#[ask] subspace chatter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mphountitled · 5 months

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𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫: 𝐑𝐢𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

★ ot7 x fem!reader

★ The Riize members who would respond the best at being called 'Daddy' (Shotaro, Eunseok, Sungchan, Wonbin)

★ warnings: nsfw, +18, dom/sub dynamics, Daddy Kink, Praise Kink, Phone sex

─── ⋆⋅ Shotaro

Your voice is stern and remarkably unimpressed when you call your boyfriend's name from the kitchen. Only a couple seconds later, and Shotaro is lazily strolling in... large hands buried in his pockets with that distinct smile stretching the corners of his full lips. His eyes swell with mischief as he leans against the fragile counter.

"Yes, my love?" He sings in a tone of voice that Shotaro weaponizes against you time and time again. When his voice was as airy as it is right now, drenched in literal honey, it proved significantly difficult not to give into his advances.

Right now, however, you're perfectly unaffected by his smile. Instead, you cross your arms over your chest, giving him a death glare as you lean against the counter adjacent to him.

Shotaro's smile is immovable.

"God, you're so sexy when you're frustrated." He pushes himself over the counter, slyly prowling his way to you. "Makes me wanna-"

You push lightly at his chest. Turning instead, to just your head at the pickle jar sitting idly on the counter beside you both. "Open it."

Your voice is stern and monotonous with all traces of jest gone. "I don't have time for your nonsense, Shotaro."

"Ooh!" He exclaims, "My government name? You must really be mad," he snickers before bending down to splay slow wet kisses along your cheek.

"Shotaro." You push at him again, but his hands immediately fly to your hips.

"I'll open it," he whispers, voice heavy, "Just ask nicely," therein lay the proverbial catch. Shotaro could never just be nice for the sake of it. There was always a catch.

"Just..." he places his index finger under your chin, dragging your face up until your eyes were piercing into his. "Just ask me nicely."

Your breathing grows increasingly labored because your boyfriend is unfortunately incredibly attractive and incredibly persuasive. You watch the longing in his eyes grow with immense skepticism.

"I'll just ask Sungchan-"

He cackles loudly, "Do that and you won't get to cum for a month." He's smiling with his head tilted but one thing you learned was that Shotaro rarely ever made idle threats.

"Now c'mon," he says, bending down to you, "Just ask."

You're slipping unceremoniously into your subspace because he's cradling your face now. His shoulders are hunched over you protectively and you close your eyes as you force those words out.

"Please open the jar for me-" You begin, but his grip on your face is unrelenting as he sings, "Aaaahh-"

"Please open the jar for me," Your shoulders slump and exhale in defeat, "Daddy."

"See! How easy that was?" He praises you with a big peck on lips before swerving to pick up the jar of pickles. The big dopey grin he sports makes your embarrassment worthwhile, and Shotaro watches as you munch on your pickles.

"I like it when you ask for my help!"

─── ⋆⋅ Eunseok

It happens during dinner, more specifically, a group dinner to which you were so graciously invited along with the other partners of the other members. Excitement flowed like an electrical current in the air and everyone seemed pleasantly tipsy, whether by alcohol or just the overly infectious and good vibe. Naturally, your inhibitions are on an all time low, as you lazily leaned into your boyfriend while a flurry of waiters brought forth the second course.

Eunseok had been comfortable extending his voice over the chatter in the room while still allowing you to keep a steady grip around his bicep. His hand lazily sitting atop your lap, rubbing dizzying circles on your exposed thigh.

You're not sure how long this had been going on, Eunseok's fingers gradually hiking your pleated skirt up higher and higher while he remained chatting with his friends.

You couldn't contain yourself once his hand finally slipped inside, up under your skirt...

Instead of stopping him, instead of pushing him away by the hardened contours of his bicep, you let it happen. Releasing a small, little exhale as you opened your legs ever so slightly.

Despite still in animated conversation with Shotaro, you could hear the smirk peppered in his voice as his fingers eased their way against your cunt.

The mewl that escaped your throat was downright ungodly, but it succeeded in lightly coaxing Eunseok away from his previous conversation.

His eyes are heavy with seamless intoxication as he looks down at you with a breathless, close lipped smile. It's as if him previously ignoring you, had been It's own thing, along with rubbing your soaking cunt under the table.

Eunseok's eyes are glimmering when he bends down to whisper,

"You good?"

You most certainly did not have the current brain capacity to tell him you were absolutely not good because you've taken to opening your legs even wider. You shift uneasily, trying to create as much friction while still appearing inconspicuous, and Eunseok's eyes only grow heavier.

He fucking adores seeing you needy. He loved pushing you past the bounds of your own sensibilities. When your relationship began, it had been a case of 'if'. Whether it was actually possible to have his overly smart, overly independent girlfriend, cock drunk to the point incoherence. Once Eunseok learned that you were a fan of forfeiting the power in the bedroom, his goalposts had shifted to 'how quickly' he could get you to become a messy, needy little slut.

Evidently, this evening, it did not take much at all and he thanked the alcohol.

Panicking, you chose instead to focus on what was in front of you. A plate of glazed skewers that remained untouched, "Um..." you begin awkwardly while viciously apptempting to stave off just how needy you were, "I didn't order that-fuck," Your sentence wavers into a haorse crack as Eunseok's finger swipes over your puffy, clothed clit. In your periphery, his giant frame bends over your like an umbrella, focusing on your each and every movements.

"I didn't ask for..." You're absolutely fargone at this point, stopping and starting sentences while your brain fought the pleasure, "I didn't ask for the glazed squid skewers."

"You were in the bathroom," he immediately adds, and a jumpstart in conversation from the rest of the room would have completely made his next words go unnoticed. However, because you were hanging over everything falling out of his lips, you most definitely heard it. "I ordered for you."

Eunseok's fingers finally push past the barriers of your drenched panties, making direct contact with your weeping cunt.

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"Fuck- no, Daddy."

You immediate slapped a hand over your mouth, letting yourself whimper into the palm of your hand as your heart raged in its cage.

His face is expressionless.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" There was a dangerous, heavy lilt in his voice that made you assume you wholly and completely fucked up. For all of 2 seconds you mourn your own dignity. That was made even worse when Eunseok pulls his fingers out of your cunt, and up from under your skirt as he patted the material over your legs.

"We're leaving." He said to the rest of the group, "She has a work thing,"

He pulls you up by your forearm, leading you to pass his members and their unsatisfactory rumblings.

Before you even mame it outside, he pulls you towards him, letting his warm breathe ghost over your ear as he hissed, "I need you to call me that shit again," he breathes out. "This time, with my dick inside you."

─── ⋆⋅ Sungchan

His brows are glimmering with evidence of pregnant beads of sweat, but still, his mouth is unrelenting. Sungchan eats you out with absolute zeal every single time without fail. Some nights, your sex would consist purely of Sungchan pulling your legs over the side of his bed, while his tall frame descended on your weeping cunt as if it were his second dinner. He was brash and incredibly passionate, as he locked his giant arms around your arms when he caught sight of you trying to escape.

For the most part, however, Sungchan's eyes are heavy-lidded with lust as he French kisses your pussy like he his life depended on it.

"Fuck, Channie-"

A sharp pinch on your thigh releases a very curt, very loud yelp from your throat, and you glare down at him. Sungchan's eyes are deadly as he pulls his head back ever so slightly. His lower face is glistening with your juices, but he refuses to wipe anything away.

"Am I not eating you out good enough?" He asks, head tilting as if he were genuinely perplexed. "Why would you call me Sungchan," he sneers at the very thought.

"Ew." He adds, before lowering his face back down to your center.

"The sooner you take what I'm giving you, the sooner we'll both get to cum," he did not clarify further as he reattached his eager lips to your cunt. Sungchan was not lying about the fact that he too was quickly approaching orgasm. He's pushing his cock into the side of bed, where he kneeled. Ab muscles tightening as he splays sloppy kisses on your cunt. His tongue, delving past your folds, as far into your hole as it could go.

"J-Just like that, Daddy," Your fingers curl into Sungchan's hair and he perks up like an overstimulated puppy. His eyes crinkle at the sides as he moans straight into your pussy.

Sungchan's hips thrust against the bed, almost at the exact same pace his tongue was fucking up into you. All you saw were stars, and your vision blurred as you pulled his face even closer against your pussy.

Although he enjoyed everything you gave him, Sungchan would admit in a heartbeat that this was his favorite part. This is why he loved eating you out. He loved the depravity of it. He loved watching you loose every shred of sinisibility, belonging to him and him alone.

"That's it, baby," he'd whisper, "Doing so fucking good for Daddy..."

─── ⋆⋅ Wonbin

Your heart is swollen in its cage when you realize he's most definitely tired. Instead of resting his undoubtedly tired muscles, letting sleep take him away into the night garden, he is up, talking to you.

"-That was probably my favourite part. Although I do think I could've probably done better in the second verse..."

Tedium is thick in Wonbin's voice. Almost as thick as the gruff tenor that flows from his mouth, through the receiver held to your ear.

"Didn't I say you're not allowed to do that," You scold lightly.

He sighs heavily through the phone, and you can almost imagine his dark eyes rolling, "I shouldn't focus on anything out of my control, I know that."

You nod. "What's done is done, and I think you killed it thank you very much,"

You may never really know of the cataclysmic effect your praise has on your boyfriend. Even when you were a billion kilometers apart, being connected by a single phone call, Wonbin still feels his body heat up as if you were right there, in bed beside him. He can practically feel the bed dip in the phantom presence of your curves shifting up against him. If he closed his eyes and listened to your praise bleed from the receiver, he could imagine you were right underneath him, taking everything he had to give.

"Binnie?" You suddenly ask, and Wonbin snaps his eyes open, gazing up at the ceiling. Although he is alarmed to find that his hand had drifted underneath the waistband of his Nike sweatpants, Wonbin's voice is stable. Giving nothing away as he breathes out,

"I'm here. I'm just..." His words do not trail off indefinitely because Wonbin does not gave the capacity to sound unsure about anything. In fact, he sounds very much in control.

"I need you to tell me where you are right now..." that causes you to sit up straighter against the headboard, a rush of excitement spanning through the undercurrent of blood in your veins.

"I'm at home," you whisper back, not quite sure why you were whispering but feeling the need to nonetheless.

"Hmmm," the sound reached your ears with the satisfaction of a very big purring cat, "Can you touch yourself for me?"

You obey without a second thought. Wonbin had never been easy to overstep. His overall aura practically coaxed you into obeying his every word and so it is of no surprise to you, that your hands are already firmly down your shorts, legs parted as you grinded against your palm.

Your labored breathing is enough to push Wonbin even further down his spiral of lust and he groans as he says, "Fuck yourself with your fingers, baby," how you adored hearing his pet names, especially when your mind was utterly buzzing with desire. "Imagine I'm there with you right now-"

"Oh, fuck," easing your fingers inside of yourself had been far too was given just how slippery your pussy was. Wondbin begins to stroke his cock faster as the lewd sounds of you fucking yourself with your own fingers, travel through the receiver.

You're a moaning and whimpering mess while Wonbin's only noise of enjoyment is his heavy, labored breathing. His mouth is open and his eyes closed shut.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby," He says, kneedeep into his own fantasy, "Taking me so fucking well." He strokes himself faster. "Are you close, baby?"

"F-fuck yes, Daddy." The first real and raw sound of lust slips passed Wonbin's mouth.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum." He whispers with his mind still reeling. "Say it again... Tell daddy just how close you are to making a mess on your fingers..." He urged, now on the doorstep of his orgasm, "Fucking say it again, baby... Please?"

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charliemwrites · 4 months

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A Thought™️ that I had last night and shared in the Discord server, that I’m now going to share here more fleshed out.

CW for implied/mentioned dubcon, kidnapping, unhealthy relationship dynamics, objectification, and reader anxiety. Oh and Simon being Mean.

You belong to Johnny — one of his toys, essentially. Like a cock ring or a vibrator but better because you also serve as a little companion pet. Someone that Simon got for Johnny to pour all that overflowing love and tenderness into when he just… can’t handle it. When he starts wanting to hurt Johnny in Very Bad ways past the lines they already walk, only because Johnny wants to dote on him.

So Simon got you as a gift for Johnny.

And he gets to dote on you, chatter to you, soothe you, fuck you. It’s a weird “relationship” you two have. Johnny pouring so much into you while you awkwardly try to reciprocate and tolerate. A bit like a child’s beloved long-suffering pet. Simon lets Johnny drag you everywhere, dress you up, babble on about you. Put in all that attention and energy when Simon is needed (or simply just focused) elsewhere. Johnny’s happy as a peach, Simon gets a bit of a break, and you’re a soft-spined thing that’s stopped crying and whining for the most part so wins all around.

You and Simon’s relationship is nonexistent. Just a matter of logistics. You’re one of Johnny’s toys that Simon got for him, end of. You interact with him only so far as 1, following the rules of captivity; 2, keeping Johnny happy; and 3, being used as a reward or punishment to be given or taken away.

And the two of you are respectively fine with that. You follow Johnny around, speak almost solely to or through him. Are not acknowledged by Simon unless Johnny’s showing you off.

Until Johnny is gone for a Period of Time. A mission, most likely.

While he’s away, you treat it as a sort of vacation and just avoid Simon, don’t even ask when Johnny will be back. Until one day you’re going about your business, kind of bebopping along in your own little world. And almost run directly into Simon.

Blink in surprise, hurriedly skirt around him, pulse skipping. “Excuse me,” you say, soft and melodic (a voice you specifically use to soothe and neutralize) and then pad away quickly.

It flips something in Simon’s brain. Like a cat seeing a bit of interesting movement. Locked on, tail swishing.

You’re just so… shy. Even with Johnny you’ve always been a bit reserved, but with Simon you studiously avoid eye contact with his very person - in a way he can’t even get Johnny to do in the deepest subspace. You’re just this quiet little thing that lives in his house, and it’s like it only just occurs to him.

Simon starts finding ways to hem you in against counters and walls, making you squeeze past in hallways. You try to be so so careful of his Sacred Personal Space because Johnny’s gleeful shared stories (and shown you evidence) about how Simon “handles” touching without permission. You’ve no interest in being on the receiving end of any of that, thank you very much.

But then Simon starts showing up all over the house to watch you like a specimen — you devoid of Johnny. You’re so normal and functional. Snacks and tv shows and novels. Bird watching in the windows. Napping in Johnny’s room. Cooking and cleaning up after yourself.

