt like it had been shattered with a hammer, anger and sadness and fear tied together in the world's tightest, ugliest knot and inset deep into my chest. I put on a brave face for my friends, tried to frame it as shackles coming off and a new beginning, but it was a lie. It just hurt, and it keeps hurting, and it will never stop hurting. He was my soulmate. I'll never love anyone like I loved him. He used to be so sweet and loving, so passionate and happy and every other wonderful thing a man could want from another. They say each day gets easier, but it isn't for me. It's been three years and I'm still reaching over to the other side of the bed in the morning to pull him close, and it always stings when my hands touch fabric and not his skin. It's been three years and I'm still expecting to see his car in the driveway when I get home from work. It's been three years and my heart isn't any less broken than the day he left. I've been stalking his socials, I'll admit. He's been getting back to the gym, started meds, and I see him smiling so genuinely in these photos. He looks so incredible. Maybe if I had just waited, he would have changed his mind and went to a doctor like he is now? Or was it me that held him down? Was I making it worse?"

Next image continues post:

"hope not. I wanna go over to his place and just fall into his arms and beg him to take me back. Maybe he's wishing the same thing about me. If there's even a chance I could have my boy back I feel like I should try. I'll never know otherwise. EDIT: One: I am a homosexual man. My husband is a homosexual man. I am not a woman. Yes, I know I'm effeminate and kind of emotional. Get creative. Two: my husband was a binge drinker. He refused treatment no matter how much I begged. We got antidepressants but he wouldn't take them. I know he's started meds now because he's posted about them and his 2 yrs sober chip that he got last month. Three: I never stopped loving him. I never loved him any less. Near the end of our marriage, I started drinking to cope. The second I realized I was, I realized he was dragging me down with him, and I couldn't help him anymore. I didn't dip the second it got hard. Many of you are being kind of rude. I'll accept that I wasn't the perfect husband, nobody is. But claims that I never loved him are just wrong and make me feel sick to my stomach. EDIT 2: No, I am not the catalyst for this. His depression started when his young brother died terribly and unexpectedly. It's not because he just hated me so much. We were childhood sweethearts and had been together for years when this happened"

An update 3 days later reads

:UPDATE] I met my husband that I divorced 3 years ago. Update from this post. EDIT 3: Got approved! Here's the FINAL UPDATE. Well, with Reddit's advice, I did it. A few days ago, I called my (35M) ex-husband (36M) whom I divorced after 6 years when he refused to seek treatment for his depression. I called him later in the evening. It was the first time we'd spoken since a bit of trouble he'd had while he was still drinking 2 1/2 years ago. He picked up on the second ring. Our conversation was a little stilted at first, as to be expected, but he said he was really glad to hear from me. We ended up meeting up for coffee yesterday as so many of you suggested. I'll admit: it was kind of hard to see him, but in a good way? He looked so much better than the last time I had seen him, but he looked exactly like the man I married. He had put off a ton of weight (he gained like 75ish pounds during his struggle with depression, and before some dick says so, I didn't leave him because of his weight gain), he looked way healthier and very put together. I'll just say it: he looked incredibly hot. What made it hard was that I couldn't kiss him hello like I used to. But God, the way his eyes lit up when he saw me, I barely needed to. We got our coffee and sat, and he updated me a little on his life in the last 3 years. What really turned his life around was in part the divorce but moreso a DUI (nobody was hurt, he was caught a few blocks from his apartment). He's since gone to rehab and AA, gotten his license back, and had to use a breathalyzer whenever he started his car for a while. He hasn't had a drop of alcohol since and I told him I was so fucking proud of him. He's also started antidepressants, and made a point of telling me that they're not SSRIs, but when I asked what that meant he got embarrassed and told me nevermind (???). Bottom line is that they've been helping him, he's back to being a gym rat, and he's almost completely turned his life around. This was around the point I started tearing up. It just felt so good knowing he was okay. Better than okay, he was *good*. I also apologized to him for not sticking by him. He cut me off and said I had nothing to apologize for. He was a wreck, and I was being dragged down with him. That also felt good to hear. I apologized for not contacting him much during the last 3 years. That apology, he accepted"

The update continues:

"someone for a few months, too. He broke up with him once he tried to get him to drink on New Year's. He seemed dismissive of the guy. Guess it wasn't too serious. We got up and went on a walk after a few hours, and I think we both realized it felt like a first date. I had to stop myself from trying to hold his hand at a few points, I'll admit. We ended up sitting on a bench in a nearby park, and I confessed. I told him I missed him more than anything, how I never stopped loving him, and how if he wanted to, I'd love to try again from the beginning this time. We'd go to couples' therapy, keep our heads above the water, and take it slow. He was quiet for a minute before he told me something. He said he was doing better now, but there may be a time where he sunk low again. Depression isn't easily cured, and he was far from cured. He still had bad days, but he said there would be one difference: he promised he would never stop trying to improve. He was never going to give up like he did before, and refused to neglect me like he used to. If I was willing to accept that truth, he was willing to try again. I agreed, and he pulled me into an embrace and snuck a kiss to my temple. You know when it's the first warm day of spring after a cold, harsh winter, and the soft breeze and basking sun hit your skin at the same time? It felt something like that, to the 1000th degree. After a while he walked me back to my car and squeezed my hand goodbye, and the second I got inside I started sobbing like a baby. Happy tears, though. I'm currently sitting in bed, kicking my feet like a teenage girl, texting him back and forth to schedule an actual date. He said he'd plan everything, and try his best to make up for the birthdays and anniversaries he missed. He said it would "knock my socks off." What a dork. I love being in love. Not gonna lie, this is gonna be a bit hard to explain to my friends and family. Not looking forward to those conversations, but right now I don't care. My man loves me. Thank you to everyone who had kind words to say, and all the people that messaged me with sympathy and advice. I hope we all find happiness, and love if we want it. I never would have made the leap if y'all hadn't encouraged me. Best of luck to all of you, and sorry for the overly flowery language <3 EDIT: we've scheduled a date for tomorrow evening. I'll let people know how it went two days from now in my final (unless something big happens) update. EDIT 2: at his place presently. Shame me not."

The next image shows a final update three days later. It reads:

"FINAL UPDATE] I went on a date with my ex-husband last night. Update from this post. My (35M) ex-husband (36M) and I recently reconnected. I won't go over the details of why we split or our reconciliation since I'm sure the average redditor can click buttons and most likely read. He was the one taking me out, and promised that it would, in his words, "knock my socks off" to make up for his neglect of me. He sure as hell delivered. A little backstory, we've been together since we were 15 and 16 respectively, and have never moved out of our hometown. This year would have been our 20th anniversary (of getting together, not marriage). We were dating secretly for about five years before our parents caught us one day during summer break. The fallout from finding out their son was gay actually made his parents split. His dad wanted to send him away to conversion therapy. He's seen his father maybe once per year on average, and every time he's incredibly cold towards me. Would never refer to me as his son-in-law, only my husband's "pal." I wonder why. Anyway, not what you're here to read. I'll get on with the lore. He picked me up from the house and wouldn't tell me where we were going, but told me to dress warmly. He ended up taking me to the place where we met: a run down ice skating rink in our town. He used to do hockey, and I spent some time trying to learn figure skating until people started beating me up for it. Both sports would practice at the same time and I remember barely being able to keep my eyes off him. We went skating, I tried to pull off a few of the moves I remembered (he only had to catch me from falling on my ass once or twice, and I won't complain about an attractive man that I love hooking his arm around my waist), and we spent an hour or so there until our feet hurt. At one point I said that my face was getting cold, so he skated around in front of me and placed his gloved hands on my cheeks to warm me up. I just about burned a hole in the ice from how hard I was blushing, I swear to God"

The next image continues the post

"He wasn't done then. We left and went to dinner, specifically the restaurant where we had our first date. It's a cheap hole-in-the-wall place, seeing as we were poor teenagers when we first met. We chatted and ate food that probably took 5 years off our lives, he was an incorrigible flirt, and even held my hand underneath the table like he did all those years ago. I know I said I never stopped loving him, and I stand by that, but I think I somehow fell in love with him a thousand times over again during that meal. At the end of dinner, he asked if I had energy for one more simple thing, to which I agreed. He took me a while out of town to a dark sky zone park, specifically the one where he proposed to me ten years ago. He set out a blanket to sit on and another to cuddle under, and we went stargazing all bundled up together. You never know how much you miss the sound of someone's heartbeat until you haven't heard it for so long. We shared a bottle of sparkling grape juice in plastic champagne flutes and dumb, giggly kisses. It felt so similar yet so different. He told me in a moment of quiet that he loved me, and oh, God. It took everything I had not to cry. I barely hesitated before asking if he wanted to change venues. He seemed surprised, but eagerly accepted. I ended up at his place, as some of you may have seen from my edit on my second post yesterday. I wanted to take it slower than this, but it was so hard to. I was so starved of affection and hadn't been intimate with anyone for just about six years. I'm gonna keep what happened at his between us, but all I'll say is that his medication was no issue and all of you should be jealous. I woke up in his bed this morning, reached over for him, and pulled him close just like I used to do. I haven't been this happy in a long time. We had a sleepy discussion and decided to get back together, but we're not using the term boyfriends. It just feels weird after all this time. So he's my partner, or my lover. He's mine. Thank you, reddit. Wouldn't have done it without a little push from the internet. Let's see where all this goes."

[/End images 1-6]

[image 7 ID] an image of Kermit the frog laying on a bed spread, absolutely stricken and surrounded by hearts. [/End ID]

[darksturnz]

── ⋮ ⌗ “PLEASE HELP ME FORGET”. . . ⟢ BOXER.ᐟMATT ᵎᵎ

this is specifically for @y3sterdaysproblem , iloveyouiloveyou. + song is a must when reading! contents: unprotected p in v, oral (m! receiving), just some desperate sex and hand holding tbh!

you wake up to the pounding. at first, it feels like it’s just part of the dream, distant and hollow, like something knocking around in the back of your head. but then it happens again. and again. and your body jerks awake with a sharp inhale, disoriented, the dark pressing in from all sides.

your heart is still heavy with sleep as you push yourself up, rubbing at your face, trying to blink yourself into awareness. the pounding comes again, loud, insistent. it rattles the doorframe.

you frown, stomach twisting. it’s still dark out.. you reach for your phone on the nightstand—3:42 am.

the pounding starts again, and this time, there’s a voice. slurred, low, muffled against the wood.

you shove off the blankets, feet hitting the cool floor as you stumble toward the door, still half-asleep, your body moving on instinct. you hesitate, looking through the peephole, but it’s covered.

no one sane would be showing up at your door this late.

then the voice comes again, clearer this time. your name, groggy, rough around the edges.

matt.

you fumble with the locks, yanking the door open, and he stumbles forward, like he was leaning against it.

the hallway light catches on him, and your breath stutters out of your chest.

he looks fucking terrible.

his face is swollen, a fresh cut splitting his bottom lip. dark bruises are already forming along his cheekbone, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. blood stains his knuckles, the collar of his hoodie, the white wrap around his fingers. his breathing is heavy, labored, like he’s been running.

his eyes meet yours, dark and glossy, and he exhales, shoulders sagging. relief.

”shit,” he rasps. “sorry. didn’t mean to wake you.”

“matt—” you grab his arm, tugging him inside, slamming the door shut. “what the fuck happened?”

he doesn’t answer. just blinks at you, swaying slightly. up close, you can see how out of it he is, adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

your hands hover over him, unsure where to start. your chest is tight, your throat even tighter. “jesus, you’re—come on.” you pull him toward the bathroom, flicking the light on.

he winces at the brightness, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before opening them again. you make him sit on the closed toilet lid, kneeling between his legs as you grab the first aid kit from under the sink.

“you should be at a hospital,” you murmur, shaking a bottle of peroxide.

“ ‘m fine.”

“you’re not.”

he gives you a tired laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “you should see the other guy, really”

you press a soaked cotton pad to his knuckles, and he hisses, jerking slightly. you shoot him a look, and he grins, like this is some kind of game.

“you think this is funny ?” you whisper.

“…not really.”

your throat clenches. “then why keep doing it?”

his smile fades. his gaze flickers over your face—your messy hair, your sleepy eyes, the oversized t-shirt slipping off your shoulder. something shifts in him.

“don’t,” you warn. you can feel it, the shift in his focus.

his fingers brush your jaw, tilting your face up slightly. his touch is warm, rough. “just—please help me forget,” he murmurs.

his lips brush yours, soft at first, but then he moves in closer, more desperate. you can feel the way he winces against your mouth, feel the tremble in his fingers when they trail down your arms.

“matt—”

“please.” it’s barely a whisper, almost broken.

you go to argue that he’s hurting but the pure look of desperation on his face stops you and you nod with a soft sigh.

his hands find your waist, fingers digging in, grounding himself in you. you climb onto his lap, careful, straddling him as your lips move together, slow but hungry. his grip tightens, his breathing gets heavier, like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

you tug at his hoodie, easing it off his bruised shoulders. he winces, and you freeze, but he shakes his head. “keep goin’ s’okay.”

your fingers trace the bruises littering his ribs, so light and his skin twitches under your touch, but he doesn’t stop you.

he lets out a shaky exhale when your lips find his neck, pressing light kisses against the sore skin.

“bed,” you whisper.

he lets you pull him up, wincing again slightly, but he doesn’t let go of you, hands gripping your waist, keeping you close as you guide him down the hall.

the second your back hits the mattress, he’s on you. kissing you like he needs you, like he won’t survive without this, without you. his hands roam, slow but possessive, memorizing your curves like he hasn’t done it plenty of time before. 

you let him take what he needs. but you take too. your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, and he groans into your mouth, pressing harder against you.

when you pull back, he chases your lips, breathing ragged.

“let me take care of you,” you murmur, running your hands down his chest, over his stomach.

you feel the way his stomach tenses under your palms, muscles shifting as his breath shudders out of him. your fingers trace the bruises forming along his ribs, careful but curious, watching the way he twitches beneath you.

his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, locked on you like you’re the only thing in the world keeping him sane, and deep down that makes you feel good.

“yeah?” his voice is rough, barely above a whisper.

you nod. “yeah.”

his fingers trail up your arms, skimming your collarbone before curling around your throat—not tight, just there. his thumb brushes over your jaw, tracing the shape of your lips.

“fuuuuck,” he breathes, like he can’t believe you’re real. “are you sure?”

you tilt your head, pressing a soft kiss to his wrist. “shut up and let me.”

he exhales, leaning back against the pillows, watching as you slide down his body.

his hoodie is already off, but you work at the rest of his clothes, peeling him out of them like you’ve got all the time in the world. he lets you, his breath hitching when your fingers brush over the dips and lines of his stomach.

when you finally tug his boxers down, his cock is rock hard, flushed against his stomach. you glance up at him, taking in the way his chest rises and falls, his bruised knuckles gripping the sheets.

you press a kiss to his hipbone, then another, teasing.

his jaw clenches. “please don’t fuck with me.”

you smile, wrapping your fingers around him, stroking slow, savoring the way he twitches in your grip.

“god,” he hisses, head falling back against the pillow.

you take your time with him. slow, deep, letting your tongue trace every inch, learning what makes him gasp, what makes him groan, what makes him fist your hair and curse under his breath.

when you sink down fully, hollowing your cheeks, his hand flies to the back of your head, his grip tightening, like he needs something more to hold onto other than your sheets. 

