#the fabric on one side has stretched some but i'm gonna get a couple of them push buttons or something

[ssaalexblake]

anyway, I decided to make a cushion cover entirely on my own as a gift (it's embroidered and has pompoms and stuff) and it was a stupid idea bc i cannot, for the life of me, mentally work out sewing things and accidentally just sewed it all closed while inside out, sans cushion pad.

it was fixable, sure, but also embarrassing lol

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

Hear me out bro okay bare with me because I’m scraping my brain to find out how to word this lmao okay hear me out Bucky and Steve just doing their thing yk being a couple and they get invited to a Halloween party and they do a couples costume Steve dressed as a farmer and Bucky as his cow (keep in mind nothing is kinky yet okay ) and throughout the night Bucky drinks some beer and just gets more bloated and drunk ,belly getting tighter but the more he drinks the tighter he gets right and he just slowly gets more and more out of it and he starts complaining to Steve about being full and his groans turn into mood and well I’m not sure what happens next but would love ur thoughts lol - imma sign off w this emoji 🐮

Also to add onto the cow ask not sure if it made sense but tried to imply bloated Bucky mooing was making Steve hot n bothered lol (also hope these asks were okay since they contain implied nsfw) -🐮

I am bared and ready 🤭

And I fucking love this idea.

I love the innocent beginnings of farmer Steve and cow Bucky dressing up in a couples costume on Halloween suddenly becoming kinky 😳

And to add to this idea, in my mind's eye, I see BOTH Steve and Bucky in "slutty" versions of these regular costumes. Maybe it's just the part of me that's very attracted to them both talking selfishly but, actually, I'm gonna blame that mental image on the idea that in this universe they're either (a) himbos that are all about showing off their bodies or (b) all about reversing the patriarchy and being the ones in slutty costumes rather than women being forced into it. So....

For Steve, I'm picturing of something like this Yandy Farmer Costume (or "gone country" whatever haha)

And for Bucky, I'm picturing something like this Dolls Kill Cow Costume

Stucky fic, unbeta'd, warnings for belly kink, intoxication, dubious consent (because they're both drunk but they're both very much on board), beer bloating, stuffing, name-calling (cow), semi-public, coming untouched, etc.

Bucky doesn't notice how much he's been drinking until he gets up to get another pleasantly spiced, apple flavored beer. The beer's flavor is wonderful and the alcohol content is high- so it's perfect for the season. (What else is Halloween night, as an adult, for anyway? It's for being drunk and on a sugar high at a dope party. And maybe they'll play a scary movie later.)

But, Jesus, yeah, Bucky did not realize how many bottles he has had (nor how many fun-sized candy bars, pieces of pizza, handfuls of chips, and other types of party food he has had) until he tries to rise up off of Sam's way too comfortable, cushy couch and his stomach lurches with all of that food and drink. It's all shifting around inside him. All that liquid and food packed heavily in, changing his center of gravity and not helping his buzzed, wobbling balance in the slightest.

Instinctively, before he can fall back onto his ass, Bucky reaches for Steve.

Steve laughs gently from behind him, quickly sitting up from where he was sprawled out on the couch next to Bucky, and grabs his waist. It is his job as a farmer to make sure his cattle doesn't tip over after all. He's gotta keep his cattle safe and in line.

But everyone else is too caught up in conversation, shouting over the music, to notice. And Bucky is glad for that because...

Oh.

With Steve's hands on his hips, calling even more attention to his sudden situation, Bucky looks down, feeling his face get hot. He's not flush with alcohol now. It's- it's all him. And-

When did that happen?

Steve's fingers flex on either side of the swell of his belly, not keeping him in line as much now as teasing him. The tips of his fingers dig into Bucky's puffy sides. His sides and... his belly. Jesus. His belly is sticking out from his body. Stretching the already thin black and white, cow print fabric to be practically see-through. God. He's so sloshy and full of everything that's been going down his throat all night. His skin feels tight from everything in his stomach under his costume and... it's making him feel kind of,, funny.

Okay, so, he's had more beer than he thought and is drunker than he thought. No big deal, right?

"Where're'ya wanderin' off to?" Steve says, interrupting Buckys confused thoughts with a voice half slurred in this lazy but in-character, southern accent and half slurred from Steve's own slight drunkenness. Steve uses his hold on Bucky's hips and sides to pull Bucky back down onto the couch. Onto his lap on the couch.

"I wa-" Buckys voice cracks, his eyes are still glued to his belly. It jiggles as he lands with an oof on top of Steve despite how bloated he is. Taut and full of beer and carbs, rounding his costume out impressively. "I wass gonna get 'nother beer."

"More beer, huh?" Steve's voice is husky and his teeth are on Bucky's ear, nibbling gently and sending a stronger pulse of pleasure down Bucky's spine than usual. He does like when Steve bites him but he'll blame the extra surge of arousal on how much of their skin is touching and how he's halfway to drunk. Not anything else.

The pleasure of Steve's mouth is definitely not made more impactful as his hands slip from his hips to all the way around his waist. His larger than normal waist. Stretched out. Skin flushed and hot and now being rubbed by Steve's big, big hands, only seperated by a flimsy one-piece has absoulately cannot contain him anymore. Not his belly or.... other places that might be interested in that rubbing. Because, yeah. Steve's hands are rubbing him almost like he's intentionally soothing the alcohol and carbs as they bubble and move substantially around inside Bucky.

Finally, Bucky chokes out a "yeah."

"Have the rest of mine then," Steve says, gruff, lips to the side of Bucky's neck. One of Steve's hands snatches up his still mostly full bottle from the side table, lifts it up, and presses the opening to Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky can do nothing but barely swallow down a moan and then swallow the rest of Steve's beer. Yet, he doesn't indicate to Steve when to stop and give him a break like he usually would. He's distracted.

God.

He's so distracted by how it feels like - now that he's paying attention to what's happening - the pizza crust, the chips, and the pumpkin bread inside him are soaking up the beer and expanding outward like a sponge being rehydrated. He's sure if there wasn't pounding music and conversation, he'd be able to hear the sloshing, growing, and groaning sounds of his stomach. Slogging through all the calories he's mindlessly packed away. He's always been a greedy drunk.

But, right now, Steve must be distracted too.

Because before Bucky can think too hard about what the hell is happening, the last delicious drops of beer are dripping out of the upturned dark, glass bottle onto his tongue. All of it has gone down his throat like that.

Fucking Christ.

He just chugged another beer. Another beer bottles worth of liquid inside his already bloated tummy.

Oh.

Bucky can't blame the way his head spins on the alcohol. It's too soon for him to already be drunker; it hasn't hit his bloodstream yet. Shit, the beer has barely hit his stomach, stretching his skin further. He's not drunker. He's... he's more turned on. From... from sitting in Steve's lap and being provided for, right?

Turned on from that or not (more not that than that, if Bucky is honest with himself), all Bucky can really focus on is his costume. He's barely covered at all but, still, suddenly it feels much too tight. Like it's cutting into him.

Oh. Ugh.

Bucky leans back into Steve. Pressing him against the couch, his back to Steve's chest. His stomach sloshes. Normally he's smaller and lighter than Steve but tonight Steve really sinks back under him.

Steve drops the empty bottle carelessly between his thigh and the side of the couch. It's forgotten instantly as he teases, "what'd you say when you get what you want, Buck?"

"Th-" a hiccup attacks Bucky, jostling his gut in its tight prison "-thank you."

"Nu-uh," Steve tuts behind him, hands now casually thrown around his middle. Around his round middle. "How'd'ya really say it, baby?" He lays on the southern accent thick.

Bucky can't think of anything. He's blanking in favor of focusing so heavily on how much he wants to melt into this couch (and Steve). Stomach heavy and tight, body thrumming with pleasant levels of arousal and heat, he feels heavier than he's ever felt before in his whole life. He could lie here forever. He doesn't want to think.

Steve prods his side.

Bucky groans, feeling tender, as if his skin is stretched just as thin as the fabric of his costume.

It doesn't deter Steve though, stubborn as ever, "how'd a cow say thank you, Buck?"

Bucky giggles, oh, okay, he gets it. "MoOoOOo-" he laughs his way through the sound, making it wobbly and funnier.

Steve thumps his sensitive tummy like it's a watermelon he's trying to decide the ripeness of. It hurts but also-?

Okay. Fuuuck. Fine.

Fine. Something about this is turning him on.

It feels good but is also hurts when Steve hits his tummy like that, saying, "you're welcome," then, "good boy," for answering.

"Steve," Bucky breathes, his dick twitching in his tiny little one-piece.

"More beer?" Steve asks, mischievous and not serious but...

Bucky cannot turn the offer down.

"Take me to the kitchen to get more beer," Bucky turns his head as far over his shoulder as he can, batting his eyes at Steve, hoping his cuteness with assure that he gets what he wants. He doesn't want to get cut off. Not yet. He... he doesn't know if he can fit anymore but he wants more.

More.

Steve is staring at him, eyebrows raised. "Really?"

Bucky stickes his lower lip out. "Really." And rolls, ungracefully, off of his boyfriend with his arms around his basketball belly, trying to assure it doesn't get moved around too much. It does. It sloshes and gurgles. Bucky burps. Being on his side makes him so much more aware of all the pressure inside him. His eyes flutter shut. His toes curl. Just for a second. Savoring the feeling. Heat curls tightly in his dick and balls.

When he's off, Steve hefts himself up and brings Bucky up too immediately after.

Again, the contents of his tummy shifts as he moves. Bucky isn't sober enough to not bite his lip and moan a little.

"You sure you need more?" Steve asks, sliding an arm around his waist like he's injured and not just obscenely full. His eyes flick up and down Bucky's frame... the blue in them is quickly being swallowed by black.

"Positive." Bucky burps behind his hand. "More, c'mon, don't ruin my fffun."

Thankfully Steve needs no more encouragement. Or-

Bucky doesn't think he needed more encouragement because Steve instantly tugged him along with the arm he's got around his expanded waist, moving, but-

"Steeeve, wait, no, I'm serious, I-" Bucky starts to whine but Steve just hushes him, reaching with his other arm to pat Bucky's tummy again rather than politely moving people out of their way, maneuvering through the packed house.

"You'll get what you want, just trust me. 'Kay, Buck?"

Bucky, as much as he maybe shouldn't looking at the record of things Steve has done (namely all the righteous playground fights he got in), does trust Steve. He lets Steve pull him along.

Steve takes Bucky to the guest bedroom. Miraculously, there's no one inside, already fucking in the shelter of the unoccupied upstairs of the house. Steve leads him to the bed. Bucky plops down, letting gravity take him, bouncing a few times. A few burps come out.

"Uuuuuuughhh," Bucky moans gratefully, letting his hands smack (lightly) down against his swollen stomach, loud after having to hold in all his sounds downstairs among the other party goers.

Steve laughs, rubbing the underside of his gut and simply, mysteriously states, "wait here, big boy."

Bucky waits. He hangs in. He rubs his gut. He doesn't think too much about why his cock is hard in this stupid, tiny outfit and when his cock twitches whenever he lets himself think about what would happen if he got his hands on another beer.

"Knock knock," Steve's voice comes from the other side of the door.

Bucky lifts his head up a few inches from the mattress. He sees nothing but the white and black pattern stretched over his inflated-looking tummy. He lazily moans, dropping his head back and digging his fingers into his gut.

"You always this happy to see anyone with beer or just me?" Steve chuckles, squeezing the tent he's pitching in his stupid little costume.

Bucky whines desperately, jerking his hips up. He means to open his mouth and tell him, just you. But what really comes out of him is, "beer?"

Steve laughs, "yeah, Buck, if you can get yourself up, I'll give you the bounty I brought back with me, my little cow."

"Little?" Bucky says, brain seemingly fried.

"My cow." Steve repeats, voice low and dark. He makes a rumbling wordless sound when Bucky gets his arms under himself clumsily, rocking up onto his elbows, then onto his hands, groaning all the while. His abs are too stretched out to be useful and the food packed into his gut is holding him down.

The second Bucky is up, red in the face and panting, he's sweetly repeating it, "your cow."

"Mmm-hmm," Steve hums, herding him back up against the headboard. Bucky's gut feels impossibly bigger like this, propped up against the head of the bed with his legs spread wide. Belly sticking out more than it has ever on Thanksgiving or Christmas or anything. Round. Heavy. Straining his cow-costume. And putting more pressure on his dick.

Then...

Then Bucky spots all that Steve has brought back.

Bucky doesn't know how he managed to hold all of it.

More beer. A bottle of water. Two plates of snacks and a few extra slices of pizza. A couple fistfuls of candy.

Oh.

"Think you can get all of that down for me, cow?" Steve whispers, dragging the plates closer to them, then grabbing the bottles as he throws a leg over both of Bucky's saddling up. His hot, heavy hand drags down the middle of Bucky’s big tummy.

Bucky licks his lips, staring into Steve's dark eyes. Nodding wordlessly.

"Yeah? You think you can get everything in here?" Steve slaps his tummy, making it jiggle.

Bucky moans and he nods again.

"Nope. C’mon, Buck, answer me proper, you gonna fit everything in this big, heavy tummy, aren't you?"

"Y-"

Steve raises an eyebrow.

Bucky's blood burns hotter. He squirms as much as he can under his stomach. Oh. Okay. They're doing this. He takes a deep breath, mouth drying. They're doing this.

"Moo-" he says, not much heart in it.

Steve let's it go easy this time. He pops open a beer, holding the bottle with one hand and Bucky's jaw with his other. Bucky chugs it. Some spills out from the corners of his mouth. His gut is blossoming.

