#the dynamic between them is just a mess and I love it

[bbgsaja]

աɦɛռ ǟ ʄǟռ ʄʟɨʀȶֆ աɨȶɦ ȶɦɛʍ (Ֆǟʝǟ ɮօʏֆ)

featuring - Baby x F!Reader, Jinu x F!Reader, Abby x F!Reader, Romance x F!Reader, Mystery x F!Reader (separate) summary - you're not happy about how bold some fans can be, but he's got you warnings - none a/n - here's a little crack post so i can also announce the results of the poll: most of you voted YES for a sequel series so i am going to do it! for those who wanted HCs and short fics as well, if i get an idea i will write it out 🫶 also i HC Abby as a gentle giant so if that's not your thing, please don't fight me, just don't read

You were with them at another fan event, this time centered around them with your group, Huntrix, being the event crashers. It had become a fun dynamic, and the fans loved the back and forth between the two groups.

You were just sitting, leaning back in your chair as they continued signing fan posters with their faces on it. And then it happened.

BABY

the fan walked up to the table, biting her lip to hold back an excited squeal

you were looking at your phone, unbothered, until you heard the way she gushed

"oh my gosh, Baby! you're so much cuter up close! your hair looks so soft, can i touch it?"

you blinked

the nerve

but before you could open your mouth to say something, your boyfriend was already on it

"thanks, but no," he deadpanned, "only my girlfriend gets to touch my hair"

he gestured to you

"and she does not like it when fans get too familiar."

the fan instantly deflated, her smile falling. she quickly apologised, took her signed poster and left

you looked at Baby, "You didn't have to be mean."

"I don't like anyone touching me," he shrugged, "except for you."

then he leaned in and kissed your cheek, his hand reaching under the table to squeeze your thigh

you short-circuited, and didn't say anything for the rest of the event

JINU

you were talking to Mira next to you as Jinu signed fan posters, not expecting someone to come up and outright flirt with him

"Jinu!" a high-pitched squeal made you falter mid-sentence. "i love you! you're so handsome, and i'm so obsessed!"

your head snapped in that fan's direction, eyes narrowed

Jinu laughed nervously, looking around for help

he stuttered something out, nervously fidgeting with his pen, struggling to sign the poster

his cheeks were bright red

you were about to say something, ready to speak up for your cute, flustered demon, but he beat you to it

cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry, but that was inappropriate. my girlfriend is sitting right next to me."

he's so cute you just want to smother his face in kisses

the fan apologised and took her fan poster and left, her face flushed with embarrassment

you leaned in and kissed Jinu on his cheek, "you're adorable"

instant red cheeks again, stammering, blushing mess

"i-i-you-you can't just do that!"

you just laughed and intertwined your fingers with his under the table, which seemed to relax him

ABBY

honestly, you were falling asleep

head resting on his shoulder, eyes drooping

you did not see the very enthusiastic fan with hearts for eyes skipping up to the table

but you heard her

"ABBY!" the squeal itself almost shattered your eardrums, "you're so hot! can you flex for me?? can i see your abs?!"

so Abby flexed his thick arms, captivating not only the fan but you as well

but when she looked at him expectantly, waiting to see his abs, he became a little nervous

you opened your mouth to speak for him, feeling bad, but also ready to rip her a new one for attempting that on your boyfriend, but he ended up speaking before you did

"i'm sorry, but i don't want to take my shirt off," he said firmly, "that would be disrespectful to my girlfriend," he gestured to you

the fan looked embarrassed, mumbling an apology before taking her signed poster and leaving

"i don't think i've ever said no to that before," he frowned

"it's okay, babe. setting boundaries is good," you kissed his cheek sweetly

then you kissed his bicep and he short-circuited

ROMANCE

you were whacking him with your pen every two seconds for flirting with a fan

they'd say something like "your hair is so pretty!" and he'd smile charmingly and wink at them

or he'd tell them he liked their shirt/hair/nails, whatever

you were surprised you hadn't broken your pen yet

but you were about to break his foot

one particular fan came up and asked about his skincare routine

he rambled off a bunch of names even you didn't know and started explaining his thirteen-step routine

you were tapping your temple impatiently, until you heard him say, "but your skin is flawless! what do you use?"

you jabbed the heel of your boot into his foot, hard

he screamed, bit on his hand and whimpered

the fan looked at him questioningly, but he shook his head, then smiled - a bit painfully

"sorry, i meant you should ask my girlfriend what skin products she uses because look at how she practically glows!" he wheezed

the fan turned to you, smiling, with no idea what was going on under the table, and you happily told her

when she took her poster and left, you ignored Romance

until he started flirting shamelessly with you in front of all the fans, and you had to shut him up

MYSTERY

this is why he barked

fans often mistook his silence for shy, submissive, reserved

he was not

most of the fans came and got their signed posters without hassle, but there was one that annoyed you

she approached like any other fan, her eyes bright with hope

then she started babbling, something about how Mystery's hair looked so soft and what did he use for his hair

all the while he was just looking at her, not saying a word

and then he noticed you sitting and looking irritated, arms crossed

he turned to the fan, signed her poster and handed it back, still saying nothing

when she asked him again, he simply said, "thank you for coming"

and she had no choice but to leave

he turned to you, his hand settling on your shoulder, silently asking if you're okay

"i'm fine," you smiled at him, "at least you didn't bark this time"

and you didn't know if it was a trick of your mind or not, but you thought you heard a soft, breathy chuckle from him

[formulafanfics13]

Wait... How about CNC hardcore with Charles, Carlos and Oscar or I just need to sleep? pleeeeeease i can't stop thinking about itttt

okay so i've had a really good day and im happy so im giving you a request to make you happy (hopefully)🫶🏼

Every Inch - CL16, CS55 & OP81 🔥

Masterlist

summary: it starts like a dream. soft touches. gentle teasing. and then, the lights cut out. the game begins. you're blindfolded. restrained. and no longer in control. charles, carlos, and oscar take turns wrecking you, one by one, just like you begged them to. only this time, they're not stopping until they've had everything. every scream. every tear. every inch of you.

warnings: CNC (consensual non-consent), extreme degradation, group sex (m/m/f), sub!reader, dom!charles, dom!carlos, dom!oscar, blindfold, bondage (wrist ties), gag use, fear-play, rough oral (f receiving), spit-roasting, slapping (light, sexual context), free-use dynamic, multiple forced orgasms, overstimulation, humiliation kink, creampie kink, spit, hair pulling, throat fucking, name-calling (e.g. slut, whore), dirty talk, voice degradation/praise mix, no safe word mentioned, post-orgasm torture...

You're already tied up when it starts. Soft restraints, wrists above your head. Blindfold snug across your eyes. Legs spread on the hotel bed like a fucking invitation. You're naked. Bare. Dripping. Waiting.

The air is silent until it isn't. A whisper. A breath. A low chuckle from the corner of the room. You shiver.

"Still think you can handle us?" Carlos's voice. Sharp. Mocking.

You nod. But it's shaky. You're already soaked and no one's touched you yet.

The bed dips. Fingers trail over your thigh. Then teeth graze your neck. "She's shaking already," Charles murmurs. "Pathetic."

Then hands. So many fucking hands. Oscar's at your legs. Carlos is gripping your chin. Charles is in your ear, whispering filth in French while fingers slide down your stomach, between your thighs, parting your folds.

No warning. Just a vibrator. Pressed right against your clit. You jolt. Cry out.

Carlos laughs. "Already?"

"She's soaking the sheets," Oscar says, voice low. "Fucking whore."

You moan. Try to speak. A hand slaps over your mouth.

"Shut up," Charles says, almost gently. "You don't talk unless we say."

You nod. Mouth full of fingers now, Carlos pushing two in deep, making you gag.

"You're going to choke tonight, sweetheart," he growls. "Better get used to it."

First comes Oscar. Between your thighs. Licking. Sucking. Tongue buried deep as he pins your hips to the bed and eats like he's starving.

You sob around Carlos's hand. Your legs are shaking. The vibrator never leaves your clit.

"Too much," you gasp when your mouth is free.

"You'll take what we give you," Charles snaps. "You said you wanted to be used."

You nod. Desperate. Feral. Oscar doesn't stop until you cum hard enough to soak the sheets. You're crying. Legs twitching. They flip you. Stomach down.

Carlos grabs your hips. Presses his cock to your entrance and slides in with one brutal thrust. You scream. Claw at the pillows.

"Shh," Charles hisses. "You'll wake the whole floor."

Oscar's at your mouth. Cock already hard. Pushing past your lips. "You know what to do."

You take him. Spit dripping from your chin. Carlos pounding into you from behind. Oscar fucking your mouth. Charles stroking himself beside you, laughing at the mess you are.

"Two cocks at once," he says. "Told you she was built for it."

Carlos grips your hair. Yanks your head back while Oscar fucks deeper. "Gonna stuff her full," Carlos groans. "Fuck a baby into her."

You moan around Oscar's cock. Gag. Swallow. Let them ruin you.

Charles kneels at your side. Grabs your tits. Slaps one, hard. You sob. "You love this," he says. "Our little fucktoy."

Oscar cums down your throat. Doesn't pull out. Just holds your head there while you choke on it.

Carlos finishes deep inside your cunt, hips grinding, muttering Spanish filth as he empties himself into you like he owns you.

Charles? He waits. Lets the others collapse. Then pulls you up. Spits in your mouth. Then slides in slow.