He starts taking up all the space you just got back. Fills up a room with his presence alone. Squishes you in on the couch until you’re nearly falling over the arm just to maintain that sliver of no-contact.

Gets to the point that he even growls at you when you pass too close, just to hear you squeak and watch you dart off with a mumbled, “sorry!”

“Make us a cup of tea,” he says as your futzing in the kitchen on morning.

You’re so used to being ignored that you don’t respond, mouthing words to some ditzy song stuck in your head. He grunts in annoyance and takes two long strides towards you — not that he needs to, your head snapped up halfway through the first.

“Oop,” you breathe, scrambling away from the counter.

“The hell are you going?” He ask, voice purposefully gruff.

“I, um… I thought… that you needed something…?” you explain, pointing at the cabinets you were just in front of.

“I need a fucking cuppa.”

You blink.

He reminds himself that you’re not trained like Johnny. But that doesn’t mean you’re getting away with anything.

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

A double blink as you seem to process. “O-oh! Uh, sure. The black cup right?”

You shuffle back to your previous spot and reach into the cabinet, up on your toes because Simon put it a shelf higher than usual. Seem to actually be waiting for a response as you hold the mug up in question. He just stares.

And there goes the nibbling - a nervous habit that tears up your bottom lip. Still, you keep going, filling the kettle and tapping your fingers nervously at the sides as you wait.

“Earl Grey?” you ask.

He grunts. You look a little frustrated about that, if you should take it as a yes. Decide that it is and fish a sachet out while the water’s heating.

While you wait, you try to continue what you were doing before - making yourself a little parfait - but Simon’s stationed himself in such a way that you can’t get to the cutting boards without asking him to move. And you really, really want some of the fresh fruit he bought yesterday.

“Um…” you start.

He crosses his arms, seems to loom without ever taking a step closer. You fidget, fingers twisting in the long sleeves of your jumper.

“I need — could… could you…?” You’re flushing brighter and brighter, eyes darting all over so fast he’s surprised you’re not dizzy. “Could I get by… um, into that cupboard… please?”

He takes a single half step to the side. Your eyes actually get a bit shiny as you blink, confusion and anxiety welling up. But you keep it together enough to awkwardly angle yourself, get the cabinet open just a sliver, and maneuver a cutting board out.

Simon realizes you’re holding your breath the entire time, until you’re once again a safe distance away. He snorts softly as you pluck a tiny paring knife from the block and get to work on cutting up your assortment of fruits.

“Who the hell said you could have a knife?” he demands.

You pause, give him a truly baffled look. “Um… no one said I couldn’t? I just, uh, use them sometimes. Johnny’s taught me tricks. Or-or tried to anyway…”

It’s the most he’s ever heard you speak. Your tone catches between appeasement and genuine confusion. You finish cutting a strawberry into cubes, then send him a worried glance.

“Am I… not supposed to…?”

Because you know that it doesn’t matter how things normally are. What matters is how Simon wants things to be.

“Put that down.”

You do. He strides towards you and as always, you’re quick to make way. He takes up the knife to finish paring and jerks his head at the the stove.

“Tea’s almost done. Take care of it.”

You jump as the kettle starts to whistle, murmur a quick “oh, shoot!” as you hurry to finish making his tea. By the time you’re done, he’d cut all the fruit and stolen a handful as a toll for his “help”.

Hasn’t actually put any of the fruit in your waiting yogurt, though. And the dishes are still there on the counter, along with detritus of unwanted bits like strawberry tops.

He takes a sip — made just the way he likes.

“Next time, dont make me repeat myself,” he barks.

You jump nearly a mile, blueberries rolling across the counter.

“Y-you repeated yourself?” You ask, hurrying to catch the berries before they hit the ground.

“About the tea,” he explains impatiently.

You blink for a second. “Oh! I thought you were on the phone. Sorry.”

He grunts. And doesn’t leave. After a moment, the pressure of his stare seems to get to you.

“Was… there anything else…?” you wonder.

“I’d tell you if there was,” he replies, flat.

You swallow, press your lips together, then continue with your task, shoulders a little tenser than before. When your parfait is finished (and dishes are in the machine) you escape to the dining table to eat in peace. He gives you two solitary bites before he’s at the corner next to you, and your spoon clinks against the bowl in surprise.

Well.

Isn’t this a fun game?

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #mean Simon ghost Riley #simon riley

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sailoryooons · 1 year

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Request: Alpha Yoongi x omega reader. Werewolves. Smut and fluff. Dom Yoongi and sub reader. Starting with non-sexual dominance like her kneeling at his feet. Then, kind of a fear/primal chase in the woods as foreplay. Smut. And then aftercare with nesting.

❀ Pairing: Alpha Werewolf!Yoongi x Omega werewolf! F. reader

❀ Summary: Your alpha wants to go on a hunt through the woods. Who are you to deny him?

❀ Word Count: 8,727

❀ Genre: A/b/o, werewolves, supernatural, established relationship

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: I have never used the word scent and smells this much in my life please forgive me for I have used it a million times, alpha/omega dynamics, Yoongi chasing through the reader for fun, light predator/prey play, sexually explicit content including unprotected sex (f. receiving), breeding kink, mention of ruts, oral sex (f. receiving) not a lot of foreplay, a ton of being in subspace and hormone drunk, reader is pretty much a pillow princess/borderline free use for Yoongi, a lot of slick and soft dom Yoongi/sub reader, hint at aftercare and nesting

❀ Published: April 11, 2023

❀ A/N: Hi okay so I re-wrote this like three times because every time I did it, I wasn’t getting what I wanted out of filling this request, but I think I finally have something that I am happy with! It went in a little bit of a different place, but I hope that you like it! I am super unused to writing werewolves and a/b/o and I had such a good time dipping my toe in - it’s something I want to write in the future where I have some room to world build and go crazy on word count hehehe. Enjoy!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Milestone Event Request Fill |

Trees flash by you as you run, hands pumping at your sides, heart thundering in your chest. A pack of rabbits startle as you run by, bolting into their little dens. The earth is damp beneath your feet, still saturated with morning rain. You almost loose your footing more than once as you spring over a fallen tree, dry-rotted and full of ants.

The pine trees are packed tight, shafts of moonlight painting the forest floor in spotlights of silver as you run. The low-hanging branches catch you on your flight, needles stinging your skin but not drawing blood. Still, you snarl as a branch cracks under your barefoot, sending a sharp pang through your sole.

You don’t stop, moving blindly toward the south of your territory. You don’t look over your shoulder to see where he is - you don’t need to. Even with a small head start, Yoongi is far faster than you are, and you swear the land changes at his command, putting tangled vines where you don’t remember them being, adding a hole to trip you up as you sprint through the trees.

Yoongi isn’t magic, of course. He cannot change the lay of the land any more than you can, but he walks among these trees and hills every night. Plus, you’re frantic in your runaway, your human instincts bluring, somewhere between wolf and person.

Run, little omega, Yoongi had whispered, pupils blown out, scent heady and hypnotizing. You’d only just come through the door to find him standing in the living room on the edge of pre-rut. Run and don’t let me catch you.

Except Yoongi is going to catch you. You can hear the squirrels in the trees chattering angrily at him as he crashes through the woods behind you. He doesn’t have to be quiet - he is the top of the food chain here, he has nothing to fear. And neither do you, really. You’re a predator too, a wolf born and bred in these woods.

There is only a single thing you are prey to and he is laughing manically behind you as he hunts you down.

Movement to your right catches your eye. Yoongi’s trying to cut you off, coming from the west of the woods to intercept you as you scramble south. You snarl and change direction, swerving southeast to put distance between the two of you.

“Ah, come on, omega!” he hollers behind you, voice closer than you expect. You move faster, desperate to outrun him.

This far south of your house is a ravine. You know that if you slide down the side and run east, you’ll end up in Jungkook’s territory. A place your’e definitely not allowed to go, especially right now. You throw caution to the wind anyways, making a line for the ravine, singularly focused on making the slide down.

You never make it, Yoongi slamming into your side and knocking you off your feet. You scream as you go down hard, but not hard enough to do more than jar your bones. Yoongi takes the brunt of your fall; you pressed against his chest, his back hitting the ground hard before he rolls.

Gasping for breath, you claw at him, scraping to move from where he has you pinned. He laughs, catching your hands in one fist and slamming them above your head. His grip and the sound of him snarling your name has you snap to attention, going boneless.

Yoongi is panting heavily against you, filling your space with his scent. Your eyes flutter as your chest heaves, trying to catch your breath. Every inhale has your sense flooding with Yoongi’s scent: pine and sage, edged with something heaver and muskier.

Alpha near rut.

It makes your head spine and for a second, your vision of him goes a little blurry. He lets go of your hands but you don’t move. He knows you won’t, pinned under the heavy weight of him as he straddles your waist, sitting on you.

Blinking the heaviness from your eyes, you look up at him and it feels like the world stops.

Yoongi’s round face is framed by dark, black hair. It’s a little damp with sweat, clinging to his brow bone. His feline eyes are sharp and wild, pupils dilated with the frenzy of the hunt. A single, dark scar mars his right eye. You used to feel a pang of guilt looking at it, a reminder of what being an alpha had cost him.

Now, though, you think of it fondly. You’ve traced it hundreds of times with your fingers, know every smooth and knotted surface of the injury. Yoongi is beautiful with and without it, lips glossy as his tongue darts out to wet them.

“You smell so good,” Yoongi growls, leaning down. You hold your breath as he leans toward your neck, nosing the scent gland there. Stars burst behind your eyes and you shiver underneath him, let out a whimper. He laughs, the sound low and scratchy in your ear. “Could smell you all the way from the house.” Yoong’s hands runs down your hips, skirts your thigh, and slips between your legs. He presses his fingers against your jeans. “Could smell this perfect little cunt for miles.”

A high-pitched whine leaves you as Yoongi presses harder, fingers providing the barest amount of friction. The ache between your legs is growing painful, your stomach twisting in arousal in response to the smell of him, the touch of him. An omega responding to their alpha in pre-rut, nearly on the brink of instrictual frenzy.

Forming coherent thoughts is difficult, especially when you’re mind is in a state that’s more wolf than human. That’s the struggle with werewolves, toeing the line between human and animal. Instinct and choice. Your body does not choose to respond to him on a chemical level, but you don’t mind. It’s Yoongi. Your Yoongi. Your mate.

“I told you not to get caught.”

You huff, irritation stoking you. He mouths at your throat over your gland, making you nearly pass out. “You’re faster than I am.”

“That isn’t true.”

Yoongi distracts you with a wet, hot lick over your mating mark. You let out a loud moan, not even trying to hide it this time. He laughs as you squirm under him, silenced when he growls your name. “Is that true, omega?” He asks, mouthing at your jaw. You can hardly understand his line of questioning as your thoughts and feelings blur. “Am I really faster than you?”

For a few moments, you don’t respond. Everything feels heightened, the sound of Yoongi’s voice buzzing against the corner of your mouth as he brushes his lips across your skin, not kissing you exactly. You’re hyper-aware of the smell of him, threatening to drive you into madness. Feel the way his hips press to against yours.

“Omega.” Yoongi’s voice is final.

“No,” you admit. “You’re not faster than me.”

“So you let me catch you?”

“I thought about it.” Yoongi nose bumps yours. Your eyes flutter shut as his mouth barely touches yours and you speak against his lips, “But then I decided I wanted to win.”

“And you were running to Jungkook’s hmm?” You wince and he hums, knowing he’s right. “Bad omega. Little wolves running into another alphas territory while they’re being hunted isn’t a very good idea, huh?”

“Would you have followed?”

“Of course I would. You’re mine. I would follow you into a fucking fire. Little Jungkookie’s territory is nothing.”

It’s a simple declaration, but you know what it means for an alpha to boldly claim he would enter another wolf’s territory, to break a line of demarcation. You can’t help but smile, leaning your head upward to press a kiss to his lips, hungry and tired of running from him.

Yoongi lets you, though you feel the shape of a smirk through the sweet taste of his mouth, warm against yours. Yoongi sinks his hips heavily against yours and you moan into his mouth, spurring him further. Your hands remain where he left them, outstretched above your head as he licks into you, no longer content to let you kiss him the way you want.

His kisses consume you. He takes your breath away, hand leaving the apex of your thighs to snake up your front, loosely gripping your throat. You feel dizzy. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t do anything but rest his hand at the base of your neck, fingers pressed lightly to the sides of your throat.

It’s comforting, having him smother you like this. You get lost in the wet tangle of his tongue, your skin burning up from the inside out. He rolls his hips into you, but it’s not enough. You need him, a fire sparking to life that burns hotter than you can manage.

A feverish need comes over you. Yoongi senses the shift. His kisses turn to bites, teething gently at your skin as he works you out of your clothes. You still haven’t moved your hands and when he glances at them, he grins.

Your eyes are only for him, shrouded in darkness as he pulls your pants down, then your shirt. Your eyes are sharp in the dark, able to see the rippling muscle of his arms and shoulders. The dusty nipples, the swells and planes of his chest and stomach. See the way his gaze is fucked out when he’s barely touched you, shuffling down your legs, hands skimming and grabbing the soft meat of your thighs.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes dragging from the wet smear down your thighs, to your hands above your head. You whine under his gaze and he grins, feral and sharp. “So obedient for me.”

“You like hands above head until you say so.”

“I do.” Yoongi bows low, grabbing your legs and hiking them over his shoulders. Your world spins, feeling his breath on your cunt as he makes a low sound in his throat. “Fucking wet, just how I like it.”

Yoongi licks a sloppy path up your pussy and you gasp, head digging back into the grass. It’s almost painful, the need for him pulsing between your legs. He hums, sucking at your clit hungrily. Your toes curl and you hide your face in your arm, the urge to squirm away from the stimulation strong.

You’re an exposed wire under Yoongi’s tongue as he eats you out, messy and wet. He laps at your hole, eager to taste you, nose pressed against your clit, teasing. You whimper his name, thighs clenching, fisting your hands together as you fight to remain still. It’s nearly impossible, this stillness he’s asked of you. You want to reach down and thread your fingers through his hair, want to dig your nails in and scratch, want to pull him close and shove him away.

The sounds he makes are obscene, alternating between sucking loudly and flicking his tongue against your throbbing clit. It’s pleasure-laced pain. You want him to fuck you, to sink into you as deep as he can until you can’t do anything but take it. But you like this too, the way Yoongi’s tongue works your clenching hole.