Rounder and rounder and rounder-

Steve gives him the whole bottle. Steve feeds him pizza. Steve unwraps pieces of candy, shoving them between his lips. More beer. Water. More pizza. Chips. Crackers. Candy. Beer. Pizza. Pumpkin bread. Beer. Beer. Water.

"How're you feeling, cow?" Steve rubs his tummy, giving him a break from constant feeding.

"Moooo-" Bucky moans, he's so. full.

"More?"

"Mooooo-" Bucky nods. He can take more. He wants more.

Steve gives him more. And more.

And more.

Feeding him until they're down to nothing but three pieces of candy and a few mouthfuls of beer. Feeding him until Bucky is constantly moaning, his jaw is tired of chewing, and the seams of his costume are literally creaking as he pants. He has literally never been fuller. Never rounder. His skin never more tight and hot and-

Bucky is honestly sure he's going to come without Steve touching him, his dick is aching. Throbbing. He wants to beg please, please, Steve, please touch me! Rub my belly! Jerk me off! Please! I need to come! I need to get out of this fucking costume! But all that comes out are pathetic whimpering, moaning, groaning sounds and moos. He can't stop now that he's started.

And...

Jesus Christ.

Steve feeds him the last piece of candy and all at once-

The seams in Bucky's costume give in to his swollen form. Ripping apart.

Several inches of the seams on the sides of the body suit rip open. Giving Bucky just enough extra breathing room. Letting his gut take up even more space in front of him. Lurching forward. Oh. Everything inside Bucky is on fire. Throbbing with his frantic heart rate. Feeling immensely swollen and impossibly huge and-

Jesusfuckingchrist.

Steve makes everything better worse by groaning and shoving. his. hands. in. the. open. rips. Grabbing his gut and manhandling it under the fabric. Jiggling it and pressing down and-

Bucky comes.

Bucky comes with an embarrassingly loud moan. He is devastated. Pleasure wrecks his body. His nerves. He's being unraveled. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, back and neck arching, and his whole tummy clenching impossibly tighter. Christ. It feels so good.

Bucky comes to the sound of Steve praising him, "good. Good cow."

I hope you enjoyed 😳

[solari-writes-things]

Confide

🛑 WARNINGS: Language, mentions of blood. 🛑

✨ Requested by: @jackjawcaptain

✨ Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

✨ Summary: Frank is having a bit of a hard time, and you're there to remind him that he can let go.

✨ Solari Says: This has been sitting in my inbox for some time friend, and it's about time that I put it out there. Enjoy! :>

Prompt -

Rose Quartz - Learning to trust again.

gif credit: to the OP.

MORE FRANK | MORE MARVEL | > MASTERLIST < |

He had pulled another disappearing act again.

Not that you could be any form of frustrated with him, Frank Castle always had something to do. Something in his head that he needed to work out--let it be with talking to Curtis or with the barrel of his pistol. You learned that rather quickly after coming into a comfortable relationship with him.

At least, you felt that it was comfortable. Frank had given signs that he was fighting with himself about it. Distant staring, averting eyes. You couldn't count his quiet nature, that's just how he had always been since you've met.

The only reason that you did not twist his arm about it was because Curtis had been the one to inform you that it was not your fault. That Frank had been through a lot of different things before finding you, stuff that made this sort of involvement a little more complicated. His deflection, his disappearances, were only reactionary to the constant battle that was happening in his mind.

So you were idly sitting on the sofa, twiddling your thumbs as you watched the different figures dancing across your screen. You couldn't remember what movie you put on, what exactly that you were doing in the living room rather than going to bed. You stretched out your hand, grasping your cell phone and pulling it up to take a look. You clicked the button on the side, waking up the screen to see what time it had been.

2:48am.

You sigh.

There were no missed calls. You knew that Frank occasionally had burners when he was on his trips, so something inside was hopeful that you would get a call from a mysterious New York area code. But when you saw nothing, your heart dropped a little bit.

You sigh again.

You decide to click off the screen of your phone and stand, coming to the conclusion that the background noise that the movie was creating wasn't helping your brain shut down. You always found it hard to, when Frank left without any warnings. You should've bothered Curtis before it got so late, maybe he'd seen Frank at some point.

You reach for the remote that had been next to your cell phone, pointing the black controller towards the screen and clicking the power button. It abruptly turns back, leaving your living space dark. You stand, but wait for just a moment so that your eyes could adjust to the darkness. Little by little, silhouettes of the surrounding furniture were tangible to you and you begin weaving around to approach the small hallway that led to your bathroom and bedroom.

You run a hand through your hair, and just before you turn the corner to your bedroom you hear a gentle knock on your front door.

You freeze, furrowing your brows and turning slowly towards it.

You approached quickly and quietly, and when you were against the door you peer through the hole to see who it had been.

On the other end, there was a figure in black clothes with his hands in his jacket pockets. They were quiet, shuffling their weight between their feet as they waited for some form of response from you.

When you didn't respond, however, they decided to speak.

"[Y/N]... It's me," they said simply, and the raspy nature of his tones filled you with some form of relief.

Frank.

You quickly unlock the door, pulling it open and meeting your eyes with his. "Frank. Where in the hell were you?"

"I-uh..." he averted his eyes downwards to the ground between his boots. Under the porch light, you could see a hint of discoloration on his black hoodie--something almost brassy.

He had gotten into an altercation.

"You...?" you try. crossing your arms.

"I had some business I had to finish," he answered simply. "I know you're... probably fuckin' pissed. I-I'm sorry for that."

Your expression softens, just a little, not really noticing that you had a tad bit of a frown in the first place. So you step back a couple feet, so that he had adequate room to file inside. "Come on. Let's get you out of that hoodie, I can see the blood when the light shines on it."

Frank nods his head slightly, shuffling his feet so that he could come in. Once he closes the door behind himself and locks it, he begins to pull his arms inside of his jacket to pull it over his head.

You watch him closely, as he drapes the fabric over his forearm gently and turns to you.

"Where did you want this..?" he asked quietly, his eyes flitting around the room as if something was going to jump out and bite him.

"Just go toss it in the hamper with the rest of my clothes," you say to him, moving to the side so that he could move past you to go to your bedroom.

Once you let him pass, you turn on your own heels and follow him. He pushes past the doorframe that led to your room, having no trouble navigating in the dark. You reach over once you get to your doorframe, flicking the light switch up so that your room bathed in light.

You could finally look at his face. There was a couple spots of dried blood on his knuckles, and on his jeans that he donned for the night. Ultimately, he had no scratch on him--which was a miracle considering how accident prone he usually was.

If you could even call it that.

"Where did you end up going, Frank?" you ask him, your voice soft so that he knew you weren't there to lecture him.

"I went to talk to Curt," he answered honestly, as he tossed his hoodie in the white basket hiding in the closet of your room. "Afterwards, we went to have a drink."

"And where does the blood come into play?"

"Someone decided they didn't want to shut their mouth," he sighed, turning around so that he could go sit on the edge of your bed.

"Frank, you don't do this without a reason... What did they say that had you so miffed, huh?"

"Bah, it's nothin', alright? Handled and done," he tried to avoid, waving it off.

As much as you believed the "handled" part of that sentence, something underneath the browns of his eyes led you to think that it was still sitting in his head. Writhing and endlessly taunting.

"Don't give me that shit, Frank," you tell him, moving so that you could sit next to him on the space that was left at the end of your bed. "You have to remember you're in a fuckin' relationship with me, man. I understand it hasn't been a thing for very long but... you also need to understand that I'm here for you. That I'll listen to anything that you feel that you need to talk about.

Whatever happened at that bar, it's eating at you. I know you well enough to tell the signs," you place a gentle arm around his waist, bringing him in a little closer.

He's silent for a moment, putting an arm around your shoulder and closing the gap of space that you both had between your bodies. You say nothing, feeling that he was sorting through his thoughts before he decided to speak once more.

"Did I ever tell you about Maria? My kids?" he asked quietly, staring at the floor of your bedroom.

"No," you answer.

"They were killed. All of them," he said quietly, causing a hole in your gut to begin to manifest. No wonder Curtis told you what he had. Why Frank was as reclusive as he was.

He lost his family. Nothing could ever heal you completely from that.

"Shit, Frank... I'm sorry," you say to him quietly, joining his gaze to the floor.

"Yeah... The douchebag at the bar overheard a something I said to Curtis and decided to open his fuckin' mouth," he informed. "When I told him to keep his mouth shut, he didn't. You can put together what happened."

"I'd kick his shit in too if I was you," you answered. "Although... that makes me wonder."

"Hm?"

"Why aren't you in the slammer?" you ask, as a way to take the topic off of his grief--even if it was just for a moment.

"I beat his ass away from prying eyes," he answered simply with a small shrug, earning a chuckle from you.

You push yourself up just a bit so that you could plant a kiss on his cheek, resting your face in the crook of his neck. "You know, Frank... telling me that shit... I know it must've been a lot for you to muster. Thank you..."

Frank hums a bit, rubbing your bicep with his hand gently. "It's something I have to learn how to do... If there's one thing I remember about being married to Maria, it's that playing cards close to my chest can be hurtful..."

"And you're completely right about that..." you agree, your finger dragging against his waist.

You notice in your peripheral that he was observing you. Focused, with a small smile playing at the edge of his lips. Before you could speak up about it, he drops his arm from around your shoulders.

"I'm tired," he says simply. "I'm gonna settle here tonight... if that's okay with you."

"Of course it is, Frank... I'm just glad to see that you're okay," you respond simply, smiling at him before standing.

You move yourself so that you could flick the light switch once more. You look over your shoulder at Frank, watching as the tension in his body slowly began to dissipate. A smile slowly stretches across your face.

And then you turn the lights out.

__

Marvel Tag List: @crimsonheart01 General Tag List: @sazafraz :|: @tsumethedrifter :|: @angelaiswriting​

​if you wish to be added to the tag list, please comment or message me!

[pixie-cocaine]

Down A Peg

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Businessman!Brat!Jinyoung × Dominatrix! Reader

Warnings: Pegging, slight mistress kink, dirty talk, Jinyoung cries lol, pretty harsh punishment (rough caning. don't worry tho, the after care makes up for it. Probably.), mentions of breaking skin from caning wounds and bruising 😬, slapping, hair-pulling, strapjob, fingering (m receiving), nipple play, degradation, just pure filth man 💀

Requested: months ago, but yes

Note: Jinyoung has a key at some point and it disappears, but you're not gonna say shit about it. Also it gets lazy near the end, excuse the grammar mistakes.

Word Count: 6.3K (pls don't let this flop, I am exhausted 🤩)

The last thing Jinyoung thought he’d be doing, was going to a professional Dominatrix session. If anyone had even dare mentioned the idea, say a month beforehand, he’d give them the nastiest grimace manageable and avoid them like the plague, not that he didn’t do that to anyone who tried to weasle their way into his private life anyways. It made even his own subconcious howl with laughter at the position Jinyoung had put himself in now.

So much for trying to s tay away, huh?

He didn’t even think something like this could happen. Hell, one minute he was filing more stacks of papers as his assistant talked his ear off, which he had vehemently told her not to do, and the next he found himself bored, and scrolling through a Domme website the night that followed.

But here he was; standing outside the neat black building with his phone in one hand, and a hand cupped in his pockets as he raised an eyebrow before going in. Past the glass doors, he found his surroundings consiting with soft shades of brown. A mahogony reception desk sat to the front of him against a wall, a long hallway next to the desk, and neutral white lights giving the atmosphere a professional look. His legs moved on their own accord while he focused on stabalizing his breathing, not used to the clamminess now making his palms sweat against his sides, and before he knew it, he was standing at the front of the office. 

A woman in her early-to-mid twenties sat before him, smile sweet and chestnut brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes were soft, almost inquisitive as they assessed Jinyoung’s appearance and outfit, which consisted of a beige turtleneck and black dress pants. She seemed pleased with the effort he put into his looks if her satisfied hum was anything to go by. 

“Hello, are you here for an appointment?”

Her voice was cheery, like the chime of a bell, and her face beamed with a radiance that Jinyoung wouldn’t think someone who worked in her place of job would exude. He cleared his throat, “I am, yes.”

“Your name?”

“Park Jinyoung,” she nodded and typed something into the computer to her left.

“And your mistress for the night is Madame Black, correct?”

Jinyoung felt odd with how casual this was going. He’d expected.. something else? No, that was a lie一Jinyoung didn’t know what he expected. Maybe a bad experience, he guesses. He just wasn’t used to the way this was such an open transaction, as if he was going to the doctor’s for a checkup or something. It left him confused as he thought of a couple of his previous encounters with people he trusted on his sex life. The way they scrunched their faces in a disapproving frown when he said he wanted to try subbing, only to backpedal at his embarrasment. The rest just flat out didn't know what they were doing. It was almost laughable how little they knew. But this... This seemed like a whole new ballgame.

“Yeah,” He shook his head in confirmation, the sudden movement making him look like an overenthusiastic dog. The woman laughed at the new show of excitement and leant over the console so she could murmur to him despite the space being completely empty, save for both of them, of course. 

“Third door down the hall, you’ll know it’s hers when just standing outside of it makes you wanna piss your pants. Don’t forget to change into one of the robes in the room just to your left. Oh! And just a heads up, Jinyoung,” She smiles with a mischevious glint in her eye and reaches out to drop a black key into his awaiting hand, “She may seem nice, but Madame is not one who tolerates brats. Do go in with the knowledge that she’s not afraid to bite.”