But it doesn't last. He grabs your throat. Fucks into you hard. Deep. Until your whole body rocks with it. "You don't cum until I say," he growls.

You cry. Nod. Can't even beg. And when he finally lets you? It's violent. Endless. Your body breaks.

They don't stop. You lose count after the sixth orgasm. You're boneless. Covered in cum. Throat raw. Skin stinging from where they've slapped, sucked, grabbed, bitten.

And still? They're not done. Charles kisses your ear. "One more time, baby. Just one more."

Carlos is already hard again. Oscar's stroking himself. They're going to start over. You sob. Nod. You asked for this. You wanted it. And you fucking love it.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

You’re Not Alone Anymore

Warnings: Intense dom/sub dynamic, deep subspace, overstimulation, implied smut, emotional vulnerability, past partner neglect, gentle aftercare (bathing, cleaning, dressing, cuddling), protective!soft!possessive!Frank, hurt/comfort, mild language, healing

Summary: After an intense night together, Frank finds you trying to do aftercare by yourself. What starts as confusion turns into quiet rage and aching tenderness when he realizes you’ve always had to take care of yourself. That ends tonight. Because Frank Castle doesn’t let the woman, he loves float alone in space

xoxoxo

Your thighs were still trembling.

You couldn’t move without shaking—hell, you could barely breathe right. Your skin was flushed, sensitive, and your head felt like it was floating somewhere between reality and the stars. Everything echoed. Every touch still lingered like fire. Every whisper Frank had growled against your skin replayed like a prayer.

You were limp on the bed, sheets soaked beneath your hips, mouth parted, eyes hazy. Floating. Blinking fast like that would pull you down from orbit.

And yet—with what little strength you had—you stirred. Reached out. Fumbled blindly for the towel abandoned after Frank’s shower. You’d done this a hundred times before. Clean yourself. Ground yourself. Take care of the mess alone, like always.

Frank had collapsed beside you minutes ago, panting and sweat-drenched. But as soon as you moved, he blinked at you, brows knitting.

“Where you goin’, baby?”

“Just… cleanup,” you whispered. Your voice was floaty. Far away. “It’s okay. I got it.”

Frank pushed up on his elbow, eyes narrowing as he watched you shake your way through some kind of ritual he didn’t recognize. Water bottle. Wipes. The shaking of your fingers. The dissociation in your eyes.

“The fuck you doing?” he asked. Not harsh. Just sharp. Alarmed.

You blinked at him, confused by the question. “I always do this. I’m fine. I promise. I’m used to it—”

“What?”

Frank sat up completely. The mattress dipped. You stilled.

Then, soft as a confession, “No one’s ever really… done aftercare. I usually just do it myself.”

You meant it casually. Like it didn’t matter. But the shame was already creeping in, burning at your throat.

Frank froze.

Then, voice low and dangerous, “What do you mean ‘no one’s ever done aftercare for ya’?”

You swallowed. “They got what they wanted and would roll over or fall asleep or just leave… and I’d just clean up after, maybe get some water or take a bath if it was bad. It’s not a big deal. It’s normal.”

His entire body locked.

You watched him clench his jaw, drag a slow hand over his face like he was trying not to put it through a wall. “Fucking hell.”

“Frankie—”

“No,” he snapped. Then gentled instantly. “No. Don’t. Don’t you dare make excuses for that shit, baby. That’s not okay. You—fuck. You don’t do that to someone you just wrecked. You don’t leave them floatin’ in space tryin’ to put themselves back together.”

You looked down. “It’s not like they were all bad. I just… learned to handle it.”

His hand was on your face before you could finish—steady, warm, grounding. He tilted your chin so you’d look him in the eye.

“You don’t ‘handle’ it anymore,” he said firmly. “You don’t take care of yourself after givin’ me your whole fuckin’ body. I’m the one who took you apart—let me be the one who puts you back together pumpkin.”

He paused.

“You’re not fuckin’ doin’ that anymore.”

And then—just as quickly as the fire came—he softened. His thumb brushed your cheek.

“You’re floatin’, baby,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “You’re still up there. Let me bring you down safely, gently. Let me take care of my girl. ”

You nodded, dazed. And when you finally let go, your body slack against the mattress, Frank was already moving.

He picked you up—literally lifted you—and you instinctively curled against him, burying your face in his chest. His voice dropped low, soothing: “I got you now. Just breathe for me, dollbaby.”

By the time you reached the bathroom, the water was already running.

He climbed in behind you, settled you between his legs, your back to his chest. His arms curled around your waist like armor.

Frank whispered the whole time.

“You did so good for me.”

“You’re safe now.”

“You’re mine. Let me take care of what’s mine.”

“You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to do shit on your own anymore.”

He washed your hair like you were something holy. Massaged your scalp with calloused fingers, gentle where others had been careless. He kissed the crown of your head after every rinse. Washed your skin with reverence. Whispered love into your shoulders, your knees, the delicate bend of your neck.

When he finally carried you back to bed—dressed in his soft shirt, wrapped in your favorite blanket—you were no longer floating. Just warm. Heavy. Safe.

He tucked in behind you, pulled you close like he was afraid to let go. One arm locked across your waist. The other cradled your head.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you mumbled, half-asleep.

His voice came fierce in the dark. “Yeah. I did. And I will. Every time.”

You fell asleep to the sound of his heart behind you—steady, solid. For once, you weren’t bracing yourself. You weren’t rushing to fix the mess. You were just held.

And Frank?

He didn’t sleep at all. He held you for hours—processing, aching—because you’d been forced to carry that hurt alone for too long.

And he’d be damned if you ever did again.

xoxoxo

If you like my work, please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work, and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Requests are open for Bob Reynolds, Bucky Barnes, Frank Castle, and Eddie Brock/Venom <3

Tagging:

@malfoys-demigod

@sweety18

@iamsofabulous

@luvrgirlsworld

@blackhawkfanatic

@methodgurl

@creptolli

@hellskitchens-whore

@confetti-cakemix

@awesompawsum

[anincompletelist]

STUCKY RECS | part i

hi all! i've been consuming my fair share of stucky fics lately (in part thanks to all of your lovely recs!) and as per usual, I worry I'll lose them in my mess of ao3 bookmarks if I do not compile them somewhere else as well. I hope some of you might be able to find a few as well in the process!

I'm still working my way through plenty, so this is only one installment. :)

↓ recs below ↓

(these are in no particular order, and feature a range of topics, ratings, and possible warnings. as with any rec, please be sure to also double check for any triggers yourself before reading. however, I will not rec MCD and very rarely unhappy endings.

if you read one and enjoy it, please be sure to leave a comment or support! if you don't, just move on. be kind!)

☆ CIVILIAN ☆ by CoraRochester, with (BEAUTIFUL) art by alby_mangroves | E | 71k

“Do you want to go somewhere more… private?” The blond man, after a long silence, had agreed. “My room is just up the block,” he said, jerking his head at the bar’s door. * In 1937, Steve Rogers joins the army, and by 1945, he’s back in Brooklyn, dishonorable discharge in hand and nothing to show for years in the Pacific. In 1947, a seventeen year old Bucky Barnes meets Steve Rogers in a Brooklyn gay bar, and Steve Rogers finally comes home.

warnings: underage sex (bucky is 17 in the beginning), possibly non-con (not between steve and bucky)

☆ IF THE BAD TIMES ARE COMING LET 'EM COME ☆ by suzukiblu | E | 9k

“I think I’m gonna have to hurt some people,” Steve Rogers says, voice tight with rage. The asset assumes that will be him, then laughs at himself for the thought.  He’s not people.

warnings: dehumanization (due to winter soldier!bucky)

☆ MAGIC FINGERS ☆ by lillupon | G | 6k

“Kinda hard to wash your hair if you don’t take your hat off,” Steve says, amused. Hesitantly, Bucky reaches up to pull his cap off, revealing a matted mess of hair. Steve lets out a barely audible, “Oh.” Somehow, Bucky managed to catch his quiet exclamation and his shoulders round up protectively. “Sorry.” Bucky’s voice is tight with shame. Steve feels like a complete unprofessional and a grade A asshole. Steve is just a simple hairdresser.

warnings: none

☆ AND THE NEXT ☆ by mcwho | E | 12k

They have him in the common room of all places, and they won’t let Steve see him. or: a time-travel glitch lands 1936's bucky right in 2025 steve's lap

warnings: underage sex (16 y/o bucky time travels to 2025's steve)

☆ THE CARE & FEEDING OF STEVEN G. ROGERS ☆ by greenbergsays | E | 8k

Bucky takes care of Steve.

warnings: none

☆ BETWEEN THE TIDES ☆ by the1918, with super cool art by britbrit99! | E | 52k

“This isn’t the kind of story I usually read.” Bucky Barnes, beta, is a high-strung workaholic in the publishing industry. When he’s suddenly forced out onto vacation by his boss, much to his chagrin, he gets in the car and heads north out of Brooklyn for a month-long stay at a vacation rental on Maine’s mid-coast. His host—a mysterious omega named Steve Rogers—is an idle and lonely romance author with a shelf full of unsubmitted manuscripts and a pocket full of secrets he’s finally ready to share. “I know,” Steve calls back. All around them, the salty sea air rushes off the ocean, tangling itself with gold and crimson leaves in the surrounding tree line. “That’s why I wrote it.”

warnings: alternate universe (a/b/o, untraditional dynamics)

☆ ART NOUVEAU ☆ by voluptuous_panic | E | 12k

Steve's on the worst date of his life. At least the bartender's cute.

warnings: none

☆ NO GRAVE CAN HOLD MY BODY DOWN, I'LL CRAWL HOME TO HIM ☆ by ara_the_jedi | E | 32k

1917; James "Bucky" Barnes is born. 1918; Steve Rogers is born. 1936; Bucky Barnes bonds Steve Rogers. 1941; Bucky Barnes is drafted. 1943; Steve Rogers becomes Captain America. 1945; Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers die separately. 1972; the Winter Soldier is recovered by SHIELD. 2011; Captain America is recovered by SHIELD. 2012. The Winter Soldier is asked to care for Captain America during subdrop.

warnings: alternate universe/different dynamics (dom/sub & a/b/o), check notes and tags for all kinks and dynamics*

☆ DESPITE THE THREATENING SKY AND SHUDDERING EARTH (THEY REMAINED) ☆ by praximeter | E | 71k

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips. Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions— “Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.” Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

warnings: the aftermath of non-con body modification, drug withdrawal, medical procedures

.