A high-pitched keen leaves your mouth. He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded as he sticks his tongue out, making a show of licking your cunt top to bottom. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth as you mumble his name, speech slurred.

“Hmm?” he asks, grunting against you as he works you closer to an orgasm, which hovers in the distance. He looks up at you again, sees the tears lining your eyes. “You can touch me,” he murmurs, saying the world between lush licks between your folds. “Greedy omega.”

And so what if you are greedy. Yoongi gives you everything you want. He makes a grumble about it, rolling his eyes and sometimes acting like it’s a little inconvenience, but you know he loves it- loves this. Loves letting you get away with things when you ask sweetly.

Yoongi’s hair is silky and a little sweaty as you run your fingers through it, nails scratching at his scalp the way he likes. His moan is muffled against your pussy and you wriggle beneath him. It feels so good, your stomach in knots. Your limbs begin to tingle and you feel that tight, squeezing feeling in your core, clenching hard.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Dig your nails into Yoongi’s scalp and he growls at the pain. You think your breaking skin, nails turned into claws, limbs shaking as your orgasm tightens and tightens until it feels like you can’t breath, like the world is going to crack in half.

And then it breaks. Your orgasm floods out of you in a rush, your muscle spasming so hard that you scream. Heels digging into the dirt, fingers tangled in Yoongi’s hair, head whipped to the side, cheek pressed into the ground and eyes squeezed shut so hard you see colors exploded behind your eyelids.

Heavy-limbed and feeling drunk, you drop your legs open a bit. Yoongi’s hands are on your hips, flipping you over. You don’t have the strength to hold yourself up, hands buckling under you, face pressed to the back of your palms. He says something that you can’t hear, your head still swimming in the clouds.

Every one of your joints feels melted, unable to lock together to support your weight. It doesn’t matter. Yoongi does it for you, lifting you up so that you’re on your knees, thighs spread wide. Air cools the wet mess on your legs. You realize you’re dripping past your knees.

Yoongi’s palms feel like fire on your flushed skin. He wraps and arm around your waist, pulling you back to his chest, the other looping under your arm so he can grab your neck firmly. This time, he does squeeze, fingers placed perfectly on the sides of your throat.

Everything around you feels like cotton candy fuzz, fluffy and sweet. Your head lolls back, resting on his shoulder as his teeth find your shoulder, nipping your skin. Behind you, his cock slides gently between your folds, making you hiss.

“Gonna fill up this pussy,” Yoongi murmurs. “Gonna fuck you full, yeah?”

You nod your head. “Yeah.” The word slurs on your tongue. “Please, want it.”

“You’re already fucked out from just my mouth, omega.”

“So?”

He chuckles darkly. His cockhead catches your clenching hole and you whine, hands going to clutch the arm on your waist and holding your throat. “Have you no decency, hm?”

“No. Yoongi please, it hurts. Please just - please.”

“Shhh.” Yoongi places a warm, wet kiss on your jaw. “I’ve got you. You know I’ve got you?”

Words are too hard, so you nod. Yoongi places another sweet kiss on your cheek before he shuffles and thrusts into you, smooth on the upstroke. You gasp, breath knocked out of you as he slides to the hilt. Yoongi’s cock is thick and though you’re soaked, the stretch is intense, your walls clinging to him in a vice grip.

Behind you, Yoongi curses. His hand tightens, and it gets just a little bit harder to breath. Slowly, he retracts before snapping forward again, stroke slow but hard. He groans, focused on setting a leisurely and smooth pace. Every thrust of his hips makes his cock hit deep, punching the air from your lungs. With his fingers pressing against your throat, it gets harder to take in more air, making you light-headed, the forest spinning.

It feels so good, this blooming pleasure inside of you. Every time he hits your soft spot just right, you feel closer to madness. Yoongi squeezes your throat tighter. His skin is warm and sweaty, sliding against yours, the friction making your eyes roll back.

Yoongi’s teeth scrape your shoulder. Sink in just a little, not enough to draw blood, but you feel the sting. It’s good, pleasure-laced pain. And then he’s telling you to let go, to come around him. You deny your alpha nothing, eyes fluttering shut as you squeeze tight tight tight.

“Fuck,” Yoongi snarls. You come so hard he has to stop thrusting, your pussy clenching around him with everything you’ve got. You’re not breathing, air stuck in your lungs, blood rushing in your eyes, stars behind your eyes. “Breathe,” Yoongi pants, letting go of your throat. You suck in a sharp breath of air, flooding your lungs. “That’s it. You can take it, yeah? Can take it til I fill you up?”

“Yes, alpha.”

It’s a mumble of words. You’re not even sure if it comes out right. Yoongi holds you to him, doesn’t mind that you're boneless. Your fingers thread his where his hands grip you, squeezing as your head cradles against his neck. You nose him there, drawing all sorts of feral sounds from him as he chases his orgasm, driven to the edge while you scent him. He comes with a loud sound, maybe your name or something else. You’re not sure.

Yoongi smells like home. Well - smells like earth and come and sweat and trees and pheremones. But his smell is there, pine and sage. Wild and gentle. Earth and cleansing. You love the smell of him, you have since you met him.

“Rest.” Yoongi’s voice sounds faraway. “I’ve got you.”

Weightlessness takes over. You don’t remember moving and you don’t remember Yoongi pulling out of you and picking you up. You’re drunk off his scent, hormones throwing you over the cliff and into a deep lake, where you float aimlessly. Comforted.

Soft sheets slide against your skin. You turn your face and breathe in, smelling Yoongi everywhere. It’s warm and you smell you too. Rosemary and mint. Your scents linger together, making you feel at home. Loved. Safe.

Something jostles you a little. You slow-blink an eye open, realizing you’re at home, tucked into the corner of your room you like to use for nesting. Blankets of Yoongi’s are piled eye and there are shirts and hoodies that belong to him. Some shirts that belong to you. Things that remind you of the two of you, that feel like you both.

Yoongi is tucked behind you, breath puffing against your ear. His eyes are closed when you curve your head to look at him. “Sleep,” he rasps, not opening his eyes. “And thank you for the hunt. I’m not done with you. But I’m tired.”

You smile and close your eyes, drifting to sleep in the safety of Yoongi’s arms.

#yoongi smut #suga smut #bts yoongi #yoongi fanfic #alpha yoongi #yoongi x reader #omega reader #yoongi x you #bts fanfic #bts smut #werewolf au

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writingforstraykids · 4 months

Text

More than friends - Chp.5

Pairing: Minho x Chan x fem!reader / Minchan x fem!reader

Word Count: 5519

Summary: On your ride home, Chan notices Minho needs some extra attention tonight, and before you know it, you're invited. Chan makes sure Minho and you feel comfortable throughout the process and lets you experience your own dominance once Minho fully submits to the both of you...

Warnings/Tags: smut, bottom!sub!min, top!dom!chan, switch!reader, p in v, oral (f/m receiving), anal, subspace, very subby min (as requested), chan gets called sir/hyung/.., reader gets called baby girl/kitten..., minho gets called bunny/pretty boy,..., fluff, aftercare, cuddles

A/N: I know I said part 4 was the end, but you asked for more, so here we go. A very subby min, as promised. There's literally no plot, have fun guys😂👀

PART FOUR

Skin to skin, breathe me in Feel with your kiss on me Lips are made of ecstasy I'll be yours for a thousand lives For you ~ Liam Payne, Rita Ora

Minho listens to Chan and you chatter on as he tries to stay awake. The last three weeks have been exhausting, and he's glad to be back home with the two of you finally. He watches you interact from the backseat, smiling to himself as he sees how close you've grown. Stifling a yawn, he gently tugs at the sleeves of his sweater and leans back in his chair.

"Tired, baby?" Chan asks, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.

"Exhausted," he nods before sighing softly. "No idea if I can sleep, though, I feel too tense."

"I can help with that," Chan suggests and Minho smirks at him amused.

"And leave me all on my own?" you pout. A heavy silence settles in the car, and they exchange another glance. "I was joking," you say half-heartedly.

"What if you..join?" he asks almost too quietly to hear.

"No, seriously, let Chan take care of you and-."

"Do you want us to take care of you?" Chan cuts you off, and Minho's throat dries. His eyes filling with need betray him and Chan chuckles to himself. "Judging by that look on your face, you do."

You turn in your seat to face him and search his blown, hungry eyes. "You're sure?"

"Mhm," Minho hums, chewing on his lower lip as need spread through his body like wildfire.

"And you uhm - how is that going to work? I mean, you never…" you trail off, blinking at him. Minho always took control when he's with you so far.

"Don't act so innocent, you weren't exactly submissive when we had sex," Chan snorts.

"That's because you were too needy to make me stop bossing you around," you protest softly.

"Oh, that's a first," Minho snorts, and Chan shoots him a look through the mirror that makes him squirm.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask curiously.

"He tends to slip when he's all overworked and needy," Minho smirks nevertheless, teasing Chan. "Suddenly forgets he's in control when he's feeling really good."

"Min," Chan speaks up firmly, and you watch with curiosity how Minho tenses up at the tone, hands clutching his jeans. "Don't make me regret offering you to take care of you."

"Channie hyung, no, I'm sorry for teasing, I'll be good, I promise," Minho breathes out, eyes widening. He licks his lips and stares at him with pleading, soft brown eyes. Chan's grip around the steering wheel tightens. Oh, he's good.

"Mhm, you better," he says calmly, but glancing down, you can tell he's getting hard by Minho's pleading look alone.

"Missed you two so much," Minho says softly. "Missed stuffing you with my cum and licking you clean," he goes on, locking eyes with you. "Missed being good for you and feeling full," he rambles on, looking back at Chan.

"If you don't shut that pretty filthy mouth of yours right now, I'll make sure it's busy with something else," he growls softly, and you instinctively press your thighs together. Minho sits on his hands to stop himself from allowing some much-needed friction against his dick straining in his pants.

"Busy with whom?" you ask, and Chan scoffs.

"That's for me to decide, doll," he says.

You clench around nothing at the sudden change of dynamics in the car, both Minho and you staring at Chan, longing for something to happen. That's what you've been waiting for, what he hasn't allowed himself in the past week yet. Fully taking control, making Min and you bow to his will.

It's silent for a moment before Minho speaks up, barely audible. "Can I eat her out later, hyungie?"

You bite your lower lip hard and glance at Chan excitedly. Chan glances back at you and chuckles softly. "You'd like that, baby girl?"

"Yes," you nod eagerly.

"Please, Channie hyung," Minho chimes in from the backseat. "Wanna make our girl feel good."

Our girl. You might as well pass out.

"Relax, bunny, of course you can," Chan assures him and stops the car in front of your house. "You start when I tell you to, or else you'll get nothing from me today, and you two can figure it out on your own."

Minho's eyes widen and he exhales almost shakily. "I'll be good," he whispers, and you wonder if he's afraid of being unable to switch back from his subby state if Chan drops him like that. It sure looks like it.

You get out of the car, gently adjusting your skirt as you notice you're already soaking your pants in anticipation. Minho steps out of the car, nervously tugging at his sweater to conceal the very prominent bulge in his pants. Chan gets Minho's suitcase, fumbling for his keys and urging the two of you toward the house with a gentle wave. Minho's hand slips into yours as you wait for Chan to unlock the door, and he exchanges an excited look with you. Chan pulls the door closed behind the three of you and raises his eyebrows as Minho drops to his knees the moment he does. He wraps his arms around your legs and buries his face in your stomach with a soft sound. Chan doesn't seem that fazed anymore and reaches out for him, soothingly patting his head. "So eager to please, bunny?"

Minho makes a muffled sound against the fabric of your shirt and nods before lifting your skirt and burying his face in your core, only parted by your panties. You gasp as his nose presses against your clit and exchange a nervous glance with Chan. A needy groan escapes his throat as the soaked fabric meets his skin, your scent taking over. "Hyungie, fuck," he whines, and Chan chuckles, running his hands through his hair before gripping it and pulling him back.

"Did I say you could start?" he asks firmly.

"S-sorry," Minho stutters, lower lip trembling. "Just wanna make her feel good," he pouts, glancing up at him through his lashes. Minho on his knees, explaining himself to Chan, is a heavenly sight, really.

"Please, Channie," you say softly, pressing your legs together at the missing touch.

Chan's eyes meet yours, and you swallow at the dark lust clouding his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, baby girl, you came three times before we left to pick him up. You can't be that needy."

"You'd be surprised," Minho laughs weakly, fondling your thigh. "That girl's a needy little s-."

Chan grabs his chin and gives him a stern look. "You're not the one to judge here," he points out his current position on the floor. "Now behave, you two. Min, you stay dressed. Y/N, take off your clothes, living room," he instructs the two of you, and Minho scrambles to his feet.

Chan gently kisses your temple to reassure you before sending you off. Minho looks at him fondly and chews on his lower lip. "Kiss?" he asks so sweetly, Chan can't deny him. Minho hums as their lips meet, and his whole body visibly relaxes.

"You know your safeword, I'll be there the whole time," Chan says and takes his hand.

"I'm so tired already, I might slip," Minho whispers. He doesn't mind falling into subspace; he knows Chan takes care of him and ensures he's comfortable and safe. A warning is never too much, though.

"I'm here. I got you," he nods and squeezes his hand. "You know our signals; I know when you are."

"Okay," Minho nods sweetly and pulls him with him to the living room. "You're okay with this?" he checks in with you, eyes glistening as you discard your shirt to the floor.

"I am," you assure him. "I know my safeword and stuff. I trust you guys, and I trust Channie to keep an eye on us."

Minho smiles and steals a kiss. "That's good," he nods.

Chan kisses you next, caressing your cheek. "I got you, baby girl."

Minho wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you with him to the sofa. He sits down with you in his lap and softly kisses you, nudging your noses together. "Gonna make you feel so good, honey."

You allow yourself that little moment of reassurance and watch Chan as he prepares your favorite pillow for your head. You're only wearing your underwear now, and a shiver runs down your spine as Chan opens your bra, kissing the back of your neck as he pulls it off your body. A soft groan escapes Minho at the sight of your breasts, nipples hardening at the sudden change of temperature. Chan cups your breasts and kneads them, making you moan out his name. He kisses your shoulder softly and exchanges a fond look with Minho. "Such a beautiful girl. Y/nnie and I are going to take good care of your needs, bunny," he promises him, and Minho beams at him so full of love it makes his stomach flutter. Chan soothingly fondles down your sides, coming to a halt on your hips. "Get on your back for Minnie, okay?"