Jinyoung raises a brow at her tease, but smiles back at her nonetheless, "Who says I'm afraid of being bitten?"

With a jerk of his head in what he hoped was a nod, he fought not to not scurry down the hall in his newfound anticipation, smirking to himself at the knowing face of the desk worker. 

Jinyoung was jittery with each step that brung him closer to his destination, which now stand a couple feet from him, the deep ebony-shaded door looming with a question that made Jinyoung have second thoughts despite thinking it through for hours; ‘Can I handle what’s behind this door?’

Jinyoung rakes a shaky hand through his hair, trying to take deep breaths as he pushes the cold metal of the key into the lock, twisting it to the right until he hears the telltale Click! Of the latches unslotting while he turns the handle and pushes the inlet open, taking a moment to survey the room before him, then kicks the door closed after he steps inside. Of course he can. If the voice in the back of his head said anything, it probably wouldn’t even be a good experience much different to the other ‘dom’s’ he’s had sex with.

Almost immediately, the tart scent of lavender wafts into his nose. The room was spacious, dimly lit by the soft golden glow of candles occupying the corners which cast shadows across the silky wine carpet, and the delicate shades of a peachy pink had consisted of the walls surrounding him. A king-sized bed with fluffy red covers sat against the back wall, a plush pink chair facing it, and you perch right at the bottom of the bed. Jinyoung feels his heart shake at the sight of you.

Just the way you sit with your legs crossed over one another had his cock stirring behind the silk black robe that curtains his naked frame. You wear a gorgeous tan lingerie set, the top is a thin see-through camisole which stops just above the curve of your upper stomach, displaying the supple mounds of your breasts over a sheen of lace, and the bottoms are a simple high-arch panty, the same fabric and look of the top, but with a skirt-like covering which flutters around the curves of your hips whenever you move. The fact that the set shown your bare body in such a delicate show of wispy materials was what made Jinyoung even more worked up. Your position was relaxed as you sat, holding a glass of champagne, and you cocked your head to the side slightly upon Jinyoung’s arrival. You offer a smile.

“Why hello there!” You gleam, and at the sheer enthusiam which you eminate, Jinyoung finds himself mirroring the smile without his own accord. Something about you just dusts away all of Jinyoung’s previous nerves.

“Hey,” Jinyoung sifts through his head to find the right words, “Madame Black?”

You giggle at the way he says it, obviously giving away that he wasn’t fully aware of what he was about to get himself into, “Yes, that’s me. You must be Park Jinyoung, I’m assuming?”

A nod was your answer.

"Don't be shy, take a seat," you nod towards the chair before you, and Jinyoung obliges, smiling at you as he goes to sit himself down in front of you.

"First of all, I would like to discuss boundaries, even if I’ve already gone over the form you filled out," you begin with a wink, "what’s your opinion on rimming and ass-play in general?”

Jinyoung feels his eyes bug out slightly at the way you so seamlessly jump into it. Shameless, aren’t you? But he isn’t complaining.

He clears his throat and, suddenly unable to look you in the eye, settles his gaze on his lap as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, “I’ve dabbled in it by myself but never really experienced proper ass-play things with somebody else,” mustering up his courage to flick his eyes back to yours, he smirks, “I’d like to try it with you if possible.”

You nod, “how about being rough with you? Hair-pulling, slapping, throat-fucking, etcetera?”

He seems to strongly approve if the fast dipping of his head means anything, and if that weren’t enough to give you a gist to how much he liked the idea, he isn’t afraid to say so.

“Anything that will leave me sore, I’m completely into. I like seeing the after effects.”

“Cum-eating and degradation?”

“Very eager to try.”

“Alright, anything else you’d like to add into the mix?”

Jinyoung muses, then shakes his head, to which you hum at. 

“Now, Jinyoung, I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer with a very well thought-out response,” you raise an eyebrow at the brunette, eyeing him down like the first meal you’d seen in days, “Are you sure you want to do this?

Jinyoung can feel his heart thrum against his ribcage, like the hard beat of a drum, when he hears your words. You were definitely experienced in this, even someone with half a brain could tell. He could feel his lips stretch into a smile, an idea coming to mind as you gently set your champagne glass on the floor a couple steps away from your feet, then sit back up to cock your head to the side. 

“If I’m being honest, Madame,” He scorns the name out, mocking your authority, “I don’t think you’ll be any better than the self-proclaimed ‘dom’s’ that I’ve been with.”

"Huh."

"I mean—look at what you're wearing—how am I supposed to believe that this is a dominatrix scene and not a sub session where I can easily just knock you around?"

Wow.

You can’t quite bite back the loud, boisterous peals of laughter that bubble up frrom your chest fast enough when you finally register his words after staring at him for a couple seconds, vacantly blinking at the brunette and trying to figure out if you heard him right. You wipe a tear from your eye, still tittering, “And what makes you think that just because I'm wearing delicate and frilly lingerie doesn't mean I can't fuck your guts out, Mr. Jinyoung the powerful CEO?”

Jinyoung frowns, “How do you know that I’m a CEO?”

God, this was getting more interesting by the moment.

Shaking your head, you rake your eyes up the sultry expose of his hardened calves and legs, slowly meeting his eyes once more, and grinning as you do so, “You must think I’m dumb. You act like that smug little face of yours isn’t plastered all over the city. Regardless..,” You lean forward, "Yes or no, Jinyoung? I promise, I'm well worth the money."

Jinyoung thinks for a moment, still in shock from the mention of his job, even if he already knows his answer before he says it. This was his chance to experience what he'd always wanted. Maybe. You already knew his kinks due to the form he had to fill out, as well as the little transaction, so he had no doubt that you knew which buttons to press, but he wanted to know if you could take him beyond his limits like he's always hoped for. If you knew how to press those buttons just right, or if you were just another let-down with a more professional look and platform. This was it, and he was going to make you work him over as much as you could.

"Yes, I'm sure I want to do this."

Jinyoung feels a shudder wrack his shoulders at how smoothly your facade transitioned to one of pure intimidation and stony expressions. The smile that once graced your seemingly sweet attributes was now wiped away and replaced with a carefully adept mask of indifference.

You keep his stare whilst you bend down to retrieve a big, black wooden box from beneath the bed, setting it beside you as you stand from your spot and lift the lid from the case to pull out a leather clasping, as well as a thick and textured blue dildo which was, admittedly, one of your biggest straps. You look to Jinyoung as you began attaching the proper clippings and belts in order to fasten it around your hips.

“On your knees.”

Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, Jinyoung slowly pushes himself away from the chair and sinks down to his knees, mouth watering at the authority in your tone of voice, and blood beginning to heat underneath his skin as you secure the harness and move to close the distance between the both of you. Deft fingers trace the sharp lining of Jinyoung’s jaw, trailing a line to the dip of his chin before taking it between your thumb and forefinger with a force that worries the bone slightly. 

He's pretty, you think. One of the prettiest men that have ever occupied your time as a dominatrix, with full lips and features that would deem him model-worthy. You smile. You would have fun making a mess of him.

“Safeword?”

Jinyoung is taken aback for a moment, allegedly in a daze to the golden view from below you. “Hm... 'Promotion'?" He smiles at his own small joke.

You hum, grabbing the ribbed silicone that stare back at Jinyoung, and pressing the tip to the seam of his mouth with short, prodding impels.

“Open,” you murmur.

He obeys, albeit after frowning slightly; letting his lips part to engulf the width of your strap, wasting no time in stooping his head lower so he could stop midway on your cock, his throat constricting around the foreign object now lodged in his passage. You moan down at him with a hand raking through the soft tresses of his hair in appreciation at his eagerness. 

“Suck.”

And he does.

Jinyoung started out strong at first; bobbing his head as he craned his neck this way and that to really go in on you without hesitation, hollowing his cheeks and looking up at you with a determinbed look, but after a while of swallowing your cock like he had one chance to impress you, he makes a rasping sound in the back of his throat, vaguely like the creaking of bed springs, followed by a lewd slurping noise before he goes to pull away. You catch the back of his head with a hand, raising an eyebrow as you shove him back down to where he’d stopped previous.

Jinyoung gags, a beautiful, surprised chuck of sound that makes you sigh at the way he sought for purchase at your thighs, a poor attempt to steady himself when you were already pulling back to drive your cock back down his throat with a fist-full of his hair. A range of noises that originate from Jinyoung bounce off the walls of the room, mostly different variations of kecks and physical strains on his trachea, but some being choked-off whimpers and half-strangled gasps of which he could actually get in between you fucking into his face and withdrawing. 

You finally slow your pace to more shallow strokes, and looking past the pretty shine of Jinyoung’s now tear-stained face, you can see the tent in the flap of his robe. You favor him with a devilish grin, one that he sadly can’t see due to staring down at where you had your cock in his mouth.

“Look at me, whore,” the stern demand comes out in a throaty growl as you use your hand, still laced within the damp tresses of his hair, to yank his head back and up at you, resulting in both a muffled yelp and the back of Jinyoung’s neck popping at the sudden movement.

The sight was immoral in every sense of the word. His swollen lips, which were wrapped around the pink cock strapped to your hips, were left hanging open with obvious smears of glistening drool, still seeping from the corners, his cheeks streaked over with it in some places and mixing the stream of drying tears falling from his wide eyes. You can hear him begin to gag around the strap, considering he is shoved down to the hilt, but you only push his head down and keep him there. Instead, staring in amusement at the way he sputters and coughs, wanting to savor how his face begins to turn a lovely shade of red. When you are certain he can’t breathe, you pull him off and let him drink in desperate gulps of much needed air, the soft peach color returning to his face when his lungs begin to relax. 

Stunning, you think.

Jinyoung gasps when you force him up to his feet by his hair, practically stumbling when you turn the two of you around so you can then proceed to to shove him onto the bed, ignoring the groan of the springs due to the impact. His head is a mess from the influxion of air he experiences. Only the ache between his legs keeping Jinyoung tied to this world as he softly pants, laying on his forearms with glossy eyes locked on yours and how you follow suit; crawling onto the bed and taking place hovering right over him. Jinyoung moans lowly when you lean in to press open-mouthed kisses, hot and wet, against his jawline, your hand snaking down the expanse of his hidden body to pull at the tied robe sash, and you treat yourself with a peek down at how it falls open to reveal everything he had to offer. Smoothing your fingers along the breathtaking show of defined muscle and healthy flesh, you curse.

“Of course such a little brat would have a fantastic body...”

Jinyoung lets out a complacent laugh at your subtle annoyance. He knows he has a good body, and he knows he's attractive, which makes you all the more irritated, considering he is perfect in every way, and you have no doubt in your mind that he uses it to get what he wants. 

“You sure are taking your time,” He gripes out, hoping to stir your anger.

You snicker at him, and without thinking too much of it, strike him across the face, not waiting for his head to fully turn to the left before you grab his cheeks, force him back to you, and slap him again. 

Once. Twice. Three times.

You feel his cock twitch against your thigh, and his mouth parts in pleased shock as he breathes.

“Say it again, bitch"

"I said, you sure are taking your—Ah!"

He's momentarily shocked into silence when you immediately shove your hands under his waist to hoist Jinyoung's legs behind his head, essentially folding him in half and displaying his exposed bottom, which is just as gorgeous as everything else about him. That's saying something, because an asshole, dick, and balls shouldn't even be in the same sentence as 'gorgeous.'

Jinyoung doesn't have time to protest, because as soon as he opens his mouth to fuss, he feels a strong, harsh slap land right on his hole. He yelps, kicking his feet out the best he can until he cries out again upon registering the next three smacks that rain down on the same spot.

"Rude, rude, boy. Has nobody ever taught you that you shouldn't speak back to your Mistress?" You growl, blowing cool air over his fluttering rim before patting his ass gently, "Stay like this or else I'm shoving an inflatable plug up your ass and stretching you until you rip."

Shaky and wanting, Jinyoung let's out a breath, doing as you say and hooking his hands into the back of his knees in order to press down and stay in said position. It unfortunately does put a strain on his lower back, but as much as he likes punishment, he's not betting on having his poor butt mercilessly torn open like you promised.

"What's your favorite color?"

The question half-startles him, "Red...?"

"Good choice," You chirp, and like that, you're holding his legs in place again; dangling a bottle of reddish-tinted lube over him as you happily squirt the cool gel onto his hole and two of your fingers. You tease him—gently running your hand up the soft skin of his left leg whilst you push the pad of your digit against his entrance, letting it breach slightly before pulling back to do it again.

"Tell me you want it."

He groans, "I want it..."

"Yeah?" You lie your cheek on his thigh, staring down at him with narrowed eyes. You love how exposed he is right now. Vulnerable to your gaze, and letting you touch him in such lewd ways. You always liked these parts of your sessions—where you could see the raw arousal in their faces. Letting your hand slide from Jinyoung's thigh to his cock, you begin simultaneously stroking him and, finally, pushing your fingers into his ass. He suddenly jerks upwards the best he really can with his legs behind his head, and you already know that both the sensations combined feel odd for him.

"Does it hurt?" You ask, half-wanting him to say it does so you can see the look on his face when you add another finger. But he doesn't, thankfully, and you whisk away the sadistic thoughts that you don't really want there. Instead, he shakes his head with a weak noise of slight discomfort.

"It doesn't hurt, but it feels... Weird?" Jinyoung doesn't seem so sure of himself when he actually says the words out loud. The confused frown knitting his eyebrows together mimes that of someone who was deciding on whether they liked something or not.

"Mm. Give it a minute."