OKAY!

that's all for now! will be working my way through some more soon :) I hope you're all well, and happy reading!

x

[turtleblogatlast]

Small but significant character moments that I actually really adore are from both the times we see the boys as tots. There is a reoccurrence that happens in both of them that I find so incredibly interesting.

For the turtle tot short, Splinter leaves the boys with weapons. In the short, Raph is the one who suggests they do “what Lou Jitsu would do” and Leo is the one who takes point when Splinter comes back to reprimand them. Leo, in taking point, is the one to defend them and get Splinter off their tails.

And then, in the flashback regarding the Kuroi Yōroi helmet, Raph is the one who grabs and throws “Skully” as a way to replace their missing ball which breaks it into pieces, but Leo is the one who speaks for the group and rushes into action to fix the teapot.

I love this for multiple reasons, but the biggest are how it shows that Raph has always been inclined toward the bold and fun and making the plans to include his brothers in what he loves and believes they’d love, whereas Leo has always been inclined to be the “Face” of the group and shoulder the attention even if it’s potentially negative all while coming up with on the spot attempts to fix the situation.

[fujii-dlc]

Remembering a ‘parental figure Dialga’ art piece that changed my brain chemistry a bit…. I wanna implement it to my au somehow, but I don’t know how bc him and Dusknoir are two grown men. Like I can see Ribbons and Aimilios referring to him as ‘Grandad/Grandfather time’ and Dialga just not minding that. But with Dusknoir it’s more ????

…I could see a kinda fucked up ‘Son does literally everything in his power to impress dear old Dad but to no avail’ to ‘Holy Shit how do we even Talk to eachother or maintain eye contact after all That’ pipeline… but I dunno. I am scratching my chinny chin chin….

[neilabramjostcns]

I know that the vackers are the most common example of a messed up sibling relationship but like. what if it was amy and sophie

sophie is extremely smart and beautiful (because she's an elf) and she lives in a world where quite a few boys are in love with her. Younger siblings are often compared to or compare themselves to their older siblings so what if amy was jealous of that and it drove a wedge in their relationship... sophie could also be jealous of how normal amy's life is compared to hers..

[acaciapines]

on today's episode of 'acaica's background thoughts for the dess raises kris au': okay but lets be serious do dess and chara actually stay together in the end--

[formulafanfics13]

All Mine, Always - LS2 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: After a five-day separation, Logan fucks her like he’s been starving. The scene begins with emotional tension and slow teasing, then turns deep, filthy, and possessive. He eats her out until she breaks, then gives her the most intense, emotionally charged sex she’s ever had, alternating between slow praise and brutal thrusts until they both collapse, ruined and in love.

Warnings: Explicit smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, rough sex, praise kink, orgasm control/denial, intense emotional dynamic, possessive behavior, face-sitting implication, hair pulling, overstimulation, dirty talk, crying during sex, degradation/praise mix.

The hotel room was quiet, but not for long. He'd barely closed the door before she was pressed against it, his mouth slanting over hers, tongue slow and lazy like he had all the time in the world to ruin her.

Logan kissed like he owned her. Not desperate. Not greedy. Just sure. Sure that she was his. Sure that she wanted it. Sure that she'd let him take everything. "You missed me?" he murmured against her lips.

She nodded, breath already hitching. "So much."

"Yeah?" His voice dipped, all velvet and heat. "Didn't feel like it when you didn't send me a single filthy photo this week."

Her face flushed. "I was tired."

He clicked his tongue, fingers sliding down to the waistband of her leggings. "You always get tired when you're bratty."

"I'm not-"

He cut her off with a kiss that made her knees give out. "Take your clothes off."

She blinked. "What, now?"

He raised a brow, stepping back just enough to cross his arms. His t-shirt was still on, but barely. He always looked good, lean, golden, controlled, but when he got like this? Still. Sharp-eyed. Fully in control?

She melted.

"I said," he repeated, slow and patient, "take them off."

She obeyed. First the hoodie, then the bra. He didn't touch her. Just watched. "You've been gone five days," she whispered.

"And I'm gonna make you feel every hour of it," he said.

When she stepped out of her leggings, she stood in front of him, bare and waiting. He stepped forward. Ran one knuckle down the dip between her breasts, over her stomach, stopping just above her clit. "You missed me," he murmured again, lower now. "Show me."

He walked her backward toward the bed, never taking his eyes off her. When her knees hit the edge, she let herself fall back, legs parting instinctively.

Logan dropped to his knees. "Open wider." She obeyed. His hands slid up her thighs, slow, reverent, like he was handling something priceless.

"You've got the prettiest pussy I've ever seen," he said, voice warm. "So wet already. You missed my mouth, huh?"

"Yes," she breathed.

He grinned. "Good girl."

And then he licked her. Just once, one long, teasing stripe that made her whole body jerk. Then again. Then again. And then his mouth devoured her. Logan didn't rush. He licked into her with slow, steady confidence, tongue working her over like he was memorizing her all over again. Like five days without her had made him feral.

He groaned when her hips started to roll, holding them down easily. "That's it," he murmured against her clit. "Ride my face. Just like that. Let me take care of you."

Her fingers fisted in his hair. "Logan-oh fuck-Logan-"

"You sound so pretty when you beg." His voice was dark silk. "Say my name again."

She did. Again and again and again, until he had her legs shaking, thighs tensed, breath gone, the coil inside her snapping as she shattered on his tongue. He didn't stop. He never stopped. He licked her through it, teasing her oversensitive body, tasting every second of her orgasm like he was savoring victory.

By the time he finally pulled back, her chest was heaving, legs splayed open, a fucking mess. He stood and looked down at her like she was the most beautiful thing on earth. "Good girl," he whispered, kissing her knee.

"Get up here," she panted.

He stripped in one motion, shirt, boxers, everything, and crawled over her, slotting between her legs like he was always meant to be there.

She reached for him. "Logan-"

He caught her wrists. Pinned them above her head. "You ready?"

She nodded.

"You want me to take my time or fuck you stupid?"

"Can I have both?"

He laughed, full, filthy, so in love with her it hurt. "You can have anything, baby." And then he pushed in. He slid in deep. All the way. Slow. Measured. 

Her head tipped back, mouth dropping open with a broken gasp as her walls stretched around him. "God, Logan-" she whimpered, hands still pinned above her head. "You feel so good-"

"I know, baby," he groaned into her throat. "Fuck, I missed this. Missed you."

He didn't thrust right away. Just stayed there. Buried to the hilt. Letting her feel him. Chest to chest. Cock pressed impossibly deep, his hips flush against hers, the stretch delicious and intimate and aching.

"You're so fucking tight," he whispered, nuzzling against her ear. "Always so tight for me."

Her thighs trembled. Her fingers twisted against his grip.

"I can feel your pulse around me," he groaned. "Like your body's begging."

"It is," she breathed.

"I know, baby."

He rocked his hips, once, just enough to make her cry out. Then again. Slow. Deep. Heavy. She felt full. Like she couldn't take any more of him, physically or emotionally. And that's what always killed her about Logan. He didn't just fuck her body. He held her in it. Like every thrust was a reminder: you're mine, you're safe, you're perfect.

"Look at me," he whispered, eyes dark and locked onto hers.

She did. And he rolled his hips again. They both moaned, quiet, desperate.

"Look at that," he said softly. "Takin' me so good. Fuck, I'll never get over this."

Her whole body tensed when he brushed against that spot inside her. He felt it. "Right there?" he asked, smiling.

She nodded. Barely. He gave her exactly that. Over and over. Every stroke kissing that spot so perfectly she nearly cried. "You're so good for me," he whispered. "So warm, so wet, fuck, this pussy was made for me."

She whined, arching under him. He pinned her harder. Pressed his forehead to hers. "I want you to feel every second of this. I want you to remember it tomorrow when you're sore. When you can still feel me inside you."

"Logan-fuck-please-"

His rhythm picked up, just a little. Just enough. Not pounding. Not punishing. Just deep and deliberate, hips rolling, cock dragging in and out of her like slow fire. "You gonna come for me?" he murmured.

She nodded, eyes glassy.

"You close already?"

"Yes."

He pulled out halfway. Stopped. She gasped.

"Then you can wait," he said, calm as sin. "Because I'm not done telling you how perfect you are."

She whimpered, legs wrapping around his waist.

"You feel that?" he asked, pushing back in, slow and deep.