“baby—” his voice is strained, wrecked.

you hum around him, feeling him throb against your tongue.

his breath shudders out of him, his body tensing, and when you glance up, his eyes are locked on you, dark and desperate.

“ jus’ like that,” he murmurs. “so good. always so good to me.”

your thighs press together at the praise, heat curling low in your stomach.

his hips twitch, like he wants to thrust but doesn’t want to push too hard. but you let him guide you, let him use you the way he needs, let him fuck the thoughts right out of his head.

when you pull back, dragging your tongue along the underside before popping off with a soft mmh, he groans, hands gripping your wrists, pulling you up.

“c’mere.”

you let him bring you back up, pressing you into the mattress. his lips find yours, tasting himself on your tongue, kissing you slow but deep, like he wants to crawl inside your skin.

“wanna feel you,” he breathes against your mouth. “need to.”

you hum, letting him strip you down, his hands firm but careful, tracing every inch of you like he’s memorizing you all over again.

he pushes your legs apart, dragging his fingers through the slick between your thighs. he groans, pressing his forehead to yours.

“ look at that, already so wet for me.”

you whimper, hips rolling into his touch.

he pushes in with two fingers, slow, letting you stretch around him. his thumb brushes your clit, circling in lazy strokes.

“so perfect,” he murmurs, watching the way your body reacts, the way you arch into him, your breath stuttering.

you grip his wrist, eyes fluttering shut. “matt—”

he kisses you again, swallowing your moans, taking what he needs.

when he finally pushes inside you, it’s slow, a perfect stretch that has both of you gasping. 

his forehead presses against yours, his breath uneven.

“you okay?”

you nod, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly.

he groans, rocking into you, setting a deep rhythm, dragging every inch of him against your soft walls.

his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining, grounding both of you.

“you’re everything,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “don’t even fucking deserve you.”

your heart clenches. you squeeze his hand, pressing soft kisses along his jaw, over his bruised cheek, anywhere you can reach.

“just take it, baby,” you whisper. “let me make you feel good.”

he listens. he lets you take care of him, lets you pull him deeper, lets you whisper soft praises against his skin, lets you love him in the only way he knows how to accept right now.

the slow drag of his cock, the heat between your bodies, the way he’s gripping you like you’re his last lifeline—it’s everything.

he fucks you like he’s desperate for something he can’t name. deep, slow, intentional. like he’s trying to carve himself into you, like he’s trying to make this last forever.

when you come, it’s with his name on your lips, his arms wrapped tight around you. he follows soon after, groaning into your neck, hips stuttering as he twitches inside you.

he collapses on top of you, chest heaving, face buried against your collarbone.

your fingers run through his hair, pressing soft kisses to his temple, his jaw, the bruise on his cheek.

his hold tightens.

"you're the only other thing that clears my head," he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion.

your chest aches.

you kiss his knuckles, still stained with blood, and whisper, "i know."

he doesn’t move, just lets you touch him, lets you trace soft patterns along his back, lets you press lazy kisses into his hair.

when you glance out the window, the sky is starting to lighten, the first hints of sunrise creeping in.

matt’s fast asleep, his body slack, breath slow and steady.

you press a soft kiss to his temple, heart aching again at the bruises littering his skin, at how peaceful he looks for once tonight. 

your fingers trail through his hair, over the curve of his shoulders, memorizing him like this.

like somehow it’ll prevent him from looking this way again.

but it won’t. no matter how many times you’ve begged him to stop fighting, tried to convince him the money wasn’t worth it, you both knew the fighting was more than just about the money for matt. 

the thought settles heavy in your chest, curling around your ribs like something sharp, something you can’t shake. because no matter how many times he shows up at your door, no matter how desperately he clings to you in the dead of night, he will go back there.

just like he always does.

authors note: empty. . .

👥: @jetaimevous @sturnsblunt @riasturns @ifwdominicfike @chrissturns-wife @colorthecosmos444 @chrisbratt333

 @pip4444chris @ribread03 @ariestrxsh @angelic-sturniolos111 @pvssychicken 

@mattslolita @stvrnzcherries @dottieboo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @bluestriips

 @sturniolo-fann @chrisslut04 @owensbabygirl  @sturnslutz @sturniqlo

 @sofieeeeex @jadasmp4 @ncm9696 @courta13 @vanteguccir

 @whore4mattsturniolo @ellbowmacaroni @meerkatzthings @sturnsrecord @wildfluer 

@delilahsturns @cherrypickedchris @chrepsi @strnilolover @swagfacepeanut @cayleeuhithinknott

@sagesturns @sophsturns @leaningoutthewindow

click here to be added to taglist

[monstersflashlight]

Patreon Commission for anon

Request: orc x female with cum inflation, breeding, ferel sex, and size kink?

A/N: This has no much plot, or plot at all… it’s just very, very filthy. Enjoy!

Dick imprint

Orc x fem!reader || cum inflation, breeding, feral sex (light), size kink || tw: pregnancy mention

When your husband told you he wanted to have mating sex, you thought it would be as any other sex you had, but you aren’t expecting his body to become bigger, harder, wider… The second you see the change, your pussy is clenching in need and your insides are twisting in anticipation. He stands before you with a raging erection as you pant.

“Suck,” he instructs, pressing two of his fingers to your lips. You open your mouth obediently, your tongue playing around his fingers until he grunts. He presses down against your tongue, caressing it and making your pussy so wet you feel your juices running down your thighs. “Such a good girl, you are going to take me so well, aren’t you?” You nod against his fingers, sucking hard and groaning.

He pulls back his fingers, kissing your now wet lips and pushing your legs further apart, falling between them as you pant. He stares down at your cunt, making you all kinds of flustered, but his body is so big that you can’t close your legs, you can’t hide away from him.

“Look at that sweet pussy, I’m going to fill it so well. You are going to take me so well, little mate.” His words ignite a fire inside of you, arching your back in a try to get your needy pussy closer to the huge bulge in his pants. He chuckles. “How brave, trying to bait me? Not happening.” And then he pushes his two wet fingers inside your pussy without preamble. You scream his name as he finger-fucks you relentlessly, carelessly… And you fucking love it.

His eyes are blown wide, so dark you can barely see the hazel color they used to be. He’s panting as he finger fucks you, his precome forming a wet patch against his pants that has your mouth watering. But when he curls his fingers just right, you can’t do anything but to close your eyes and roll your hips against his hand. He praises you, but your ears are ringing too loud for you to process his words. He adds another finger and you feel like you are about to burst.

He’s so big.

His fingers are bigger than any toy you ever tried… and his dick is even bigger. You are trembling in anticipation, and when he presses hard against your G-spot, you see fireworks behind your eyelids as the first of many orgasms crashes over your body. You scream incoherently as he finger-fucks you through it.

“Just like that, little mate. Let it all out, let me see how good you feel around my fingers. You are going to feel even better around my cock, aren’t you?” Your mouth is too dry to answer. He pulls back his fingers, patting your pussy like it’s nothing more than a pet, and you shiver, your whole body reacting to that little degradation.

You whisper his name, and he looks up at you. “I need more. I need you.” If you thought his eyes were dark before, you know nothing.

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, he’s tearing his pants in half, and roaring like a monster. His green skin is flushed all over, and his tusks look dangerous against his skin, but you can’t be worried, you can’t do anything about it but whine in need as he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock.

He turns you around, pushing your hips back until you are on your knees, face pressed against the mattress. “Come on, little mate, let me in…” He pushes a bit harder, the tip of his cock entering you with what feels like a pop. Stars dance in your eyes, the stretch is impossible and your body is trying to fight it, but his still wet fingers rub over your clit, and you moan, your body relaxing enough for him to slip a little bit further. “Just like that, come on, you are doing so well…”

He goes slow, panting as if it’s running a marathon, speaking nonsense as he fills you little by little. He feels so big you can’t talk. You can feel him in the back of your throat and you are sure he’s not even half-way in. You are going to explode at any moment, but he keeps going. And going. And going...

By the time he’s completely inside, your body is his. You are nothing but a toy for him to use and you are in fucking heaven. He starts slow, allowing you to adjust to his girth as he praises you, your pussy clenching around him and making him grunt and whine. That makes you hotter.

But he starts to talk, you are done for. “I’m gonna fill you up until you are overflowing, until your cunt is so full of me that you can taste me in the back of your throat.” You whine at his words, your mouth hanging open over the pillow as he pressed your face to it. “And you are going to take it all, aren’t you? Your hungry pussy is gonna take all of me.”

You try to nod, but he’s holding you down, so you just groan, rolling your hips back against his erection, making him grunt and pull back a friction, just to slam back into you as a punishment. Your eyes roll back into your head, the pleasure so high you can’t even process it, your mind blank.

“Do you want to be bred? Do you want to carry my orc children, little mate?” You clench around his length accidentally, his words making your insides twist. You can’t say no to him, so you just nod mindlessly against the pillow as you feel his cock hitting your cervix.

The knowledge that you can be pregnant, that he could breed you completely drives him into his more primal understanding of mating. Leaving behind the sweet words and praises, a roar leaving his mouth and making the windows rattle as he grabs your hips with a bruising force. And then he starts to fuck you in earnest.

You let go, and an earth-shattering orgasm rocks your body, a silent scream breaking your throat as he fists your hair and fucks you harder. The skin against skin sounds are deafening as his heavy balls hit your clit over and over. He’s so big, and he’s filling you so well that you don’t know if you are still coming or the pleasure is truly that insane.

He starts to come, and you follow right after, your body responding to his hot come inside your pussy, so deep… He screams your name, his dick not getting soft, only harder. He fucks you through another orgasm, filling you again. And then he does it again. And again. You know how long he can last, but you never had him like this… this feral… And you can only guess his stamina has only improved.

At some point, he turns your body around, manhandling you until your legs are over his shoulders and he’s hitting home once again. His dick feeling huge inside of you, your pussy quivering as one of his fingers finds your clit, and he starts rubbing mercilessly. You scream when the first shot of his cum fills you. But it doesn’t stop. He keeps coming and coming, his seed overflowing and gushing around his dick as he fucks you thru it.

You look down in time to see your lower abdomen bulging with each thrust, the tip of his cock so deep you can see it. You scream his name, another orgasm rushing over you as he roars in victory, more shots of his come hitting you deep.

You look down in time to see your stomach bulging, so much come inside of you it feels like you could burst, but he’s not done with you. And neither are you. You keep rolling your hips, trying to get him deeper, harder… He complies, so much dick… so much come… You don’t know where you end and he begins, but you can’t care. You only care about the molten lava seed inside of you, the amount of it and how it sloshes around his dick as he keeps fucking more and more inside of you.

By the time he’s spent, you don’t know how much time has passed, you only know that you are a mess of fluids inside and outside. Your pussy feels tender and abused, and you can feel every single drop of his come gushing down your tights. You are sure the bed is a mess, but you can’t care. He picks you up and walks to the bathroom, helping you into a bath and cuddling until you fall asleep…

[lawyer-in-law]

Wow. I didn't know so many people liked my rambling on a 7 year old post. I didn't know it had even been read by more than two people until it showed up on my own feed. So, thank you :)

If anybody is interested, there are some further thoughts I have to this:

While I do sincerely believe this behavior is part of his personality, I think it was heavily exacerbated by the multiple traumas he experienced stacked on top of each other. In a way, I think letting other people call the shots in terms of relationships is a coping mechanism.

It seems to me, as a child, Phoenix was not popular. I don't necessarily think he was disliked, but he didn't seem to have any friends. It wasn't until the class trial that he ironically got any. I'm not 100% knowledgeable on all the nuances and minutiae but from my amateur understanding, not even Larry was his friend until the class trial (feel free to correct me if I'm wrong).

So I'm imagining little Phoenix having a lot of stuff happen to him within a very short time frame all within a few months. Little Phoenix with no friends gets blamed for a theft he didn't commit and is ostracized by his whole class. The one person who stands up for him ends up becoming such an insanely close friend that Phoenix would quit art school to become a lawyer for him. Not six months into their friendship, close friend inexplicably disappears from his life without reason or explanation.

What must little Phoenix be thinking? What is going through his mind? Does he feel abandoned? Does he blame himself for any of it? I can't imagine him feeling blameless knowing the everything we know about him.

So. Trauma. And definitely abandonment issues. Throughout the rest of his adolescence, I assume he never had a friendship with anyone to the degree he had with Edgeworth. Yeah, Larry and everything but I don't think Phoenix would've gone to law school for him.

And then Dahlia comes along and breaks what's barely holding together to a degree where I'm honestly surprised Phoenix can still function as a human being.

Phoenix and Miles' childhood friendship was instantaneous. Miles defends Phoenix, bam, Miles and Phoenix best friends in true childhood fashion.

Then, like it's fate, some girl falls into his lap and suddenly it's an instantaneous connection. A false connection, but obviously Phoenix doesn't know that. So with Dahlia he thinks he finds what he's been missing for so long and becomes obsessed because it's a high he's been looking for since Miles left.

Then Dahlia goes and reveals how much she'd been manipulating Phoenix and suddenly he's back to when Miles left. Abandoned. Confused. Hurt. And not fully understanding any of it cause it's too painful and too cruel and hits too many triggers.

So I think there's honestly a bit of a split between Phoenix's acquiescence in terms of before and after. In both phases, yes. Phoenix still lets people determine the parameters of the relationship in the beginning but it's much more open and raw in a "heart upon your sleeve" kind of way in hopes of getting friends. And then he gets hurt too much in too cruel of ways that he lets people choose their relationship with him not out of a desire for friendship but from a desire not to get hurt. As a defense.

If he doesn't choose how these relationships with others go, then he can blame himself less when it goes south. And having other people make their own boundaries means that he never has to give up his own. He lets people become his friends or assistants or what have you without ever sacrificing his own vulnerability. He may let people define the relationship, but having a relationship doesn't mean you can get anything from him. He's still closed off, evasive, and sometimes down right mean if it'll keep people at a safe enough distance.

In regards to Narumitsu, I won't repeat myself, but I would like to add that in conjunction with all the other fucked up shit Phoenix has had to deal with in his life, admitting his feelings to Edgeworth (or himself let's be fucking honest here), is so far down his list of priorities. Cause not only does he have all that past trauma, but he also has to live forever with the aftermath of Edgeworth's "suicide" where he was abandoned again and I really think he walks on eggshells around Edgeworth for that reason, why he represses all his love and therefore won't confess to the feelings he's subsequently in denial of.

Phoenix is great. I love him. I love picking his traumatized, fictional little brain. And I love rambling about things I should probably let go of. But he's just. So. Interesting!

the best running theme of Phoenix Wright is that he 100% just rolls with whatever relationship other people decide to have with him. His only girlfriend basically just walked up to him and said “you. we’re dating now and you love me very much” and he was like “yeah okay, lemme know if you have a sweater I can wear to really drive the point home.” The Fey sisters basically grabbed him and said “I guess you’re our brother now” and he was like “yeah sure do you have any family drama I could get involved in?” Even Trucy just sorta told him “hey you’re my dad” and he was like “Mm. Guess I’d better get a job, huh.”

[tonysbed]

You belong with me | MV1

Max Verstappen x bestfriend!reader

Summary: Max ruins any date you go onto, claiming it was either a coincidence or the guy was shit..

warnings: idiots to lovers, swearing, crying, bit of a misunderstanding (reader is an overthinker like all of us)

main masterlist

-

You don’t know when it started, but you do know that it’s starting to piss you off.

Because at this point, it’s not even subtle anymore.

Every single date you go on? Ruined.