You nod compliantly and get comfortable. The sight of your boyfriends admiring your body makes you squirm a little. Their eyes seem to be undressing you even though you're only wearing panties by now. Minho glances at Chan obediently, sitting on his knees between your legs. "Hyungie, can I start?" he asks gently.

Chan gets comfortable in an armchair opposite you and nods. "You can start, baby." He watches as Minho pulls down your panties and marvels at the form of your naked body. "Open your gorgeous legs for Min," he tells you, smiling as you do without hesitating.

Minho doesn't waste a second, getting comfortable between your legs and burying his face in your soaking core with a sweet groan. "Mhm fuck missed you so much," he tells you and licks up between your folds agonizingly slow.

You hum softly at the motion and smile down at him. "Me or my pussy?"

Chan snorts, and Minho shoots you a playful glare. "Both, obviously," he clarifies, rubbing up your thighs and spreading your folds with his fingers, watching as you clench around nothing. He hums to himself before burying himself in your wet core, dragging his tongue across your tensing hole. His nose pushes against your clit as he does, and you shudder above him. Fuck, he missed that. "Sweet girl," he marvels, tongue traveling all over your soaking pussy to lap up your juices. "So fucking wet for us."

"Can I touch him?" you ask, glancing at Chan and almost choking on your breath. Chan's sitting on the armchair, legs spread wide, and strokes his dick, still fully dressed besides that.

"Sure," Chan hums gently before his eyes travel back to Minho buried between your legs.

You glance down as well, biting your lip hard as Minho looks up at you through his long lashes, moaning sinfully at the taste of you. You reach out for him, running your hand through his hair, and he hums pleased, eyes fluttering close a little. Minho pushes his tongue inside, thumb lovingly caressing your clit. He moans, vibrations shooting up your body at it. "Shit, Min, feels so good," you moan blissfully and tug at his hair.

Minho whimpers against you, and glancing down, you notice him more or less subtly rutting against the sofa.

"Min," Chan moans out, and Minho pulls away from you, making you whine at the sudden loss. "Stop fucking the sofa, I told you we'd take care of you." Minho doesn't even protest, even though his dick hurts as he watches Chan. You follow his eyes, swallowing softly. Chan's curls frame his face beautifully, lips parted with soft pants as he strokes himself. "Go on," he breathes out.

"Please don't cum yet," Minho says quietly, and Chan frowns at him. "Want to suck you off when I'm done with her."

"No need, this is enough," he says, gesturing at the two of you.

Minho's body trembles, and tears brim his eyes, making you gulp softly. "Hyungie, please," he pouts sincerely, and you gently take his hand, soothingly fondling it. Your heart hurts at how desperate he looks, and you begin to understand why Chan is so damn protective of him. If that's the side he sees of Minho when they get intimate and vulnerable, it's no surprise he'd keep him safely stored in his pocket if he could. "Wanna make you two feel good before you take care of me, please."

Chan searches his eyes observantly before nodding. "Okay, Minnie baby," he says, eyes growing incredibly soft. "Now, take good care of Y/nnie."

"I will," he nods eagerly, a beautiful smile covering his face. He squeezes your hand tenderly before burying himself back between your legs, sucking at your clit.

You gush against him with a loud moan, hand shooting back into his hair and pressing him close. "Fuck," you whisper, hips bucking up against him. "Ch-Channie," you press out, stomach tightening at Minho's skillful little licks and touches. Chan hums in response, only lazily stroking himself now. "M'so close."

"You like it that much?" he asks, and you whine in response. "Hear that, Minnie, she can't answer properly with your mouth on her." Minho almost purrs at that, squeezing your thighs. "Go on then, beautiful, make a mess of our pretty boy."

The sinful moan against your clit that leaves Minho's lips at that is enough to push you over the edge. You moan out his name loudly, body spasming beneath him. Your eyes roll back as Minho collects all your juices, not stopping even as you whimper from overstimulation. "Fuck, Min, stop," you beg, trying to squirm away, but he keeps you in place. "Min-ohh," you squeeze your eyes shut as he sucks on your clit so eagerly it makes you cum again. You pull at his hair and shake at another intense orgasm. "Channie," you plead as Minho keeps going on, too pussy drunk to stop.

Chan tucks himself back in and steps next to you, grabbing Minho by his hair and pulling him back. Minho leans into the firm grip, lips parting with a breathy moan. His face is a mess, and so is his hair, and he smiles at you lazily. "Easy there, bunny, not so eager."

"Sorry," he apologizes softly to you and fondles your thighs. "Love you, kitten."

"Love you too, honey," you assure him softly.

"Mhm, look at the mess you made," Chan hums gently, wiping his thumb across Minho's glistening lips and licking it clean with a soft sound.

Minho moves onto the floor, reaching up to unbutton Chan's jeans before hesitating. He glances up at him with pleading eyes. "Can I suck you off now, hyung?"

Chan chuckles softly and unbuttons his pants for him, pulling them down to his knees with his boxers and sitting down at the end of the sofa. "Come here, baby," he nods, and Minho does, resting his chin on his knees. Chan reaches out for you, soothingly rubbing your thigh as you're still coming down from your high. He smiles gently as Minho eagerly leans forward as soon as Chan makes room for him, spreading his legs. He licks up his shaft, hand stroking him experimentally. Chan groans softly as Minho wraps his lips around him and sinks down deeper. He tenses as he hits Minho's throat, and he gags around him, tears shooting to his eyes. Chan pulls him back and leans down, cupping his face. "Stop rushing, baby; we have all the time you need, okay?" he asks soothingly, kissing his forehead, nose, and lips. Minho kisses back with a soft moan, gripping the fabric of Chan's pulled-down jeans. Chan lovingly runs his hand through his hair, soothing him for a moment before guiding him back down. Minho takes his time now, relaxing his jaw as he goes on, moaning at the taste of Chan on his tongue.

You sit up shakily after a few moments and lovingly kiss down Chan's neck, who throws his head back against the sofa to give you more room. Your hand roams his stomach before covering Chan's, buried in Minho's hair, and intertwining your fingers. Chan gasps as you bite down below his ear, nipping at his skin and guiding Minho's head with him. "Minnie, look how good you're making Channie hyung feel," you tell him, and Minho glances up, fingers gently massaging his balls.

Chan's jaw grows slack, plump lips falling open with a beautiful moan. His eyes flutter close as Minho takes him in deeper, moaning around him. His hand sinks down to his neck, keeping him in place as he thrusts into his mouth. "So good, bunny," Chan presses out. "Doing so well for me, fuck," he pants, pushing himself further down Minho's throat. Chan turns his head, chasing your lips, and you let him kissing him passionately. He moans into your mouth, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as he gets close. "Min, baby, fuck," he barely gets out before shoving Minho down his dick roughly, releasing down his throat with a guttural groan.

Minho pulls back with a fucked out look on his face once Chan loosens his hold on him and licks his lips in anticipation. Chan catches his breath and cups his face with one hand, gently wiping the spit off his chin with his thumb. "Good?" Minho asks sweetly.

Chan smiles fondly, tucking himself back in. "You've been very good."

Minho glances at you expectantly, and you can't fight the smile covering your lips. "So good," you agree and lovingly ruffle his hair. Minho hums, pleased with himself.

"Now, bunny, I'll prepare you so I can make you feel all good and full as you wanted," Chan explains, still caressing his cheek. "Once you're ready, Y/nnie will help me out, okay?"

"Okay," Minho nods quickly.

"Y/N?" Chan checks in, and all you can do is nod. "Speak up."

"Yes, sir," you stammer, not quite sure where the hell that comes from, but Chan doesn't seem to mind, poking your cheek. You let him guide you into your previous position and watch them curiously as he pulls Minho to his feet. Chan helps him undress, kissing him firmly as he does. Minho lets him, chasing his lips with soft whines. Chan lets Minho undress him beside his boxers and kisses him one last time before whispering something to him you can't hear. You watch Minho cautiously as he comes over and laugh, surprised as he climbs on top of you, cuddling you close. "Hey there," you smile as he nuzzles his face in your neck. The simple act of feeling his weight on top of you, his golden skin pressing against yours, makes you feel so safe and grounded it's ridiculous.

"Missed you," Minho whispers against your skin.

"I missed you too, darling," you tell him and watch Chan getting comfortable on the sofa behind Minho, gently pushing your legs apart to scoot closer.

Chan fondles Minho's back for a moment before grabbing his hips and pulling him onto his knees. "Ready?" he asks, and Minho hums, agreeing, burying himself deeper into your neck as his bum is on full display for Chan. Chan locks eyes with you and smirks. "Our dear boy felt a little embarrassed because of the sounds he makes when I stretch him out," Chan explains, and a smile creeps on your face. "I thought cuddling you might help."

"Aw, really, Minnie?" you ask softly, and Minho nods, squirming a little in your arms. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about, love," you soothe him as Chan spreads his cheeks with his fingers. "Let us hear how good you feel; I bet you sound incredibly sweet."

"I'm not sweet," he mutters playfully offended, grip on your hip tightening in surprise as Chan licks up between his cheeks. A soft whine falls from his lips, proving your point.

Minho's face grows hot against your skin as Chan eats him out skillfully, hands kneading his thighs and bum. His warm breath tickles your skin, and his hand gropes your hips and thighs, trying to steady himself. Beautiful tiny moans, whimpers, and whines, growing in volume and pitch, now fall freely from his lips. He's pushing back to meet Chan's tongue and grows desperate in his movements. Chan eases two fingers inside and brushes them against his prostate. Minho collapses on you with a broken moan and starts fucking himself on Chan's fingers, dragging his dick through your folds and against your clit as he does. "Hyungie," he whines, and you fondle his hair, eyes fluttering with every drag of his hips. You kiss his head and moan softly as he starts intentionally grinding down against you. “God, Y/N.”

Chan lets him for now, kissing up his back, and soon has four fingers buried deep inside. He can tell Minho is getting close by how his body arches into his touch and his moans grow higher pitched. He suddenly pulls out, and Minho cries out his name in utter despair. "Shh, bunny, you can't cum yet, okay?"

"Why?" he asks, sounding heartbroken.

Chan gently rubs his sides and smiles down at him fondly. "Because you wanted to stuff our pretty girl with your cum, didn't you?" Minho moans weakly and nods face still buried in your neck. "Good, now switch positions with Y/N."

Minho falls into the cushions heavily, staring up at the two of you with his tired, soft brown eyes. He looks adorably handsome like this, and you can't stop the moan tumbling from your lips as Chan pulls you flush against his body. "Fuck, Channie hyung, you're gonna…," he trails off as Chan runs his fingers down your folds, collecting your juices, and pushes in. You melt against him with a loud moan, reaching back and tangling your hand in his hair to steady yourself.

"Patience," he tells Minho and locks eyes with him as he opens you up, thumb caressing your clit. "Such a good girl," he praises you as he soon eases in a third finger, stretching you out perfectly. You whine softly and roll your hips, meeting his fingers needily.

Minho moans at the sight of you and casually spreads his legs, slowly picking up on Chan's delicious idea.

Chan kisses his way down your neck, making you whimper his name. "Get a pillow, Minho baby." Minho reaches out for one and lifts his hips, shoving it beneath him. "Good boy," he praises him, and Minho bites his lower lip hard. He pulls his fingers from you and pats your hip, deciding you're ready. "I'll go get the lube, you two behave."

"Yes, sir," you say compliantly.

"Min," Chan says firmly, and Minho's head snaps from your dripping pussy up to his face.

"Yes, hyungie, of course," he promises quickly.

A few minutes later, you're straddling Minho's lap. His fingers sink into the flesh of your hips as he's buried fully inside you, lips parting with a soft gasp at your tight heat. His face contorts with pleasure, eyebrows knitted together, and eyes squeezed shut. Chan plants a soft kiss on your shoulder, groaning as he eases himself inside of Minho. A mutual moan escapes them as he's buried deep inside. Chan inhales softly, glancing down at him. "Min?"

"Mhm?" Minho hums, eyes still squeezed shut as he gets used to the feeling of Chan's dick stretching his hole and you clenching around him at the same time.

"You're good?" he asks, at the same time fondling your hip.

"Yeah," Minho nods breathlessly, cheeks flushing red. "Need a moment," he chuckles.

You bite your lower lip with anticipation as you watch him adjust to the overwhelming feeling. It's enough for you already to have him that deep inside without him moving and Chan right behind you. You can't imagine how good Minho must be feeling now.

"That's alright, you're in charge," he assures, soothingly fondling his thigh, making his boyfriend hum.

Minho slowly opens his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. Chan has repeatedly told him that he was in charge whenever he fully submitted to him. Chan wouldn't do anything that pushed him over his limits; he'd never hurt him on purpose, and he'd stop at any time without getting mad. This has created a net of safety and comfort for Minho early on, allowing him to submit that easily in the first place. He meets Chan's sweet chocolate orbs and feels a warm wave of safety crashing over him, numbing his senses. Then he meets your feverish soft eyes and feels so fond of you his heart might burst. "Okay," he breathes out.

"Baby girl?" he asks softly, and you hum in response. "You can start moving slowly."

"Thank you," you breathe out, relieved, and lift your hips before sinking back down on him. Minho beneath you sighs and fondles up your thighs shakily. You moan sweetly at the very needed friction and brace yourself on Minho's chest.

Chan lets you find your rhythm for a bit before gently rubbing Minho's thigh. "Tell me if it's too much," he says, and Minho nods, whimpering with pure need as Chan braces himself on the sofa and pulls back, only to thrust back into him slowly. He matches your pace, pulling out whenever you sink down on Minho and pushing back inside when you lift your hips. "That's okay?"

"Very okay," Minho breathes out, eyes fluttering. "Feels good," he adds after a moment, a soft whimper lacing his voice.

Chan taps your hips, signaling you to speed up a little, and once again adjusts to your rhythm. "How's the view, bunny?" he asks, lovingly cupping your breast.

Minho chokes on his next moan and grips your thighs tightly. "So pretty, Y/nnie," he tells you. "Wanted to fuck you so bad, missed that gorgeous - god fuck - pussy so bad," he rambles, making you shiver at the raw lust coating his orbs.

You moan softly and meet his hips. "Yeah? You've only had it for such a short time but can't get enough of it, do ya?"