And he does. He breathes heavily at the still-going stimulation to his cock, furrowing his brows everytime you move your fingers in a strange way as you try and find a pace, then, like clockwork as your digits graze upwards of his walls, he gasps, loud and surprised.

"Oh? Did I find it?" You grin, raising an eyebrow whilst continuing to abuse that spot inside of him. You revel in the way he moans. It's actually very melodical, everytime he reaches a high note it sounds like he's about to start singing, and it catches you off-guard when he keens before letting his lower body fall against the bed.

You tsk and shrug, "I was gonna be nice but it looks like you're just itching for punishment."

"Well what the hell did you expect when you put me in a painful position like-"

Thwap!

You give him another good slap to the face, then, almost too aggressively, force him to the edge of the bed so you can bend him over.

"Don't look at me, keep your eyes on the floor or I'll make it worse," you murmur, and with a mischievous smile, you walk over to the large black closet to the side of your bed. You can hear Jinyoung's heavy breathing reverberating throughout the room the entire time it takes to fetch your trusty cane and take position back behind Jinyoung.

The cane is long, about the height of a relatively high-standing desk, and decorated with accents of blood red while the rest is tinted a ravishing mulberry purple. It's thick at the top which makes it easy to hold onto, and it begins to slight as it reaches the the tip, which is skinny and carefully rounded.

"So, here's what we're gonna do," you begin, running your fingers up and down the polished rattan, "I am going to hit you with this cane as hard as I can, and you are going to count each and every stroke that I put on your thighs and backside. Do you hear me?"

Jinyoung sucks in a breath, but nods his head nonetheless.

"Come on, you know better. I need you to say it."

"Yes, I hear you."

"Hear you, what?" You lean forward to whisper into the shell of his ear, enjoying the way he lets out a small whimper and pushes his ass back against you.

"Yes, I hear you, Mistress..."

"Good Boy. Now, spread your legs a bit, and when you feel the cane, begin counting."

Jinyoung does as told easily enough; widening the space between his feet until his legs stand out in a small 'v' shape, and waiting in anticipation for you to begin the punishment. He can hear the blood rush in his ears.

Shwoop- thwack!

The pain that surges in a line against both cheeks is nothing short of winding. He thought it'd sting a bit at most but fuck, he had trouble keeping his legs from wobbling.

"One!" He shrills.

Shwoop- thwack!

"Two!"

Shwoop- thwack!

"T-Three!"

It feels like it goes on for forever if he's being honest. It's the same pain, but it gets worse with each swing and cut. It doesn't help that your cane had broken skin and drawn blood every couple strokes to both the backs of his thighs and cheeks, and you kept on hitting the same wounds.

"Twenty... twenty-one.."

"My good boy.. you did so, so well," You all but coo, dropping the cane to the floor with a thud as you lean forward to drape yourself over his back, careful not to make contact with his injuries whilst you trail your fingers between his legs so you can continue stroking his cock, grip loose and barely touching him with each swipe over his shaft.

"It hurts...!" Jinyoung's voice wavers, and you can finally hear the submission in his tone. You like hearing him like this; on the edge of breaking down, sobbing out his pain and pleasure, and all for you.

You smile, tightening your fist around his tip and holding it there just to savor the way he cries out and reaches down to try and stop your administrations, "But you like when it hurts, don't you? You like seeing how bad of a boy you'd been, and you like feeling those repercussions wear off even more, no?"

"N-no..."

"Mistress doesn't like liars, baby. Say you're sorry and maybe I'll make the pain feel better," You hum, only the slightest of touches ghosting against Jinyoung's nipples, butterfly kisses on the back of his ear.

"I'm sorry.. I-I'm sorry..!"

"Move up the bed. Hands and knees, still."

He's crying as he carries out your command, you realise. Tears, shiny, like the first drops of rain, run in flexuous tracks down his cheeks, and a blush dusts the ball of his nose. He makes no noise, but you can see the stutter of his chest and the way his breath hitches everytime he tries to take in a full inhale.

"See what happens when you don't listen to your Mistress? She has to hurt you, and she doesn't quite like hurting you to the point of drawing blood," you sigh and can't help but frown at the marks left on his body, especially the way you can identify the blooming bruises, which range from pretty shades of red to slowly darkening purples. Not to mention the many long cuts that litter just above the bruises.

"I-I'm sorr-sorry," Jinyoung involuntarily hiccups, and the way he reaches back and out for your top, tugging at the hem to get you to come closer, undoubtedly makes your mask slip a bit.

"Don't-.. don't look at me like that.."

But he keeps doing it. He keeps looking at you with those eyes. Those eyes that plead and beg in only the ways that make your body light aflame with desire to see him break completely under your touch.

"Fuck me... Please fuck me," He whispers, still looking at you from over his shoulder and holding onto your camisole.

"I bet you do. You've had that look in your eyes ever since you walked through the door. Don't worry, though. I'll fuck you. I'll fuck you hard enough to make your mind go blank, and I'll fuck you good enough that everytime you touch yourself, you'll wish it was my hands instead of yours," you crawl onto the mattress and keep direct eye contact as you do so. You want him to take in the fire in your eyes, and know that you mean everything you say.

And from the way he whines upon your hand encasing his throat when you take place behind him, lining yourself up with his entrance with your breath hot on the back of his neck, he gets the memo.

"Have you ever had a cock inside you, Jinyoung?"

"Only finger-ers," He gasps out, still catching his breath to make coherent sentences as his crying dies down.

You nod into his shoulder, "We're gonna take this part slow, then, okay? Deep breaths.. I'm pushing inside, now."

The stretch is slow and, admittedly, overwhelming; the way your strap's textured shaft tenses his walls around the thickness of it's outer layers has him clutching and the sheets and making all sorts of noises, from groans to whimpers, from low-tones to high-notes, then finally, you bottom out. Your hips meet the plush skin of his ass, which he yelps at, and you take a moment to massage the column of his neck, trying to get him to relax as much as possible. It is his first time with a dick up his ass, after all, and he'd just taken a brutal punishment with, from the looks of it, painful consequences.

"What's the traffic light say, Jinyoung?"

He knows what it means, and when he's actually asked the question, it sparks a sort of satisfaction in him. He means wow, someone who actually checks in with him during sex and doesn't just do whatever they want without making sure he's ok with it.

"Green. Just go slow, please? It still hurts a bit."

He's surprised when you actually listen to him, and begin pacing yourself slower; careful movements of your hips, barely even registered as thrusts, and soft brushes over the hardness of his nipples once again as a distraction from any lingering uncomfort.

"Is it ok to go faster?"

He nods, and turns his face to the side so he can look at you properly. He looks so good like this; watery eyes and a needy expression painted on his face like glass.

It's then that you find yourself kissing him.

It catches him off-guard, obviously, but he leans into it nonetheless, and damn did you know how to kiss. Your lips were sweet against his, mouth moving in tune with his own and it was quite easy for you to take control of things. One squeeze to his throat and he was putty.

You don't even notice that you're thrusting into him too fast until he grabs at your hip from behind and whines into your mouth, which makes you want to go all the more faster, but you don't. You groan, nibbling his lip before you pull away with a grin, and weave your hand into his hair so you can gently push his face into the covers. His arch is gorgeous. Just like the rest of him, you think.

"Jesus, you're a sight.. you know that?"

From the neat curtain of bangs, you can faintly see Jinyoung smile, "Do you like it?"

"Baby you know I like it," You curse as you smooth a hand down the sultry slope of his back, all muscled and strong yet delicate in a way that you find hard to explain.

He moans, loud and clear for you, "Then show me, mistress. Please?"

'Showing him' would be an understatement of what you did. It was like you were possessed; one moment he was on his hands and knees, looking back at you with that fucking face, and the next, you had him flipped over on his back, drilling into him like your life depends on it. You don't know how long you fuck him, but you know that you were in a daze as you snap back to the present.

It's brutal, the way you pound into him. Rough, animalistic, and downright cruel. He's trying his best to stay tethered to this world, but you make it extremely hard with the way you bull his knees into his own chest and stare at him, long and heavy, with each other's foreheads touching and a hand jerking him off at a rapid speed. He wails and cries out every couple seconds, his voice now strained in his throat and wearing thin like the threads of an old spiderweb.

"Is this what you fucking wanted? Huh? Well here it is so fucking take it, bitch. Take it all and don't you dare waste it or else I swear you'll regret it," You growl, your teeth clenched hard enough to put pressure on your gums as you unhook your arm from under his left knee and instead use it to choke him. He struggles at the lack of blood going to his brain, but nods regardless.

"I-I'm c—oh my god please—I'm cumming! I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna-"

"Then fucking cum, you filthy whore. Do it, all over your stomach. Make Mistress proud, hm? Make her proud of her good little fuck doll, I know you can do it, baby."

Letting go of Jinyoung's throat has more of an effect than you anticipated. The influx of air and blood, paired with his approaching orgasm, quite literally throws him headfirst into his climax. His mouth falls open in a silent scream as he writhes and twitches, spilling white on his lower abdomen, and one shot even glances him on the collarbones.

It's silent for a moment as he catches his breath, still shaking, and that's when you make the decision of discarding your strap-on into the basket near your closet with a single toss. Jinyoung, on the other hand, is on cloud 9. He feels like he's floating in a golden sea of bliss, which clouds of cotton candy hanging overhead, and he barely registers it when he feels your fingers on his body once again.

He looks down, "Hm..?"

"Pfft holy shit, look at you," You bring your palm to your mouth as you giggle at the man's euphoria, "Yeah.. Oh yeah, you're definitely feeling it, huh? Told you I was worth the money."

"No shit. That was... Jesus, that was insane."

"Mm thanks, pretty. Sit still, I'll be right back."

You hop up off the bed with another quick glance at Jinyoung before you disappear behind a misty glass door. While you're doing.. whatever you're doing, Jinyoung takes the time to sit up and try and find a comfortable position because of course it's now that everything finally settles in.

"Ow, fuck!" He hisses at the pain of trying to sit on his ass with all the cuts on it.

"Yeah, about that, put your butt up for a moment?"

He frowns, but upon seeing the tube of ointment in your hand as well as baby wipes and a lollipop, sighs and reluctantly bends over.

"I know, I know, but don't worry, it'll only sting a bit. Also, make sure to apply some Neosporin or disinfectant on the backs of your thighs and bottom until they begin to scab up." You drone on about how to take care of the injuries whilst applying the salve, the basics on how to not exercise while they're still open because the sweat can cause an infection, the usual things. When you're done both rubbing the medicine on him and giving him a jog through cautions, you finally twist the covering on the tube of ointment and reach for the wet wipes before meeting Jinyoung's eyes again.

"Roll on your back, please. Feet up in the air and spread your legs so I can see everything."

"Why?"

"Because," you smile, already nudging him to move into position, "You're all messy. I need to clean you up, don't I? Now come here, I even have a lollipop for you since you did so well."

It's soft how you take care of him, Jinyoung thinks. The mood switch is completely different from what you were like when you were fucking him like you hated him, because now, you're so concerned about whether you're pressing the wipes too hard onto his skin as you swipe the cold sheet between his legs and rear end.

"I'm sorry," you say, slowing down on cleaning him to snort at how hard he sucks on the light green candy, admiring how at peace he looks with the warm expression he wears.

"For what?"

"I probably went a little too hard on you. This was your first actual time with an experienced domme, and I'm afraid that I could've ruined it for future references."

"Oh no, don't feel bad. I liked it."

"You did?" Your eyebrows shoot up.

"Of course. This is probably the best I've felt in literal months."

And he smiles. He smiles genuinely one of the most breathtaking smiles you've ever seen, with a slight fan of creasing around his eyes from the rise of his cheeks, and a laugh like pure beauty. You return it.

"Well, I'm glad I could help, Jinyoung. Now, I think it's about time for you to go, considering the session is officially over, and you most likely have a lot of work in the morning," You wink and stand from your spot on the bed.

Jinyoung allows you to help him back inside his robe, even rub the dried tear tracks off his cheeks, and before he knows it, he's slowly walking away from your assigned room, looking back at you as you stand in the doorway with a hand on your hip.

"Goodbye, Madame Black."

"Goodbye, Mr. CEO. Come again sometime, I'm sure you'd love to be taken down another peg."

[bemylord]

ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴀᴄᴋ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ

pairing: kenma x kuroo.

warnings: fluff, sfw, boys being in love <3

butler's remark: welcome back, my lord, today i'm here with a small drabble about friends being in love with each other, but they don't have a clue that's mutual. well, the night will show their feelings.

➝ back to the main master list.

they've heard that phrase from their teammates:

'friends don't act like that. are you dating?'

kuroo laughed when heard that from lev. he elbowed kenma while the last was playing on his nintendo, didn't even heard the question as kuroo mentioned it.

'why would we? we just friends.'

lev just shrugged his shoulders, walking to the gym after their practice. kuroo said his abrupt question, overthinking about it.

kenma tossed his head back, exhales as kuroo started to mumble stuff. friends can't hug each other as they win the match or just chilling together? why would lev even have asked?

let me remember something.

maybe, because kuroo practically flatten kenma when he fouled his pitch or when kenma tiptoe, stretching arms above his head to catch his nintendo.

tetsurou smirks whenever when kenma's trying to wrench his thing, but the boy is 5'7'' - isn't have a possibility to take it.

''kyanma, what's wrong?"

''give me that, i'm gonna lose because of you!"

''volleyball, kenma, volleyball''

no, that's certainly not because kuroo stole kenma's clothes after they had a shower. kozume went from the shower with the towel around his torso, searching for another one for hair, as he heard his friends in the door frame.