Not in an obvious, throw-a-drink-in-your-face kind of way—no, that would be too easy. Instead, it’s always conveniently timed interruptions, coincidental run-ins, or your date suddenly deciding he’s not that into you after one too many glares from across the room.

And the common denominator?

Max fucking Verstappen.

Your best friend—who, apparently, has made it his life’s mission to sabotage every attempt you make at having a love life.

Tonight is no different.

You had a good feeling about this one. He was nice, funny, normal—a rare find in your world. Dinner had been going well, conversation flowing, and you had even allowed yourself to relax, to think that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

And then, of course—

“Oh, wow. Crazy running into you here.”

You swear to God, you almost stab him with your fork.

Max stands at the edge of your table, hands in his pockets, looking like he didn’t just walk into this restaurant with the sole intention of ruining your night.

Your date glances between the two of you, oblivious. “Oh, you guys know each other?”

You grit your teeth. “Unfortunately.”

Max grins. “She loves me, really.”

Your date laughs. Laughs. Like this is all just some funny coincidence.

You know better.

Max strikes up a conversation with him, effortlessly steering things in a direction that makes the guy start to feel out of place, like he doesn’t belong in your world. By the time the check arrives, he’s already making some excuse about an early morning, giving you an apologetic smile before heading out.

And just like that, another one bites the dust.

You stay seated, arms crossed, as Max slides into the now-vacant seat across from you. “You’re a menace.”

He steals a fry off your plate. “He was boring.”

You groan. “Oh my God. That’s not for you to decide, Max!”

He shrugs. “Just looking out for you.”

“No, you’re being a controlling asshole.”

His brows furrow slightly. “It’s not like that.”

You exhale sharply, pushing your plate away. “Then what is it like, Max? Because I can’t keep doing this. Every time I start to like someone, you show up and ruin it.”

He doesn’t say anything, which only makes the frustration boil over.

“Is it fun for you? Do you get some kind of thrill out of watching me end up alone?”

Max flinches, like you actually hit him. “Jesus, that’s not—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” you snap.

His jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists on the table. His whole body is wound tight, like he’s holding something back.

And then—

“They’re not me.”

The words hang between you, heavy and unmovable.

You blink, heart stuttering. “What?”

Max exhales, looking almost… defeated. “They’re not me. And you deserve—” He stops, shaking his head. “You deserve someone who already knows all your little quirks. Someone who doesn’t need to ‘get to know you’ because he’s already been there through everything.”

You swallow, pulse hammering. “Max—”

“You deserve someone who gets that you overthink everything, who already knows exactly how to talk you down from it. Someone who doesn’t get tired of your rants about the smallest things, who actually likes listening to you talk, even when it’s about shit he doesn’t understand.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You deserve someone who would never fucking leave, no matter how much you push him away. Someone who—” He looks away, voice quieter. “Someone who already loves you.”

Your heart is pounding.

The weight of his words crashes over you all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Max watches you, eyes guarded, like he’s bracing for impact.

And suddenly, it all clicks.

The ruined dates. The coincidences. The way he’s always there, standing between you and anyone who so much as tries to get close.

It was never about them.

It was always about you.

And, more importantly—

It was always about him.

Your throat tightens. “You… you never said anything.”

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “And what would I have said? That I’ve been in love with my best friend since before I even knew what the fuck that meant?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Max…”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Just forget it, okay? It’s fine. I just—”

You don’t let him finish.

Instead, you grab his face in your hands and kiss him.

Max stills for half a second, like he can’t quite believe it’s happening. Then—he melts into you, hands finding your waist, pulling you in like he’s been waiting for this forever.

And maybe he has.

And maybe, so have you.

When you finally pull away, he looks at you, eyes searching. “So… you’re not going to kill me?”

You let out a watery laugh. “Oh, I definitely am. Just—later.”

Max grins. “I can work with that.”

-

bsf!reader is the best 🧚

[nanamisgirly]

cw cheating!nanami, spit, age gap, degrading. (unprotected sex, p in v)

touching yourself in the guest room of your best friend's house was probably a terrible idea. but could anyone blame you when nanami had spent the entire day parading around shirtless, sun-kissed and glistening, those broad shoulders shifting effortlessly as he flipped burgers at the grill?

sprawled on the bed, fingers between your thighs with the vivid image of nanami. older, mature, built like he was sculpted for sin. that blonde happy trail, those veined forearms, the way his sweat-soaked shorts sat loooow on his hips...teasing the thick ridge beneath—it wasn't fair.

"n-nanami- mfghn" as two fingers played with your inside, you wished it was him. with those big hands, those tired, restrained eyes. just the thought of him kneeling between your legs, muttering about how bad this was as he spreads you open, pressing his cock against your slick folds—you nearly cum.

"fuck—n-need him," your pussy started clenching.

when suddenly, you hear a soft crack and your door shifted, just a little. and through the dim light you see a very imposing Nanami standing in the doorframe. eyes wide, watching you. but you were so lost in pleasure you continued anyway "M-Mr. n-nanami-" you used your small fingers to part your pussy lips, letting him see your glistening inside.

nanami should back down, act like he saw nothing. but it's been so long since he properly fucked. his wife doesn't even let him have sex, and if he does, it's just a plain-boring vanilla sex.

that's why his hands are on you in the speed of the light. gripping your hips, shoving you down onto the mattress, mouth against your neck. "fuck.." nanami was fast to drag out his monstrous rock-hard cock. pink tip flushing, hungry. your walls clenched around nothing. you were so ready to be stretched open by him. your back arches, in need.

"p-put in it— i-i'm prep enough." you reached for his cock and give him a few strokes. he was sooo heavy in your hand.

"goddamn." nanami doesn't wait for more. he glides his swollen tip along your drenched slit, teasing, pressing. then with a ruthless snap of his hips, he's buried deep inside of you—so deep it feels like he's rearranging your insides, stealing the breath from your lungs. you're dripping, struggling to take his sheer size. each unforgiving thrust shoves you deeper into the sheets, the bed frame creaking under the force. "p-please—more—ah!—n-need more," you grind back on him, desperate, matching his brutal rhythm, your slick making a filthy mess between you.

nanami snaps, pushing your legs up, up, up—until your knees brush your ears. he adjusts his stance, planting his feet for better leverage. he watches the way your stomach bulges with every ruthless stroke. he presses a broad palm over the swell, feeling himself inside you, grunting when you whimper. this new position was so good, feeling every thick veins grazing your inside as he goes in and out, in and out, in—

"you filthy slut," nanami spits the words against your ear, his grip bruising where he holds your thighs, dragging you back onto his cock like you're nothing more than a toy to use. "moaning my name like a desperate thing while you touch yourself. what kind of nasty little girl gets off thinking about her best friend's dad who is twice her age?" you can't even answer. you're too fucked-out, too cock-drunk. "messy fucking cunt," he growls, glancing down to where your juices drips down on his cock, his thighs sticky with your slick. "wanted me to stretch this messy little hole until you couldn't walk? fuck, I can feel you drooling around me—naaaasty." your nails claw at his shoulders, your soaked cunt clenching down, begging for more.

his fingers wrap around your throat, forcing your head up. "use your words, slut. I asked you a question."

"y-yes-" your voice cracks, high and breathless, "-wanted you so bad, w-wanted—ohhh, f-fuck—" nanami grabs your jaw, forces your mouth open, and spits straight onto your tongue. "swallow." you do—instantly, obediently—moaning as the taste of him lingers, heat searing through your veins.

"poor dump thing," his grip is bruising, pinning you down, keeping you right where he wants you—helpless and trembling, your walls fluttering wildly around the thick length. your spin arches like a bow as he says "gonna ruin you. gonna fuck you so full, you won't even remember how anyone else feels."

nanami was on the verge of loosing his mind. "you're gonna take every last drop of my cum, everything I give you." his hands seize your ass, forcing you down onto his thick base. "like a gooood slut, right?" that was probably the best pussy he's ever had. and he surely won’t stop fucking you dump any time soon.

a/n mean nanami for the win🙂‍↕️

[kunareads]

if i believe you | chapter one

a bride adorned

clan head!satoru x reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 1k content: it's your wedding night! no smut, angst

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

your wedding had been beautiful.

ornate silks, golden light, the scent of incense. satoru had taken it all in stride, hands loose at his sides like he had nothing to prove. and when he turned to you, the weight of the gojo clan on both your shoulders, he only smiled as he took your hands.

he had squeezed your fingers once as the vows were spoken, just enough to get you to meet his gaze. and before you knew it, it was done.

and now, you wait.

the room is silent, save for the faint crackle of candlelight. shadows flicker against papered walls, stretching long and soft over the sheets where you sit, waiting.

your hands are folded neatly in your lap, resting over the embroidery of your wedding robes. you’re still dressed. the thought hits distantly, like you’re observing yourself from the outside.

why are you still dressed? should you have undressed first? would that have made this easier?

the thought of him undressing you feels too large, too intimate, too much. but it must be done.

you inhale, willing your mind into stillness.

you’re a wife now. you have a duty.

the door slides open.

he steps in, his presence swallowing the room. satoru gojo, your new husband. his robes are looser than before, the outer layer gone, revealing the sharp edges of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat. his white hair is slightly tousled after the long day, but the tilt of his head and the lift of his brows suggest amusement.

“you look like you’re waiting for an execution,” he says.

your fingers twitch in your lap. “i—” you pause, unsure how to answer. you are waiting. just not for an execution.

he rubs the back of his neck as he steps further into the room. the candlelight softens his features, makes him look younger, though you know better. satoru is anything but soft. he’s the head of his clan, the strongest, the one elders bow to in quiet reverence. or fear. he’s a man with power, with authority, and now he’s your husband.

you belong to him.

the thought isn’t scary. it’s not even unwelcome. it’s just a fact.

you straighten your spine, pressing your shoulders back as he reaches the foot of the bed. he watches you, blindfold off, something unreadable in his gaze.

you fold your hands tighter. “would you like me to—”

“no.”

the word is immediate. sharp.

you blink.

you’re so stiff, so still. like you’re waiting to be moved into place. or for something to happen to you.

satoru knew who you were before you married him, knew what kind of family you come from, knew how they would’ve raised you. but knowing it and seeing it are two different things.

he exhales heavily, raking a hand through his hair. “you’re—” he stops himself, shakes his head, and mutters something under his breath before sitting next to you.

you don’t flinch at the dip of the mattress under his weight, but something inside you goes very still. your heart beats in your throat.

“i…” you try again. “i know my duty.”

his head tilts, white lashes lowering as he studies you. then, almost lazily, he leans back on his palms.

“yeah?” he asks. “and what’s your duty?”

you swallow. this is a test, you think. maybe you just have to say it plainly, strip it down to the bare truth.

“to be a good wife to you,” you answer. “to—”

you force the words out, staring down at your hands. “to submit to you.”

his stomach turns. fuck. the back of his neck feels hot.

silence stretches between you. when you finally look up, his expression is unreadable. his mouth quirks at the corner, but it doesn’t look like a smile.

“they teach you that at home?”

you nod.

he hums, something distant in the sound, before sitting forward again. his hand lifts, and for a moment, you think he might touch you. might push you down into the sheets, might cup your jaw, might—

instead, his fingers brush the beading on your robe. the slightest pressure, knuckles grazing your sleeve. a test.

you don’t move. you stay perfectly still. a statue, waiting to be sculpted into whatever shape he desires.

he pulls his hand away. wrong.

“is that what you want?” he asks.

your mouth opens, then closes. want. what a strange word to use.

“it’s my responsibility.”

satoru’s jaw ticks as he sits back again.

you don’t know what you want, he thinks. you’re just repeating what you were told. he could do anything right now, and you’d just take it. he can’t stand it.

for a moment, neither of you speak. you feel like you’ve failed a test you didn’t know you were taking.

then, he shifts, reaching for the ties at his wrist, untying them slowly. you brace yourself.

this is it. this is when it happens.

but he only loosens the fabric, then moves toward the pillow and lies down at the very edge of the bed. just like that.

you blink at him.

he stretches an arm under his head, gazing up at the ceiling like the moment has already moved on. “go to sleep,” he says.

you don’t move. your pulse is loud in your ears. “but—”

“go to sleep, please.”

you stare at him, confusion twisting in your chest.

this isn’t how it was supposed to go. you were prepared. you were willing. why didn’t he—

your stomach twists. a new thought takes root.

you turn away, pressing your hands into your lap. your voice is quieter when you speak again.

“did i do something wrong?”

for a moment, nothing.

he wants to reach for you, to offer something—comfort, maybe? but if he touches you now, if he gives you even that, he doesn’t know how you’ll take it.

finally, he looks at you. his gaze softens, almost tired. “no,” he says simply.

and then, with finality, he turns on his side, his back to you.

you don’t move for a long time. you sit, still and quiet, staring at a flickering candle. it sputters once, then it dies. the room feels colder for it.

only then do you finally lie down. you keep your hands folded over your stomach. you stare at the ceiling.

you don’t sleep.

neither does he.

[enhaflixer]

ENHA HARD HOURS - brat tamer!enhypen x brat f!reader cw(MDNI 18+) : atp idek what to say biting, spitting, explicit hard core stuff. jake's mouth is disgusting as usual and jungwons actions might acc kill me and the rest i just have no words

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

You should’ve known better than to push Heeseung this far.

It had started as a game. A little teasing here and there, brushing him off when he tried to pull you into his lap, dodging his kisses at the last second, giggling when he let out a low, frustrated sigh. You knew exactly what you were doing. You liked the way his patience thinned little by little, how his fingers flexed like he was barely holding himself back. It was a dangerous game—you knew that. But you didn’t care. Not when the reward was watching him unravel.

The real mistake, though, was what you did next. Flirting with Sunghoon had been an impulse decision, one you knew would push Heeseung over the edge. You weren’t stupid. You could feel his gaze burning into the back of your head as you laughed just a little too sweetly at something Sunghoon said, reaching out to touch his arm for no reason at all. But when you turned to look at Heeseung, expecting to see jealousy, maybe a flash of irritation—his face was completely blank. No reaction at all.

That should have been your first warning.

Later, when he finally grabbed your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it just a little too tightly, his voice was steady, unreadable. “Come home. Now.”

You smiled, tilting your head up at him, smug as ever. “Make me.”

The shift was instant. His grip on your wrist tightened, his jaw tensing as his eyes darkened. Your stomach dropped.You had pushed him too far.

Heeseung barely gave you time to react before you were pinned to the bed. Your wrists were trapped above your head, held in place by one of his hands, his other hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His gaze was sharp, cold.He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t playing. This wasn’t part of the game anymore.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was calm—too calm, mocking. “You really thought you could get away with that shit, huh?” His grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch.

You swallowed hard, but refused to break just yet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

SMACK.

A sharp slap landed across your ass, the sting stinging deep, making you jolt. Before you could even react, another followed. Harder. You bit your lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but Heeseung just laughed.

“You wanna try that again?” His tone was casual, almost bored.

“Fuck you,” you hissed.

Heeseung hummed, tilting his head like he was actually considering it. Then, with a slow, wicked smirk, he let his fingers trail down your body, teasing—but never touching you where you needed it. “Oh, baby,” he sighed, fingers ghosting over your inner thighs, making them twitch. “That mouth of yours is gonna get you in so much trouble.”

You lifted your hips, trying to get any kind of friction, but Heeseung pulled away completely, making you whine.

“Oh, no,” he tsked. “You wanna be a brat? Then you don’t get to have me. Not yet.”