Chan eyes you curiously as you seem to switch a little, growing more dominant with Minho. His boyfriend stares at you with wide eyes, seemingly incredibly turned on by you doing so.

"What did you miss more? That pussy or your hyung's dick stuffing you until you're dumb?" you ask, and Minho swallows softly, wincing as you grab his chin.

"Don't make me choose," he pleads softly, and Chan didn't think he'd see him do that with anyone else but him.

"What if you had to?" you ask, enjoying this little game.

Minho's eyes dart back and forth between you and Chan, growing confused, and suddenly, he looks almost anxious. "I don't know," he whimpers, eyes brimming with tears. "I don't wanna choose just one, wanna have you both."

"Fucks sake," Chan groans deliciously, burying his face in your shoulder as his hips buck forward.

You smile fondly and brush back his hair. "That's why you're such a good baby boy," you praise him, and Minho whimpers in response, lower lip trembling.

"Yeah?" he asks timidly.

"Yes, gorgeous," you smile at him and pat his chest. "Such a good baby."

Chan rubs his thigh and flashes him a smile. "You're doing so well, such a good little bunny for us," he tells him.

Minho seems to melt beneath you, blushing heavily at your combined praises. He throws his head back as the two of you pick up pace once more. His jaw grows slack as you seem to punch out whiny, shaky moans from him. He doesn't hold back anymore, falling apart with every roll of your hips, with every thrust Chan delivers. Minho feels heavenly, and the combined pleasure is almost a little too much. He feels himself starting to slip away and reaches out for Chan with one hand weakly. "Channie, hyungie," he whispers.

Chan intertwines their hands and searches his face observantly. "I'm here, you can let go," he assures him, and Minho moans sweetly.

Minho's face relaxes, a lazy smile spreading across his lips and his head slowly drops to the side. His hand relaxes in Chan's but stays there, his other drops from your thigh onto the sofa.

"What's happening?" you ask quietly, stopping your movement and frowning when Minho whimpers in protest.

"Keep going, baby girl," Chan tells you, soothingly fondling Minho's hand. "Subspace. Happens sometimes."

"Oh," you nod gently and pick up your previous pace, bouncing on him.

"I'll know when something's wrong, but practically all he wants is for you to keep using him the way you did before," he tells you between pants before speaking up again. "Min, you're okay?" he asks, and Minho needs a moment before reacting to his voice and squeezing his hand.

Minho feels like he's floating, heart bursting with joy to be used by Chan and you. His needy moans turn into tiny, weak whimpers, and Chan's hand feels heavy in his. He can hear your voices through a heavy fog, feeling safe as you two talk to him.

Your stomach tightens at the sight of Minho being so fucked out he can't respond besides squeezing Chan's hand. "I'm so close," you tell Chan.

"Cum whenever you're ready, beautiful," Chan encourages you, chasing his own high.

You desperately roll your hips and reach down, toying with your clit to give yourself that last push. Chan gently encourages you, guiding you through it as you cum with a loud groan of their names. Minho beneath you whines as you clench around him repeatedly, shaking on top of him. "Fuck, Chan," you whisper once you start to get overstimulated, and Minho's eyes fill with tears.

"Kiss his neck for me, baby girl, let's help him out," he says soothingly.

You lie down on Minho, still keeping him inside, and gently litter his skin with kisses that have him humming appreciatively. The force of Chan's thrusts and Minho's weak attempts to push back make you bounce on his dick, moaning against his neck. Chan behind you grows quiet, his once-controlled pace gets messy, and you can tell he's close. "Come on, Channie hyung," you moan out softly. "Let go."

Chan spills into Minho with a long, loud groan, slamming his hips inside of him roughly. "Fuck, yeah," he growls, and Minho suddenly tenses up, tears slipping from his eyes as his face scrunches up in pleasure.

A loud sob ripples through him, and you can feel him coating your walls. Continuous weak little moans leave him as you two help him through it, and he can do nothing but enjoy the pleasure coursing through his body.

Chan pulls out very carefully, and Minho whimpers at the loss. He lifts you off his dick, and that's when Minho reacts.

"Hyung, no, please," he cries, grabbing your arm. "Don't go."

Chan soothingly rubs his side. "We're here, baby, you're okay."

You get comfortable on his left and Chan on his right. You both cuddle him close, soothingly fondling his hair and body, whispering sweet nothings to him. "You're so pretty, darling," you whisper.

"You did such a good job, Minho baby," Chan adds, and Minho closes his eyes, cuddling into the two of you. Chan seems to know exactly how to coax him back out, and you do your best to support him. Once he's sure Minho's alright, he exchanges a glance with you. "We should go and clean up," he says, and you nod tiredly.

Chan prepares the bathtub for the three of you and carries you there first, helping you into the warm water. He kisses your forehead and smiles fondly. "I'll go get Min."

"Okay," you smile softly.

He gently lowers Minho into the water with you before getting in himself. He pulls Minho into his lap, who cuddles up against him tiredly. You cuddle into Chan’s left side, resting your head on his chest next to Minho’s. Minho’s hand finds yours in the warm water, easing your bodies. For a while, you all simply relax in silence before Chan and you help Minho washing his hair and body for him. Chan then does the same for you, and you’re ready to sleep once he’s done. You’re amazed at how quickly Chan has the two of you in bed, comfortably dressed and hair dried. Minho clings to you as Chan leaves you to finish up himself, and you lazily fondle his hair.

Chan smiles softly at the sight of you two, all cuddled up and waiting for him. His curls are still damp from rushing a little to take care of you as soon as possible. As soon as he climbs into bed, the two of you are clinging to him, having him chuckle, and his heart swell with pride. He kisses both your heads and whispers to you how much he loves you, telling you to sleep. Neither Min nor you need a second invitation, dozing off quickly, trusting Chan to keep you safe in your sleep.

PART FOUR

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

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rookthorne · 11 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 ‘𝐧 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

Bucky always knew, somehow, just what you needed and how you needed it — and he never failed to deliver, even after a surprise slip-up of your tongue.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ღ Nurse!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ღ 2.0k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ღ Fluff, light angst in the beginning ჻჻჻ SMUT: Fingering (F receiving), Soft Dom!Bucky, slight subspace ჻჻჻ KINKS: Praise, daddy

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ღ Is this the softest smut I have ever written? yes. yes it is.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ღ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 2 — Daddy — Masterlist

𝐀 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The day had passed so damn slowly. You could have sworn it was only dragging to torture you – your pain levels were at an all time high, the weather was stormy and cold, and you felt just plain miserable.

It was a blessing when Bucky came home from a short shift in a good mood. The soft, happy smile on his face as you met him at the door to welcome him was a beacon in the darkness, a guide to help you through the shadows that lurked in the mess of a pain-addled mind.

Your body felt heavy, ladened down with the weight of the day as you walked towards your bed and to Bucky, who was propped up against the headboard and dressed only in briefs and a black sleep shirt. One of his books was propped open on his bare thigh, and an adorable pout of concentration on his lips as his eyes read line for line. It was a new series he had found the other week, and you felt yourself fall a little further in love with him every time you caught him sneaking peeks at his book whenever he could.

A man after your own heart.

“You doin’ alright, baby?” Bucky asked, looking up at you and resting a hand on your side of the bed. A wince flickered across his features, and his frown deepened when he found you standing at the edge of the bed, feeling lost and unmoored. “Oh, sweetheart. I can turn off the lights if you’ve got a headache. I don’t mind.”

You shrugged your shoulders on instinct and flinched from the sudden pain through every muscle and nerve in your upper body at the movement. “No, it’s okay,” you mumbled, “just…”

“What is it?” Bucky smiled slightly, encouragingly. His favourite bookmark sat snug against the spine of his book, and he placed it on his bedside drawers so his full attention would be on you, and only you. The wave of guilt that you were distracting him hit you like a punch in the gut, and you couldn’t stop the burn along your waterline, which, of course, he noticed. “Baby girl, talk to me. Please.”

“I just, um-” You stuttered, wringing your hands. You didn’t know how to ask – you wanted to stop the incessant chatter. You needed your mind to quiet so you could rest. “C-Can you–” Bucky reached for your hand, and you gave it to him, feeling him squeeze gently. Then, taking a deep breath, you tried again, “I want to get out of my head for a little while. Can you- Um, help me, Buck?”

Your words seemed to float in the air between the two of you, and just as you opened your mouth to take it back, to tell him not to worry about it, he let go of your hand and tugged off his shirt, leaving his chest bare.

“I can do that.” The slight rise of his brow and the curious, bright expression on his face made the words of guilt-laden protest die on your tongue, and you watched him shift down the bed so his legs and back moved the blankets down before he settled on his side, arms open. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

Slowly, you stripped from your comfortable loungewear and laid down on your side of the bed, the sheets soft on your hypersensitive skin. Your breath came in steady, deep pulls, and Bucky smiled again, his hand resting on your hip while you sidled to have your back flush with his chest. “That’s it; get comfortable for me, baby.”

“Okay,” you breathed, grabbing Bucky’s arm and moving it under your neck so it would act as a pillow – and on instinct, his arm moved to cradle you against his chest, his open palm on your now fluttering stomach while he hummed softly, waiting patiently for you to settle.

The heat from his body warmed your back, and you shivered in anticipation – not knowing what he was going to do made the thoughts stop and hone in on the situation, a hush falling in your mind that made you sigh softly in relief.

“Comfy now, baby, hmm?” Bucky whispered, his breath hot on your ear as he shifted impossibly closer. At your nod, you felt him grin as he kissed your temple. “Relax for me; I know you can. I’ve got you. Just relax.”

You matched your breaths to his – in for four, out for four, rinse and repeat. Each exhale was met with a quiet but firm “Good girl,” whispered into your ear, and the brush of his hand over your hip and thighs.

“Feelin’ relaxed, sweetheart?” Bucky asked, and you hummed. The weight was seeping from your limbs the more Bucky brushed his hand over your hips or tightened his hold on your stomach. “That’s good, such a good girl for me, huh?”

The question was laced with such fondness you whimpered under the weight of devotion in them.

“Yeah,” you muttered, and Bucky rewarded you with a soft kiss on the juncture of your neck, trailing it up to end behind your ear. A different kind of haze filled your mind, and you squirmed, unable to stop the movement of your hips as they brushed against his.

“Easy, baby,” Bucky breathed, holding your hip still with only a slight amount of pressure – enough to wake you up to what you were doing. “This is about you. Let me make you feel good, sweetheart.”

The feeling of Bucky’s hand trailing down your hip to rest on your lower stomach, just below his other hand, made you feel protected and safe – nothing could touch you, not when Bucky held you like this.

“You’re gonna stay nice and relaxed for me, sweetheart,” Bucky said, the accompanying feel of him slipping under the elastic of your panties making it too hard to focus, and Bucky’s hand froze. “Nice and relaxed, c’mon.” A low whine left your lips, and Bucky chuckled. “Relax, then I will give you what you want.”

You matched your breathing to his steady inhale and exhales, allowing your limbs to relax, one by one, until your stomach became a soft plain of muscle, and Bucky smiled against your neck. “That’s it, sweetheart. Keep breathing nice and slow for me.”

Quietly humming in response, you felt Bucky’s hand delve further, his deft fingers moving to cup your sex. A heavy, hot breath fanned over your neck as Bucky paused, his fingers minutely twitching and making your breath quicken. “Shh, baby, I’ve gotchu,” Bucky whispered, his lips moving up and down your neck and placing open mouthed kisses as he went.

“Bucky,” you moaned, the feeling of his hand becoming too much and not enough all at once. “Please.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Bucky mumbled back, and you cried out quietly as his fingers teased the entrance of your cunt, his thumb brushing lightly over your clit – each pass a spark of pleasure to every nerve that was once so consumed in pain. “Breathe for me, baby.”

The pressure built and crested with Bucky’s soft, teasing touches until he finally slipped a single finger into your heat, a low groan leaving his lips as he bit softly down on your shoulder. “Fuck. Fuck, baby, that’s it.”

“M-More, please, Buck, I-” A loud gasp tore from you as Bucky moved his finger, feeling along your walls until he was making a come-hither motion right against the rough patch, each ounce of pressure causing your legs to tense and your stomach to coil. “Oh, god–”

The pressure from another finger slipping into your heat made you keen loudly, bowing inwards against Bucky’s hold. “You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart,” Bucky praised, his voice warm and encompassing. “You can take it.”

“S’good, babe,” you whined, hiccuping when Bucky added a third finger, crooking them all at once. “You always know how to make me feel good, d-” Bucky stopped, only for a second, but he had heard you. Shame curled and soured your stomach, and you stammered, “I’m so sorry, sorry–”

“Hey, hey,” Bucky rushed, now entirely stopping his movements and crowding your body, resting his head on the side of yours. “Don’t you go apologising. I won’t have it.” You whimpered and tried to move, but he had you pinned. “You can call me whatever you want, in fact,” he assured, the tone of his voice lowering until it was a low rumble you could feel in your chest. “You can call me daddy, baby girl. I want you to.”

You froze. Of all the things that Bucky could have said, you hadn’t expected that.

“What?” You questioned, turning your head to look up at him, half expecting him to turn around and laugh and pretend it didn’t happen.

Bucky only looked down at you, his gaze so emblazoned with want it set the fire blazing anew – that cloudy feeling returning in full force under his stare.

“You heard me, baby, s’alright,” Bucky said slowly, bumping his nose against yours before placing a kiss on your slack mouth. “I want to be the one you call daddy, sweetheart.” You went to speak – to reply and tell him that you wouldn't want anything more, but you moaned loudly at the sudden movement of his fingers. “Now, you need to stay nice and relaxed for daddy, baby, while he makes you feel good.”

The quiet sounds of your slick and the movements of his hand filled the room, accompanied by your soft pants for air, desperate to do as he had bidden you in the very beginning – keep breathing.

“You’re doing so, so good for me, sweetheart,” Bucky breathed, moaning quietly at the end. “You feelin’ floaty for me, baby? You almost there for daddy?”

“Uh-huh–” You hiccuped. The pressure was increasing, the speed increasing – it was becoming too much, the fog in your mind settling like a blanket and leaving you almost boneless. “Fuck, yeah, daddy, please!”

“Cum for me, sweetheart, let go for daddy–cum for daddy, c’mon,” Bucky urged, the honeyed tone of his voice making your brain finally begin to silence, a space that left no room for doubt or the ugly pain that had held you in its clutches. “I know you’re close, baby girl, can feel you squeezin’ me–let go, daddy’s gotchu.”