She moaned. "Yes-Logan, yes-"

"That's how full I want you all the time." He kissed her neck. Her jaw. Her mouth. "You make me so fucking proud," he whispered. "You take everything I give you and ask for more."

She whined, hips rocking up.

"You're not just my good girl," he said, voice breaking. "You're my everything."

"Please let me come," she begged, voice wrecked. "I need it-Logan, please-"

"Not yet." He slid out, then slammed back in once, making her scream. "I'm gonna fuck you until you forget your own name."

"Then do it," she growled, pulling at his grip on her wrists. "Fuck me, Logan-please, fuck me-"

And that broke him. He let go. Of her wrists. Of his restraint. Of every slow, patient thought in his brain.

He dragged her legs over his shoulders and started pounding into her — hard, fast, filthy. Her moans turned frantic. Incoherent.

"Touch yourself," he ordered, breath ragged. "Rub that pretty clit while I fuck you like this."

She obeyed, fingers finding the swollen bundle of nerves instantly.

"That's it, baby-fuck, that's it. Come for me. Right fucking now."

She shattered. Loud. Messy. Wrecked. Her orgasm hit like a wave, thighs clenching, breath gone, back arched off the mattress as her whole body convulsed around him.

He cursed as her walls gripped him. "Oh fuck-fuck-you're squeezing me so tight, baby-shit-" He thrust a few more times and followed her over, groaning her name like a prayer as he emptied into her, hips stuttering, hands gripping her thighs like he'd fall apart if he let go.

And then everything was still. Just breathing. Sweat. Shaking limbs. Love.

He collapsed beside her, one hand still on her stomach. She was crying. Just a little. He kissed her cheek. "You okay?"

She nodded, voice shaking. "I don't think I've ever come that hard."

He laughed softly. "That was just round one."

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 5!!!

[becauseplot]

literally cannot work on my main fic bc i am afraid of getting a specific pair of character's dynamic/relationship wrong. try to open the google doc and i physically recoil. ough. i just wanna write my silly block men fanfic. 0(-(

[hylemorph]

Spoilers: Eggers' Nosferatu

There's a lot of debate right now on if Count Orlok represents Ellen's shame/trauma/abuse, or if he represents her repressed erotic desires, and in turn there's debate on whether or not viewers who find the Ellen/Orlok dynamic alluring are "missing the point." Eggers and Lily-Rose Depp have both said in interviews that there's a mutual pull between Ellen and Orlok, and even that there's a love triangle element, but obviously the experience is terrifying for Ellen. How can we reconcile the sexual tension and the horror?

I think the broader theme is that Orlok represents everything in a woman's inner world that men refuse to acknowledge and accept - fear and shame and trauma, yes, but also our appetites . After the prologue, the story starts with Ellen begging Thomas to stay in bed with her; she says "the honeymoon was yet too short" and tries to pull him in and kiss him (obviously trying to start some nuptial bliss). But Thomas is anxious to meet with his boss and get his promotion, because he has a narrative he's going to fulfill: he's going to pay Friedrich back, buy a house, and then start having kids (he and Friedrich touch on this a bit later. Notably, Friedrich discloses Anna's pregnancy to Thomas before Anna has made it public.)

It's the start of Ellen and Thomas' married life and she just wants him to prioritize her sexual desire, but he chooses to focus on his ideal of success, which sets him on this path to confronting Orlok. We know Ellen doesn't care about having a house or fine things and she begs him not to go, but Thomas listens to Herr Knock and Friedrich, who tell him that as a husband he has to provide materially. He ignores Ellen's stated desires, and so fails to provide sexually and emotionally. When Thomas gaslights her about her nightmares and calls them childish fancies, he shuts down her vulnerability, which kills the intimacy she was enjoying in the literal honeymoon phase.

On a related note, there's a defence in here for Aaron Taylor Johnson's performance, which I've seen a few male critics call "over acting." In this story Friedrich represents the masculine ideal of the time, he's a rich business owner with a beautiful wife and kids. Thomas clearly looks up to him and wants to emulate him - he wants to give Ellen the life "she deserves." But Friedrich's elevated masculine status is why he refuses to listen to Ellen's "hysterical, sentimental" worries, he's too rational for all that of course. And his stubborn "rationality" leads to the death of his entire family. Friedrich IS the patriarchal ideal that crumbles when confronted with nuance and uncertainty. Some people see Friedrich and assume that a character like him is meant to come across as dignified, and that Aaron Taylor Johnson is messing up by making him look annoying, but really he is giving a great portrayal of a really common, annoying kind of guy. The kind of guy who melts down and has childish tantrums whenever they lose control of a situation, or their manly skills and values are shown to be irrelevant.

The men in the movie (excluding Professor von Franz) frame Ellen as childish for speaking about her dreams candidly, but their own childishness is revealed when her dreams manifest in the form of Orlok and become unavoidable. Ellen (partially? possessed in the moment by Orlok) tells Thomas how "foolish and like a child" he was in Orlok's castle. In the literal context that's cruel, and obviously that shit was scary as hell, but it hits on Thomas' failure in the metaphorical reading. He was a child playing house: 'I'll be the husband and make money, you be the wife and make babies.' When it came time to confront his wife's inner world and all the scary, traumatized, lustful complexity of it, he was completely inept. The message isn't that Orlok is what Ellen really needs, or that Thomas is a wimp, but he's not a perfect husband either. I think "the point" is that a real healthy marriage with sexual, emotional, and spiritual mutuality is impossible in that society with Thomas/Friedrich's ideals. In that kind of society, a spiritually and sexually potent woman like Ellen ("in heathen times you might have been a Priestess of Isis") will always be caught in a "love triangle" with her husband and her own inner world.

[starryeyed-apple]

subby, pussy drunk caleb overstimulating you

For most your life, you always trailed behind Caleb, his little shadow. But he always looked back at you, always asked you where you wanted to go.

Letting you lead the way was an instinct that blossomed into a beautiful dynamic in this new stage of your relationship. Him, longing for you to direct him in whatever way you wanted. You, guiding him gently with all your love and affection.

Still, you would have never guessed just how far his thirst for your guidance went.

Sometimes the reality of it hits you, all at once and all too much in one singular, awestruck moment. Your sweet, loyal, bright-eyed Caleb—the man you'd always known, always loved better than anyone—now nestled between your legs, flushed face buried in your cunt as if it's the home he's always been seeking. Reduced to a drooling, whimpering mess as he devours every drop of you.

Sunset eyes glaze over and droop shut. His lips are swollen and wet, drenched in his spit and the evidence of just how many times he can make you cum.

Your release drips down his chin whenever he pulls back for a gasp. His half-lidded gaze flutters up to your blissed-out face when he dives back in, moaning in time with each thrust of his tongue inside you.

The familiar whine of his name from your lips, coated now in a wanton need only he'd ever hear, drives him even more insane. Each tug of your fingers through the sweaty strands of hair at the nape of his neck gets him even more pussy drunk, grinding into the mattress from just the taste of you.

Caleb's right hand fists into your bed sheets, cloth tearing between the strength hidden in those fingers. His other fingers skirt along your inner thigh as he grips at it, keeping you spread open along with the steady thrum of his Evol.

“Caleb,” you whimper, tugging harder at his hair, the sweet bite of pain dragging a moan from deep within his throat. “I—I can’t—”

“Just one more, huh?” he pants his desperation into your soaked cunt, eyes wide and pleading while his fingers trace up your thigh to join his tongue in your folds. He slowly scissors those callused digits into your wet heat, and moans when your walls flutter in eager response around them. “Please, please, just one more. I’ve been so good, pips, haven’t I? Haven’t I, baby?”

You’re pretty sure you’re just as gone as him at this point, nothing but adoration and praise in the stroke of your shaking hand against his blushing red, freckled cheek.

“One more,” you whisper with a nod, already feeling the impossibility of another orgasm creeping up on you when he sucks your clit back into his mouth, flicking his tongue around it along with the upwards curl of his fingers inside you. “One more, baby. Just—oh, fuck! So good for me, Caleb, so fucking good…”

The bed rocks under his mindless humps into the mattress, and you lose yourself to the sounds of his mewling and desperate suckling of your cunt until he makes you cum again—and again, and again, because you know very well it won’t just be one more.

[houseofaegon]

Ruined ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Dom!Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts Teammate!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. no use of y/n. secret hookups, armory sex, unprotected p in v, praise kink, power play, slight sub!bob energy but make it neeeedddyyyyy and feral, desperate!bob, dominant!reader, interrupted sex, yelena being yelena, begging, orgasm denial (sort of), overstimulation, dirty talk.

Summary: The Thunderbolt's press tour is a fucking disaster—Valentina's controlling, the team’s a mess, and Bob Reynolds looks at you like he’s one second away from losing his mind. When you catch him pacing the armory alone, you take what you want. But when you tell him to stay quiet and be good... Bob doesn’t stay quiet. And he definitely doesn’t stay good.

Word count: ~4k

Author's note: need bob reynolds to absolutely destroy me. can't even think or breathe cause he's taking up space in my mind. living in my head rent free and i am not complaining. I'm loooovvvinnnggg these two so much, might make more shots with them cause what the hell???? the dynamic thooooo!!! love me some dom and sub bob <3333333 he's so babygirl i can't take it anymore. if you want to be added to my tag list just comment! <3

masterlist.

"Quiet, Bob."