You let out a frustrated whimper, squirming beneath him, but he just smirked.

SMACK.

Another sharp slap. Your thighs trembled, the mix of pain and pleasure making your body burn.

“You thought you were so fucking clever today, didn’t you?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Ignoring me. Touching Sunghoon. Flirting right in front of me.” He let out a dark laugh. “Cute.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his hand wrapped around your throat, cutting you off instantly.

“You really think I’m stupid, baby?” His lips brushed against your ear, his tone dripping with condescension. “You really think I wouldn’t notice you acting like a little slut all night just to get a reaction out of me?”

A shiver ran through your body. You hated how much that word sent heat pooling between your legs. Hated how your body betrayed you every time he talked to you like this.

Heeseung noticed. Of course, he did.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his hand leaving your throat to trail lower. His fingers barely grazed your folds, spreading the wetness he found there. “You’re dripping. Fucking soaked.” He let out a mocking laugh. “God, you really are filthy, aren’t you? You like this, huh?”

You shook your head. “N-no,” you whispered, but your voice betrayed you.

Heeseung pulled his hand away.

Your stomach dropped.

He sat back, watching you. The loss of contact made you whimper, your thighs pressing together desperately, but he just grinned.

“You don’t get to lie to me, baby.” Heeseung’s voice was dark, velvety, merciless. “You don’t get to act like a little brat and then expect me to fuck you nice and sweet.” He leaned in, lips brushing against yours but not kissing you. “You’re gonna beg for it.”

You swallowed hard, pride hanging by a thread. “P-please…”

“Please what?” he smirked. “Use your fucking words.”

You clenched your fists, frustration building. You wanted him so bad. But he wasn’t going to give it to you unless you broke.

“Please, Heeseung,” you gasped, voice shaking. “Please touch me, I—I need it, I need you—”

Heeseung just sighed. “Mmm. I dunno, sweetheart. You were being such a fucking brat earlier.” He let his fingers tease you again, barely dipping inside you before pulling away, making you cry out.

“Please—”

Another sharp spank.

“You can do better than that.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You couldn’t take it anymore. “I-I’m sorry,” you choked out, desperate, broken. “I was wrong. I’ll be good. Please, I need you, please—”

Heeseung tilted his head, watching you fall apart. Then, finally, his lips curled into a slow, satisfied smirk.

“There’s my good girl.”

And then, at last, he ruined you.

Heeseung didn’t let up—didn’t slow down, didn’t let you breathe. He touched you everywhere, made you feel everything, his hands and mouth claiming you so thoroughly you didn’t know where he ended and you began. He didn’t stop until you were a shaking, whimpering mess, barely able to think, barely able to breathe through the pleasure.

As he kissed your temple, soft again, sweet again, he whispered against your damp skin, voice dripping with satisfaction.

“Next time you decide to test me, sweetheart…” He chuckled, low and dark.

“Remember how fucking bad you begged for me.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

Jay had always been a giver.

The kind of man who put you first, no matter what. The kind who kissed your ankles before trailing up your thighs, who held your face so tenderly when he pressed his lips against yours. The kind who worshipped your body like it was his sole purpose in life to make you feel good.

Which is why, when you first brought up the idea of bratting, he had just laughed.

“Baby,” he had sighed, shaking his head with pure adoration. “You know I could never be mean to you.”

You had just smirked. “We’ll see.”

It had been too easy to get under his skin.

You knew exactly how to poke at his restraint. How to test the limits of his patience. It started small—pushing his hands off you when he tried to touch you, rolling your eyes when he kissed your neck. When he pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist?

You huffed dramatically and stood up, brushing yourself off.

“Nah. Not in the mood.”

Jay had blinked up at you, brows raising slightly, clearly taken aback. You watched the way his jaw tensed just a little,the way his fingers curled into his lap before he exhaled, forcing a smile.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice gentle as always. “Let me know when you are.”

That was your first mistake.

Because you had wanted him to snap. You had wanted him to take control. Jay, sweet, patient Jay, had tried so fucking hard not to.

But the moment you rolled your eyes again? The moment you let out a small, dismissive scoff?

That patience shattered.

One second, you were standing. The next, you were on your knees.

Jay had grabbed your wrist, yanked you down in front of him, and before you could even process it, his fingers were gripping your chin, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

“You wanna act like a brat, baby?” His voice was low, tight, dangerous. “Fine. But now, you’re gonna fucking take care of me first.”

Your stomach dropped.

Jay had never been selfish. Never taken before giving. Never used you for his own pleasure. But now?

Now, he was looking down at you like he was going to ruin you.

He leaned forward, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing. “I spend all my time making you feel good,” he murmured, his fingers trailing down, brushing over your collarbone, tracing the delicate lines of your body before moving lower. “And you wanna act up? Act like you don’t fucking need me?”

His fingers hooked under your chin, tilting your face up.

“That’s fine, sweetheart,” he sighed, mock sympathy dripping from his tone. “Then tonight, it’s about me.”

Your lips parted, breath catching.

Jay just chuckled.

“Open.”

Your thighs clenched. But you obeyed.

The moment your mouth parted, Jay’s fingers slipped inside, pressing against your tongue, his eyes darkening as he felt the wet heat of your mouth.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now let’s put that bratty little mouth to work.”

Your brain short-circuited.

Jay reached down, undoing his belt with deliberate slowness, watching your face the entire time. You could see it—the way his chest rose and fell just a little heavier, the way his fingers twitched with anticipation.

But then, when he finally pulled himself out, you whimpered.

“That’s right, baby.” His hand threaded into your hair, gripping just tight enough to make your scalp tingle. “I don’t want you teasing. I don’t want you playing.” He leaned down, his forehead nearly pressing against yours. “I want you to take it. All of it.”

Fuck. Fuck.

You barely had time to react before he was pushing past your lips, slow but deep, groaning as he felt you stretch around him. His head tilted back for a second, his throat bobbing, his breath hitching.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice wrecked already. His hand tightened in your hair, keeping you still as he pushed deeper, deeper, until the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, making your eyes sting with tears.

Jay groaned. A deep, primal sound, his thighs tensing as he held you there for a second, letting you feel it.

Then, he pulled back. Not all the way—just enough to let you breathe before he thrust back in, slow but rough, making you choke slightly.

You whimpered, drool slipping past the corner of your lips. Jay cursed under his breath, wiping it away with his thumb, smearing it across your cheek.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his tone taunting. “Like being used. Like being fucked open.” His grip on your hair tightened, tugging your head back slightly before thrusting back into your mouth, making you gag. “Not so bratty now, huh?”

Your thighs pressed together, the heat between your legs unbearable. You wanted to touch yourself so fucking badly,but Jay noticed the way you squirmed.

He laughed.

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” he warned, breathless. “You don’t get to touch yourself. Not after the shit you pulled tonight.”

You let out a muffled whine, and Jay groaned again, his head dropping forward, pressing against the wall behind him.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re so fucking good for me now, huh? Taking me so well. Not a single complaint.” His fingers brushed against your cheek, soft again, affectionate. “That’s what I thought, sweetheart.”

His hips jerked forward, losing rhythm, and you knew he was getting close. His thighs were tensing, his stomach flexing. His breathing was ragged, desperate.

Then, his fingers slid to your jaw, gripping just tight enough to make you look up at him.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he muttered, his voice low, ruined. “Wanna see that pretty little face when I cum.”

He broke right then and there.

Jay groaned your name, his hips snapping forward, his abs contracting hard as he spilled down your throat, his entire body shuddering. He held you there, panting, shaking, his fingers brushing over your lips as he watched you swallow everything he gave you.

Then, after a long moment, he let out a breathy chuckle.

“Fuck,” he sighed, running a hand through his damp hair, his cheeks flushed, his eyes hazy. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me, sweetheart.”

You licked your lips, giving him a sly, innocent look.

“So…” You tilted your head. “Did I push you far enough?”

Jay just shook his head, grinning.“Baby,” he murmured, leaning down, lifting you up with ease and throwing you onto the couch. “We’re just getting started.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

Jake had never been this fucking angry before.

Not at you. Not at anyone.

It started small—just a disagreement, a little back and forth, nothing serious. But you had been pushing him. You had wanted this.

And now?

Now, he was burning with it.

“Why the fuck are you acting like this?” Jake snapped, standing across from you, his fingers digging into his scalp as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “You wanna piss me off? Is that what you fucking want?”

You crossed your arms, leaning against the couch like you weren’t intentionally trying to get under his skin. “I’m not doing anything, Jake. You’re the one getting worked up.”

His jaw ticked, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath, like he was physically restraining himself from losing it completely. “Worked up? You’ve been a fucking brat all day. Ignoring me, rolling your eyes, mouthing off like you don’t know who the fuck you’re talking to.”

You scoffed. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re intimidating, Jake. You’re not.”

His jaw clenched. Hard.

“Try me.”

You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the way his entire body had tensed up, his hands curled into fists at his sides. But you weren’t done.

Not yet.

“You don’t scare me,” you said, tilting your chin up at him. “You act all cocky, but you let people walk all over you, Jake. You’re too nice. Too fucking soft.”

Jake let out a bitter, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “You’re so fucking full of shit.”

“You know I’m right.” You shrugged, the smirk playing at your lips. “You pretend you’re in control, but let’s be real—you don’t even know how to take what you want.”

That did it.

His head snapped up, his eyes burning, his patience completely fucking gone.

“You wanna see me take what I want?” His voice was low, dangerous, lethal. “Careful what you fucking ask for, sweetheart.”

You should have stopped. Should have backed down, should have apologized.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you said the worst fucking thing of your life.

“Y’know, he could probably make me cum faster than you can.”

Silence.

Jake’s entire body locked up. His head tilted slightly, his lips parting like he wasn’t sure he heard you correctly.

In an instant, he was in front of you, his hand wrapping around your jaw, gripping it hard enough to make your lips part.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

His eyes were burning, his fingers digging into your skin, his entire body shaking with barely-contained rage.

You swallowed, chest rising and falling, heart hammering in your ribs.

But you were too far gone.

You smirked.

That was it.

Before you could even breathe, Jake had yanked you onto the couch, shoved you down, and spread you the fuck open.

“I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

No teasing. No warm-up. No fucking foreplay.

His hands gripped your thighs so hard you knew there would be bruises. He ripped your panties down with one sharp tug, the fabric burning against your skin as he yanked them past your thighs.

“Pathetic,” he muttered, dragging his fingers through your folds, spreading the mess you had already made all over yourself. His touch was slow, taunting, humiliating.

“You’re fucking dripping. You like this, don’t you?” His voice was low, mocking, pure condescension. He let out another chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Such a dirty little bitch. Talking about another man when you’re this fucking wet for me.”

You bit your lip, hands digging into the cushions, your body betraying you, trembling in anticipation.

Jake noticed. Of course, he did.

His grin turned wicked, dark, completely unhinged. “Bet if I slapped this nasty little cunt, you’d fucking moan, wouldn’t you?”

Your entire body tensed.

“Jake—”

SMACK.

A sharp, stinging slap landed directly against your clit, the sudden shock ripping a strangled gasp from your throat,your back arching completely off the couch.

Jake’s breath shuddered, his cock straining against his jeans, his fingers flexing against your thighs like he was barely holding himself back.

“Oh, you fucking liked that.” His voice was pure filth. He tilted his head, watching the way your thighs twitched, the way your hips subtly shifted like you wanted more.

“God, baby, you’re disgusting.” His fingers spread you open again, admiring the way your slick dripped down onto the couch. “You got my fucking couch messy. Dirty fucking slut.”

This was a man on a fucking mission.

His tongue was rough, filthy, relentless, flicking against your swollen clit so fast you couldn’t even process it. His lips wrapped around it, sucking with obscene, wet sounds, his breath heavy, ragged, completely unhinged.

And then—he bit you.

Your scream tore through the room, your thighs clamping shut around his head, your back arching off the couch.

Jake groaned into you, loud and filthy, gripping your legs and forcing them apart again, holding you wide fucking open.

“Keep running your mouth now, baby,” he murmured against your cunt, his voice low, ruined, mean. “Tell me again how someone else could fuck you better than me. Say it, I fucking dare you.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t fucking breathe.

Jake just laughed.

“That’s what I fucking thought.”

Without warning—his fingers slammed inside you.

Deep. Hard. Perfect.

The stretch burned, his pace ruthless, unforgiving, fucking into you like he wanted to break you. His tongue flicked over your clit again, biting down every time you made a sound.

You sobbed, your body convulsing, your hips trying to jerk away.

Jake’s grip tightened.

“Uh-uh, sweetheart. You’re not fucking going anywhere.”

His voice was pure sin.

“You’re gonna sit the fuck still and take it.”

You whimpered, shaking your head, begging for something—anything—but Jake just fucking laughed again, low and mean, before spitting on your cunt, spreading the mess with his tongue.

“Messy fucking whore.”

Your orgasm hit you like a fucking truck, tearing through you so violently you screamed, legs shaking as you came so hard you thought you might black out.

But Jake?

Jake didn’t stop.

“Oh, you thought we were done?” He snorted, mean and mocking. “Nah, sweetheart. You wanted to talk shit?”

He sucked your clit back into his mouth, moaning at the taste.

“Now you’re gonna fucking take it.”

Your second orgasm ripped through you instantly, your entire body spasming, your hips trying to jerk away, but Jake just gripped you tighter, forcing you to sit on his face, to fucking ride his tongue.

And then, before you could even breathe, your entire body tensed—

Liquid gushed out of you.

Hard.

All over his face, his chin, soaking the couch beneath you, your body completely convulsing.

Jake let out a wrecked, breathy groan, his hips grinding into the floor, his tongue still fucking working you open, still fucking sucking every last drop from you.

But even then—he didn’t stop.

“Oh, you’re fucking crying now?” He mocked, his fingers still slamming into you, deep and fast. “Poor fucking baby. Can’t take what she asked for?”

You sobbed, your body completely wrecked, completely useless.

You tried to say something—beg him, plead, say anything, but the words barely even formed, coming out in a broken, trembling whimper.

Jake just laughed, mean and taunting, his tongue dragging over your clit again, biting down hard enough to make you scream.

“Shut the fuck up, baby.” His voice was low, dangerous, dripping with dominance. “If you’re not gonna scream like the filthy little cumslut you are, then don’t fucking speak.”

He went back in.

Biting, sucking, bruising.

Forcing another, and another, and another orgasm out of you until you couldn’t even move, couldn’t even think, your entire body trembling.

By the time he was done, by the time he had wrung you out so many times you had nothing left to give, your skin covered in bite marks, bruises, your body shaking from overstimulation, you finally realized,

You had never stood a fucking chance.

Jake licked his lips, panting, his face completely soaked with you, his hair damp with sweat. He leaned up, hovering over your wrecked, ruined body, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

His voice was raw, low, unrecognizable.

“Next time you even think about talking shit, sweetheart?”

He licked a stripe up your neck, biting your bottom lip so hard you whimpered.“Remember who the fuck owns this filthy little cunt.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

Sunghoon had told you.

He had warned you before locking himself in his office, his voice low, steady, and unwavering. He hadn’t said it cruelly—he never needed to raise his voice to make you listen.

“I have to work all day today. Don’t bother me.”

That should have been enough.

Should have been the end of it.

But you were a brat. And Sunghoon’s biggest mistake was telling you not to do something.

So you made a plan.

A stupid, reckless, fucked-up plan.

Standing in the doorway of his office, completely naked, you knew you had just set yourself up for a punishment you wouldn’t survive.