His words pushed you under and into the throes of pleasure, your orgasm stealing the breath from you in gasping moans and cries, all while he held you close, never allowing you to stray far from the comforting weight and heat of his body.

“That’s it, that’s it, baby, so fucking beautiful, sweetheart,” Bucky was murmuring into your ear, his fingers coaxing you along and riding out the last sparks of your climax. “You did it, and ‘m so proud of you, baby girl.”

The silence in your mind was soothing – no train of thought to take away the comforting touches of your boyfriend or his praises, no monster that lurked in the shadows to pull up the list of doubts and worries. Instead, there was just Bucky, just Bucky and his arms around you, his soft voice lulling you safely back.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered, both his arms cradling you into his chest now. The pressure unlocked something in your mind, and you sniffled. “Daddy’s gotchu, baby girl, c’mere.” Then, carefully, he manoeuvred you around so you were facing him, and he tucked your head into his neck, intertwining his legs with yours – a tight embrace you had no desire to leave.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Bucky pressed a lingering kiss on your forehead, a tender gesture that made your eyes well again. “Always, baby. Sleep, I’ll run you a warm bath in a bit, alright?” Yawning, you nodded.

You were fast asleep within minutes. So deep into your slumber that you missed the quiet utterance of words from the man you loved, who was holding you as though you were the most beautiful treasure – the words that would change everything for the better.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #hotbuckysummer2023 #rookthorne's works #SNS

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thisapplepielife · 9 days

Text

Written for @subeddieweek, day seven.

Where Would I Go?

Prompt: Praise Kink/Subdrop | Word Count: 1528 | Rating: E | CW: Handcuffs, Biting | Tags: Established Relationship, Sub Eddie Munson, Sensory Deprivation, Softness, Praise Kink, Subspace, Subdrop, Aftercare, Boys in Love

Eddie is being good. So good. Hands on his own thighs, not touching, even if that's all he wants to do.

Steve is stripping his own cock, fisting it right in front of Eddie, and Eddie can only watch.

Because he wants to be good.

"Close your eyes," Steve asks, and Eddie whines, but complies, closing his eyes.

Now, he can only hear the sounds of Steve's slick hand moving. And Steve is more than aware of what he's doing, because he's added a little heavier breathing into the mix. Some soft moans, and Eddie's dick is straining, needing, wanting, listening to this perfect soundtrack.

"You gonna be a good boy if I let you look?" Steve asks.

Eddie moans and nods at the mere idea of it, "Yes."

"Really, you can be good?"

"So good," Eddie promises, eyes still shut.

"I'm not convinced," Steve says, and Eddie whimpers. "Convince me."

Eddie straightens up on his knees, like he's paying better attention. Keeps his eyes closed, as instructed, and then opens his mouth, an offer.

"Not convincing enough," Steve says, "be good for me."

Eddie isn't sure how to do that, "How?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Steve says, and puts his hands under Eddie's armpits, helping him stand. Eddie shuffles along, blind, until he bumps up against the bed.

Steve grabs his hips, and helps Eddie climb up onto it, and settles him back against the headboard.

"Hand," Steve says, and Eddie immediately gives him his left hand.

Steve pulls it to the side, and Eddie feels the hard metal, as he ratchets down the cuff and hears the light clinking of metal on metal as he attaches the other end of the handcuffs to the metal bars of the headboard.

"Two?" Steve asks, and Eddie wants to be good, so he offers up his other hand, and Steve does the same on the other side, stringing him up.

"Look at you," Steve says.

Eddie doesn't look, but he'd loved to. Wants to see what he looks like.

Steve's mouth is ghosting against Eddie's ear, "So pretty. Such a good, pretty boy."

And Eddie's head buzzes at the words as they stick to his ribs, his brain, his heart, helping him float away. Laying all his trust in Steve. He doesn't need to see. Doesn't need to grasp.

He just needs to ride the wave Steve's offered him.

Eddie hangs his head back, baring his throat and Steve takes him up on the offer, biting down, and Eddie moans, low in his throat.

"Thank you," Eddie says, and Steve kisses along his jaw.

Then Steve slips the headphones over his ears. They are big, bulky, and the cord is dangling, but they do block out a lot of the noise. All he can hear is the buzzing in his own head.

And then Steve's hands are all over his body, touching soft, touching hard, squeezing, licking, biting, sucking.

He's gonna have hickeys all over his thighs, but he can barely feel it. He's too far gone, the pain too far away, off in the distance. An abstract now, only the whisper of it trying to reach his brain, but it can't.

He's closed off from the world. All he knows, all he feels, is Steve.

And he lets himself float.

"You with me?" Steve asks, cupping Eddie's cheek, and Eddie lulls his head into Steve's hand.

"Eddie, open your eyes and look at me," Steve says, and Eddie does. It's dark in the room, but he still squints because it feels too bright. Too everything, because Eddie's pupils have blown-wide, and he feels like he's still adrift. Lost at sea.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks.

"Yeah," Eddie slurs, and his tongue is too big for his mouth. Like he can't form the words anymore.

"You're a good boy, so good. Relaxing for me, then letting me in," Steve says, because Eddie always responds well to chatter. He likes it.

Usually, though, he gives some back. But he can't seem to find the words.

Not tonight, tonight he's just drifting far from the shore. But he feels happy, blissed out, and Steve keeps petting him. Soft and gentle.

"Eddie? Honey?" Steve says, and Eddie looks at him. Steve cups his cheeks with both hands, "Hi. You back with me?"

"Where would I go?" Eddie asks, and Steve smiles, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek.

"I think you've dropped," Steve answers. "Drink this."

Eddie does, taking a long pull of the orange juice in the glass. It's the best thing he's ever tasted.

Dropped? Like subdrop? Eddie's never even been in subspace before, so that seems highly unlikely. He feels subby, wants to submit, does, but he's never experienced that.

"Yeah, honey, are you okay?" Steve asks, and Eddie mentally runs over his body, checking in to find out.

Eddie feels tired, exhausted really, that floaty feeling of disappearing he'd felt has drained him, but he smiles, "Yeah."

"Everything okay? Too much? Too far?" Steve asks.

"What'dya mean?" Eddie drawls, lolling his head to look at Steve. "I'm cold."

"Let me warm you up," Steve says, and he nudges Eddie forward so he can slide behind his back. He's uncuffed. He hadn't even realized. Handcuffs gone, earphones gone, eyes open. It's just him. And Steve.

And Steve's grabbing the comforter and pulling it up to Eddie's chin, wrapping his arm around him, tight.

"Better?" Steve asks, and Eddie relaxes against Steve's solid body. So much better.

"Do you want to sleep? You want me to hold you?" Steve asks, and Eddie can't make any decisions right now.

It's too hard, and he feels overwhelmed by being asked all these questions. He must not have done it right if Steve is so unsure, if Steve needs to ask him all these things. He didn't do good. He wasn't a good boy.

"Eddie," Steve says, slightly firmer, "take a breath."

And Eddie realizes he's breathing fast, his chest rising and falling, rapidly.

He turns his head so he can rest his forehead against Steve's neck, pressing in close.

"You did so good, you were perfect," Steve says, and Eddie tries to take those words. Keep them.

It's hard. He feels on edge, low, in a way he's never felt before.

"Can I sleep?" Eddie asks.

"Yes, sleep. I'll be right here," Steve says, tightening his arms around Eddie's middle, holding him close, safe and secure.

And Eddie gives in to the exhaustion.

Eddie blinks awake, warm and loved.

"Hi," Steve says, soft and quiet in his ear, and Eddie smiles at the sound.

"Hi," he answers back.

"Feeling better?" Steve asks, not letting him go.

"Definitely," Eddie says, laying the back of his head against Steve's shoulder.

Steve's stroking his chest, his stomach, and it feels nice.

And then his stomach growls, and they both laugh.

"Let's get you something to eat," Steve says, patting him, and Eddie agrees, crawling out of bed. "Take a shower, and I'll get something made for you."

Eddie nods, taking Steve up on the offer.

Eddie stands under the spray, and he feels off. Not bad, but off. Different. He shakes the water out of his hair like a dog, and laughs. Entertaining himself. He thinks he did drop, which, unexpected. He doesn't feel bad now, though, just a little tired, still. Like he could sleep several more hours. Might, after he eats.

He just doesn't remember much about what happened. He was there, and now he's here. That part, he's not sure he loves. He wants to be present, wants to feel everything that Steve does.

Looking down, and there's the start of bruises forming on his thighs, his chest. Hickeys, and bite marks. Eddie runs his fingers over the deepest indention, feeling the impression of each of Steve's teeth, branding his skin.

And Eddie barely remembers getting them, and that makes him feel a little sad again. But, overall, he's good.

When Eddie come out in his robe, Steve's standing at the stove, stirring something in a skillet that smells fucking awesome, and Eddie watches from the kitchen bar, sipping on a glass of water. Rehydrating, as Steve demanded with a grin.

Then, Steve's walking over with the skillet in hand, and Eddie leans back from the empty plate sitting in front of him, letting Steve scrape a heaping pile of food onto his plate.

"Thank you," Eddie says, and picks up his fork, digging in. It's some sort of taco casserole, he thinks, and it's really good for something Steve's thrown together in the middle of the night.

Steve puts some on his own plate, and then comes around the counter to sit next to him.

Picking up his own fork, and working his hand under Eddie's robe to find bare skin, resting his free hand on Eddie's thigh. It's nothing, but somehow everything, and Eddie loves him. Everything about him, and he can't stop the affection from exploding in his chest.

Eddie covers Steve's hand with his own, and looks over at him and smiles.

Steve smiles back, and then winks.

And Eddie laughs, deep from his chest, feeling light. Loved.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @subeddieweek and follow along with the fun! 🖤

This is my last entry for the week-long event, and if you want see my other fics for the other days, they can all be found in this tag.

A couple of my fics for the event were filtered out and not included in the subeddieweek tag, as well as my own tag for the event. I must have been too dirty those days, I guess, lol.

So, here's everything else of mine for the week:

Day One Day Two Day Three Day Four Day Five Day Six

#thisapplepielife: short fic #subeddieweek #thisapplepielife: subeddieweek #steddie fic #sub eddie munson

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letterstotheflre · 2 years

Note

fairy dust - poly!Jily have to take care of their needy baby in public <33

uhhh wow this got super long lol. lily is sweeter in this than usual but idc i like it that way

cw: smut || 18+ only [ft. reader falling into subspace (kinda?? don't even know if i wrote it correctly, it's the first time i write something like this), public sex, fingering]

james doesn't hear you the first time you speak, your arms wrapped so tightly around his waist and your face buried in his hoodie covered chest. the cacophony of music and customer chatter doesn’t help his case.

"what was that?" he asks, gently peeling you away from him.

"need you," you whine lowly, clenching your thighs together when you see the usual weekend scruff on his cheeks and neck.

he glances back to where lily is paying for your drinks and sighs. he scratches your scalp, "we can't, baby. m'sorry."

there's an adorable pout on your lips that makes james want to kiss it away. his thumb moves on it's own and brushes the smooth surface. his eyes darken when you not so innocently pull it into your mouth, the wet muscle of your tongue making him picture many different variations of this specific scenario.

"please," you mumble, your puppy eyes wide as ever. and that's when he sees it, the glaze over them, the slightly empty look in them.

he makes a quick signal to lily to let her know that he's taking you to a table, then walks you to the most secluded booth he can find with a warm hand on the small of your back.

he sits down on the bench that looks towards the wall and pulls you next to him. you lean against him and rest your head on his shoulder, trying to be sneaky as you go to unbuckle his belt. he's quick to stop you. "no, baby. not tonight."

lily sets your drinks on the table and you jump. she slides to james his pint and your fruity drink to you, leaving her martini on the outer side of the table. "what's going on with her?" she asks james as she sits down next to you.

you leave james side and curl against her. "mommy," you whimper.

"she's slipped," james says. he takes a quick sip of his beer and wipes his mouth with his wrist.

lily turns to you and coos when you try to get closer to her, your hand going under her tank top and traveling upwards. she holds your wrist and pulls it down to where the table covers everything from prying eyes.

"what's wrong, sweet girl?"

"need you, mommy. need daddy, too."

"oh you're feeling needy. is that it? poor baby." her hand goes to your thighs and pushes them slightly apart. "come help me out, james."

not having to be told twice, james' hand goes to your right thigh. he sneaks up and feels your breathing get heavier and heavier, but lily gets to your soaked panties before he can. "oh darling," she says, swiping her finger over the wet spot on your underwear. "you're dripping."

"i'm sorry," you say shamefully, hiding your face in her neck.

"don't be," james' honey-like voice says. "poor angel, you just need us this bad."

lily's free hand goes to your head and she starts playing with a couple strands. "whose fingers d'you want inside you, hm?" she smirks amusedly when she feels the heat coming from your cheeks. she gets closer to your ear and whispers, "and who do you want to play with your pretty clit?"

you whine her name embarrassedly, but still answer. "want daddy inside me, and-- and you to play with me. please, mommy."

she holds your panties to the side and your hips jolt when she rubs slow circles on your clit. "good girl," she praises softly. "using your words and your manners. such a good girl."

james pulls your thigh on top of his for better access and coats one finger in your slick, being careful as he slips it in. you moan lowly at the double stimulation, your head swirling under the dark and smoky air of the pub.

you turn to james once more and look at him through hooded eyes, lily still playing with you and giving your clit a couple of gentle pats every now and then that force you to bite your lip to keep from mewling too loud. "more, daddy."

he pushes a second finger in and then another, meeting little resistance from your part since you've been desperate for them for longer than he even knows. you squeeze his arm when he curls them and quickens the pace. you're so far gone that you don't even care about the possibility of getting caught, of someone hearing the wet sounds of your pussy even through the loud music. you just want to cum.

you look up at your boyfriend with glazed over eyes and raw bitten lips. "can i cum, daddy? m'so close," you whine the last word when lily pinches your clit.

james rests his head against the wooden back of the booth and looks at his redheaded girlfriend. "what d'you think, lils?"

"if she can say please," she says, matching the pace of james' thrusts.