''are you looking for..'' he showed his towel from behind his back, running off into another room. "take it, if you can"

sure, the captain gave him that after mockery. if anyone else would be teasing his friend, kuroo would whisper in their ear what kind of excruciating death awaits for them.

kozume seems to get used to the captain's little jokes as he found a peaceful smile on his face when tetsuro said he'll, maybe, he isn't sure, probably, will play in his silly game tomorrow.

after months and years of being friends, knowing each other natures as they own, all habits they've got - kenma knows he'll come to his house to play.

but tonight, they'll know something more.

"i bring snacks," kuroo happily told as he put the bag of food on the floor in kenma's bedroom. "game?"

"resident evil" the keen player sat on his bed, waiting 'till kuroo will repeat his movements. "you ain't scared, huh?"

the captain raises an eyebrow as he sat on another edge of the bed. he took the joystick from his friend's palm, ready to beat every monster in that game.

* * *

"you were a chiken, kuroo."

"what are you talking about, i wasn't frightened as you were!"

when kenma yawned, took a quick look on the watch as it was reading 2.31 a.m., kuroo aimlessly stretched his arms above head.

''yay, i didn't keep track of the time, we were playing like five hours straight."

kenma yawned again as kuroo lay down on his back, putting palms behind the head.

"well, you're pro gamer, no doubt."

"you ain't a loser too, kuroo"

as kenma repeated kuroo's action, they both closed they eyes, falling asleep. it didn't last long as kenma asked:

"sleep?"

no response. he breathed out with relief, move closer to tetsuro's back as he has managed to lie on his side. he nuddles his nose against the fabric of his friend's t-shirt, takes a deep breath, filling up his lungs with the smell of his clothes.

it so wrong, practically being a big spoon whilst kuroo seeing his dream, without knowing anything that kenma does.

but who'd miss the opportunity to poke their nose against kuroo's back?

kenma unconsciously put his palm on the captain's waist, rubbing his nose on the back. ken would never tell him he did something lewd or silly or the thing that the only couple does. he couldn't help himself, don't get him wrong, but every time kuroo stretching his arms in the air as a heavenly view on his muscular back - he's out of the game.

kozume moved his foot closer to his, sort of intertwined feet as he thoughts that kuroo is sleeping.

he pretty awakens, if i can describe his state like that. as he feels his nose on the back and small hand as he does some light ticklish movements, he's melting.

he wanted to stay as long as possible while his.. object of love.. cuddle him. he wanted, but break down when kenma's tracing palm onto his belly, digging face in the shirt.

he turned to the other side, watching as kenma blushes, knowing what he's done. before the last one could squeeze half a word out of himself, kuroo cups his face in his large palms, watching as he gets redden.

"kenma" he whispered practically on his lips, feeling how kenma's hand make a fist of the fabric on his back when the distance between the faces could be counted in millimeters. "would you mind cuddle me all night?"

why would he?

he nodded his head in the negative, sensing the warmth spread throughout his body as he kissed him on the forehead. friends obviously don't act like that, but it doesn't matter.

"kuroo"

"yes?"

"would you mind cuddle me for the whole my life?"

he giggled, pressing kenma's head against his chest, spreading soft kisses on the top of the head.

"no, i don't mind, honey" kenma reached his head to press a quick kiss on the cheek, smiling brightly. "if you'll say i'm the best player"

unfairly. although, lovers make concessions, don't they?

(>_<)

the first part i was writing in the car and the last home, inspiration came only at home. altho i'm hoping it's okay and cute. and fluff.

[settersprouts]

꠵ look at me : chapter six ꠵

カレー。

"Oomph." Oikawa sighed, inhaling the crisp, freshly washed scent of the plain grey bedsheets that covered Iwaizumi's mattress. He grabbed a fistful of the fabric, just breathing in the fumes. He heard the faint pitter patter of rain splashing the windows. The sun had long since hidden behind the clouds, no longer illuminating the planet, instead casting a greyish hue over Japan. It cast sort of a miserable feeling; Iwaizumi and Oikawa were planning on hanging out with Matsukawa and Hanamaki after watching the matches, but the plans were cancelled due to the shitty weather. "Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit." Oikawa grumbled, grabbing one of Iwaizumi's pillows and screaming into it. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!"

"That's, what, your ninety-seventh shit today?" A muffled voice wafted its' way through to the chocolate-haired boy's ears, as they were currently covered tightly with the soft pillow. Oikawa sat up on his elbows, blinked, and let his face contort into a pout.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, which hadn't streamed down his cheeks yet, he turned away from the latter, huffing. "Yeah, well. You swear all the time. Why can't I?"

"It's not that you're not allowed to. It's just that you don't." Oikawa felt the bed dip as Iwaizumi sat opposite from him, letting out another puff of air as the green-eyed third year leaned onto his back. Bara arms snaked their way around his somewhat thin waist, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything, except for the milk bread Hanamaki had bought him earlier today. To prove his point, his stomach growled. Iwaizumi leaned over, propping himself up on one elbow, an eyebrow raised as he looked at his best friend.

Oikawa sighed, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. Forgot." He already knew what the other was thinking. Iwaizumi's way of communicating with Oikawa was mainly with his eyes. Those little green orbs that stood out in contrast against caramel skin, connected with honey-brown ones, a wavelength passing through. Unspoken words made a conversation.

Breaking eye-contact, Iwaizumi rolled off the bed, hopping to his feet. "I'll get you something to eat. What'd ya want?"

"Milk bread?"

"You're addicted. I'm cooking you some curry." The door clicked as Iwaizumi closed it behind him. Oikawa groaned, flipping the latter off once the door had shut.

Iwaizumi knelt down by the cabinets, opening the oak doors and peering inside to look for a pot. A hand reached past Iwaizumi's, grabbing the pot that the latter couldn't find. "Here." Oikawa handed him the pot, and went to sit on a stool at the island counter.

"Huh. I thought you were gonna take a nap." Iwaizumi started, grabbing the curry powder from the top cabinet above the marbled counters. Oikawa shrugged, stretching his arms out and resting his head on the counter.

"I wanted to watch you make my food. I can't have you poisoning me now, can I?" Iwaizumi scoffed at this, his smile decreasing slowly as he heard Oikawa mutter under his breath, "That and I can't sleep without you there with me, nowadays." A blush slowly rose to his cheeks, and the ace slapped himself with both hands, internally groaning. "What, can't find something?"

Iwaizumi quickly shook his head, grabbing the rest of the ingredients. "No, I got it. Don't mind."

Oikawa nodded, pulling out his phone to pass the time. A finger hovered over the photo album app he had on his phone, and he clicked it, scrolling through the countless of photos so he could start looking at them at the very beginning. The first picture was the one his teacher took of him holding his award from Kitagawa Daiichi, with Iwaizumi standing behind him, a smile on both of their faces. Oikawa snorted, he never noticed Iwaizumi's smile in the photo before.

"What's so funny?" Iwaizumi asked, while stirring the curry together in a bowl. Padding over to the other side of the kitchen, he leaned over the counter to look at Oikawa's phone. The latter turned it so it was facing Iwaizumi, showing him the iconic memory of their younger selves. "Oh, I remember that. You actually smiled."

"What do you mean? I always smile."

"Not sincerely." Iwaizumi deadpanned, walking over to the stove and turning the knobs. "I said that back in Kitagawa, right?"

Oikawa pondered over this for a moment, before smiling and giving him a kurt nod. "Yeah, you did."

"Anyways." Iwaizumi poured the contents into the pot on the stove, taking out a wooden spoon to scrape out any remaining ingredients. "I've been meaning to ask you."

"Mhm?"

"How long have your parents been hitting you?"

Oikawa stiffened, unable to give him an answer. Iwaizumi turned the knob to low-heat, so the curry wouldn't burn as he gave his full attention to the setter sitting before him. "I'm not stupid. This has been going on for a while, hasn't it?"

"Iwa, it's nothing like that."

"Oikawa." Iwaizumi looked into the brown pools of color, giving him a little smile. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me just yet, but I need to know eventually. I want to help you in any way I can." Oikawa looked down at his slippers, unable to meet his friend's gaze. All he could do was helplessly listen as Iwaizumi assured him he wasn't angry with Oikawa for not being able to tell him, and that everything was alright.

He didn't look up from his slippers until he heard the knob turn, and the familiar sound of a spoon scraping the side of a pot. Letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, Oikawa watched the muscles in Iwaizumi's back flex as he stirred the curry into a bowl, slicing up some bread to go along with it. "Hey, do you want some lemon as well?"

Oikawa nodded. "I can make it." He padded over to the fridge, pulling out a lemon. Iwaizumi nodded, passing him a bowl and a knife.

"Don't cut yourself."

"I know, Iwa-chan. I'm not completely helpless in the kitchen, you brute." Oikawa rolled his eyes, slicing the lemon in half and squeezing the juice into the two bowls. He reached up to grab the salt in one of the cabinets, swishing the bowls around once he had added the substance in. He set them next to the curry that now rested on the island counter, the juice inside settling as it stilled. "Ooh, it looks really good."

Iwaizumi nodded. "Yeah, whatever." He shoveled a couple spoonfuls in his mouth as he watched Oikawa clasp his hands together, thanking Iwaizumi for the food before actually taking a bite himself. Oikawa winced as the sudden motion of him opening his still bruised jaw sent waves of pain through his nerves, but the curry sitting in his mouth and sliding down his throat made up for that.

"Whoa. What did you put in this? It's almost like it's healing me." Oikawa smiled with his eyes closed, clearly in euphoria. Iwaizumi shrugged, lopping another spoonful of curry into his mouth.

"It's a recipe my mother made. It has some herbs and spices that are supposed to relieve pain and stress, so I added some extra into it. It's not too spicy, is it?"

Oikawa shook his head, breaking off a piece of bread and dipping it into the lemon sauce, then into the curry. "Nope, tastes amazing."

"Good."

The two sat in silence as they ate, finishing the curry in under fifteen minutes. Oikawa had offered to wash the dishes, but Iwaizumi sent him a glare before grabbing the bowls out of the latter's hands and started to rinse them himself. As he washed the curry off the bowls, Oikawa collapsed onto the couch, mindlessly scrolling through TV channels. He tuned in to an extra-terrestrial documentary, watching profusely as Iwaizumi continued washing the dishes. Once the latter had finished, he dried his hands and plopped down next to Oikawa, grabbing a fluffy off-white blanket and flinging it over them. Both boys subconsciously snuggled closer to each other, their body heat combining.

Iwaizumi looked over at Oikawa a couple times as the documentary played. Occasionally, when an especially interesting moment popped up on the television, the setter would let out a small gasp between his pursed lips. He did that a couple times, and Iwaizumi couldn't help but grow fond of the facial expression the latter made in that moment. The sheer excitement vibrating off of Oikawa's face brightened Iwaizumi's mood, making the corners of his lips tilt upwards slightly.

⊱ ─ ‧̥̥͙⋅. ♔ .⋅‧̥̥͙ ─ ⊰

"Mattsun, I just don't know what's going on." Iwaizumi pinched the bridge of his nose, Oikawa sound asleep beside him as he conversed on the phone with the other third-year. "I- just- what the hell?"

Matsukawa let out a breath, lips pursed. Iwaizumi could almost see the smirk forming on the latter's face, even if he was about a couple neighborhoods away from him. "Yeah, man, you're completely and utterly whipped."

chapter 7 !

[yaboymercury]

Ripping 9 to 5 - Farmer

John's city life fitted him perfectly, but sometimes it just became too much. Which is why he needed to escape to the countryside, back to his roots, just for a week or so to de-stress.

Going on another hike around the fields in the area he was staying, John couldn't help but appreciate the fresh air. Climbing over a fence into the next field, following what John thought was a public footpath sign, he sighed at the rustic beauty of the next field with its golden knee height wheat stretching for what looked like miles. It seemed that this was around the season of harvest for this crop however as about a quarter of the field had already been cut by a tractor slowly making it's route through the field.

As John began to wade through the crops at the edge of the field he was so engrossed in the beauty of the scene to he failed to notice that the sound of the tractor had stopped and the new sound of rustling through crops was getting ever closer to him.

"Oi what are you doing here?"

A rough voice jolted John out of his trance so aggressively that he stumbled backwards and fell down. From the uncomfortable floor of the field John looked up to see a disgruntled looking man. Unable to gather any thoughts John just took in the sight of him, tall, firm, visibly sweating, a light tan and a shirt with a considerable amount of buttons going unused. Still shocked all John could do was stutter at the man above him and try not to get to excited by just the sight of him.

"You do know this field is private property don't you?"

"Private?" Was all John could get out in response attempting to regain some composure in the face of the personification of his sexuality.

"Yup that sign in the gate says so" the piercing look he gave John made him quiver "So what are you doing here huh? You trespassing?"

The last question made John panic, realising the potential of the consequences, he sat up and with a little confidence says "No, no I'm just here hiking I must have gotten lost..."

The farmer seemed to relax a little after that but still looked a bit uncomfortable. Turning away from John to give some thought to what to do next, John was greeted with the sight of the man's bubbling ass barely being contained by a pair of tatty jeans. The jeans didn't leave much to the imagination with man holes and ladders of fabric especially concentrated around the ass area and specifically the crack. It couldn't have been practical but that wasn't what John was focused on. The area could have also been the area where the rugged man was the most sweaty with a natural musk radiating from the area. It did things to John's brain only making him want to get closer and lean in.