Sunghoon was mid-Zoom meeting, voice smooth and professional, his fingers flying across the keyboard, posture straight and focused—completely oblivious to what you were about to do.

Until you grabbed a chair, dragged it right in front of his desk, and sat down—spreading your legs wide, running your fingers between your thighs, putting on a fucking show.

For him.

For your boyfriend who had told you not to bother him.

For the man who hated being disrespected.

For Park Sunghoon, who had never been soft on you when you misbehaved.

You caught the moment he noticed.

His fingers paused on the keyboard. His posture straightened. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

But he didn’t react.

Didn’t scold you. Didn’t glare.

He ignored you.

Kept his fucking cool, continued speaking in that deep, controlled voice like you weren’t sitting right in front of him, fingers slipping between your thighs, chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths.

That was the moment you knew.

You were so fucking done for.

At first, you teased yourself slowly, dragging your fingers through your folds, dipping them in just enough to make yourself gasp. You moaned, softly at first, letting your body relax into the chair, enjoying the power you thought you had.

Sunghoon’s eyes flicked toward you once, just for a second, before going back to his screen.

It wasn’t enough.

So you got louder.

Your fingers worked deeper, faster, two slipping inside, curling against that spot that made your hips jerk, made your breath stutter. Your free hand trailed up your stomach, pinching your nipples, tugging and rolling them, whimpering as you squeezed your thighs together.

Still, he ignored you.

Kept typing, kept nodding at whatever the hell his coworker was saying, his voice even and smooth, unfazed.

You moaned again, louder than necessary, making sure every single sound you made filled the quiet room.

Nothing.

Sunghoon didn’t react, didn’t break, didn’t give you a single ounce of satisfaction.

You knew he was angry. You could feel it. The tension in his jaw, the stiffness of his shoulders, the way he kept adjusting in his seat, shifting like he was trying to control himself.

But he wouldn’t give in.

So you made yourself cum.

Right in front of him.

Loud. Messy. Desperate.

Your fingers curled deep, your back arching as you rode out your first orgasm, moaning his name, gasping for air as your thighs trembled, squeezing together from the aftershocks.

Still, Sunghoon ignored you.

Kept working.

Didn’t give you so much as a glance.

So you did it again.

Your fingers found your clit this time, rubbing messy, fast circles, your hips rolling against your own touch, your body already so sensitive it was almost painful. The second orgasm hit you even harder, tearing through your body so violently that you almost cried.

Sunghoon reached out and muted himself mid-sentence.

Then, he looked at you.

Just once.

His look alone made your stomach drop.

It wasn’t lust. It wasn’t hunger.

It was pure fucking rage.

You barely had time to process it before his meeting ended, and the moment the screen went black—

He stood up.

You gasped, trying to scramble out of the chair, trying to run, but it was too fucking late.

Sunghoon was on you, gripping your throat, yanking you up so effortlessly it made your head spin.

His fingers squeezed, forcing you to look at him, forcing you to see the way his eyes burned with something dark, something dangerous.

“You really don’t listen, do you?” His voice was calm, controlled, but terrifying.

Your breath was shaky, your naked body trembling in his grasp.

“I—I just thought you needed a break,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon just laughed. A low, dark sound that made your stomach twist.

“You thought you could distract me?” His fingers tightened just slightly around your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you whimper. “You really think you’re that fucking irresistible?”

Before you could answer, he flipped you around and bent you over the desk.

And then?

Nothing.

Sunghoon ignored you.

Just stood there, his hands running over every inch of your body, touching you everywhere except where you needed him most.

His fingers ghosted over your back, up your spine, over your shoulders. They squeezed your ass, traced the curve of your hips, gripped the inside of your thighs.

They dragged lower.

Lower.

Lower—

But not there.

Sunghoon’s hands brushed over your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone, your thighs, your calves, your fucking ankles. He gripped everything. Worshipped everything. Squeezed, kneaded, traced.

But he didn’t touch you there.

Didn’t give you what you needed.

That was when you realized—this was your punishment.

Your frustration boiled over, your body trembling with how badly you needed him.

“Please, Sunghoon,” you whimpered, pushing your hips back, desperate, aching.

Nothing.

His fingers grazed over your tightest hole, teasing, circling, but never pushing in.

You let out a shaky sob, frustration burning in your chest, tears stinging your eyes.

“Fucking touch me.”

Sunghoon grinned against your shoulder, completely entertained.

“Poor baby,” he cooed, cruel, mocking. “So fucking desperate.”

You shook in his grip, letting out a full, wrecked sob.

Sunghoon just chuckled, dark and dangerous, lips brushing against your ear.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Cry.” His voice was low, deadly, dripping with amusement.

“You should’ve thought about that before acting like a needy little slut.”

He kept going.

Kept ignoring you.

Kept teasing you. Kept teaching you exactly why you should never fucking disobey Park Sunghoon.

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

Sunoo loved to act like he was the one in control. He liked to roll his eyes when you tested him, sigh dramatically whenever you got a little too bratty, flash that smug little smirk when he thought he had you wrapped around his finger.He’d tilt his head, raise a brow, and say something teasing, something condescending, something that made it seem like he wasn’t affected by your games. But that was a lie.

Because Sunoo had no fucking restraint.

When you pushed him too far, he didn’t just put you in your place.

He dragged you down with him.

It started as a stupid little game. You wanted to see how much teasing he could handle before he finally broke. Sunoo was always trying to act like he was in charge, like he had all the power, like he could handle whatever you threw at him. So naturally, you wanted to prove him wrong. You started small—brushing off his touches, sighing when he kissed you, glancing at your phone when he tried to pull you onto his lap. Sunoo noticed immediately. He wasn’t the type to ignore things like this, and you could tell by the way he shifted in his seat, the way his fingers drummed against his knee, the way his tongue swiped over his bottom lip as he tried so hard to keep his composure.

But Sunoo wasn’t calm.

Sunoo wasn’t patient.

Sunoo wasn’t the brat tamer.

Sunoo was just as much of a brat as you were.

So when you looked at him with a smirk and whispered, “Is that all you’ve got?”

Sunoo snapped.

His entire body froze for half a second, like his brain needed to process what you had just said, and then suddenly, you weren’t sitting anymore. He had shoved you onto the bed so fast you barely had time to gasp, his hands gripping your thighs, pinning you down beneath him, straddling your hips like he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even a second. His face was inches from yours, his eyes dark, his lips parted, his breath heavy.

“You think you can just say shit like that?” His voice was high, breathy, trembling slightly— not from fear or hesitation, but from pure fucking need. His fingers trailed up your sides, gripping, squeezing, touching everything he could, as if he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed against your jaw, then your neck, then your collarbone, kissing, sucking, licking, mouthing at your skin like he needed it to survive.

“You think I can’t—fuck—you think I can’t handle you?” His hips rutted against yours, desperate, sloppy, uncoordinated, completely unhinged. His hands were everywhere, on your waist, on your chest, sliding down to your thighs, gripping hard enough to bruise.

Sunoo wasn’t holding back anymore.

Sunoo was completely fucking gone.

“Oh my god, I hate you,” he whined, voice high and breathless, but his body contradicted him entirely as he pressed himself closer, rolling his hips against you like he couldn’t stand not being buried in you already. It was so Sunoo—messy, chaotic, too fast, too much, all at once, no control, no restraint. His hands were shaking as he touched every inch of your skin, as if he needed to feel you everywhere at once.

“You don’t hate me,” you teased, gasping when he squeezed your waist hard, his nails digging in.

“I do,” he muttered, lips dragging over your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “I do. I hate you so much. You make me like this. You make me—ah—” His words broke off into a shaky moan, high and breathy, as his hips stuttered against you, completely lost in the moment.

Then, you broke.

Because Sunoo wasn’t controlling you anymore.

You weren’t controlling him.

There was no winner.

Just messy, unrestrained, mind-numbing desperation.

By the time it was over, by the time the room had gone still, your bodies tangled together, chests heaving, skin damp with sweat, Sunoo let out a weak, breathless laugh, burying his face against your shoulder. His hands were still gripping your thighs, like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

“We’re both fucking idiots.” His voice was hoarse, exhausted.

You huffed out a laugh, fingers tracing lazy circles against his back. “Yeah. But it’s your fault.”

Sunoo groaned, rolling onto his side, covering his face with his hands, his whole body still twitching from overstimulation.

“We are never doing that again,” he muttered.

You just smirked, glancing over at him.

“Sunoo.”

“Don’t.”

“Is that all you’ve got?”

He groaned dramatically, dragging a pillow over his face.

“I hate you.”

Maybe next time, neither of you should try to win.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

Jungwon wasn’t easily impressed.

He had infinite patience for other people—for business associates, for important guests, for those who needed to be handled with grace. He could smile, shake hands, make polite conversation without breaking a sweat.

You were the only one who could push him to his fucking limit.

And you knew it.

So when he had told you, very clearly, that tonight’s dinner was important—not to play games, not to act up, not to try him in public—

You did it anyway.

Because you were a brat.

Because you wanted to see just how far you could take it before Jungwon lost control.

You were going to suffer for it.

It had started subtly.

You had played nice for the first half of the evening—smiling sweetly, making polite conversation, sitting quietly beside him in the private dining room of a luxurious five-star restaurant.

Just when things were going smoothly, you pressed your hand onto his thigh.

Jungwon didn’t react.

Didn’t even glance at you.

He kept talking, voice smooth, composed, his posture completely relaxed.

So you took it further.

Your fingers traced slow, teasing circles on his inner thigh, inching higher, barely brushing over him.

Still, he didn’t react.

But then, just as you leaned in, just as your fingers moved a little too high—

His hand clamped down on your thigh, fingers digging in so hard you knew there would be bruises.

You barely managed to keep your gasp quiet.

Jungwon turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the sharp, dark look in his eyes.

A warning.

But you only smirked.

And that was the last mistake you’d make tonight.

The ride back to the hotel was silent.

Jungwon didn’t speak, didn’t touch you, didn’t even look at you.

Somehow, that was worse.

Because you could feel it radiating off of him—the quiet rage, the suffocating control, the slow, creeping tension in the way his fingers flexed against his thigh.

By the time you reached the penthouse suite, you barely had time to breathe before he grabbed you.

One second, you were stepping inside—the next, your back was slammed against the door, his fingers gripping your chin, forcing your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Try that again.” His voice was low, cold, sharp enough to cut. “See what happens if you ever pull that shit in front of people again.”

Your breath caught, your body buzzing with adrenaline, with anticipation, with the sheer intensity of his stare.

Jungwon scoffed, shaking his head. “You think this is funny?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath warm but his words pure ice.

“Maybe next time, I should just fuck you in front of everyone. Make you cum on my cock while they watch.”

Your entire body tensed.

Jungwon grinned against your skin, feeling the way your breath hitched.

“Oh?” He pulled back slightly, tilting his head. “You don’t like that idea?” His fingers tightened around your chin, his grip firm, unyielding. “Then why the fuck would you act like a filthy little whore under the table?”

Your stomach twisted, heat pooling between your legs.

Jungwon let out a dark, humorless laugh.

“You’re pathetic.”

In one smooth motion, he spun you around, pressing you against the massive floor-to-ceiling window, forcing you to look down at the glittering city lights.

“You wanna put on a fucking show?” His hands gripped your hips, forcing your legs apart. “Then fucking take it, slut.”

Swiftly, he ripped your dress open.

The sharp sound of fabric tearing sent a shock through your body, your bare chest now exposed to the cold glass.

“Fucking look at yourself,” he muttered, pressing a hand against your spine, arching your back until your tits were flush against the freezing window.

Violent, he spat on your back.

The shock of it made you whimper, made your skin burn, made your entire body lock up.

“That’s all you’re fucking good for,” Jungwon muttered, rubbing his hand over the mess, smearing it across your skin before grabbing the back of your neck, pushing your face against the glass.

And then—he fucked you.

Hard. Fast. Unrelenting.

Each thrust pressed you further against the window, your breath fogging up the glass, your body trembling as pleasure and pain blurred together into something unrecognizable.

But Jungwon wasn’t fucking done with you.

He dragged you onto the balcony.

The cool night air kissed your burning skin, but Jungwon didn’t give you time to adjust before he forced you onto your knees, his chest pressed against your back as he spread your legs wide, making sure you were completely exposed to the city below. 

“You wanted my attention?” His voice was venomous, sharp, pure dominance. “Then fucking take it.”

His fingers plunged into you, rough, punishing, fucking you open with no mercy, no hesitation. 

“Look at you,” he sneered, forcing your head up, making sure your eyes locked on the city skyline, the streets below where anyone could look up and see you. “A desperate little slut, dripping down my fucking hand.”

His fingers curled against that devastating spot inside you, making your thighs shake, making your breath hitch, making you arch helplessly against him.

“You wanna be seen?” His voice was pure sin in your ear, his free hand gripping your throat. “Then fucking scream.”

What were you if not obedient?

You screamed as your orgasm ripped through you, your body convulsing, pleasure bursting so violently that liquid gushed from you, soaking his hand, the balcony floor, leaving you shaking, spent, completely wrecked. 

Jungwon groaned against your ear, his grip tightening, his hand still working you through the aftershocks. 

“Fuck, look at that,” he murmured, rubbing the mess against your thighs, against your clit, overstimulating you until you were sobbing, your body twitching in his grasp. “So fucking pretty.”

Your entire body trembled, your mind completely wrecked.

Only then—only when he was satisfied—did he finally let you rest.

But later, when the night was over, when he had carried you into the warm, soapy bath, his hands gentle as they massaged your sore muscles, he was different.

Soft.

Loving.

His lips brushed over your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “I love you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice warm, teasing. “Even when you’re a fucking menace.”

You giggled, and he laughed too, his chest shaking against your back, his arms wrapping around you tighter.

“I’m so fucking happy I married you.” His lips trailed down your neck, leaving soft, reverent kisses. “Even if you make me insane.”

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

You never learned your lesson.

No matter how many times Niki put you in your place, no matter how many times he warned you that your bratty antics would come back to bite you, you just couldn’t help yourself.

You really pushed him.

It started with small things—ignoring his texts on purpose, pretending not to hear him when he spoke, rolling your eyes at his teasing. But what really set him off was when you stole his hoodie and sprinted across the apartment, laughing over your shoulder as he called your name.

That was your biggest mistake.

Because the second you ran, Niki’s entire demeanor changed.

“Oh, you’re dead,” he muttered under his breath, amusement laced with something darker.

He chased you.

You barely made it to the bedroom before he tackled you onto the mattress, effortlessly pinning you down with his weight, your wrists trapped above your head. His face was close—too close—his grin sharp and smug as you squirmed underneath him.

“You think you’re funny?” His voice was all playful mockery, but the firm grip on your wrists told a different story.

You only pouted in response, refusing to give in so easily. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Niki scoffed. “Nah, you know exactly what you did.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing mischievously. “And now, you have to pay for it.”

Your stomach flipped.

Niki had a habit of punishing you in the worst possible ways—not with pain, not with cruelty, but with something so much more unbearable.

Teasing.

And when he suddenly straddled your hips, pinning you down further, you knew you were screwed.

“You wanna act like a brat?” His fingers suddenly ghosted over your sides, making you jolt. “Then I’ll treat you like one.”

Before you could react, he started tickling you mercilessly.

“NI—NIKI, STOP!” you screeched, thrashing under him, laughter spilling from your lips against your will.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” he teased, his hands never relenting as they roamed over your ribs, your stomach, your hips—every spot he knew made you weak. “Where’d all that attitude go?”