"please," you gasp, holding onto both of their wrists. "pleasepleaseplease."

lily nods to james and he smirks, leans down and mouths at your neck. "cum, baby."

you have to bite james' shoulder to keep your loud moan quiet. your legs shake under the table and all the drinks shake with it, lily's martini almost tipping over. she quickly holds it and brings it to her lips casually, sipping on it like she isn't making her girlfriend come apart in the middle of a crowded pub.

you slump against james. he brushes some flyaway hairs away from your sticky forehead and takes his fingers out of you with a quick shush to your whine of complaint.

he steals one olive from lily's drink and puts it in his mouth, sticking his fingers into his mouth and licking your release from them. "so yummy," he smirks at your astounded face.

#letterstotheflrebday!#james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #james potter imagine #lily evans imagine #poly!jily #james potter smut #lily evans smut

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anonymousewrites · 2 years

Text

Logos and Pathos (Book 1) Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Teenager Must be Stopped

“Lieutenant Uhura, raise Colony V,” said Kirk as they arrived on the bridge. “I want to speak directly to the Governor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Navigator, lay a course away from Colony V. Buy me some time.”

“Yes, sir.”

Uhura screamed as her desk shocked her and went up in smoke. (Y/N) rushed over and helped her up.

“Spock, get Bones up here on the double!” ordered Kirk. “How bad is it?”

“I think it’s all right, sir,” said Uhura, cradling her hands. “Sir, there’s no reason for that panel to cross-circuit like that.”

“Bones will be here in a minute,” said (Y/N).

“I checked it over myself not fifteen minutes ago,” said Uhura.

Kirk frowned and looked at (Y/N). “Can you sense emotions from a safe distance?”

“There is no safe distance from Charlie, but if you’re asking me to track him without him noticing, I can try,” said (Y/N). “He has an extremely strong presence because of his abilities, and with the emotional turmoil he’s in, I can find him.”

A small frown appeared on Spock’s face. “Are you sure it’s wise to send Lieutenant (L/N) near Charlie?”

“We need someone to keep track of him,” said (Y/N). “Lucky for me, I can do that from farther than anyone else.”

“Captain, I can’t feed any course coordinates into the panel, sir,” said the navigator.

Kirk grimaced. “(Y/N), go. Report back when you know what he’s trying to do. Then we can negotiate.”

“Yes, sir,” said (Y/N). They walked into the turbolift and left to the lower decks.

Spock watched before looking at Kirk. “Charlie may be able to sense them. We have little knowledge of his abilities.”

“I know you’re worried, Spock, but (L/N) can handle themself, and they are the only one who can do this,” said Kirk.

“Worried, Captain?” Spock frowned.

“Worried, Spock.”

“Captain, I—”

The intercom rang out. “Hey, Captain, change of plan, he’s coming this w—”

Spock and Kirk paused before looking at the turbolift, which was opening. (Y/N) was in one corner, holding their throat, their voice clearly stolen again, while Charlie stood in the middle.

Yeah, this didn’t go very well. Not that we really could have expected it to, but I would really prefer to have a voice.

“You’re trying to change course, Captain,” said Charlie. “You can’t do that. I want to get to Colony V as soon as we can.”

(Y/N) flinched as the anger radiated out from him. He was becoming dangerously frustrated, and they were worried about what his next move would be.

“Release the transmitter,” ordered Kirk.

“You don’t need all the subspace chatter,” said Charlie.

“What’s going on here?” asked Bones as he walked in from the turbolift.

(Y/N) gestured to Uhura and pointed to her hands, trying to see if her friend was okay.

“Why isn’t (Y/N) talking?”

Spock tried to explain, but all the came out was: “ ‘Once upon a midnight dreary, I pondered, weak and weary.’ ” He snapped his mouth shut, realizing he too was under Charlie’s influence.

“Why is Spock reciting poetry?” Bones was growing more and more frustrated himself.

“Nice, Mr. Ears,” laughed Charlie. Kirk glared at him. “I can make them do anything. Whirl around, laugh, anything.”

“That’s enough, Charlie,” said Kirk, deadly calm.

“Well, don’t you think they’re funny? He can only speak in poems, and they can’t speak at all. I think they’re funny.” Charlie chuckled.

“Leave my crew alone!”

Charlie grimaced at Kirk’s words. Without saying anything else, he walked back into the turbolift. However, (Y/N) felt their voice return, and they suspected Spock also regained control over his words.

“Jim, he’ll soon reach a point where he won’t back down,” said Spock.

Wonderful, he did.

“I know,” said Kirk grimly.

(Y/N) looked at him. “What are we going to do? He’s too volatile for anyone to approach.”

“And it would be irresponsible to send (L/N) to find him again after he displayed a willingness to hurt them,” said Spock.

Kirk sighed. “I know.”

The intercom turned on suddenly. “I want you to get out,” said Rand’s voice.

“I only want to be nice to you,” said Charlie.

“Get out, Charlie,” repeated Rand.

Everyone on the bridge glanced at each other nervously. Kirk jumped up with Spock and (Y/N), all hurrying to get to Rand. They burst into Rand’s room, but Charlie sent them flying into the wall while he kept a grip on Rand. In horror, she slapped him in the face. He, angered and letting his abilities fly off the handle, glared at Rand. She blinked out of existence.

“Why did she do that…?” he muttered tearfully. “Why did she do that? I loved her…but she wasn’t nice at all.” He glared at them. “What you did wasn’t nice, either. But I still need you, Captain. The Enterprise isn’t quite like the Antares. Running the Antares was easy. You have to be nice. All right.”

The force holding Kirk back was let up, and he stood. “Spock, (L/N)?”

“My legs—they’re broken,” said Spock.

“Something’s holding me down,” gasped (Y/N) against the force.

“Let them go, too, Charlie,” ordered Kirk.

“Why?” challenged Charlie.

“Because I’m telling you to! Because you need me to run the ship, and I need them.”

“You need the sciency, ears guy. You don’t need the mouthy one,” snapped Charlie.

“To run this ship, I need my personnel.” Kirk did not budge.

“Fine,” muttered Charlie.

(Y/N) breathed a sigh of relief as the pressure abated, and they stood up with Spock.

“If you try to hurt me again, I’ll make a lot of people go away,” threatened Charlie.

“And what about Yeoman Rand?” questioned Kirk. “Is she dead, gone, destroyed?”

“I won’t tell you,” said Charlie petulantly. He walked to the door before looking back at them angrily. “Growing up isn’t so much. I’m not a man, and I can do anything. You can’t.”

(Y/N) had been carefully avoiding Charlie and the destruction he left behind. There were so many people in distress it was nearly making their head spin. Luckily, their training as an empath kept them in check. They had thought they’d be comfortable in the bridge, but before they could make an exit, Charlie arrived with his aura of anger, and (Y/N) knew better than to risk his ire by offending him and leaving.

“Captain Kirk, my instruments show we’re receiving a message from on subspace sequency three, ship-to-ship,” said Uhura. “I can’t hear it, sir.”

“Are you creating that message, Charlie, or are you blocking one that’s coming in?” questioned Kirk.

“It’s my game, Captain; you’ll have to wait and find out. Like you’ve said, that’s how the game’s played,” said Charlie. “I’ve locked on course for Colony V again.” With that, he left.

“This is getting bad,” muttered (Y/N), massaging their temples. “Everyone on this ship is starting to scream.”

�� “I thought you needed to be close to someone to feel their emotions,” said Spock.

“Well, usually people just have a small bubble of emotion, which is usually an indistinguishable haze because they aren’t feeling extremely strong emotion. Now, everyone is feeling the same emotion to a heightened degree. It’s like people are usually mumbling different things, but now they’re all yelling,” said (Y/N), gesturing around themself dramatically.

“I see,” said Spock, nodding. “Then I imagine the discomfort is quite immense.”

“You’re telling me,” sighed (Y/N).

“I’m going to take him on,” announced Kirk.

“You don’t have any special immunity,” said Bones sharply. “Not anymore. Push far enough, he’ll send you off to oblivion, too.”

“Mr. Spock?” inquired Kirk.

“Out of the question,” said Spock.

“Lieutenant (L/N)?”

“He’s incredibly volatile, angry, dangerous,” they said.

“Wait a minute…Is Charlie…has he done away with anybody since he took over the Enterprise?” asked Kirk.

“Not so far as we know,” said Spock.

“Then maybe he can’t,” said Kirk thoughtfully.

“Oh! Is he stretching himself too thin, like when you try to spread butter too thin and it gets hard to really have that butter flavor in the bread?” asked (Y/N).

“An odd metaphor,” remarked Spock.

“…Yes, but the nonetheless: true.” said Kirk. “It’s possible we can tax his power so that the flavor doesn’t reach all the bread, I mean his power might be overloaded if we make him control everything by turning it on. Then I could distract him, and maybe Bones could tranquilize him until we reach Colony V.”

“It’s risky,” said Bones.

“But if we don’t try, he’ll get rid of us anyway.” With a determined gleam in his eye, Kirk looked at them. “There’s no choice, no choice at all.”

Charlie stormed in. “I can make you all go away anytime I want!” He sat down in Kirk’s chair.

“Get off my chair, Charlie,” ordered Kirk. “Get out of it now.”

“I’ve got your ship, Captain,” retorted Charlie.

Kirk nodded to (Y/N), Bones, and Spock, who went to the panels on the wall. “Maybe, Charlie, but I don’t think you can handle any more,” said Kirk. Bones, Spock, and (Y/N) began turning on every button they could find ((Y/N) with a little more flair than their companions). “I think you’ve reached your limit and can’t take on one more thing.” Charlie watched nervously, fear coursing through him, as more and more systems were switched on. “But you’re going to have to.”

Charlie glared at Kirk. “I could have sent you away before, but I didn’t.”

“You’re going to have to take my on,” said Kirk calmly.

“Don’t make me do it now!” cried Charlie.

“You’ve got my ship, and I want it back. I want my crew back, whole…if I have to break your neck to do it!” Kirk grabbed Charlie’s shirt, wrenched him to his feet, and threw him to the floor.

“Don’t push me!” warned Charlie. Kirk approached again but collapsed in pain as the teen’s power grew. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, but…” Charlie was cut off as a high-pitched whine sounded through the bridge. “Stop that!” cried Charlie shakily as fear spread through all his rage. “I said stop it!” He was quite distressed, enough so that his control slipped and Kirk lurched to his feet.

“Captain, navigation console is clear now,” announced Spock. “The ship is answering the helm.”

“Sir, something off our starboard bow,” said Uhura. “The message says they’re from Thasus.”

Looks like the truth might be unveiled, thought (Y/N).

In the middle of the bridge, Yeoman Rand appeared, quite disoriented but unharmed.

“No…” muttered Charlie as all his power was unraveled.

“Captain…how did I…?” questioned Rand.

“It’s alright, Yeoman,” said Kirk.

“Sensors show something’s there, Captain,” said Spock. “Deflectors indicate no solid structure.”

“And I think it’s what’s scaring Charlie. Whoever this is, they’re likely powerful,” observed (Y/N). “But they may be our allies in this fight.”

“No!” screamed Charlie. “No, please. Don’t let them take me! I can’t live with them anymore!” He gasped as a green, specter-like form of a man appeared on the bridge. “You’re my friends,” begged Charlie. “You said you were my friends, remember? When I came aboard! Please…I want to go home. Take me home.” Even as he begged the Enterprise crew, his eyes remained glued to the ghost.

“I have taken my form from centuries ago so that I may communicate with you,” announced the specter. “We did not realize until too late that the boy had gone, and we are saddened that his escape cost the lives of the first ship. We could not help them, but we have returned your people and your ship to you. Everything is as it was.”

“Oh, I won’t do it again!” pleaded Charlie, gazing intently at Kirk. “Please, I’ll be good. I won’t ever do it again! I’m sorry about the Antares. I’m sorry! Please. I want to go with you. Help me.”

Kirk sighed before looking to the Thasian. Everyone awaited his words apprehensively. Kirk stood solemnly. “The boy belongs with his own kind.”

“That will be impossible,” said the Thasian.

“With training, we can teach him to live in our society,” said Kirk, steady to the last. “If he can be taught not to use his power—”

“We gave him the power so he could live,” said the Thasian. “He will use it always, and he would destroy you and your kind, or you would be forced to destroy him to save yourselves.”

“Is there nothing you can do?” asked Kirk.

“We offer him life,” said the specter. “And we will take care of him. Come, Charles.”

The strange, high-pitched tone sounded again, and the Thasian disappeared.

“Please! I promise I’ll be good! I want to stay! I want to sta—” Charlie faded away.

“Charlie’s back on board the Thasian ship, sir,” said Uhura sadly. “They signaled they’re leaving.”

Rand began nearly crying in relief.

“It’s alright, Yeoman. It’s all over now,” said Kirk softly.

(Y/N) sighed in relief.

“Have the extreme emotions dissipated?” asked Spock.

“Thankfully, yes,” said (Y/N).

“I’m glad.”

“You’re glad? Why, Spock, is that an emotion?” teased (Y/N).

“You’ll be able to perform more effectively without the distraction,” said Spock. He turned to his station but paused. “And you should know I do not react from emotions.”

“Maybe not, but even Vulcans have them,” said (Y/N), grinning. “You’re just lucky I can’t sense them.”

Kirk and Bones snorted. He’s lucky indeed. I doubt he’s come to terms with anything to do with his own emotions.

#logos and pathos #star trek fic #star trek fanfiction #star trek the original series #star trek tos #star trek #tos spock #st tos #tos #ambassador spock #mister spock #spock x reader #gn reader #nb reader

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grandgrief · 9 hours

Note

💌— it’s less a love letter and more like a whole hypothetical wedding itinerary. When the letter is opened, a mass of glitter puffs out and it’s all written in glittery gel ink w/ hearts doodled all around it. She thinks the cake should ooze green goo and W4-114CE should be the officiant. xoxo 💜Ophelia

Send '💌' for your muse to send mine love letters.

If you can't see the emoji, send 'love letters'.

If you want to reverse who sends what add 'reverse'.

____

At this rate, Nero was certain the glitter was worse than seasonal pollen. And the hearts she drew! It was like every element of this was mathematically calculated to tick him off-- no doubt Doc helped with that part, somehow. Or maybe he just offered moral support.

But even this level of meticulousness was unheard of. Ophelia had even gone as far as to confirm the J.E.V. androids could officiate weddings, and had a service on speed-dial to create a Nickelodeon-slime cake.

So he set the letter aside, and went back to his drawing board. Moving away his Technician's blueprints and other engineering things, in favor of more Looney Tunes/Tom & Jerryesque schemes to make Ophelia stop being smitten with him....

"Okay. Okay..."