The words came out as a whisper, but the threat in them made Bob Reynolds shiver under your touch. His back hit the cold armory wall with a clang, head tilting back, mouth already parted on a moan. His shirt was god knows where—somewhere between the racks of rifles and dusty, outdated StarkTech. Your mouth was on his, tongue sliding deep, fingers fisting his curls like you needed an anchor. And Bob? He was already halfway gone.

It had been a long, brutal week.

Valentina had decided that the Thunderbolts—the shiny New Avengers—needed a rebranding for a more "palatable" public. And what better way than a grueling, nonstop, goddamn press tour?

You were paraded like collectibles. Forced smiles. Posed photos. Tactical suits are tailored to make you look sleek. Heroes for the modern age, like she'd said.

Like a fucking boy band.

You were all lined up and put on display like action figure dolls.

"Smile for the cameras," she'd coo, pacing in front of you like a general inspecting her soldiers. "We're selling salvation, not trauma. Wipe that frown off your face, Bucky."

Bucky didn’t even flinch. Just stared through her, arms crossed, his metal hand twitching like it wanted to be anywhere else. Or wrapped around her throat.

Valentina didn’t stop there.

“You,” she snapped at you during the third press op, finger jabbing the air like it might actually hit you. “Need to look grateful, sweetheart. Do you know what I’m paying to make you likable? Not that you aren’t—you’re a doll, really—but come on now, you have to stop glaring at the children like you want to throw them into traffic.”

It was all bullshit. She’d even made Bob do interviews. Bob, whose voice cracked anytime someone looked at him too long.

Yelena had muttered something in Russian that was definitely a curse and didn't even try to smile.

Alexei had laughed too loudly during a morning show segment that made the host flinch, and a lighting rig tripped over.

Ava vanished in the middle of a red carpet appearance—literally phased through the floor and didn’t return for hours.

Walker kept trying to one-up Bucky in interviews. "Sure, Barnes is a legend," he'd say, clapping his shoulder, "but some of us chose to be heroes."

Of course, you snorted a little bit too loud. Loud enough for the mic to catch it. Loud enough for Walker to glare at you and Bucky to smirk.

And Mel? Poor Mel had to endure Valentina's bickering, forcing all of you to pose for pictures while muttering apologies like there was no tomorrow.

You were the first one to be asked for solo shots in the new tactical gear.

"Just a few poses," Valentina said, flashing a big, bright PR smile. "You wear it so well. We want something sleek. Powerful. Sexy, but not, like, thirst trap sexy, you know?"

You didn't miss the way Bob watched. He didn't say a word; he barely moved. But his eyes? They devoured you. Dark, wide, hungry. Like he was seconds from losing it in front of everyone.

Later that day, you'd found him in the dark armory, pacing like a caged animal. Shoulder tense. Breathing shallow.

So you pushed him up against the wall. Fist in his hair. Mouth on his.

And now—

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled against your lips, teeth grazing. His hands were gripping your hips tightly, grinding against you, still half-covered by his pants but already leaking, already thick and throbbing for you. “The way you looked in that suit—I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

You rolled your hips against his, slow and punishing. “You could’ve said something.”

“I could’ve snapped.” He laughed, breathless, voice fraying. “I nearly did.”

He didn't even make it to the bench.

By the time you shoved him down, Bob was already panting, pupils blown, knees buckling. He hit the floor with a groan, legs spread, cock heavy and flushed. You were on him in seconds—knees framing his hips, hands pressing down on his chest, owning him.

You thanked God for wearing a dress.

He didn't even see your panties come off. Just blinked and they were gone, tossed somewhere on the floor. His pants already shoved down far enough, his cock already free.

He looked up at you like you were something holy. Divine. Dangerous. Like he'd beg to be burned if it meant you kept touching him like this.

Then you reached between you, lined him up, and sank down in one thrust. He filled you up completely.

Bob swore, loud and wrecked—“Fuckfuckfuck—” his head hit the floor, back arching, eyes wide and pleading.

“God, you feel so fucking good—tight—perfect—I can’t—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth.

“Quiet, Bob.”

He whimpered behind your palm. His hands were everywhere—your hips, your ass, your thighs—like he didn’t know what to hold onto first.

You started to move—fast and rough, giving neither of you time to adjust. You didn’t want slow. Didn’t want sweet. You wanted to feel it. The way he stretched you open, filled every inch, the way his cock hit deep, perfect with every thrust.

Bob moaned into your palm, loud and choked and shameless. His hips bucked up hard, matching your rhythm, chasing every thrust like he couldn’t help himself. His grip on your ass tightened, spreading you wider for him, pulling you down harder.

Your name spilled from his lips again and again, muffled and wrecked.

“You’re so—fuck,—you’re so perfect—need this for so fucking long. I can't even fucking think when you're on me like this—God, yesssss"

You leaned down, dragging your lips along his jaw.

“You like being under me like this?”

He nodded, feverish, muffled praise tumbling behind your hand.

“Mhm—yes—fuck, please—you don’t know what you do to me,” he breathed against your palm, words falling out between gasps. “Been thinking about this—every night—every time you walked past in that suit, I wanted to fall to my knees—wanted to ruin you or be ruined, didn’t even fucking care—just needed you.”

You grinned, filthy and pleased. “And now you’re ruined under me.”

He whined, hips snapping up with such force that it knocked a loud moan right out of you.

“You feel that?” you gasped, rolling your hips in a slow, dragging circle. “That’s how deep you are. You’re so deep, Bob. I can feel you so deep inside me. God—you feel so fucking good."

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he moaned, eyes blown wide, hands gripping your thighs like a man drowning. “Such a good girl. God, you take me so fucking well—look at you—riding me like I belong to you—”

“You do,” you growled, dragging your nails down his chest. “You’re mine right now. You hear me?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, fuck—yours—always—please god don’t fucking stop—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth again, smirking down at him.

“Quiet, Bob. Don't you dare fucking come until I tell you to."

He whimpered behind your palm, body trembling, trying so hard to behave, to stay still, to not fall apart completely under your touch. But you kept moving—fast, hard, relentless. Your thighs burned. His cock throbbed deep inside you with every stroke.

And just when he was seconds away from breaking—

Hiss. The door slid open.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Yelena’s voice hit like a bullet.

You froze. Bob’s eyes flew open, pure panic, still fully inside you.

Yelena stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, hand flying to her face but only half-covering her view.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered. “The armory? Are you both deranged? This is where we keep weapons, not—whatever the hell this is.”

Bob let out a muffled moan under your hand, utterly betrayed by his body.

Yelena pointed without looking. “Oh my god, this can't be happening. You’re—on top of him. And he’s—Jesus Christ, Bob!”

“Yelena!” you snapped, glaring over your shoulder.

“Alright, alright!” She held up both hands, backing away. “I’ll leave you to your... deep reconnaissance.” She snorted. “Real in-depth work going on here.”

“Yelena! GET OUT!”

“Leaving! Leaving!” she laughed, ducking out as the door hissed shut again. “Just make sure no one ends up disarmed.”

Your heart was still pounding when the door slid shut again, sealing Yelena—and her mouth—on the other side. You didn’t move, still straddling Bob, still full of him, flushed and breathless.

“You okay?” you asked, teasing, one brow raised. “She didn’t scar you for life, did she?”

Bob’s chest was heaving beneath you. He blinked up at you. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he said—low, steady. Then, with startling force, he sat up.

“Bob—?”

His hands gripped your waist, hard. The next second, you were on your back, sprawled across the cool floor, his body covering yours. He was still inside you. Still rock hard. Still throbbing.

“You tease me like that,” he growled, voice rough and frayed, “and expect me to behave?”

Your breath hitched.

“You told me to be quiet. Told me not to come.”

His mouth was at your throat now, kissing, biting, breathing heat against your skin.

“You think I’m gonna ask again?”

You clawed at his back, nails dragging over sweat-slick skin.

“Bob—”

“No,” he snapped, thrusting hard. You gasped, your back arching off the floor. “You don’t get to be in charge now.”

He fucked into you like a man possessed—deep, fast, relentless. All the praise from before was gone, replaced by low, hungry grunts and the sound of skin on skin.

“You wanted this,” he hissed against your ear. “Wanted me like this. Loud. Messy. Mine.”

You moaned, wrapping your legs around him, trying to pull him deeper, and he gave it to you—over and over again.

“You feel that?” he growled, pounding into you. “That’s not deep. This—this is deep.”

You couldn’t even form words. Just gasps. Moans. Scratches across his back.

And he loved it.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking, whimpering beneath him, your control shattered.

He leaned in, panting against your cheek, his voice a rough whisper.

“Now tell me who’s fucking ruined.”

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @ruexj283 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

[mercvry-glow]

all that gleams (18+)

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

summary. everyone seems to be hitting on you tonight, and your husband doesn't seem to appreciate all of the attention you're getting.

warnings. this is 18+ so mdni, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough/jealousy sex, half plot/half porn, sex in the work place, hospital setting, age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s to early 30s), reader gets hit on by men who are not jack, non-consensual touching (patient grabs reader), reader has hair, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. where the fuck do I even begin? uhhhh- so many people asked for a sequel to all that glitters and I never thought I'd actually do it but here we are! I absolutely live for their dynamic, and they're softcore rich which is truly the dream. I'm actually really proud of this, especially bc this is my second time writing any form of smut! as always any and all feedback is appreciated and please enjoy!

wc. 4700+

all that glitters

There wasn’t a person in your life who hadn’t told you getting married so young was a mistake. A newly minted nurse with a shiny new degree, a big diamond ring, and a big house in the nicest part of town—people loved to talk. And they did, especially behind your back.