You tried to kick him off, but he was so much stronger than you, effortlessly keeping you trapped beneath him.

“N-Niki, please!”

He smirked. “Please what? I thought you liked messing with me.” His hands finally slowed, giving you a moment to catch your breath—just before he leaned down, lips brushing against your ear.

“You wanna know what your real punishment is?” he whispered, voice lower, deeper.

You shivered.

Niki suddenly grabbed both of your wrists in one hand, pressing them against the mattress while his free hand trailed down your stomach, slow and deliberate.

“You don’t get to touch me.”

Your breath hitched.

He grinned at your reaction, fingers teasing over your thighs without really giving you what you wanted. “You can squirm, you can beg, you can cry—doesn’t matter. You’re not getting anything until I say so.”

Your body ached with frustration. “You’re so annoying,” you huffed.

He just laughed, tilting his head. “Oh? I thought I was so fun to mess with?”

You wanted to argue, but then his fingers brushed exactly where you needed them, and suddenly, words weren’t so easy to find.

But just as quickly as the touch came—he stopped.

You whimpered. “Niki—”

“Shhh,” he cooed mockingly. “You wanna be a brat? Then act like one—squirm all you want, but you’re not coming until I let you.”

And oh, did he take his sweet time.

For what felt like forever, Niki toyed with you, pushing you right to the edge only to pull away at the last second. Every time you got too close, he’d stop completely, watching as you whined in frustration, your body burning with need.

“You’re so easy to break,” he mused, chuckling at your trembling form. “Maybe next time, don’t start something you can’t finish.”

And then—finally, finally—he gave you what you wanted.

But even then?

Even then?

He made sure you paid for it.

Because he didn’t let you come just once.

He made you beg for it.

Over. And over. And over.

Until you were completely, utterly wrecked—panting, spent, boneless under him.

And only then did he loosen his grip on your wrists, kissing your cheek as if he hadn’t just tortured you for the past hour.

“See?” He grinned, nuzzling against your neck. “You should just behave next time.”

You glared at him weakly. “I hate you.”

Niki only laughed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. “You love me.”

And annoyingly enough?

He was right.

-

Taglist: @naurwayyyyy @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @zzhengyu @ijustwannareadstuff20 @annybah @ddolleri @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @inlovewithningning @mellowgalaxystrawberry @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @somuchdard

[dollbrbie]

sae itoshi ʚ ɞ coming down

summary. sae never seemed to care about you whenever he was drunk or high during your relationship, but even now, you’ll always find him at your door when he’s coming down

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹🪩♡

“what’re you doing here?”, you ask your ex boyfriend who was stood outside your door, his hands in his jacket pockets.

he shrugs, “missed you.”

“you need to stop coming round at 5am, sae. i’m not your girlfriend anymore.”, you sigh.

“i know that. but, i miss you. i just wanted to see you.”

“cause you’re not drunk or high anymore. it’s every weekend you do this, sae..”, you say. he never seemed to care whenever he was drunk or high, it was always the coming down when he did. you’re not even sure what that means but it wasn’t like it was the best feeling to experience.

he runs his hands through his hair, listening to your every word, “can i just come in, please? i just wanna talk to you, wanna spend time with you.”

you wish you had the strength to deny him, to stand on business and say no. but you knew yourself, and you couldn’t. so, you opened the door wide, moving yourself out the way as sae walked inside, getting a whiff of his cologne you knew all too well.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹🪩♡

“ah shit- missed you s’much.”, sae groans in your ear, holding you close to his chest as he thrusted into you with so much passion, attaching his lips on your neck and down to your collarbone, your hips stuttering in poor attempt to match him.

“missed you too”, you mewl, your arms wrapping around sae’s neck and your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

sae knew your body like the back of his hands, knowing what kind of pace gets you going the most, the kinks you have that send you in ecstasy as you chase your high on his cock, and he knows the exact words you need to hear to make you feel like you’re on top of the world.

his cock continuously abuses your g spot, that slight curve always driving you over the edge between your gummy walls as they flutter around his cock, a groan coming from sae’s lips, “fuck- gonna make me cum if y’keep doing that, baby.”

you could only let out a whimper at his words, throwing your head back as your nails clawed at sae’s back, leaving your mark, just how he liked.

“don’t leave me again..”, he breaths out, “i need you, beautiful, can’t have you running off from me again.”

you shake your head, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure that you’re dying to be released, “i won’t! won’t leave you, sae..”, you whimper, “please, ‘so close.”

“you’re close? shit- me too.”, he groans out, resting his forehead against yours, quickening his pace that rapidly stimulated your g spot causing your walls to clench around sae’s hardened cock, trails of whimpers coming from your lips.

“baby, please, please, please.”, you chant out like a beautiful prayer, that warm, white pleasure building up in your stomach, on the verge of spilling, “gonna cum..”

“me too, baby..”, sae breaths out, his cock throbbing in sync with your walls, his thrusts turning sloppy as you began grinding in his cock, eager for your own release, “c’mon, cum for me, beautiful.”

“fuck!”, you cry out, your body convulsing as the intense pleasure hits you while soaring through your body, you eyes rolling back with the few tears shedding, pulling sae even closer to you and connecting your lips with his. that’s when you feel sae completely empty himself inside of you, filling you up with his warm seed.

you both breath out, your head completely fuzzy from your orgasms, still holding onto sae for dear life, “fuck.. you drive me crazy, baby.”, sae mutters against your lips.

you let out a breathy laugh, ignoring that dreaded feeling in your stomach, knowing that even if you were about to get back together, he’ll never completely change his ways for you.

but for now, you’ll enjoy this temporary bliss.

navigation. series masterlist

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[seitmai]

“Couldn't risk anyone interfering. You can thank the limo driver for that,” he said, darting around and blocking the main door when you tried to walk out. “Why do you look so scared? There's nothing to be scared of. We’re just going to talk.”

Yeah just talk 🫠🫣

“Bucky, help!” you cried, hoping that whatever cameras Bucky had in your place had sound. “Help me, please!”

Oh 👀

You tensed up when his hand touched your thigh. You didn't know if it was to pry your legs open or to try to carry you out, but you wouldn't let him have you. And if he was going to have you, you wouldn't give it to him easily. So you struggled as much as you could and managed to move his hand away just enough for you to bite down.

Go off!!

Images flashed in your mind when you clawed at his hand. Putting together your first arrangement at your childhood home. Grabbing your favorite treat from the cafe. Finding a good book at Marc’s shop. The day Mrs. Crandle hired you. Laughing with your girlfriends. And waking up beside Bucky that morning, a soft smile on his face. Something you didn't expect to think about.

That sure is unexpected

Bucky paused to look at you. “You don't need to thank me.” “But you saved me,” you said. Him and the man you didn't recognize. “If you hadn't…” Your stomach rolled as you trailed off, not wanting to imagine the worst. He held you closer. “If you call for me, I’ll be there.”

He means every word

“He works for me. I’ve had him keep an eye on you. You weren't supposed to meet him…” He swallowed and looked down at you. “Like this.”

I feel like nobody's first introduction should be anything like this to be fair

You hid your face in his neck, wetting his skin with your tears. “I was so scared.” He slowly breathed out. “I was, too,” he admitted in a whisper. “But I’ve got you now.”

🥺🥺🥺

“I’m so sorry, Kotyonok,” Bucky whispered brokenly. He wasn't a helpless man by any means, but you were certain your sobs made him feel hopeless at the moment. “I can't fix what he did, but I’ll make him pay. He’ll fucking pay. I promise.”

Oh I'm sure he will

“What? No, you’re not working tomorrow. Mrs. Crandle will understand,” he said, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your wrist. You went rigid for a moment before you relaxed. He wouldn't hurt you. “You need to rest and stay here.”

He's not wrong

“Kind of surprised you didn't make me carry one from the start,” you commented. “You've been a bit skittish because of how I went about everything. If I gave you a panic button, it may have scared you into never leaving your place and I couldn't do that to you.”

Fair

You almost laughed. He preached over and over about your safety and it turned out he was right in some way. “Looks like you got your wish,” you said, trying not to tear up again. “You’re moving me in before the month’s out.” He looked stricken. “It wasn't supposed to be like this,” he whispered.

You studied him with a careful eye. Part of you thought in the beginning that he was twisted enough to arrange a setup so he could step in and play the hero, but he would never do something like that to you. He’d never let anyone else touch you if he could help it. And he couldn't fake the pain in his eyes. It hurt him that you were hurt.

I mean, i feel like this would not be a too crazy thought

Because everything led back to him, the threads of fate weaved together by his very hands.

Their lives truly get more intertwined minute by minute 🫣

Hold You Tight: Part 20

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 19 | Series Masterlist | Part 21

Chapter Word Count: Over 4k

Chapter Summary: Things come to a head when Clark confronts you.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, break-in, physical assault, threat and fear of sexual assault, choking, fighting, reference to stalking and violence, inner turmoil, angst, comfort, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and this chapter is a little heavy. Thank you again for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The chilling smile on Clark’s face made you grip your phone tighter. How did he get in, and how long had he been waiting for you? Looking around, you were painfully aware that you were alone in the building lobby with him. Maybe you could head back outside and call Bucky.

Or the police.

“What are you doing here?” you asked again.

“I just wanted to see you.” He removed his glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. He stood taller, too. “Is that a problem?”

“If you want to see me, you can stop by the shop. You don't need to come here,” you pointed out. You had one stalker already and didn’t need to deal with another.

“But I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, taking one step closer. “You didn't come home last night, and I thought you’d be back a little earlier today.”

A roll of uneasiness moved through you. What the hell was he on about? “Who said I didn't come home last night?” you asked. And why did he expect you back at your building earlier? Unless…

He laughed, a cruel and bitter sound. “Don’t bullshit me. I know you were with him. And I know you went out with your friends today.” His smile was going to haunt you for days. “I'm sure you had a nice time, but you do look a little more alert than I expected.”

The unease quickly turned to dread. Bucky said he caught someone following you, but what if that guy wasn't the only one? Ray would've spotted Clark though if he followed you, right? “And how exactly do you know I was with my friends?” you asked, slowly backing away toward the door since he was blocking the elevator.

“I’m a journalist. It’s my job to get the inside scoop,” he joked. You weren't laughing.

“My life isn’t inside scoop and it isn't any of your business,” you said, making his smile fade away. “I think you should leave.”

His eye twitched. “But we just started talking.”

You took a deep breath. It was getting tiring being surrounded by men who didn’t listen. “Look, I’ve had a long day on top of a long week. If Bucky finds out-”

“Bucky,” he spat, like the name tasted horrible on his tongue. “You think he’s the only powerful man in this city? I have a powerful friend, too.”

You froze. “Does your friend happen to be Helmut Zemo?” you asked, trying not to show how afraid you were. Did he know him? Work for him?

“Why don't we grab that coffee and I can tell you more about it?” he asked, reaching for your arm.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you said, glancing behind you. You wished Bucky or Ray was there. One of them would be there soon, right?

“Looking for your little bodyguard friend?” he smirked like he knew something you didn't. “I don't think he’ll make it with a flat tire and all.”

Your heart leapt to your throat. “How did you-”

“Couldn't risk anyone interfering. You can thank the limo driver for that,” he said, darting around and blocking the main door when you tried to walk out. “Why do you look so scared? There's nothing to be scared of. We’re just going to talk.”

You had every reason to be frightened. You didn’t know what Clark’s intentions were, but you sensed enough that they weren’t good and he didn’t want to just have a conversation. Bucky for all of his sins wouldn’t raise a hand to you, but Clark? Zemo? You could really get hurt.

“I’m sorry, but I think you should go.”

“Do you even want to be with Bucky or are you just afraid of him?” You jumped when he grabbed your arm. “Or is it because he’s rich? You think he’ll spoil you if you spread your legs for him?”

The sudden onslaught of vitriol made you shake. “Let me go. Please.”

He ignored your wince when his fingers dug in. “He doesn't deserve you. He isn't good for you, but I am. Just let me help you,” he argued, trying to grab your phone with his other hand. “I have a car waiting out back. Just come with me and we’ll figure this out.”

“There's nothing to figure out and I don’t need your ‘help’,” you said, yanking your arm back. “Just go and leave me alone!”

“Leave you alone? You sound just like Lois,” he bitterly whispered. His ex. You remembered the name. “Either come with me or I’ll-”

You dashed to the building staircase, not waiting for him to finish his threat. It felt reminiscent of a scary movie, running up the stairs and spelling out your doom instead of running out the front door. But you’d be okay. You could call for help once you got to your apartment.

“Get back here!”

Your legs ached as you ran faster, but the adrenaline and the heavy sound of his footsteps helped you push through it. It wasn't long until you got to your floor and you didn't look back as you got your keys out. “Come on,” you whimpered, your hand shaking as you unlocked your door. You sensed Clark right behind you, but you slammed and locked the door before he could get in.

“Open the door!” he shouted, the door shaking as he slammed his fist against it.

“Go away!” you begged, swiping at your phone screen. “Please…”

The sound of your door being kicked in nearly made your heart burst from your chest. You spun around to find Clark just outside, his breathing heavy as he narrowed his eyes at you. Scrambling back as he stormed inside, you opened your mouth and did something you never thought you'd do since Bucky entered your life.

“Bucky, help!” you cried, hoping that whatever cameras Bucky had in your place had sound. “Help me, please!”

You tried to rush to your room, but Clark was faster. Stronger. He pulled you back so fast and so hard by your wrist that you fell backwards to the floor. Pain shot through your body and you felt like you couldn't draw your next breath when Clark’s shadow fell over you. Tears stung your eyes, your body temporarily paralyzed as he kicked your phone away.

“Look what you made me do,” he sighed, crouching over you. “Lois ran from me, too.”

“What…”

“She was stubborn. Headstrong. We had a big fight and, well…” He shook his head. “But you were always so kind to me, and I thought you’d make it all better.”

The night you came home and found Bucky waiting for you frightened you, but it paled in comparison to the pure terror you felt when Clark crouched over you. There was something dark and twisted in his eyes as he looked you over. Any trace of the nice guy you were used to seeing in the shop was nowhere to be found.

“Bucky,” you breathed, some of the pain subsiding as you tried to roll away. “P-Please, help me.”

Clark’s face twisted into a murderous scowl when he rolled you onto your back again and clamped a hand over your mouth. “Stop saying his name. Stop fighting me. I don't want to hurt you.”

Your eyes widened, barely able to breathe through your nose. Cark already hurt you. Pain bloomed everywhere he touched. There were sure to be marks or something with how hard he pressed against your mouth.

“You just need to understand,” he whispered.

You tensed up when his hand touched your thigh. You didn't know if it was to pry your legs open or to try to carry you out, but you wouldn't let him have you. And if he was going to have you, you wouldn't give it to him easily. So you struggled as much as you could and managed to move his hand away just enough for you to bite down.

He cried out and pulled his hand back, looking as shocked as you felt. “Why are you behaving like a petulant child? I’m trying to help you. Why don't you see that?!”

“Clark, you're hurting me. Please, stop.” Tears streamed down your cheeks when he wrapped a hand around your throat. “Bucky, HELP ME!” you tried to scream, the fingers around your neck cutting off your words along with your air supply.

Images flashed in your mind when you clawed at his hand. Putting together your first arrangement at your childhood home. Grabbing your favorite treat from the cafe. Finding a good book at Marc’s shop. The day Mrs. Crandle hired you. Laughing with your girlfriends. And waking up beside Bucky that morning, a soft smile on his face. Something you didn't expect to think about.