Pssssssssshhhhhh

It could have easily been mistaken for a gust of wind but John wasn't that stupid, and the raunchy cheesy odour which began to dominate John's senses backed up his theory. But he was now too busy wretching to do anything about it.

This was also the same time the farmer finally decided to let out a sigh and turn back around with a smile.

"I guess I can't blame you for getting lost, I'll take you back to the farmhouse and I'll find you a map to head you in the right direction."

But John was not able to accept the kindness as he was still gagging over the unbelievable stench of what could have only been some new strain of particularly toxic flatulence. Offering his hand to help John up the farmer realised his mistake.

"Oh sorry about that, it was dying to come out, but shit it really did a number on you..." Once John was up he had pretty much recomposed himself but was still in a state of shock from the fumes he had been exposed to, he wasn't even able to process how close he was to the glistening musky farmer. "Oh and I'm Andy by the way nice to meet you!"

Andy begun shaking John's hand, the force of his massive arms making John's stumble and was only able to mutter out his name.

Finally letting go Andy decided it would be quicker to get back to the farmhouse if they took the tractor so he lead John towards the hefty vehicle. While following John was able to take in the vision of the whole man in front of him, it was hard to keep his eyes of that ass though shaking in front of him. It was so eye catching that John didn't realise when Andy stopped suddenly causing him to walk right into it. Andy right leg was cocked up and before John could understand the pose he heard it.

FRRRRRRRAPPPPPPPPPPT

"Aww yeah that was a good one" Andy seemingly in his element barely registered what he was doing wasn't particularly normal "Oh I would apologize for what you're gonna get back there but you shoulda been looking where you were going." He said with a grin. The smell which finally hit John's nostrils was rough, a wave of cheesy stink thorwing him off guard.

While still disgusted at the man's stench John couldn't help but feel a certain kind of way about this man's rough attitude.

When they reached the tractor Andy was almost gentlemanly in helping John climb up into it first, the physical contact of his hands on him giving him a rush of excitement. But the feeling quickly wore off as when John took the only seat in the vehicle, Andy decided that the best way to deal with this was to dramatically sit his ass on John's lap.

"Ah sorry if I'm a bit heavy man, but hey at least you got the best view." rubbing his ass in a bit John realised that he wasn't wrong about either, with his ass and lower back eclipsing most of John's sight.

The past five minutes had wholly overwhelmed John with the duality of his flirtatious interactions with the man but also his unfortunate intimacy with his farts. But having the man so forwardly to practically give him a lap dance, meant that any chance of logical thinking had been abandoned.

When Andy started up the tractor the noise of the vehicle overpowered any chance of conversation meaning all John could do was attempt to enjoy the ride while not getting crushed by the hunk sitting on him. The terrain meant the ride was incredibly bumpy and becuase of this Andy's ass was vibrating all over John's crotch, it took all of his willpower to not immediately pop a boner but that was made even harder when Andy looked over his shoulder and gave John a smirk and a knowing wink. The shaking of Andy's ass seemed to increase and grow deeper and John couldn't tell why until it was made obvious by the smell hitting his nostrils. The rancid reeking stink of Andy's ass gas seemed neverending and the large vibrations on his lap seemed to carry on for minutes as well. And in spite of the sound of the machinery John could easily make out the growing sound of the gas coming straight from Andy's behind.

RRRRRRAAAAAPTTTT

The disgusting yet pleasureful sensation didn't seem to stop until right before the tractor stopped moving. By that time John's trousers had been permanently ingrained with the stink of Andy's rectum and his brain still remained indecisive on if he should flee from the stinking farm worker or never leave.

Finally getting off John's lap, Andy practically lifted him out of the tractor and with his now unchanging naughty smile he lead the still-groggy-from-over-exposure-to-flatulence John to the bench outside his humble farmhouse.

"I'm sorry if the ride was rough" he said obviously joking to John "I've gotten a couple complaints about bad smells I think it's something to do with the fuel I use.... definitely nothing to do with this!" smacking his massive jean clad ass as he finished to make obvious what he was referencing.

Andy gestured for John to lie down on the bench in front of the house since he was feeling so rough which John happily agreed to. John also didn't complain about the view when the farmer began unbuttoning most of his shirt obviously making himself as comfortable as he pleased.

"Now I obviously want to help you get on your way, but to be honest I recommend you get a nap first since you don't really seem to be in any condition to take in directions right now." Maybe it was his state of mind but John found this idea perfectly reasonable. "And of course if you can't get to sleep that easily I can always help..." With that the farmer slowly turned around chuckling lightly as he began to squat his gargantuan ass over John's face "See you on the other side."

BBBBBBBBBBRRRRRAPPTTT

And like that John was out.

John woke up in a bed he didn't recognise, but what he could recognise was the farmer now only in a pair of alarmingly tight worn out briefs sitting in a chair next to him. John was pretty sure he didn't just have morning wood, and it was clear to see with there being no sheets on the bed.

"Sometimes I forget how much power my gas has, it feels like you've been out for hours." Andy stood up to look over John, but unlike the intimidating farmer he met earlier in the day, this man had a much more sensual charming look in his eyes.

His crotch eye level with John Andy lifted his chin so they were looking straight at eachother "Not to be too forwards but out of everyone who's stumbled upon this farm you're the only one who's shown any kind of positive reaction to my expulsions." In saying positive reactions his eyes flitted over to John's obviously erect member. "So understand me if I don't really want to lose you too quickly."

This was a lot for John especially just after waking up, the man was a sight to behold, and he certainly seemed like he would be able to protect John but his gas was toxic, even if he did know how to use it well... just thinking about the day got John confused but further turned on.

"You see planting so many crops it would be very useful to have a bit of an air filter around since I do tend to kind of pollute the plants sometimes, like seriously do you hear this?" Jutting his ass out Andy let out a quick powerful blast.

PPPPRRRAP

It wasn't even facing John but the smell got the message across. It did feel like Andy never stopped farting but John was starting to realise that this was less and less of a problem for him. For the first time John's smile matched Andy's and he leaned closer to him from the bed.

"It's good to see that you agree with me, I think my ass does as well." With that Andy turned away from John but of course that meant his bulbous musky ass was closer than ever to John's face. And John didn't need any more of an invitation than that. Diving into the pillowy cheeks John knew this was where he belonged. And when the butt blew out a long explosive gust of toxic gas John's polluted brain was already getting hooked on the smell.

Later that week John realised how quickly he had gotten used to his new lifestyle as he stirred yet another can of baked beans on the stove. Bringing the plate of beans out to the front of the house the rugged farmer met him taking the plate and began to eat again, all he needed to thank him was to casually raise his leg and let his butt blow John a kiss.

FRRRRAAARP

When the Andy turned around to meet John's lustful stare with a Devilish grin, he knew the wave of stink had hit hard.

(Finally back, of course suggestions welcome as always but got some plans for new stories in the near future :)

[lokis-lady-death]

Slither

Loki x Reader

Lady Death: Just a random idea I had. Reader works for the Smithsonian and is put in charge of a large Viking Exhibit. She comes across a strange relic that seems to have a mind of it’s own. One shot? Two shot? Full length novel? Who knows?

Slither

You walked up and down the tables, your fingers dancing over the many treasures from around the world that you would be surveying for the upcoming Viking exhibit. Your entire life’s work, spread out on two tables in the center of the archive room of the Smithsonian, awaiting you to bring their stories to life.

The museum director had given you this opportunity, one you were not going to let slip through your fingers. She had remembered you writing a thesis on Norse mythology in college and immediately appointed you the task of curating the event the upcoming weekend.

“That drama on TV has everyone into this stuff right now,” she had told you. “We could meet your quota by the end of the year if this does well, so I need you to pull out all the stops!”

Looking back, you knew you should've said no. You knew this was too much for one person, but you had so much passion for this that you just had to take the responsibility.

And now here you were, staring at the largest collection of Viking, Norse, mythological assortment that you had ever seen, with no idea where to begin.

Thankfully, you had Chris. “Ok, that should be it for me.” He walked the length of the second table with a clipboard and check sheet. You had both been great friends since you started at the museum and he offered to help but he had just been called home. Which was fine. He worked mostly with the business side of the museum, and didn't know much about the history each relic possessed. “Everything accounted for, organized by size, worth and use.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it so much!”

He flashed you a smile, rolling his sleeves back down to get ready for the cold outside. “Oh it's no problem. But remember, you're gonna owe us a personal tour of the exhibit when you're done. That's my fee.”

“Absolutely.” You held out a hand for the clipboard. “Did you have only on your list you couldn't find?”

“Nope. Found them all. Which I thought was strange since you have an unopened crate shipped in from that museum in Edinburgh.” He gestured to a package labeled SMITH VIK EXHIBIT. “I thought you would rather open that up yourself.”

You smiled back at him, “You know me so Well.”

You said our goodbyes and turned your attention to the box on the back table. Glancing back at the complete list, you couldn’t fathom what must be in there.

The box cutter did short work of the flaps, shifting through the shredded cardboard to protect whatever was inside. You dig around a moment before finding a necklace. Extraordinary, unlike any you had ever seen, the necklace was a dark tinged, thick, flexible metal band with a heavy medallion around the front. Overall it was a foot long, which struck you as strange because why would anyone wear such a heavy and long ornament.

You took a damp terry cloth and began working away the collection of gunk from the years. When you were done, you realized why the chain was so thick. It was made to mimic the body of a snake, it’s scales etched so delicately into the trinket you wondered if it was in the right collection. Viking jewelry wasn’t normally so ornate, but even as far down as the pendate, the detail was extraordinary. It was formed by the chain being wound into a knot but in the center was the head of a snake.

The excitement was short lived when you noticed the pendate looked to have a piece missing. The head of the snake was lifted from the pendant itself, leaving a large space that was obviously meant for something else to fit into. A jewel perhaps? Another part of the snake?

Edinburg was only around 3 hours ahead of you but at 10pm DC time, you knew there was no sense trying to call to ask for any information on the necklace. All you could do was try in the morning. Just as you went to put the necklace aside to tend to the other parts of the collection, you noticed a piece of paper affixed to the inside of the box.

“The Cursed Chains of Sigyn,” you read. Your nose scrunched and you looked back at the necklace in your hand. “You don’t look so cursed to me.”

Setting it aside on the workstation, you went back to the artifacts you were familiar with, reasoning you would worry about that one when you could call Edinburg yourself.

After two hours of researching each relic, you were hidden under piles and piles of reference texts and web browsers on your laptop. Giving out a yawn, you stretched out your arms and decided to give yourself a break. You broke out a cup of coffee and stared at the clock. Midnight. The caffeine would get you through the next couple of hours.

As the mug hit your lips, you heard it.

A hissing noise, like a kettle being left on the stove too long. You weren’t far from the boiler room, surely nothing was wrong with that? Looking over your shoulder, trying to find the source of the noise or at least the direction, you noticed something more peculiar.

It sounded like it was moving.

You got up and walked towards the sound, following where it seemed to be going. The room you were in was full of all the artifacts from past and future exhibits, stored safely away fro research purposes. The towering shelves were as high as the ceiling, and as long as the length of the room.

You wandered between the rows, hearing the hissing get stronger and then weaker before you came across a box.

The hissing stopped when you grabbed the box.

The top was already peeled open, which, for a strictly regulated room, struck you as more than odd. The Smithsonian took it’s archives serious.

Tilting the box towards your face, you leaned in to see the noise.

A snake- a living breathing snake- lunged towards your face

You screamed and dropped the box, hearing a distinctive metal clunk when it went crashing onto the concrete floor.

Your heart was pounding while all you could do was stare at the cardboard.

The hissing stopped.

It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes of you just staring at the upturned box waiting for movement or hissing.

But nothing.

Refusing to touch it with your hand, you took the tip of your shoe and shifted the box a few inches, expecting movement, hissing, something. Instead, the sound of metal scraping the concrete. You slowly lifted the box before finally throwing it off and jumping back, expecting the snake to be ready.

But there wasn't a snake.

It was the necklace from the Edinburg shipment. You furrowed your brow, looking around, wondering if you were truly alone.

You knew you left it on the table.

You. Knew.

And yet, here it was.

Reasoning you were just tired and imagining things, you took the necklace back through the archives to your work station. As you went to set it down, you paused.

Running your thumbs across the scales of the snake chain, you couldn’t bring yourself to let it go.

Something compelled you to try it on.

“Ridiculous,”  you scorned the thought out loud. All the jewelry you had ever examined, you certainly never tried it on.

But you still couldn't lay the necklace down.

You looked around again, needing that reassurance no  one was there.

Biting your lip, you felt the urge swelling inside of you, against all logic. A compulsion, an itch, a drive.

You needed to try this necklace on.

You had to.  

“Wearing it for just one second shouldn't hurt…” you reasoned. Your fingers laced around the back and brought it over your head.

As soon as the pendant hit your chest, you felt a displacement wash over you, like riding on a rollercoaster and losing your stomach on a loop.

The lights flickered and there was a crashing sound from behind you. You jerked your head around and gasped.

You were no longer in the archives of the Smithsonian. The room was much more crowded and dark with large wooden shelves filled to the brim with old tattered books.

Were you hallucinating?

Perhaps you passed out and now you're dreaming?

Maybe the snake bit you and the venom knocked you out?

Your mind tried to make sense of things until it was interrupted by a man’s voice breaking through the silence.

“What a peculiar sight.”

You didn't move, didn't breathe. As if somehow by not interacting with the world you would be taken back to your table of relics.

“And who might you be?” The voice spoke again. An accent you couldn't quite place and an educated tone. Slowly, you turned to see who was speaking.