“Too fast,” they said

“Too young.”

 “She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

But they didn’t know Jack.

He’d been your constant through it all. Through the twelve-hour shifts, the night terrors you both had but didn’t always talk about, the tangled mess of silky bed sheets and plain coffee mornings. He never missed a beat, not with you. He always made sure the front door was locked, that you didn’t forget to eat, that you never had to face a bad day completely alone.

Jack Abbot was your storm and shelter all at once.

Still, some days it felt like you were speaking two different languages. You’d grown up with champagne brunches, sorority sisters, and an Ivy League education on Daddy’s dime. Jack grew up fast though—boots on the ground, blood on his hands, and scars no one could see unless he let them. 

His world had edges, and darkness only he could understand. 

Yours had comfy throw pillows and a walk-in closet.

Falling for each other had been a whirlwind, but staying in love… that took work. 

Especially now.

Lately, every conversation felt like walking on eggshells. He was short with you. Distant. And maybe you were a little more sensitive than usual—he always said you felt deeply, cared too much. Maybe you did miss the way he used to look at you, touch you, talk to you like you were the only person in the room.

Now? Now he was somewhere else—lost in his head, behind some wall you couldn’t climb no matter how hard you tried.

And you still tried.

 You showed up to work, same time as him, hair curled, and lip gloss on as usual. Your scrubs were still fitted just right, your badge reel sparkled, and your sneakers matched your pastel compression socks of the day. You were tired, overworked, and emotionally frayed—but damn it, you still tried, for yourself, for him, and most certainly for your patients .

He didn’t even say “Hi,” when you checked in.

Just a curt nod, eyes already scanning a trauma sheet.

Fine. You had a job to do anyway.

The ER was chaotic, as usual. You floated between rooms, upbeat as always, soft-voiced with your patients, making the new interns laugh with your sparkly pens and habit of humming softly under your breath.

That’s when he showed up.

Leo, tall, handsome in a sun-kissed, ex-lifeguard in the Baywatch kind of way, and new. The latest temp nurse from another hospital, and definitely not shy.

“You always this put-together at 7 p.m.?” he said, grinning as he helped you restock the IV cart.

You glanced up from your clipboard, smiling just enough. “Only when there’s new employees to impress.”

He laughed, nudging your elbow. “Well, consider me thoroughly impressed.”

Across the hall, you didn’t see Jack. But he was seeing everything.

You caught a flash of movement in your peripheral vision—him, leaning against the med station, pretending to read a chart. The way his jaw clenched was less than subtle. So was the way he suddenly had something urgent to discuss with Dr. Reese, right behind where you were standing.

You didn’t react. Just went back to scanning meds, asking Leo if he needed help finding anything on his first night. You were being polite. Friendly. Maybe a little intentionally oblivious—but only because it felt good to be noticed by anyone today.

Jack didn’t say a word.

But every time you turned around, he was there. Close. Watching.

He didn’t like it. You could feel it.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt something that wasn’t just disappointment.

You felt giddy.

You weren’t trying to make him jealous.

But if he was suddenly remembering the woman he married? The one who lit up a room? The one who still wore t-shirts to bed and nothing else, even when he acted like he didn’t care?

Good.

Let him remember.

The next few hours passed in a blur of motion and monitors—IVs, trauma alerts, vitals to chart and families to console. You stayed busy, focused, but not so focused you didn’t notice the way Jack kept drifting into your orbit.

Not close enough to talk.

Just… there.

Lingering near the nurse’s station when you laughed at something Leo said. Answering the trauma bay calls himself when you usually did first. A silent presence, watching without watching, always just a little too close not to be intentional.

There had been so much to do between learning about coworkers drama, taking care of patients, and dealing with incoming traumas that you’d been on your feet for almost seven hours straight before getting any sort of break.

Still not having found the right time to touch the overnight oats in your lunchbox.

Typical.

You finally ducked into the break room around 2:30 a.m., practically vibrating from a bit too much caffeine and sheer stubbornness. Your sneakers squeaked on the tile as you opened your lunch tote, pulling out your jar with a satisfied “Aha”. You gave it a little shake and popped the lid, the faint scent of almond butter and cinnamon curling into the air.

Leo was already in there, lounging in the corner with a Coke Zero and half a sandwich he didn’t seem particularly interested in eating.

“That looks suspiciously healthy,” he said, eyeing your jar like it confused him.

You grinned. “It’s delicious. Cinnamon, chia seeds, oat milk, with a little bit of honey and almond butter. You should try it sometime—maybe it will lower your blood pressure.”

Leo let out a low whistle. “Oof. She’s cute and judgmental.”

You wiggled your spoon at him. “I’m not judgmental. I’m just stating a fact,”

“Same difference,”

You laughed, shaking your head as you settled on the couch. Your big water tumbler clinked softly on the table as you set it down. Leo glanced at it.

“Okay, real talk. How many cups do you own?”

“Oh at least ten,” you said proudly. “And yes, they all match my scrubs and socks.”

He chuckled. “Of course they do.”

You were in the middle of telling him about your latest homemade electrolyte concoction—something with sea salt, lemon, and maple syrup—when the door creaked open.

Jack stepped inside, silent as ever. No one noticed at first, but you felt him before you saw him. That familiar pull.

You looked up and smiled, just a little.

He didn’t smile back.

He walked to the cabinet, pulled out a pod of instant coffee, and started making the world’s saddest cup of caffeine.

“You good?” you asked, casually, spoon still dangling from your mouth.

Jack shrugged. “Fine.”

Leo gave him a nod. “Rough night, man?”

“Same as every night,” Jack said coolly.

There was a pause.

You went back to your oats.

Leo leaned over slightly, stage-whispering, “Is it true you color-code your vitamins?”

You lit up. “Oh my god, yes! You have to! It’s so satisfying.”

Jack let out a breath—not quite a sigh. Not quite anything.

Just something.

Leo turned to him. “She’s kind of a fairy, huh? Healthy, pretty, and scary organized.”

Jack didn’t answer. Just stirred his coffee with the kind of force that made the spoon clink too loudly against the mug.

“I mean, who even makes time for meal prep on night shift?” Leo kept going, still playful, still oblivious. “She comes in glowing while I’m running on vending machine Pop-Tarts and anxiety.”

You grinned again. “You say that like Pop-Tarts are bad.”

Jack finally looked up. Right at you.

“I liked you better when you were sneaking granola bars from my locker.”

Your breath caught a little—not because it was mean. But because it sounded like a memory.

You raised a brow. “You never let me finish the boxes.”

Jack’s gaze didn’t move.

“Maybe I liked the distraction.”

The room went quiet again.

Leo cleared his throat and stood. “Okay, I’m gonna grab another Coke. You two want anything?”

“No,” Jack said, a little too quickly.

You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks.”

When Leo left, the silence stretched.

You scooped another spoonful of oats, pretending not to feel the weight of Jack’s stare.

“You didn’t answer my text,” he said finally.

You blinked. “Which one?”

“The one about locking the side door this morning.”

“Oh.” You smiled faintly. “Sorry, I was halfway through meal prepping for us and my mom called... You know how she gets.”

Jack nodded, jaw tight. “You’re supposed to text me back.”

You raised a brow again, but this time softer. “Jack. It was about a door.”

“It was about you being safe.”

That landed somewhere in your chest.

You didn’t say anything for a second. Just set your spoon down and leaned back into the couch.

“I was fine,” you said gently. “I promise.”

Jack didn’t reply. But he reached for your cup, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip (not using the straw) like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You stared. “That has lemon in it.”

He grimaced. “Tastes like a scented candle.”

You laughed.

He didn’t.

But the corners of his mouth twitched—just a little.

He set your water with a quiet thud, the lid clicking into place like it was holding something back for him, too.

You tilted your head, watching him in that way you always did when you were trying to read what was going on behind those stormy, hazel eyes. “You're drinking lemon water,” you said, voice lilting. “Should I be worried?”

Jack didn’t look at you. “I was thirsty.”

You smiled. “And yet the entire fridge full of bottled water didn’t do it for you?”

He shrugged.

“Grumpy,” you said under your breath, just loud enough.

His eyes finally flicked to yours. “I’m not grumpy.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m tired.”

“You always say that when you’re being grumpy.”

Jack gave you a slow look—flat, dry, and just a little amused. “You finished?”

“Not even close,” you said sweetly, your elbow propped on the arm of the couch. “You’re cranky, you’re overcaffeinated, and you get weirdly possessive whenever someone’s nice to me.”

That got his attention.

“I’m not possessive,” he said.

You smirked. “Jack, you nearly snapped Leo’s neck when he said I had good handwriting.”

“That’s not what he said, and you know that.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Okay, fine. ‘Prettiest charting I’ve ever seen,’ and he winked. So what?”

Jack’s jaw tightened—just slightly.

You stood, stretching your arms overhead in a way that made your scrub top ride up just a little. His eyes tracked the motion like muscle memory.

You stepped closer, toes nearly brushing his boots. “I like that you care about this,” you said, softer now. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

He looked at you—really looked at you—for the first time all night.

“You drive me crazy, kid.” he muttered.

You beamed. “So you are jealous.”

Jack sighed through his nose, the tension melting from his shoulders like an exhale he’d been holding in too long. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a second too long.

“I know you’re mine,” he said quietly. “I just… sometimes I forget the rest of the world doesn’t always know it.”

Your chest tightened. Not in a painful way. In a finally, you’re here with me again kind of way.