Were you going to die?

“Shut. Up.” he snarled, loosening his grip just a little. “Just let me-”

Neither of you saw the figure behind him until he was pulled off you and shoved across the room. It happened so fast you couldn't tell if it was Bucky or not. You held your throat as you coughed and greedily gulped the air, the sound of scuffling and objects breaking urging you to move away. Sitting up, you were vaguely aware of more footsteps entering your apartment, but couldn't see who they were. You just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

You didn't want anyone else to hurt you.

Before you could get out of the room, a large, imposing body suddenly cradled you against it and gently held you when you tried to fight back. Blinking your tears away, you realized the man had blue eyes, but it wasn't Bucky or Ray. You didn't recognize him at all. Was he a new tenant?

“W-Who…”

“It’s okay,” the man assured you, quickly assessing you as the shouting and fighting continued. He brushed a finger along a rip in your cardigan. When did Clark do that? “Are you hurt?”

“I don't know,” you whimpered. Your wrist throbbed from where Clark gripped it, and so did your throat.

The fighting only lasted a few more seconds, the sound of heavy breathing filling your apartment before you heard, “Kotyonok?”

“She’s right here.” The man holding you let you go, but stayed close. “She’s safe.”

Safe. You weren't safe. You would never be safe again in this lifetime, would you?

“B... Bucky?” your voice cracked. You trembled and you thought you were crying, too, but you couldn't be sure. It wasn't until you blinked and felt a pair of almost familiar arms around you that your vision began to become more clear again. “You're here?”

“It’s me. I'm here,” he tried to soothe you, tenderly wiping your tears away. His hair was a mess and his clothes were disheveled, a far cry from the put together man you were used to seeing. “I’ve got you.”

Glancing across the room, you spotted Clark laying on the ground with Ray and Steve standing over him. You let out a broken sob when you took in the rest of the scene. Your potted plants and vases were broken, your little trinkets and frames shattered, and everything felt terrifying. It was supposed to be your home and it was once again invaded and forever tainted.

“Steve, bring him to the club. Shut it down. No one touches him until I get there.” Bucky’s metal arm curled around you and lifted you before you could protest that you were too heavy, the heat radiating from him soothing you. “Ray, deal with any neighbors who saw or heard anything. No cops.”

“You sure you don't need me to drive you?” Ray asked, concern etched all over his face when he looked at you. He looked both hurt and furious.

“I’m sure. Just get to the club after you deal with the neighbors.”

Something covered your body. Was it a blanket? A jacket? “What do you need from me?” the stranger asked.

“Get the car. Take us home,” Bucky ordered, carrying you away.

You didn't lift your head as Bucky carried you to the elevator. Did your neighbors hear the commotion? “He was waiting for me. H… He kicked my door in.” You sniffled, your body shaking uncontrollably. “He grabbed me and…”

“He won't touch you again. Ever,” he whispered. He was holding his anger at bay. You could feel it.

“I told him to go,” you explained, seeing the clench in his jaw. “I didn't… I’m sorry…”

Bucky gently shushed you. “You don't need to apologize. This isn't your fault. And I’m taking you home and no one is going to lay a finger on you ever again.”

You nodded, but some voice in the back of your head said you caused this somehow. It may have been the shock you felt since you rationally knew you hadn't done anything. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Bucky paused to look at you. “You don't need to thank me.”

“But you saved me,” you said. Him and the man you didn't recognize. “If you hadn't…” Your stomach rolled as you trailed off, not wanting to imagine the worst.

He held you closer. “If you call for me, I’ll be there.”

How did he get there so quickly? And Ray? “How did you know something was… I mean…” You sniffled again. “Did you hear me?”

Bucky tensed up. “Steve and I weren't too far from your place, and I got an alert as soon as your door opened. I knew something was wrong because Ray wasn’t here yet and you were still supposed to be in the limo,” he said, stepping out of the elevator and heading right to the car. “I dispatched Curtis immediately and we were close behind. Ray ran to get here.”

Your brows pinched. “Curtis?” you asked. Was that the man you didn't recognize?

“He works for me. I’ve had him keep an eye on you. You weren't supposed to meet him…” He swallowed and looked down at you. “Like this.”

Another man watching you. When exactly were you supposed to meet him? “So you heard me call for you?” you asked.

He swallowed again and nodded. “Yes.”

Never in a million years did you think you’d call out to him for help. You didn't consider that the cameras would ever be anything more than an obsessive way for him to have control over you, but it may have saved you today. And you couldn't imagine what you looked like as he looked over you. Your makeup ruined, shaking like a leaf.

“Try not to move too much,” he urged when you shifted in his arms. “I’m going to have my doctor look you over to make sure nothing’s broken and… to make sure you're okay.”

“Okay.” Your face scrunched up before you began to cry again. You were hurt and so confused. Nothing made sense and you couldn't even go home. “Why did Clark-”

Bucky let out a low growl and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Never say his name again.”

You hid your face in his neck, wetting his skin with your tears. “I was so scared.”

He slowly breathed out. “I was, too,” he admitted in a whisper. “But I’ve got you now.”

Bucky had you, but your tears didn't stop flowing and it didn't change what happened.

“I’m so sorry, Kotyonok,” Bucky whispered brokenly. He wasn't a helpless man by any means, but you were certain your sobs made him feel hopeless at the moment. “I can't fix what he did, but I’ll make him pay. He’ll fucking pay. I promise.”

You slumped against Bucky, exhausted from everything that transpired. You had no doubt he'd destroy Clark for hurting you. You just wished he never put his hands on you to begin with.

The partition lowered, but you kept your face hidden in Bucky's neck. “Nick got the driver,” Curtis announced.

“Make sure he’s brought to the club,” Bucky said, rubbing your back. “I need him to tell me exactly why he let you out of the limo before I beat him within an inch of his life.”

“He did it… The driver.” You sounded like you hadn't used your voice in days. “He did something to Ray's car.”

You hadn't been able to process what Clark said earlier, but you could now and it all made sense. The driver was at the winery the entire time you were and he would've had plenty of opportunities to mess with one of Ray's tires. Knowing that Ray wouldn't get to your building like normal, he let you get out of the limo and go into your building where Clark was waiting.

Clark also said you were more alert than he expected. Maybe you weren't paranoid by thinking something happened to the drinks. If you drank as much as your friends, you may have been more out of it and wouldn't have been able to put up any sort of fight against Clark.

Bucky tilted your head up and wiped a stray tear away. “He’ll pay, too,” he promised, not even questioning if what you said was true. He took you at your word. “There’s something else, isn't there?” he asked, grabbing a water from beside him and bringing it to your lips.

“He didn't confirm it, but…” You took a drink, the cool liquid making your throat feel a little better. “I think Zemo had something to do with this.”

Bucky’s mouth was set in a grim line and fury burned behind his eyes, but he softened his gaze for you. “Zemo knows you're my future wife. If he knowingly allowed someone to put their hands on you…” His metal fingers curled, but he pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead. “Did Jensen get that file like I asked?”

“He did,” Curtis confirmed, looking in the rearview mirror.

“Make sure he’s there, too,” he said, keeping his eyes on you. “Let's get you inside.”

A few minutes later, you found yourself lying in a guest bedroom with a blanket draped over you. Bucky didn't leave your side as he made a couple of calls, but you didn't pay attention to who he was talking to as you stared at the ceiling. You weren't sure if shock was wearing off or sinking in.

“Kotyonok? Dr. Cho’s almost here,” Bucky said, worried when you didn't look at him. “I can run you a bath after she looks you over and give you something for any pain you’re feeling. Or you can just rest.”

You made some sort of humming noise. Today was a day in your life that should've been fun, a day to remember a nice outing with your friends. The memories were tainted now, just like your home. It hurt so much. And you couldn't even message your friends because how would you start to explain what happened?

“What can I do?” he asked. He sounded desperate. This was something out of his control.

“I have to work tomorrow,” you said, testing your wrist and ignoring his question. Work was normal. You needed normalcy. “I have to…”

“What? No, you’re not working tomorrow. Mrs. Crandle will understand,” he said, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your wrist. You went rigid for a moment before you relaxed. He wouldn't hurt you. “You need to rest and stay here.”

You sniffled. What were you going to say if you called in? That a customer attacked you? “My stuff…” you said. There were things at your apartment you wanted, needed.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll make sure it's brought here. It isn't safe for you to go back there.”

“How long do I have to stay here?” you asked. Would you be a prisoner now as a means to keep you safe? He had every excuse in the world now to do so since his home was safer than yours ever was.

“We need to discuss some fail-safes, like getting you a panic button.”

“Kind of surprised you didn't make me carry one from the start,” you commented.

“You've been a bit skittish because of how I went about everything. If I gave you a panic button, it may have scared you into never leaving your place and I couldn't do that to you.”

He had a point, but you wouldn't say so. “But you could install cameras and have men like Ray and Curtis watch me?”

“Because I know I put you in danger, which is a reason why I did those things and why I wanted you here for good. I also wanted you here for selfish reasons, but your safety is the top priority,” he smiled sadly.

You almost laughed. He preached over and over about your safety and it turned out he was right in some way. “Looks like you got your wish,” you said, trying not to tear up again. “You’re moving me in before the month’s out.”

He looked stricken. “It wasn't supposed to be like this,” he whispered.

You studied him with a careful eye. Part of you thought in the beginning that he was twisted enough to arrange a setup so he could step in and play the hero, but he would never do something like that to you. He’d never let anyone else touch you if he could help it. And he couldn't fake the pain in his eyes. It hurt him that you were hurt.

“I really am thankful that you showed up tonight,” you said.

“I go where you go,” he swore, curling up beside you. “Always.”

He’d follow you into hell if you asked him to do so. “Will you please do me a favor?” you asked.

“Anything,” he replied.

“Cl… He mentioned his ex-girlfriend. Lois,” you said. “Can you make sure she’s okay?”

You weren't certain if Clark attacked you on Zemo’s orders or if it had nothing to do with Zemo at all, but you were afraid for Lois. As obsessive as Bucky was, it was a saving grace tonight that you had someone looking out for you. Not an excuse, but a silver lining.

“You're hurt and you're thinking of someone else?” he asked in awe.

You bristled for no good reason at all. “You don't have to worry about me. I’m fine.” You inhaled and exhaled, trying to compartmentalize again. If you could just go to sleep and pretend everything was normal, that you were just a florist with an average life… “I’m fine.”

Bucky shook his head. “You're not fine.”

“Of course I’m not fine! Nothing is fine!” you snapped. He didn't flinch. Didn't move. “I was followed! I was attacked! I…”

You were living in a nightmare.

Your chest heaved before Bucky put your face in his chest. The dam built up inside you, all the turmoil and stress you tried desperately to keep from surfacing, finally broke and overflowed. Your fingers curled in his shirt and it all came out in heart wrenching sobs, as if a piece of you died. You cried until your head hurt and your throat felt raw. Until you didn't think you had any tears left to cry.

He held you through it all, being the calm in your emotional storm, your source of comfort instead of your tormentor. “It isn't fair,” you cried. It wasn't fair what you were going through, but life was never fair.

“It isn't,” he agreed, not letting you go when you stopped crying. “But I’ll make them pay and we’ll get through this together.”

“Together?”

“Together,” he whispered.

You had to believe he was telling the truth, that things would look up and you’d heal from the pain. You'd either hold your head high or Bucky would hold your head up for you. Like everything else in your life recently, you had no other choice but to grin and bear it. And no matter what, Bucky would be by your side through it all.

Because everything led back to him, the threads of fate weaved together by his very hands.

And breathe, lovelies. This was a heavy chapter for me to write, and I just want to give Kotyonok all the love and comfort and wine and money and everything. What is Bucky going to do to Clark? Do we think Zemo will be pleased when he finds out what Clark did? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[cameronsbabydoll]

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — CHAPTER NINE

WARNINGS — possessiveness, rafe watches the reader through the security cameras in his penthouse,

You wake up slowly, stretching beneath the silky sheets, the warmth of sleep still clinging to you. The familiar scent of Rafe’s cologne lingers in the air, but the spot beside you is empty, the mattress cool where he once laid. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you push yourself up on your elbows, searching the room until you find him.

He’s already dressed for the day, standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp white dress shirt. The city skyline stretches behind him, morning light spilling into the penthouse, casting golden hues against his sharp features. The way the sun hits him from behind only makes him look even more formidable, like some sort of power-broker god. Your heart flutters just watching him.

His gaze flicks to you, expression unreadable. “Morning,” he says simply, voice deep and smooth, but it carries an undertone of authority. The kind of tone that makes your stomach tighten in anticipation.

You hum in response, still groggy, rubbing your eyes. Your usual routine is to roll over and curl up for another few minutes of sleep. But there’s something about the way he stands, so effortlessly commanding, that keeps you awake. You half-expect him to tell you to get up or tease you about staying in bed too long, but instead, he says something completely unexpected.

“You should just stay. Move your things in.”

The words hang in the air, casual, matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it’s already decided. Like he’s been waiting for this moment.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you sit up quickly, clutching the blanket around you, your pulse quickening. “Really?”

He gives you a look—one of those unreadable, slightly amused stares he always gives when he thinks you’re being a little slow, as if everything is part of some plan. “Yeah,” he says, tilting his head, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. “You’re already mine, aren’t you?”

The words hit you like a wave, a surge of warmth filling your chest. You nod without even thinking, the answer bubbling out of you as though it’s been rehearsed. “Yes.”

His smirk widens, almost predatory, and it makes your heart race. He steps closer, and in one fluid motion, he tilts your chin up with his fingers, brushing your bottom lip with his thumb before leaning in and kissing you. It’s slow, deliberate, claiming. Every movement makes your chest tighten, your body already responding before your mind catches up.

When he pulls back, he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering. “I have meetings all day,” he says, voice low and confident. He shrugs into his suit jacket, smoothing out the fabric. “Make yourself at home.”

And then, just like that, he’s gone.

The second the door clicks shut, you scramble for your phone, heart hammering in your chest, feeling like you’ve just entered a dream—or a whirlwind you can’t control. You barely wait for your best friend to answer before whisper-shrieking, “He asked me to move in!”

Her gasp is so loud that you pull the phone away from your ear, heart thudding harder now. “No fucking way.”

You flop onto your back, staring up at the ceiling, grinning like a giddy schoolgirl. “I’m serious! I’m literally in his bed right now. He just left for work and told me to make myself at home.”

“Holy shit. You’re actually, like, a little housewife now.”

The words make your stomach do a little flip. You don’t know why they hit you so hard, but they stick, almost like a label that feels right—too right.

You giggle, kicking your feet. “I guess?”

Your best friend hums from the other end, the sound of her shuffling things around echoing in the background. “Are you sure about this?”

You hesitate for half a second, weighing the idea in your head, but there’s no doubt in your voice when you reply, “He takes care of me. You don’t understand.”

You can almost hear her raising an eyebrow. “I mean, I kinda do. You sound so whipped right now.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks burn. “Shut up.”

“Shut up? Girl, you just called me squealing about moving into your sugar daddy’s penthouse.”

You scowl, but there’s no real bite to it. “He’s not—”

“Babe. He’s rich as hell and spoils you rotten. He’s literally your sugar daddy.”

You huff, but there’s a smile creeping onto your face. “Well, he’s hot.”

“Obviously.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Okay, okay. I should give you a tour. You won’t believe this place.”