The man was tall, obscenely so. He was dressed in black, thick leather fabricated like a dense armor of sorts, attached to a thick cap draped over his shoulders. Your eyes landed on his face and you inhaled sharply, surprised by his features. His skin was pale, moreso next to the shoulder length black hair that framed the sharp angles. But it was his eyes that struck you the most; brilliant emerald jewels that glowed with curiosity.

There was something obscurely regal about him, a certain way he carried himself that demanded respect.

He simply smirked at you, waiting for some sort of an answer.

“How…” was all you managed.

“How indeed,” he spoke again. His head tilted to the side as he watched you like some sort of an oddity in a freak show. “Again, I'm compelled to ask who you are.”

“I'm…” this didn't make sense. Who was this man? Where were you? You turned taking in the stone walls, the splintered wooden shelves, the dusty book bindings. “Am I in a  library?”

“Dont be rude, darling.” His tone wasn't as playful, making you whip your head back to him. “I’m afraid I need you to answer me.”

“I'm sorry…. I just….” His eyes darkened, his smile dissipated. You cleared the lump that formed in your throat. “I'm y/n.” Your heart was pounding so hard it was making your head hurt. “Where am I…”

“You're in my study, Lady y/n.” He took one long stride and was standing in front of you, towering to the point you had to crane your head to face him. “Quite late, actually. Its closer to sunrise than it is sundown.” There was a slight shift in his tone, something more than curious that you couldn’t quite grasp. “So what brings you to me at this hour?”

“I….” You took a step back from him. “I was in my office. I was…” your hand came up and found the snake necklace resting on your chest. “I put this on and then…” Your eyes darted around the room. No, it didn't make sense. Had the pendant brought you here?

The man's eyes followed your hands, ignoring the panic in your voice. “A piece of the Chains of Sigyn?”

He had your undivided attention now. “A piece? How do you know...”

“Because,” he cut you off, “I own the other piece.” Before you could formulate a second question, his eyes narrowed and he took another step towards you. “Are you from Midgard?”

“What? I'm from Washington DC.”

The man eyed you up and down, slowly analyzing you to the point you began to feel will uncomfortable. “Definitely midgardian clothing,” he snickered. “And where did you come by that?” He pointed at your chest, to the pendant.

You tried to think but in your split second of trying to find words, he unexpectedly roared, “Where did you get it!”

You stepped back again, this time bumping into a shelf. The upper portion shook at your disturbance and nearly toppled over, but the man reached above you with incredible speed and slammed the shelf against the wall.

You screamed and crouched down. It frightened you so much you did the only thing you could think of: you pulled the necklace back over your head.

You blinked away tears you hadn't realized had formed in the corners of your eyes. With the necklace off, you were standing in front of your table of relics, wide eyed and terrified. Looking at the snake chain in your hand, you threw it across the table, stumbling backwards.

“What was that?” Your mind was all over the place, trying to make sense of the entire scenario. You held up your hands, brushed them over yourself, making sure you were solid, real.

But what you just saw, was that real?

Your eyes cut up to the clock. 2am? How had two hours passed?

The shelf felt real. The man sounded real. There was even a different smell in the library you couldn’t explain away. Like the pages of old books, moisture trapped in wood. Nothing like the stark archive room. No, that room smelled like the places these artifacts had come from.  

It smelled like history.

And then something else struck you. The man had told you he had  the other piece of the snake pendant. You looked over at the cursed item, laying on the other end of the table, seemingly harmless.

You shouldn’t pick it up.

You shouldn’t put it on.

You knew there was something more to this, something dark.

But you had studied ancient runes, relics from Viking times, literatures recording mythologies dating back as far as the earliest Nordic times. You had devoted your life to this history.

Whatever this necklace was, it was one of a kind. Something you had never seen in all your years of research, possibly something you would never see again.

Against your better judgement, you lifted it back up, your fingers trembling when you did so. Fear and anticipation consumed you, but you fought passed it because your driving motivation was curiosity.

The necklace looped around your head and you closed your eyes, holding your breath when the pendant laid flat across your chest.

“Well, hello again, darling.”

Like my garbage? Read more of it! Master List

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[roswellroamer]

Tsumkwe to Rundu, Namibia on the Okavango river and Angolan border. 4/24/19. About 400km

We took our time this morning. Made to order breakfast of eggs, sausage and bacon along with toast, juice, cereal and yogurt. We gathered around for a while and didn't roll out until near 9:30. We rode for a while and stopped at a bushman village. We are a real oddity in this way out of the way area. The kids come running to the road to wave everywhere today the entire day. The group of bush people that gathered around us when we stopped were very friendly and happy. They showed us how they shoot arrows with the very small bushman bow and small arrows. The bushmen are known to be awesome trackers and hunters. All these kids were learning the bow. Also they use a deadly poison that supposedly once the skin is pierced with it the animal will surely die. The clicking noises along with their language are really interesting. Then, after the obligatory poses with our bikes and wanting their pictures taken, Gavin brought out the Mavic Air drone. This was now getting the whole village out to watch. Gavin flew it down the highway to another group coming towards us, bringing lots of clicking and excitement. We waved good bye and went on down the road. The crushed limestone base is hardened into what seems like pavement but still mostly covered with sand and gravel. The main tracks in each direction are however nearly 50% exposed. Some ruts and rocks but largely a smooth ride today even though much of it at least time wise was on a D highway we averaged 100-120km/hr. We had our first flat tires today. While waiting with our new bushman friends, the "bucky" (what Aussies and S. African folks call a pickup truck) had a rear tire get slit. They had a spare so that is what gave us so much time with the locals. Later this afternoon on a long stretch to Rundu, Andy ran out of gas about 25k shy of town and his mate Jim fetched him a can of gas. Also Gavin had a front flat and spent some time on the side getting the wheel off before the truck arrived. Eventually the rest of us all made it to the gas station and then about 20k out to the Okavango river and the very nice Hakusembe River Lodge. Beautiful day of riding and the last 5k or so on the lodge's driveway likely provided the most off road challenge of the day! Beautifully landscaped with wide wooden decks and a swimming pool which has just doubled as an interim laundry since I went for a dip long before the support truck got here with my clothes. Still no Wi-Fi which seems to even piss off the SA crew. I didn't know what to expect but after two days here's hoping tomorrow's destination has it so I can let somebody know we're OK. Today we skipped lunch, there really was no place or town at all moving up towards the Caprivi. Very desolate and beautiful. We also found that we had been in elephant and lion territory but that we hadn't seen any. One of the guards at the multiple animal/vegetable checkpoints told us about that. We had a couple stops today where they'd check out licenses and sign a log form but no real hassles. One interesting section of the D highway before we got on the tar for the last 142k to Rundu was our passing through a series of farms. Not that farms would be unusual but here the gates to keep their cattle in ran across the road. I lost count after a dozen. I would guess north of 16 or 18 gates that required us to dismount and open then close after we passed. Also a number of cattle grates to ride over and one farmer who tended his gate and waved us through. The D roads have even more mounds growing up along the tire tracks. We suspect these are termite mounds in an early stage that should be graded away whenever the Namibian folks get around to grading. Interesting country. Still heading mostly north after 5 days and still in Namibia. HUGE! 🇳🇦 and under populated. My SA mates say that there are only two million folks in this huge country. Namibia is about 1/12 the size of the US (bigger than Texas plus other states) but with only 2.5M people!

They say there are crocs in the river here so I'm gonna stick to the pool. This is a pretty 'lux resort so we should have a good dinner. Gonna go join the group on the deck over the river for a cool refreshment. 🍺 Now I am on board the "sunset" cruise full of European folks (German, Swiss and Dutch) some with huge telephoto lenses. We stopped over on the Angola side of the river and saw a border post just up the hill. 🇦🇴 Lots of cool birds. Night heron, cormorants, open billed storks, egrets, some crocodiles and also monitor lizards. It turned into a booze cruise with choices of alcoholic beverages and a nice snack assortment including cheeses and Kudu biltong (jerky). I should also mention that due to the truck's late arrival and the impromptu swim in my riding shirt and skivvies, I was likely the most underdressed on the boat ride. What the heck, I was still sporting more fabric than most of the Euro folks in their banana hammocks! Dinner was a buffet but first class. A salad bar with must've been thirty + choices, butternut soup, springbok steak, oryx stew, lots of side dishes and a dessert bar. They also served everyone Pimm's with some fruit. A great evening on the deck right on the Okavango, looking across the river to Angola. The wait staff has banded together a number of time for example to welcome me back from the sunset cruise. The last singing group came by the tables after dinner and one of them was inquiring if anyone would like some grappa or after dinner liqueurs. One other thing I think I'll mention before bed is that once we got onto the Rundu highway, there was a steady stream of villages and even items for sale every few kilometers alongside the road. People walking, school kids, families, workers even passing some sort of community gathering of maybe 200 people circled around under a tree for who knows what. In general today was almost like a parade route as we spent the first half of the day in bushman country feeling like oddities as we passed by garnering attention from nearly everyone and waving with gusto. The last stretch I referred to above was a much more heavily traveled paved highway so we were no longer one of the only attractions riding by, however most folks especially children offered a wave and I waved a LOT especially those last couple hours on the B8 into Rundu. 👋 Tomorrow we enter the Caprivi, a beautiful strip of land that Namibia owns heading eastward. If you haven't seen the NatGeo documentary film Into the Okavango, please check it out. It is about the river delta just down from here and it is amazing. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/films/okavango/

[canoncannon]

i'm not sure what you mean by "or otherwise" and i hope i am not too impudent but... hypothermia, sharing body heat, unexpected boners? *runs away and hides*

Don’t mind me, just answering prompts from months ago…

Tied hand and foot, guns to their temples, Paul has to admit this mission is not going well so far. He and Daryl had been scavenging rusty old boats tied to the small, rotten dock of a frozen lake when three Saviors surprised them, pointing rifles from the shore before Paul even realized they’d been spotted.

These Saviors aren’t soldiers, that much is obvious by the fact that they’d tied Paul and Daryl’s wrists in front of them. It’s also obvious by the fact that they seem lost about what to do next. One had walked back to the shore and up the road with her radio, trying to reach someone at the base for direction. The others pace the dock nervously, guns in hand. Paul’s hands are nearly free already, and then he just needs one of the guards to meander a little closer to him and they’re golden.

Glancing over to signal Daryl, he finds the other man in some kind of fugue state. Usually the archer is almost stupidly brave, but kneeling and bound, Daryl’s chest is heaving, his eyes are closed, and sweat is visible on his temple despite the icy wind.

“Hey, Daryl. Daryl, you alright?” Paul asks immediately, trying to scoot closer.

“Shut it,” one of the Saviors barks, kicking him viciously in the side. Paul slumps over onto the decrepit dock and feels the knot at his wrists give. He carefully holds the rope in place and begins flexing his ankles in tiny circular motions, not bothering to sit up again.

Daryl is still panicking, his breath audible over the wind and creaking wood. Paul’s reminded vividly of when he’d turned the corner at the Sanctuary and seen-

Right. Shit. The Sanctuary.

Daryl must think these oafs are going to take him back to Negan, that he would end up being tortured in a dark and dirty cell again.

Still flexing his ankles, Paul sits up again quickly, getting close to his friend. “Daryl- come on. Breathe. We’ve been through worse,“ he says in a low voice, keeping an eye on the Savior that just lashed out. Daryl meets his eyes, just a glimpse of blue through dark, overlong bangs. He’s blinking rapidly, still hyperventilating. Paul isn’t even sure the other man understands him. "Remember when that little prick stole our truck? And he somehow got on the roof?” he rushes to say, because the Savior is coming his way fast. “We survived that-”

The Savior cracks him hard across the mouth.

It doesn’t matter, Daryl got the message. He nods once, trusting that Paul has some kind of plan.

His breath is still coming too fast, though.

“Daryl, come on. Time your breathing with mine,” Paul says softly, ignoring the goon standing over them.

Then the prick kicks out, sending Paul sprawling backwards, and all hell breaks loose.

The rotten wood beneath them gives way, followed by the ice, sending Paul and the Savior both tumbling into the lake. The freezing water hits him much harder than the Savior’s blows, but Paul keeps his wits and gets his hands in the cretin’s hair.

It only takes a few moments for the Savior to stop kicking and yanking at his hold. Then Paul can’t get his head high enough to see what’s happening to Daryl, and every time he reaches for a piece of the deck to pull himself up the wood comes away in his hand. A gunshot echoes across the lake and he’s  shouting Daryl’s name before he can stop himself, voice high and unnatural.

Another gunshot sounds. Paul loses two nails trying to claw his way to the deck before a hand wraps around his wrist.

“Calm the fuck down,” Daryl scolds, holding his wrist still while holstering his gun with his other hand. “These three are dead, but who knows if that bitch got reinforcements on the way before I shot her.”

Paul only realizes that his body is shaking violently after Daryl hefts him out of the water and he tries to stand. Of course he topples immediately, barely coordinated enough to throw his injured hands out to break his fall. His fingers are bleeding from at least three or four giant splinters but he can’t feel them.

“Shit, man, you’re turning blue. Let’s get you outta here.” Moving closer, Daryl looks ready to put Paul in a fireman’s carry.

“Check the bodies. Weapons,” Paul manages to choke out, clumsily shoving him away.

“We need to get you warm or you’re gonna to lose a toe,” Daryl argues, forcing his way close and half-dragging him down the dock.

“Need guns more than toes.”

“Fuck’s sake. I’ll get you in the car, then I’ll come back, alright? Now quit bitching at me and try to move your legs.”