You reached for his hand and squeezed. “Well, they do. But if you ever forget again, I’ll tattoo your name on my ass”

That earned you a snort—low and surprised.

“I’m serious,” you teased, squeezing his fingers. “Right across my cheeks. Property of Jack Abbot. Think it’d go with my Bikinis when I start tanning again?”

His lips twitched. “You’re insane.”

“Mm. And you’re stuck with me.”

“I know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, as he dipped down for a soft kiss,  “Wouldn’t change it.”

And there it was.

The part of him no one else got to see—the softness under all that armor he put up. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in this chaotic, blood-slicked hospital worth holding onto.

Before you could say anything else, the overhead crackled to life:

“Trauma en route. ETA four minutes. MVA, two patients. GSW secondary.”

Jack’s head lifted, all instinct now. You were already moving toward the door when his hand caught yours.

He didn’t pull, didn’t squeeze—just held.

“Be careful,” he said.

You leaned in again, kissing his cheek, quick and certain. “Always.”

Then the moment passed, and the hallway swallowed you both—he leading, you following, hearts synced in the rhythm of the ER. But his hand brushed yours again as you walked.

The trauma had come in hard and fast—twisted metal, broken glass, and enough blood to soak through your shoes. Jack had been in the thick of it, barking orders, steady hands moving like muscle memory while you worked across from him, suctioning, suturing, stabilizing. For a while, there was no room for anything else. No talking. No teasing. Just the two of you, back in sync, locked in the rhythm you knew so well. It was easy to forget the cracks when the adrenaline kicked in.

But by 4:15 a.m., the ER had slowed to a lull.

The kind that was never quiet, but at least breathable.

You’d just finished helping a resident clean up trauma one when they wheeled in another patient—mid-40s, minor head lac, walking wounded and very, very drunk.

You smiled politely, grabbing a suture kit.

“Alright, sir. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Can you sit still for me?”

He gave you a once-over that made your skin crawl. “Sure thing, sweetheart. For you, I’ll be real good.”

You kept it professional. “Thank you.”

But the longer you worked, the bolder he got.

“You married?” he slurred.

You didn’t answer.

“Bet your husband’s not half as pretty as you.”

You offered a tight smile. “Try to stay still. This part stings a little.”

He didn’t even flinch. “You ever date older guys? I got a boat, you know.”

You glanced around the bay, but the resident was long gone, charting somewhere out of earshot.

“I’m flattered, really, but I already have a boat,” you said lightly, finishing the last stitch. “And you’re gonna feel real silly about this in the morning.”

He grinned, crooked and gross. “Not if you give me your number.”

And then he reached out—his hands brushing your hips in a way that was not accidental.

You stepped back instantly, heart thudding.

“That’s enough sir,” you said sharply, your voice still steady, still calm—but colder now. “I’m going to step out for a minute, since I’ve finished. Someone else will check on you soon.”

You didn’t wait for a reply.

You slipped into the furthest supply closet you could easily find and leaned against the shelves, chest rising and falling like you’d just run a sprint. Your hands were shaking—more with anger than fear—but still. It clung to your skin.

The door creaked open a minute later.

“Hey.”

Jack.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, gaze scanning your face. “One of the other nurses said he got grabby.”

You looked up at him, throat tight. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer that right away. Just moved closer and touched your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he needed to ground himself.

“You sure?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded. “Just… gross. Not the first, won’t be the last.”

His jaw flexed. “It shouldn’t be happening at all.”

You leaned into his hand. “It’s okay. I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You looked up at him. “Jack—”

He stepped closer, and suddenly his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid and steady. His hands found your waist, rough fingers curling around your hips.

“I should be the only one touching you,” he said, voice low.

“We’ll get written up…”

“I don’t care.”

But Jack wasn’t hearing logic right now. He was standing there like he could still smell every guy you had met tonight on you, like the air hadn’t cleared yet.

“Hey.” You placed your hands on his chest, grounding him. “We don’t have to do this here…”

His hands squeezed your waist. “You’re mine.”

“I know.”

“You don’t flirt like that with anyone else, right?”

You blinked, caught off-guard. “Flirt like what?”

“Like you did with that prick.”

You frowned a abit. “I was being nice. He asked if I wanted  something from the vending machine- he asked you too and you looked at him like he offered me lingerie.”

Jack didn’t budge. His grip didn’t loosen.

You tried again. Softer this time.

“I steal your clothes. I come home to you. I wear the ring you bought me, and I’m your wife. I chose you.”

His eyes searched yours—tired, and heavy, with a mix of something else.

You rose on your toes, placing your lips to the corner of his mouth. “I’m yours, Jack.”

And then his arms were around you fully, pulling you in like he needed to feel your heartbeat to believe it. Your heart thudded in your chest, a beat behind your breath. You looked at him, eyes narrowed, lips parted.

You didn’t hear him lock the door.

You felt it.

That soft, decisive click behind you—like a promise.

“Did you just lock the door?”

Jack’s answer was a look—slow, hot, and so heavy it pinned you in place. He stepped with the kind of precision that said this wasn’t spontaneous. No, he’d decided the second he saw you walk into the closet room, cheeks flushed, lip gloss smudged, tensions high. 

The second all these guys started paying attention to you tonight. 

Jack hadn’t liked that.

He tried to be quiet about it, like always. Quiet the way a storm is—only right before it breaks.

He stopped just barely inches from you, hand coming up to trace a line along your jaw. His fingers were thick, rough, warm, familiar. His touch didn’t ask permission. It remembered.

“You keep smiling like that,” he said low, his voice a gravel-coated whisper, “and I’ll have to fuck the memory of it out of you.”

Your breath caught—somewhere between outrage and arousal. “Jack—”

But you didn’t get the rest out.

He kissed you.

Not sweet. Not careful.

Claiming.

His hands tangled in your hair, dragging you into him like it was instinct, like your mouth had always belonged to his. You melted into him, your body curving against his like you were built for this—built for him. His hips pressed forward, pinning you to the wall of the storage closet, and your head thudded back softly against the cool plaster as his lips slid down to your throat, sucking, biting just enough to make you gasp.

“Locked the door for a reason,” he murmured, tongue flicking against the skin where your pulse fluttered. “Tired of pretending I didn’t want you every second we’re here.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his shirt like lifelines. “You’re sooo jealous.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes devouring. “Damn right I’m jealous.”

His hand slid under your scrub top, skimming up your ribs, palm flat, hot and possessive. “You’re mine—I can’t fucking stand it when they look at you like you’re not.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, breathless, lips grazing his.

His answer was a growl.

Jack spun you, quick and controlled, pressing you front-first against the shelves. Supplies rattled, somewhere above you—gloves, gauze, sterile wraps—but it was the sound of his breath at your neck that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His hands roamed—under your shirt to your tits, over the waistband of your scrub pants, every inch of bare skin he found earning a new kind of heat.

“You wanna be flirted with?” he whispered, voice dragging down your spine. “Fine. But I get to remind you who makes you cum”

You gasped as his mouth met the base of your neck, teeth grazing, tongue following. “Jack…”

“You knew,” he said again, almost reverent now. 

And god help you, you did.

Because you’d walked in here to take a second, needing this—needing him. Not just his hands or his mouth or the way he made you come apart so effortlessly, but this claiming. This reminder. That under all the stress, the silence, the long nights and missed moments—the fire still burned. Hot. Unrelenting.

His fingers slipped lower, teasing the waist of your scrub pants, and you pressed back against him without thinking, needing more, needing everything.

“You’re mine,” he murmured again, lips brushing your shoulder, low and slow. “Say it.”

You turned your head just enough to whisper, “I’m yours, Jack. Always.”

And that was all it took.

He kept you facing the shelves, a hand coming down to your hips to steady you as he continued to feel you up with the other. “Yeah? You gonna be my good girl, sweetheart?” 

The whimper you let out was pathetic. A low pitched sound that came from the back of your throat, as Jack started to flood your senses. He gave your ass a quick, hard, smack. Hand going back to rub over the spot, as it snapped you out of your daze. “I asked you a question, baby.” 

You nodded, desperately. Already whoozy from the assault on your sense that your husband brought on. “Mhm! Jack-”

He shushed you, gently pushing down your scrub pants, “Gotta make this quick and quiet, or they’ll all know what a bad girl you’ve been.” 

Reaching back, you straightend up leaning into his burning touch, wanting him closer than he already was. You could feel how hard he was beneath his cargos, half chubbed as he ground his hips into your panty-clad ass. 

You would’ve felt embarressed if this hadn’t felt so right. 

Clothes barely off, lazily grinding against your husband in a closet like you’re back in some college frat house at UPenn. 

Jack doesn’t waste anymore time though, hastily shoving your panties down, rough fingers making quick work of finding your swollen clit. The tight circles he does against you, make you feel dizzy—legs already beginning to shake, as if you haven’t been working for ten hours already. 

Your moans are muffled by your arm as you lean further into the shelves, but press your hips back toward Jack. Your resolve slowly slipping, as he dips a finger in your wet heat. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he groans out softly, continuing as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. 

Then he just pulls away.

Not entirely, still so close that you’ve basically become one. It’s enough for you to whine at the loss of contact, pushing back into him hoping he’ll start again. 

“Why’d you stop?” Jack can practically hear the pout in your voice. The breathy little lilt of displeasure showing in your tone. 