You flip the camera, starting with a slow pan across the living room. The plush, modern furniture gleams under the lights, the cityscape sprawling out beyond the glass walls. His home is the kind of place you only see in magazines, the kind of place you never imagined could ever be yours.

Your best friend whistles. “Jesus. He’s loaded.”

“I know,” you murmur, in awe all over again. “It’s crazy.”

You continue to show her around, feeling proud of the space, the luxury that suddenly feels like it belongs to you. But more than that, there’s a warmth inside you that swells. This is real. It’s happening. And no matter how fast everything is moving, you don’t want it to stop.

—

Across the city, Rafe sits in his top-floor office, the city spread out beneath him, endless and busy. The glass walls reflect the midday sunlight, bathing him in a sharp glow that makes his presence even more commanding. He’s not paying attention to the skyline, though. His focus is entirely on the small screen in his hand.

You. Wandering around his penthouse, showing off every corner like it’s already your own. You didn’t know he had cameras installed in every room—an added layer of security, of course, but also a way for him to keep an eye on his territory. And right now, his girl is wandering around, lost in his world, taking it all in.

He smirks, sipping his whiskey with one hand, the other resting lazily on the arm of his chair. His eyes track your movements on the screen, watching you giggle as you show your friend the oversized kitchen, the walk-in closet, the marble bathroom. The soft tones of your voice drift from the speakers, and he finds himself listening a little too closely.

His thoughts are interrupted when one of his business partners walks in, pausing as he sees Rafe staring at his phone with an uncharacteristic grin.

“What are you grinning at?” the man asks, raising an eyebrow.

Rafe looks up, smirking even more. “Just watching something.”

The man takes a few steps closer, squinting at the screen. “Is that security footage?”

Rafe doesn’t even glance at him. “Yep.”

“You got cameras in your penthouse, huh?” The man steps up beside him, now grinning as realization dawns. “Wait… Is that your girl?”

Rafe takes another sip of his whiskey, his eyes still glued to the screen. “She’s mine.”

The man lets out a low whistle, impressed. “Damn. You’re really moving fast, huh?”

Rafe just shrugs, his gaze never leaving the screen. “Told her to move in this morning.”

“Holy shit, you’re not messing around,” the man mutters, shaking his head. “Guess I don’t need to ask how things are going with her.”

Rafe just smirks. “No. You don’t.”

—

Later that afternoon, Rafe comes over to help you pack.

You’re excited at first, the thought of finally moving in settling in your chest like a warm, comforting feeling. But when you open the door to let him in, the reality of it hits. The place you’ve called your own for so long suddenly feels… small.

Rafe steps into your room and looks around, his expression a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “Jesus, princess,” he drawls, arms crossed as he takes in your space. “Didn’t realize I was moving a whole toy store into my place.”

Your face heats up as you watch him pick up a stuffed Jellycat. His lips curl up in a wicked grin. “You’re bringing all of these?” he teases, holding the toy up like it’s some kind of oddity.

“Yes,” you snap, snatching the plushie back and cradling it like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

Rafe’s amusement doesn’t die, though. He picks up a delicate lace nightgown you’ve never worn, holding it between his fingers, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You wear this?”

Your cheeks turn crimson. “Sometimes,” you mutter.

He tilts his head, studying the piece of clothing with a smirk. “I’ll bet you look good in it.”

Then, he finds your diaries. You freeze as he flips through the pages, glancing at the messy scribbles inside. “What’s this? You write about me in here?” he teases, lifting a page that looks suspiciously familiar.

“Rafe!” you squeak, lunging for it, but he holds it just out of reach. You try not to blush, but it’s impossible.

Rafe laughs darkly, his voice low and full of that unyielding authority. “You’ll have to tell me about these later.”

You glance at him, heart skipping a beat. “I—”

“I’ll read them later, then,” he says, dropping the diary into the box, a wicked smirk on his lips as he watches you scramble to stuff the rest of your things into bags. “You’re really mine now, aren’t you?”

There’s no hesitation this time. You look up, meeting his gaze. “Yes, Rafe. I’m yours.”

He nods once, clearly satisfied with the answer. “Good. Now let’s get you moved in.”

The thought of the future seems less daunting now, wrapped up in a world of power and control. Everything has already changed. And you’re finally realizing just how much it’s about to shift.

As the evening settles in, the penthouse feels more like home with each passing minute. Rafe has settled back into the luxurious bed beside you after helping you unpack, though now, there’s a different air in the room—one that feels charged with something more than just the day’s events. The sheets feel like silk under your skin, and you can’t help but notice how comfortably you fit next to him, even as the distance between your bodies feels like the closeness of a couple that’s been together for years.

Rafe is lounging against the pillows, eyes scanning over something on his phone, though his focus never really leaves you. You’re sprawled out beside him, fiddling with your own phone, just distracted enough to ignore the small, almost predatory smile that keeps tugging at the corners of his lips.

You can feel his eyes on you, making the back of your neck tingle as you type quickly into your notes app, your fingers tapping out your thoughts in the quiet of the room.

I think I like playing house with him.

You read it over for a second, your heart racing. Is it too soon to feel like this? Too soon to acknowledge how good it feels to be his in a way that feels so natural? The thought of being his—the way he owns the space, the way you fit into it—has become so familiar that you wonder if this is where you’ve always belonged.

Before you can hit send, Rafe shifts beside you, his phone now forgotten. You glance up just as he tilts his head and gives you that knowing grin—the one that always makes your stomach flutter. His eyes darken slightly as they trace the curve of your body beneath the soft nightgown you’ve slipped into.

“You think so?” he murmurs, his voice low, almost predatory. It’s a question, but you can feel the command in it, as if he already knows the answer.

You nod, a soft blush creeping over your cheeks, but you don’t pull away. The space between you is still just enough to make your heart race, but you can feel the pull of him—it’s magnetic. His gaze dips down to your exposed legs, then back up to your face. The heat of it burns you from the inside out.

With one swift motion, Rafe reaches out, dragging his fingers lightly over the delicate lace of your nightgown, his touch so careful yet so possessive. You can feel his fingers trailing slowly up your back, the fabric shifting under his touch as his hand moves with deliberate purpose.

"You're mine, aren't you?" His voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s firm, expectant.

You bite your lip, feeling your breath catch in your throat. His presence is overwhelming in the best way, and every part of you wants to surrender to him. “Yes," you say softly, your voice betraying the heat that's built between you.

Rafe leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Good."

You shiver at the feel of his breath on your skin, but then he shifts, his hand now resting on the small of your back, just above the curve of your hips. He moves you closer, pulling you flush against his body. His grin widens, a wolfish gleam in his eyes as he looks down at you, seeing right through any pretense.

His hand slides lower, smoothing over the back of your nightgown with an almost lazy touch, like he’s claiming every inch of you. You feel a gentle pressure against your spine, a light caress that feels possessive yet comforting all at once. You can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips, your body instinctively pressing closer to him.

With that same commanding, almost teasing voice, he says, “Come here. Sleep.”

The way he says it, it’s not just an order; it’s a promise—of what you still aren’t fully sure of, but you know it’s something he’s not going to let go. There’s that little spark of danger in his tone, the one that makes everything inside you tingle. It’s the kind of command you’ve learned to expect from him, and this time, you don’t hesitate.

You slip closer, curling into him, your head resting on his chest. His arm wraps around you, holding you close, and as you settle into the familiar warmth of his body, you can feel the faint, rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

You hear him chuckle softly, a deep, low sound, as his fingers stroke over your back, soothing and possessive all at once. The moment is perfect in its stillness, but you can feel how restless you both are underneath it.

And as the night draws on, you don’t know what’s coming next—how he’ll change you or how you’ll change him. But in this moment, wrapped in his embrace, you think to yourself with a soft smile:

I think I really do like playing house with him.

Rafe’s voice breaks the silence before you can drift off completely, his hand still moving lazily over your nightgown, tracing lazy patterns on your skin. “It’s just the beginning, princess.”

Your pulse spikes at the sound of his words. You don’t even have to see his face to know the grin that’s there—faint, dangerous, and full of promise.

You close your eyes, your body relaxed against his, and let sleep come, knowing the future holds more than just playing house. And with Rafe, it’s a game you’ll never tire of.

[eiightysixbaby]

kissin’ lace in the backseat

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

something something eddie loves your lace panties something something

cw: 18+ oral (f receiving)

a/n: this is really short i’m so sorry but at least my brain let me put something out 🙂‍↕️

“I like these.”

Eddie’s mouth lingers, hot, centimeters away from your nearly naked cunt. The only thing between him and your bare skin is a full-lace pair of baby blue panties.

He kind of loves them. Okay, he really loves them.

Like, for some reason it’s turning him on more that you’re not fully bare. The way the underwear barely holds you in, lips ready to spill out from beneath the garment with one little bit of movement. Hair peeking through the delicate fabric — because fuck him if he’s ever gonna ask you to shave.

You’re delicious right now, and Eddie wants to savor you. He’s never seen you in anything like this.

“Yeah?” You wiggle your hips a little bit, sprawled on your back in the back of his van.

The subtle motion makes the tip of his nose just barely make contact with your clit, and you moan. You fucking moan, at the slightest bit of friction.

God, Eddie’s a goner.

Your skin is warm from the golden hour sunlight that filters through the windows, and he likes the way you feel beneath his palms. He nods his agreement as he lets his hands glide up your torso, slipping beneath your shirt to reveal — sure enough — a matching lace bra to your panties.

The thought that you intentionally picked out a matching set for him is making him want to ruin you.

He groans, letting his fingertips flit briefly across the cups before he’s dragging his hands back down, index and thumb turning their attention to the little bow at the waistband of your underwear. He plays with it absentmindedly, his eyes drinking you in completely.

“Eddie, come on,” you whine at him, glancing down your body to meet his eyes where they hover between your thighs.

“Sorry baby, you’re jus’ so pretty,” he praises, his voice a husky rasp. You can feel his breath hot against you, and it only makes you wetter.

You sigh, a soft little sound, letting him trace his fingers up and down the outsides of your thighs. His nose brushes your clit again, intentionally this time, before you feel his mouth suction onto your core.

Over your panties.

The moan that comes out of you is sharp, guttural. You can feel both the warm wetness of his mouth and also the pleasant scratch of the lace against your skin. It makes your fingers curl hard around the blanket beneath you, gripping tight to soft fabric to keep yourself tethered. Your body practically throbs with desire.

“Eddie—” you gasp, back arching, a sly little laugh escaping him as it happens.

His tongue presses itself flat against your folds, saliva soaking blue lace. You hiss at the friction of the fabric against you as he presses his tongue in, ever so slightly breaching your hole. He flicks his tongue back and forth, teasing you and himself all at once.

Eddie’s in heaven, plain and simple, his cock straining hard against his jeans. Worked up beyond belief over a stupid pair of underwear. He feels kind of like a teenager, creaming his jeans over seeing a thong for the first time or something.

But he can’t help it. There’s just something about the way these look on you. There’s something about you, period.

Shamelessly, he sucks, pulling the fabric into his mouth. Tasting your arousal, stripping the lace of it, looking up at you with those torturous brown eyes all the while. He moans around the mouthful, the expression on his face sinful as you stare at each other. You buck your hips, whining, reveling in the firm squeeze of his hands at your thighs.

He lets go of the panties eventually, pressing his face in close to kiss over your core. He starts at your clit, working his way down until his lips press over your entrance. A finger hooks inside of the now drenched underwear, pulling them aside just enough to let himself tongue fuck you properly.

You can tell how worked up he is in the way his hips rut against the floor of the van, the way his tongue sloppily takes what it wants from you. He’s nearly making out with your pussy, uncaring that you’re dripping his saliva and your own arousal onto his blankets.

“So fucking hot, wearing your little matching set for me,” Eddie’s voice rumbles against you, pink plush lips torturing you. “Pretty lace, just for me. All for me.”

You could already tell, but the verbal confirmation that he likes it makes your face go incredibly warm. He’s so gone, so lost in you, it has you reeling.

So when he makes you cum in mere minutes with his mouth, your body shaking harder than possibly ever before, you decide you need to buy more lace panties.

For, you know, research purposes.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

(This ask took me forever because my phone was being a bum, then I lost said ask so whoever this was from, thank you, and heres what you asked for)

They would obviously go insane, being kidnapped by some low-life thug in Gotham and held against their will for millions of dollars, but in your eyes, you thought you weren't even worth a penny. You didn't even fight back; no way your shit-faced family would come running to save you. At least Bruce was on the way to save Jason from dying, but there was no way he would do the same for you. You saw the look in his eyes when you attended galas; it wasn't out of love, it was out of shame, pure shame. So you sat there in the cold, dark, and wet room, seeing rats chew on electric cables; even if it shocked them, they'd keep on chewing, keep on finding something to eat, even if there was pain or it would kill them in the long run. What had you thought of yourself so much, proving yourself to people who would never see you as their equal? You were allowed one call, and only one. Your kidnappers thought you would call your dear old dad, but no, you called your mom. You were begging and crying, using "mommy"—you hadn't used that word since you were 13—but right now, you wanted your mom more than anything. Fuck Batman and his stupid kids; you wanted your momma.

She took the message to Bruce; she was going through all four stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, but acceptance wasn't one of them. She wouldn't accept the fact that you might be dead; she wouldn't accept the fact that she'd never find you; she wouldn't accept it at all, and she tore them a new one, cursing each and every family member out while Alfred held her back, making sure she didn't do anything rash, which she would, and the Batfam felt absolutely trembled. Go searching for you? Half of Gotham would have burned down if it wasn't for Tim and Babs talking the rest of them out of it, but let's be honest, those computer twins were up for nights searching security cameras for you. Bruce was the craziest out of all of them; it was like losing Jason again, except it was his own flesh and blood, and when he heard that you called your mom for help—not him—he lost it. She didn't even have enough money for the ransom; she couldn't pay it off, but you called her instead of your billionaire father, who was BATMAN! For Christ's sake, did you really not trust him? Did you really think you weren't worth the trouble? Did you think he didn't love you?

He was going crazy in his study just at the thought that Dick, Jason, and Cass were going full rage mode. They'd been beating thugs into unconsciousness; some of their faces were unrecognizable if they didn't have an ID on them. Damian was very confused; he didn't know what to feel. At first, he acted aloof. Why did they want you of all people? You were useless, a disgrace to the Wayne family name, weak and replaceable, and when he shared those feelings with Alfred, the old butler who always seemed to understand him, walked away without a single word. It just didn't make sense to him. Why did the old man care, and why did everyone care now, and why did he care? This wasn't like him. Not at all.

Steph felt like she failed as a sister, as a hero. How could anyone hurt you? You're so sweet, so silly, so kind, yet she did the same. She was no better than the thugs. Duke was completely out of it. You'd catch him muttering to himself, going on all-night patrols, hitting the streets, finding all the info he could, and coming back to your big brother when he finally found you half alive, your locs matted and fizzy. Your glasses were broken, and dirt caked your brown skin. You pushed away from them the second they tried to touch you. You screamed for your mom, crying for her like a baby. Still, she finally showed up, pushing the brick of a man that is Bruce Wayne out of the way, grabbing you like you were a baby that was first put into her arms the second she gave birth to you. The Batfam was heartbroken, especially Bruce. He had made his suit less scary for the last child who cried when they saw him, but even when he took off his cowl and got closer, you still cried and pulled away from him, afraid he might attack you. But he wouldn’t—you’re his baby, after all.