—

“Last winter weren’t this bad,” Daryl says in an accusing tone, as if Paul controls Virginia’s weather.

Still shaking, Paul doesn’t respond. His head feels foggy.

“Gonna have to hole up pretty close to here, we need to get you warmed up. I’ll keep watch.”

“The Saviors- reinforcements-”

“You got hypothermia, and I don’t know how bad. Quit arguing with me.” With a tiny smirk, Daryl adds, “’Sides, you’re too frozen to fight back, so you’re gonna do as you’re fucking told for once.”

Glaring through strands of sopping wet hair, the scout slumps back into his seat, resigned.

—

They return to the same cabin they’d stayed in the night before. It’s not safe—far too close to the dock where they’ve left three murdered Saviors—but Daryl won’t budge.

Paul really is too cold and tired to care all that much. It’s all he can do to get his boots off while Daryl lights a fire.

“You know the treatment for hypothermia?” Paul asks nervously. Daryl merely glares at him. “Ok, ok, sorry. You seem like the ‘shoot the messenger’ type. Just… the fire’s probably enough. I don’t think we really have to-”

“You’re seriously getting shy? You?” Daryl replies, chuckling. “Months of acting like you want to get me naked, and now you’d rather lose a foot?”

“Graduated from a toe to a foot now, huh?” Paul answers, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Acting, Christ. If only.

Turning back to the fire, Daryl snorts. “Sorry, asshole, but this ain’t no time to be a blushing belle. Now strip so I can set your out clothes to dry.”

Still shivering, Paul follows orders, curling up under their two blankets immediately after. Despite his don’t-give-a-shit attitude, Daryl undresses out of view and crawls under the blanket slowly, like he’s expecting Paul to spring a trap.

Hell, Paul probably would have sprung something if it weren’t for the hypothermia. There’s a warm, surprisingly gentle Daryl pressing against his chilled skin, and he can distinctly feel the heat of a soft cock against the small of his back.

The hypothermia is the only thing keeping him from embarrassing himself.

“Try to sleep for a couple hours. I’ll wake you up and we’ll move on if you’re feeling better.” Daryl wraps his arms around Paul’s chest and pulls him closer.

“Not how I’d hoped to get you naked,” Paul slurs, drowsy. He can almost feel his fingers again.

“Hush, Paul,” Daryl says quietly, right in his ear.

Paul shivers.

–

Paul wakes up to Daryl thrashing around violently. Then he really wakes up when he realizes why the other man is trying to escape like an animal caught in a trap: Paul’s rock-hard dick had been pressed against some unknown stretch of skin.

“Sorry!” Paul gasps, torn between horror and amusement. “Shit, Daryl, sorry-”

“Ain’t- ain’t that,” Daryl says, looking harried. “I fell asleep. No fucking clue what time it is, or…”

“Hey! Hey, it’s alright. If the Saviors had found us they’d already have done something about it. We hid the car, we’re alright, just… calm down. Relax. We’re good.”

Daryl seems to listen; at least he stops trying to fling himself out of the tangled nest of blankets. Instead he sits upright, fabric pooling in his lap and over his legs. Paul leans forward on an elbow, keeping his eyes firmly away from the top of Daryl’s ass and his broad, heavily scarred back. For different reasons, he finds he can’t look at either for very long if he wants to keep his cool.

“You thought I’d lose my shit over a boner?” Daryl asks suddenly, expression unreadable.

“Uh. Yeah, actually.”

There’s a long silence, during which Paul watches intently as Daryl’s ears, then his cheeks, flush slightly.

“Man, you know I’m- how the hell do you not know-” Daryl pauses, gathering himself, then blurts out. “I fuck guys, you know.”

After a startled blink and an undeniable thrill, Paul says, “Not right now you don’t, we’ve got to get back to Hilltop. Get your head in the game.”

The flush deepens from soft pink to technicolor red. “I didn’t mean-”

Paul heroically hides his grin.

Later, in the car, he’ll tell Daryl how much he likes him. For now he stands up from their impromptu bed, dick still half-hard, and enjoys watching that blush climb down Daryl’s neck to his muscled chest.

[smithcitrus]

if I'm just bad news, then you're a liar

It falls into place so quick the first time that he thinks it’s an accident, but everything’s purposeful with Whisper. They’re scoping out some crappy little raider den that’s cropped up along one of their major routes, decked in the latest scum bag chic, when she drops into his lap with a rough laugh. “What’s a pretty boy like you doing sitting all by his lonesome?”

Watching your back while you do recon is the literal answer, but he can tell when she’s using her raider voice because she actually pronounces her Rs. “Waiting for a sweet piece of tail like you,” he says, and squeezes her ass for good measure, because what’s a raider act without copping a feel? Besides, she started it.

She gasps at the contact, low and throaty and still totally in character, damn her. “Careful where you put your hands, buddy,” she says, leaning in close, “or you might just have to follow through.” He feels her breath hot on his ear, one hand draped over the back of his neck. She whispers, just for him, but her voice is her own and her words disappointingly unsexy.

“Couple guys at the bar got suspicious once I started asking questions. Need to get out ASAP.”

Like he said, everything’s purposeful with Whisper.

“Well what the fuck are we still doing here? I wanna see what that pretty little mouth can do other than talk.” There’s a glint in her eyes, and he knows what’s coming half a second before she yanks him into a rough, open-mouthed kiss. He knows enough about Whisper (or at least thinks he knows enough) to realize rough and tumble isn’t her style, and that the wet sounds she’s making are for someone else’s benefit. And, sure enough, when he shoots a glance at the bar, there’s a couple raiders eyeing her. Not the usual lewd looks she normally gets—he spents enough time staring at her ass to know when someone else is too—but wary. Riight. The sooner they leave, the better. As much as he’s enjoying her straddling him, he enjoys living a lot more.

“C'mon, babe,” he says, pulling her up by her ass, “I know a place nearby that’s just your kind of filthy.” She makes a noise low in her throat that goes straight to his cock, and, fuck, as if he wasn’t already half hard from the way she kept grinding against him. Whisper’s one hell of actress, but sometimes she’s a little too convincing.

They make their way outside and past the half dozen raiders huddled around a barrel fire, and Whisper finds at least two opportunities to shove him against a wall pull him into another long, sloppy kiss, with more than a hint of teeth. She’s just making their exit convincing, he knows that, but hell if it doesn’t put him in an awkward position. Beyond the quickly developing problem in his pants, there’s also the small issue of escalation. No self-respecting raider would let themselves be pushed around without taking something back, and their escape right now is sort of hinging on him being a believable scumbag. So when he palms one of her breasts and runs a thumb roughly over where he can see her pebbled nipple through the fabric of her shirt, he tells himself she’s come to the same conclusions he has.

She must have, because there’s nothing amiss in the way she moans. Deacon presses his advantage, because if there’s one thing no one wants to look at it’s a handsy couple, and they could use some averted gazes just about now. He slips one hand down the back of her pants and pulls her flush against him, careful not to hook her panties, until the tips of his fingers brush something wet and he realizes that she isn’t wearing any. Fuck. If she didn’t know how hard he was before, there’s no way she can miss the press of him against her stomach now.

A raider passes them on her way into the bar and gives a low whistle. “And here I thought they charged for this kind of shit.”

Maybe he’s not thinking as clearly as usual, because it’s Whisper who tugs him away towards an alley, now that no one’s paying too much attention to them. He’s still cupping one breast, but he must have pulled his other hand up some time during the transit. All he can think about is how wet she’d been, and the delicious slide of his fingers as he rubs them together almost involuntarily. Fuck, he just wants to sink into her, feel her stretch around him–

She’s standing in front of him, watching the minute play of emotions across his features. Deacon realizes he hasn’t been nearly as careful as he meant to.

He fucked up. He fucked up bad. He’s seen her naked over a dozen times, shared a bed, even kissed her when the disguise called for it. There was nothing sexual about it then, just business, keeping up with the mission. As soon as they were alone, the act dropped, and they were back to being the dynamic duo.

Objectively he always knew Whisper was catch, if not for her personality than at least because she was maybe one of three people in the Commonwealth who had all their teeth. Moreover, she knew how to carry herself to get what she wanted, and had probably the nicest set of legs this side of the Glowing Sea. But all that was just observations, little mental notes and stored information to use at a later date. Now…

Her hands are working the zipper of his pants, and his first instinct isn’t to say no.

He feels far away as he watches her sink to her knees and yank his pants past his ass. The feel of her smooth hands is something out of a dream, but if he’s being honest, he’s never let himself even dream about Whisper. Their partnership means too much to muddy it with sex. Forget the fact that she was the only one in the Railroad who got him. They need her if they ever wanted to turn the tide, to be on the offensive against the Institute for once.

“Whisper, shit–” He can’t believe he’s doing this. “Whisper, wait.”

She hesitates, one hand still cupping his balls, the other rubbing slow circles along his head, almost absentmindedly. “You want me to stop, pretty boy?” she asks, her voice flawlessly raider.

Fuck. Fuck. No, he most definitely does not want her to stop. The fact that she’s treating a handjob just like an extended cover, like pretend kissing in a seedy bar, makes his balls clench. She’s got him in a bind and he’s willing to bet she just knows it. What else can he do but play into her hand?

“Nah, sweetcheeks. Keep doing what you’re doing.” He winds his fingers through her mussed up hair and watches the slow spread of her feral grin. She runs a hand down his length, twisting her wrist just right. Shit. She most definitely has done this before. Quick, don’t think about the other men she’s slept with. Or maybe do. Channel that twisting in his gut into something useful, like maintaining his character.

He gives her hair a sharp tug, forcing her to look up at him. From this vantage point, he can see straight down her shirt, but that’s something for later. With his free hand, he runs a thumb across her lower lip, causing her lipstick to smudge ever so slightly. “I thought you were gonna show me what that mouth is good for.”

In reply, she leans forward, taking his thumb slowly into her mouth, her lips a perfect O, before sliding back. “You mean other than talking?”

She’s good, he has to admit. Dedicated to a fault. Something told him he could bend her over the nearest dumpster and she’d still be moaning his name in that gravel-and-cigarette-smoke voice. He’s so busy admiring her craftsmanship as a performer, he doesn’t notice her lips closing around his head until the wet heat envelops him, and it takes everything in his power not to come then and there.

Goddamn. He didn’t think she’d actually do it. But there she is, looking up at him with those big brown eyes as she rocks back and forth until he touches the back of her throat. He’s never been much for religion, but the look her lips as she takes him to his base is enough to make him wonder if there is a higher power, and what he ever did to get on the Big Guy’s good side.

Instead of dwelling on it, he wraps his hand tighter in her hair and tries not to buck too hard into her mouth. Y'know, out of respect.

He’s this close when there’s the sound of footsteps, and Whisper’s pace slows. Doesn’t stop, because she knows better than to abandon a perfectly good alibi, but she’s alert now. He tries to act natural as the same group of thugs that were at the bar peek into the alleyway.

“You mind?” he asks, head leaned back against the wall. “We’re a little busy here.”

The gang hesitates, quickly looking between Deacon and Whisper who—god bless her—hasn’t even stopped to acknowledge their presence. Deacon lets his eyes flutter shut, a calculated risk, but between that and the sweet noises she’s making, it must do the trick. They back out with averted gazes.

The moment they’re out of sight, he pulls Whisper to her feet, her lips releasing him with a soft pop. Because of course he needed more wet dream fuel. He thinks maybe it’s over, maybe she predicted those raiders following them and this was the long game, but then she’s kissing him again and a bunch of thugs are the last thing on his mind.

He flips her against the wall, watching the way she bites her lip as her shoulders scrape the brick. She helps him work her pants down past her knees before freeing one leg. With her newly unwrapped, he hoists her up by the ass, opening up her core to him, and of course she’s fucking soaked, even though he’s barely touched her. He ruts up against her a few times for good measure, lets her feel the length of him without actually entering her. The way she growls and pushes her breasts against him is more than he could have asked for. Deacon sinks into her, inch by slow inch. It’s hard to take it slow, because she’s so loose and wet and he’s so close. He wants to pound her into the wall and fuck her rough, like her raider persona would like, but he holds back. Respect.

All that goes out the window the moment she digs her nails into his asscheeks and says, “Fuck me hard, pretty boy.”

It must hurt with her back to the wall, but if anything the scrapes seems to push her closer to the edge. Who knew Whisper was such a fucking masochist? Then again, there was something to be said about how hard he became just from her throwing him against walls. Like attracts like and all. He fucks her hard, like she asked for, like she wanted. A thousand little sounds escape her throat—she’s not even trying to be quiet—anything and everything but a name. Of course—he’d never made one up.

He pulls her up again (his arms are getting tired, fast, and he doesn’t know how long he can keep this up), and the new angle makes him sink deep. Whisper cries out and clenches around him, and it’s the last bit he needed. He has the sense to pull out as he comes in spurts, though Whisper whines at the sudden lack of sensation. He half drops her, half lowers her as his arms give out and he has to steady himself against the wall, one fist pumping the last of his orgasm for all its worth.

When he comes down, Whisper’s still leaning against the wall in front of him, breath heavy and shirt soaked with his seed. Oh, shit. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to–” He makes to clean it up with—what, exactly? But Whisper waves him off.

“That’s the best screw I’ve had since I came here. Small price to pay, I think.” She smiled at him then, full Whisper, same as always, like her pants weren’t still around her ankles. “I haven’t had an orgasm in two hundred years.”

“Helluva dry spell,” he said, and there she was. Back to saying impossible things because they sounded nice to hear. Add to the list: her, gasping his name.