“Sorry, baby. We only have time for one thing, and I’d much rather make you cum on my cock.” He kisses the back of your neck, gentle and loving as ever as he reaches down to free himself from his scrub pants. 

He’s aching, he’s so hard. 

He takes a few deep breaths before haphazrdly stroking himself. Fisting his cock in his meaty hand, already slick after playing with your wet little cunt. 

Jack wasn’t going to make love to you. 

He was going to fuck you like you needed it. 

Lining himself up, Jack pushed in with a solid thrust of his sturdy hips. You just about collapsed into the shelves, already feeling so full of Jack as he started a steady rhythm. It was overwhelming, one of his hands tight against your hips as he used it to guide you into his thrusts, the other snaked over your mouth to muffle your breathy moans because the hallway was just beyond the locked closet door.

“Shit- you’re so fucking tight, baby.” you cleched against him as he drove himself further into you, trying to angle himself to hit the spot that would have you seeing stars in no time. 

Your walls hugged him tight, leaving him a mess as he watched himself slip in and out of you in a trance like state. 

“Fuck Jack-” you start mewling, hips pushing and grinding to meet his thrusts. “Ah- ah, you’re so deep.” 

He mumbles something incoherent against your shoulder, both of his hands moving to your hips and ass to get more leverage to fuck you nice and hard. 

You can tell you’re making a mess of yourself, panties clearly ruined with how you’re leaking down your thighs and his cock. Each thrust is a new shockwave of pleasure you don’t expect, but Jack doesn’t let up and you don’t want him to. 

“Too m-much,” his cock throbs, hard and heavy inside you as he stills for just a second. 

“Yeah? It’s too much for you, Sweetheart?” It’s almost mocking as he draws it out into longer deeper strokes—the ones that make it hard to breathe, the air escaping your lungs faster than you can take the chance to gasp for air. 

“You’re just so big,” you whimper out, trying to keep yourself from collapsing back against him as your legs start to feel like jello. 

Jack gives you a light scoff, “Good thing you’re being a good girl, and takin’ me so well, huh?” He keeps the pace steady, if not a bit quicker. Switching up the tempo to keep you on your toes and eager for him. 

“Mhm!” You can feel your orgasm building, that all too familiar pressure in your lower tummy bubbling over. “Fuck- fuck I’m gonna cum-”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain, kicking him into high gear as he spins you around to face him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he lifts one of your legs around his waist. 

“Yeah, pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?” He asks you through a sloppy kiss, one that smears what’s left of your lip gloss. 

You feel like you’re about to implode, too tense and too loose all at once. Your hands find purchase on his clothed chest and the curls at the base of his neck, as he continues his loving assault on your body and senses. Jack is everywhere, and you’d never want it to be different. 

He watches as you finally let go, shivering your way through your orgasm as you cum on his thick cock. Your breath catches as he kisses you slowly, working his cock in and out of your gushing pussy still chasing his own release. 

“Fuck- you ruin me baby,” He groans into your kiss swollen lips, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts before burying himself as deep as possible. His own breathing shallow as he spills his load deep into your cunt, right where it belongs. 

Blinking slowly, you return to your body. Jack looks down at you, capturing your lips in one last sweet kiss as he gently pulls out of you. Your body shudders at the now empty feeling, “You with me, Baby?”

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, gentle and loving as you just stare at him a little dazed. You manage a soft hum, and he begins the process of putting you back together for the public. 

You cringed a bit as he helped you pull the pants of your scrubs back up, at least they were dark… right? You’d change into your backups as soon as you found the courge to leave the storage room. Then there was your hair which Jack lovingly braided as quickly as he could, before fixing himself the best he could

“Everyone’s totally gonna know… Ugh…”  you leaned your head against his chest, sighing at the thought of John or Ellis questioning where you two were for the past 15 minutes. 

“You look fine, besides who cares?” He questioned, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard the same story from other departments,” 

“Yeah but this is us,” you gave him a deadpan expression, as he reached behind you so that he could grab your stethoscope and badge reel from one of the many shelves behind you. 

He gave you a nonchalant shrug, and one last kiss on the forehead. “You ready to go get ‘em tiger?”

“You’re so dead whe we get home, it’s not even funny Jack Abbot!” 

“We still have about two more hours, so I think I’m safe, Princess.” 

mercvry-glow 2025

[hencheri]

— ENHYPEN & what they’re into !

▸ 18+ mdni.

| pairing. bfs!enhypen x fem!reader

| warnings. daddy kink, allusions to sub/dom dynamics, rough sex (nothing intense but still), squirting, idk very cute stuff overall ngl lol.

| a.n.: in my normie era pls i love it. let me know if i should do more <3 (i probably will anyway)

HEESEUNG — dry humping

having you close to him, still in your clothes, desperately humping each other turns him on to another level. he loves the friction it creates, especially how your clothed pussy rubs over his hard cock back and forth. the extra layers of clothes might be a bother to other people, but to heeseung, it's what makes everything ten times better. it makes you needier, so eager to reach your high and he's happy to help you, grinding his bulge harder against your cunt until you cum. you're always so frail in his arms after, shaking like a leaf, holding tight onto him. then comes his favourite part where he looks at the state of your panties, all soaked in your wetness, pulling them down your legs and revealing your sticky folds that he doesn't wait to push himself in between.

JAY — fingering

if there's one thing that jay loves more than making you cum around his cock, it's making you cum on his fingers. he has you in his lap, legs spread open for him, freely moaning into his ear to go harder, faster, and to please, let you cum. he doesn't let it happen until he's certain you're completely ruined, drunk on his fingers thrusting inside of you and repeatedly hitting your sweet spot. "were you a good girl to daddy, today?" he asks, wanting you to comply to all of his demands, to say yes just because you need to cum so badly. you dumbly nod your head, promise jay that, yes, you were good to him today and he makes sure to reward you, letting you cum around his fingers while he kisses down your neck.

JAKE — hair pulling

it goes both ways; you gripping his locks tightly as he eats you out or him holding your hair as he pounds into you from behind. he thrills on the feeling of your fingers pulling on his hair when the pleasure is too much. you have to grip something, anything, and the first thing you reach is his head of black hair. he always hisses through his teeth when you accidentally pull a little too roughly, but he doesn't mind it at all, he loves it. it's the same thing when he has his cock into you, his hips slamming into your ass, having a fistful of your hair and shoving your head into the pillow to muffle down your moans or bring you in for a messy kiss.

SUNGHOON — anal

he's really obsessed with anal since always. if his porn search history isn't enough to tell, sleeping with him is. the first time he's with you, he's already talking about it; "what do you think about it?", "would you like to try?", "is it something you think you could enjoy?", and because you're as perverted as your boyfriend, of course you like it. he knows it's a process, but he's willing to do all that it takes to finally be able to fuck your ass. it doesn't stop there, though—sunghoon wants to eat your ass, too. there's just something about your moans, how melodic they sound, and your legs thrown over his shoulders, licking your rim while he circles your clit with his thumb. or the sight of your ass dripping from his cum, your poor cunt neglected as it clenches at the pace of your heartbeat. saying he's obsessed is an understatement—he's in love with it.

SUNOO — head

oral sex is simply sunoo's thing—you could even say he's an expert at it. making you feel good with his tongue is what he loves the most, really. there's nothing better than the sweet taste of your pussy in his mouth, licking and sucking like he would when kissing you. he doesn't use his fingers a lot, he prefers to make you cum solely with his mouth, but when he does, it always ends in a big, big mess. so that's why when he brings out a towel and places it underneath you, you know you're in for something intense. he loves to make you feel good, almost euphoric, because you praise him so much and you're so grateful to him after. sunoo's surely not against receiving either—after all the love he gives to your pussy, it's only fair you do the same for him.

JUNGWON — hickeys

he's a biter, and what's his favourite thing to bite? you. you always feel so soft against him, so small and perfect, he just has to bite you and leave his mark behind. your thighs, your breasts, your neck, your arms... he needs to suck on every patch of skin he sees on you. you're his girlfriend and he loves you—it's his way of cherishing you. but as much as he likes to mark you in love bites, he literally melts under your touch. jungwon's so whiny when you kiss him down his neck, so needy as your kisses turn into bites. they're sweet and soft like you, it tickles, and you're so cute trying to leave hickeys on him. he always pushes your hips down when you're straddling him, making you feel his hard cock through his clothes, tilting his head to the side to expose more of his neck to you.

NIKI — making-out

it may sound boring or simple, but to niki, making-out is the total opposite of that... it's hot, wet, desperate and his favourite thing ever to do with you. he loves foreplay before anything, he could honestly only do that instead of sex and he'd be just as satisfied. you get so grabby when you're kissing; your fingers passing through his long hair or clenching around his t-shirt. niki gets as equally touchy, if not more. he's bold enough to sneak his hands under your top, even into your pants. you don't mind it—on the contrary, you like it so much. when his fingers ghost over your clothed pussy, you inevitably whine into his mouth, pressing your body closer to his if it's even possible at this point. niki loves to feel the heat of your cunt against him, and it's even better when he has his tongue in your mouth, his teeth biting your lips. he wants to be in charge, be the dominant one and guide you, but he quickly loses track of his thoughts once you start grinding your hips against his.

—-

a.n.: i still don't write for sunoo but i wanted to include him in this anyway <3 pls let me know what you think about these, should i make more for other groups?? again, i'd appreciate it so much if you could reblog/comment or send an ask, wtv you're the most comfortable with. it might seem short but it really took me a lot of time to write lol!! ty <33