#[ic] Activation #outofthiisworld #[ask] subspace chatter #//He's going to start playing Cbat on the speakers whenever she gets too close to him

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autobot2001 · 1 year

Text

Whumpril Snippet 6

@whumpril

Day 4; ache, Day 6; painkillers, Day 8; nausea, "you look pale." Day 10; shiver Day 12; "I'm right here." Day 13; support, "I think I need to sit down." Day 28; bedridden

Fandom: Transformers Rating: E Warnings: None Pairing: Sunstreaker X Lily

Lily wakes up not feeling well but thinks it's a cold. She thinks a shower should help her feel fine for the day. "You look pale," Sunstreaker comments when Lily walks out of the bathroom. "It's a cold, and hopefully, the shower helped." Sunstreaker doesn't argue. He gets clothes and goes to the bathroom.

Lily and Sunstreaker eat breakfast with their friends and Sunstreaker's brother, Sideswipe. Sunstreaker watches Lily, worried she doesn't have a minor cold. Even if she's eating as if she's not sick.

"You ok?" Sunstreaker asks Lily as the two walk into their room. "I'm fine. I-I think I need to sit down." Lily sits on the couch, feeling like the room is spinning. Sunstreaker gets painkillers and water for her. As she takes the pills, Sunstreaker gets her pajamas. "You're getting back in bed," he tells her. Lily changes into pajamas and gets back into bed. Sunstreaker sits at his desk and works on an art project.

"Sunstreaker?" He hears Lily a few hours later. He sits on his knees by her bed, not liking how she looks. "I'm right here," he assures her as he feels her forehead. Lily feels warm, but Sunstreaker knows this can happen with colds, and Lily would be taking the same medication whether she has a cold or the flu, "you're not going anywhere today." "Cold." Sunstreaker didn't think she'd be shivering that he'd hear teeth chattering. Sunstreaker gets extra blankets to layer on Lily. Worried about her, Sunstreaker lies on his bed and sketches on his tablet.

It's a quiet hour until Sunstreaker watches Lily try to get out of bed. He has to help her into the bathroom, not expecting her to throw up. They sit on the floor by the toilet as Lily still thinks she'll throw up. "Cold," Lily whines. Sunstreaker: Ratchet, I think Lily has the flu. He explains Lily's symptoms. Ratchet, I'll be right there.

Lily throws up again before Ratchet walks into the bathroom. "It's definitely the flu, but I want to make sure you don't need stronger medicine," Ratchet explains and gets a sample from Lily's mouth, "for now, make sure she's drinking water." Sunstreaker helps Lily back into bed as Ratchet leaves. "You're not going anywhere for a few days, and I'm staying here." "Good luck getting Prowl to let someone else do your patrols."

Sunstreaker stays in his room all day. He's about to ask Sideswipe to get dinner for him when he hears a knock on the door. "Drift?" He asks, seeing Drift with a tray, "I don't think she'll want to eat," he adds, seeing the contents on the tray is two bowls of soup. He knows Lily needs to eat, though he's worried she'll just throw up what she eats.

"No," Lily mumbles, not liking what the two mechs want to do. They don't want to force her or don't think this is enough reason to put a nasal gastric tube in. Tears roll down Lily's face as Sunstreaker supports her sitting up. Both mechs hoping she'll eat enough, but Lily doesn't last long. Once Lily is comfortable in bed, Drift gets a cooling cloth. "This should help," he tells Lily as he puts it on her forehead, "she's not going to like cold soup. Crackers will be better for now." Sunstreaker didn't think Drift would take a box of saltines out of his subspace, put it on the nightstand, puts the bowl of soup meant for Sunstreaker on the coffee table, and leaves with the tray. I think this is going to be our routine for the week. Prowl: I can't have another bot take your patrols for a week, sorry. Sunstreaker: I can have Sideswipe stay with Lily. She's too sick to get out of bed, and I don't want her left alone. Prowl: I'm still not used to seeing you like this. Sunstreaker smiles, reading the text.

Sideswipe comes by ten minutes before Sunstreaker's morning patrol. "Did you sleep?" Sideswipe asks. "No, I knew Lily wouldn't wake me. I had to help her to the bathroom several times and give her medicine." "You can't keep this up until she's better." "She should be well enough not to need help getting to the bathroom in a few days." I could give her medicine before bed, allowing her to sleep all night. Sunstreaker wonders.

A temporary routine sets in, with Sideswipe watching Lily for an hour and Drift not minding bringing his two friends dinner for the next week until Lily can finally get out of bed for more than five minutes, but she's still not one hundred percent. Lily can go to the cafeteria and eat better than she has in a week, and Sunstreaker is ok with leaving Lily alone. "Prowl will be happy," Sideswipe tells Lily, "he's not pleased Sunstreaker hasn't done any other work." "I'm a little concerned about how worried Sunstreaker was, but it was nice he was with me all day." Sideswipe doesn't say anything, but he, too, is concerned.

#transformers #transformers fanfiction #transformers bayverse #transformers autobots #transformers sunstreaker #Lily Jones (OC)#whumpril 2023 #whumpril day 6 #whumpril day 8 #whumpril day 10 #whumpril day 12 #whumpril day 13 #whumpril day 28 #Lily is sick #It's not a cold #it's the flu #Sunstreaker is worried

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cyber-streak-2 · 1 year

Text

Title: Free and Searching

Story Description/Summary: Kieru is no longer captured. Sure, it didn’t exactly end in the best way... but he’s freed now. There’s only one thing he needs to do, he needs to find a special someone.

————

Kieru listened to the chatter of some approaching Decepticons. None of them were discussing anything too important, or anything that the mech cared about, but really, it was the only thing that he could possibly even hear.

Aside from the approaching chatter, there were footsteps accompanying them. And then there was a rather annoying hum that something in the ceiling would occasionally make, and he didn’t want to spend his time listening to that.

There wasn’t even anything to really look at, either. Gray and black. That was the color of his cell, and everything outside of the cell. Nothing exciting, or nothing that stood out. There weren’t even any other cells nearby. He never heard any other prisoners.

The only thing he could think of that was more colorful than everything else had to be... his body, most likely. Purple and gold would usually stand out in a place like this.

Though Kieru knew that it would only be a matter of time before those colors would disappear, and gray would be the only color on the body. His best guess? It would probably all disappear in at least another minute—right now, the current colors were already dull—they were already being lost.

Oh. Wait. No, not just the fading purple and gold. Blue. Energon. It was surrounding his body, and it looked so bright. Kieru hummed in thought—it would probably be difficult for the Decepticons to clean all of that up.

Speaking of the Decepticons, the prisoner turned his helm away from the body, and towards the rest of the cell, when the voices were so close—and when the footsteps stopped.

They were all gathered together, peering into the cell curiously. From what he could gather, there at least has to be seven of them. He didn’t know any of their names, and he didn’t care about learning any of them.

“Dead?” The first asked, a hint of excitement in their voice.

“I think...”

“Maybe...”

“Could be a trick...?”

“I could go in and check?”

“We could finish him off if he isn’t.”

“Alright, shush!” The main Decepticon of the group huffed—he had already heard enough of the rest of the group.

“You.” Kieru watched as the main mech pointed to the Decepticon at the back of the group, who seemed to be a minibot. “Hand me your scanner, okay?”

The minibot nodded, opening her subspace and handing the taller mech some kind of scanner. He held the scanner up to the cell, and aimed it at the body—a green light going over him.

He seemed to inspect whatever the scanner said—or simply had shown—before looking at the rest of the group. “Dead.” The Decepticon nodded.

“Pay up!” The Decepticon who had first spoken cheered—holding out their servos in front of the others.

“They were betting? Of course. Why am I surprised...?” Kieru sighed. Betting was something that had happened constantly during his time here. It was quite annoying, really.

“Now, all of you, help me move this one’s body. I think he’ll be pretty heavy.” The leader commented, opening up the cell door, and entering. The others followed him in like ducklings.

“I am not! I’m pretty light!” The mech groaned in annoyance. They all might not have been able to hear or see him, but he still wanted to say it.

“Let’s take the body to the turbofoxes!” The minibot suggested with a chuckle. The rest were quick to nod, and reply in short comments of agreement.

“Okay. Okay.” The leader nodded as they all managed to lift the body up. “We’ll take the body to the turbofoxes, that’s a nice idea. But maybe we should keep something for ourselves as a reward.”

As the group headed out with his body, the ghost could see the minibot rip something off of it—a good chunk of one of his wings, it seemed? The leader did something similar, but instead of a wing, the Decepticon ripped off one of the body’s finials.

Once the group was long gone—once he didn’t hear any footsteps or chatter, Kieru finally stood up from where he had been laying, and left the cell after so long.

He wasn’t going to follow his body and the Decepticons—nobody would want to watch their body get torn apart and eaten by some turbofoxes. Dying that way would probably be much worse, though.

Instead, he was focusing on just getting out of this base. Despite having only really stayed in this cell for almost his whole stay here, Kieru still remembered where most other things were. From when he had been first brought here.

There were several exits, and he knew which one was the closest. Sure, maybe he could just go through a wall, and he’d be out much quicker—but was that even possible right now?

As he walked through the halls, he didn’t really notice any Decepticons or any prisoners around. There weren’t even that many cells around this area—and the ones he did notice were just empty.

Occasionally, sobbing, or screaming could be heard from somewhere. Unfortunately, that must have meant that someone was getting tortured somewhere nearby...

But there wasn’t anything that Kieru could do for any of them, so he just continued on his way.

The walk through the building felt surprisingly quick, and before long, he had finally found the exit.

He wouldn’t be able to enter the code that the door needed, but thanks to him finally deciding to see if he could go through things, he wouldn’t need to.

Thankfully, like a part of him guessed, the mech could successfully go through objects. That was nice. Otherwise, he’d probably just be stuck here.

There was another thing that Kieru was waiting to try and do, but he didn’t do it right away. He only decided to do it once he was pretty far away from that base—where nobody would spot him.

He allowed himself to create a physical form. Sure, he knew it was going to be a little difficult to keep up, that it would make him exhausted, that it would take a lot of his energy, but it was worth it.

As he continued on his way, he thought about a few things. He didn’t want to be an Autobot anymore, though he couldn’t exactly remove these insignias on him anymore—they were kind of permanently there.

Becoming a neutral sounded pretty nice... but he wasn’t just going to stay out of everything going on. If he needed to, he’ll fight. It wasn’t exactly like he had a life to lose anymore.

And, if he needed to help someone, then he would. But there were just so many times where he couldn’t do anything, where it was impossible, for one reason or another...

Continuing to wander, there was only one person on his mind. And he doubted the mech knew that he had died... it had only just happened. And, with this physical form, Kieru was going to keep it that way.

He wanted to find the mech... he needed to. He couldn’t just leave him behind. Kieru would eventually find him... he hoped, but he couldn’t help but wonder just how long that would take...

#Stories/Fics #Main OC: Kieru #Other OC’s: None #Character Death #Angst #Spinister is the one he’s searching for but his name isn’t mentioned in this #Transformers #IDW1/MTMTE

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deborahmessingsfingers · 3 years

Text

Mouth

pairings: bo burnham x female reader

word count: 2622

tags/warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, porn without plot, Dom!Bo, Sub!Reader, dom/sub, daddy kink (title only), rough oral sex, blowjobs, face-fucking, face slapping, spit kink, floor sex (kinda?), degrading names, humiliation, light bondage,

“Open your mouth whore.”

The door slammed behind the booming voice, heavy footsteps quickly making themselves known. You looked up from your book to see Bo storming towards you, and you slammed your book closed quickly in surprise.

“Wh-“ he didn’t let you finish a word before his hand was painfully grasping your hair by the roots, pulling you off the couch and throwing you onto the floor.

His hair was dangling in front of his face, the strands bouncing up and down aggressively with each laboured huff. You could tell he’d had a bad day, and your insides churned at the notion of him taking his stress out on you.

“I said, open. Your mouth. Whore.” Bo spat, furiously fiddling with his belt buckle. Still, you sat dumbfounded on the floor before him, looking up at him with wide, wild eyes. His belt was soon ripped from his jeans entirely and he crouched down to face you at eye level.

Your mouth was slightly agape, jaw chattering up and down in silent confusion, babbling noiseless questions to the seething man.

Not breaking eye contact for a moment, you felt his large hands painfully gather your wrists together and slip the belt loop over them, pulling the bond tight. You watched his jaw clench, almost hearing the sandy grinding of his teeth as you hissed in pain.

Once secured, Bo’s hands left your bonds to deliver a harsh blow to your face. The unexpected smack drew tears to your eyes and a shrill shriek erupted from your lips.

His left hand ascended to grab your face, index and thumb digging into your jaw to forcefully open your mouth. You could see his cheekbones define themselves as his tongue beckoned saliva from the back of his throat, and he harshly spit the contents into your mouth.

Bo’s fingers stayed firmly and painfully pressed into your jaw, you swallowed as much of his drivel as you could, but some of it slipped from your tongue, slowly dripping down to form a small puddle on the floor.

“You know the rules, pumpkin. Good little sluts don’t waste a drop,” his grip tightened, another piercing cry gushed from your throat, his face was so close you could almost feel the gravity of it pulling you closer, “lick it up, brat.”

Bo straightened his back and squared his chest, now seemingly towering over you. You had been quickly and violently thrown into subspace, your mind still babbling incoherently and unable to form words or process Bo’s commands.

He huffed, screwing his eyes shut as his head rolled back on his shoulders with a frustrated, sardonic laugh.

“God, I’d say I wanna fuck your brains out, but it’s clear you don’t have any left, cumdump,” his hand grabbed your hair again, pulling you back just enough to force eye contact, you could see the rage and desire swirling in his eyes, “I won’t ask again.”

“Lick it up.”

In a split, his hand forced your head down, your cheek colliding with the cold floor below you. You poked your tongue out meekly, straining against his grip to touch the tip of your tongue with the small pool of spit.

“Show me how much you want it, cunt. You wanna show me how much you want your Daddy’s cock, huh?”

A whimper left your mouth as you continued to jostle against his strong grip, your scalp burning as you wrestled against his grasp to lick the puddle.

You could feel one of his denim covered knees slightly press against the back of your head and when you lifted your eyes to look at him, all you could see was the brown suede of his shoes staring right back at you from only a few inches away.

You managed to mop up the drool. Well, you mostly just spread it out over the floor, but he seemed happy enough with your effort to release his grip again, slightly shoving your head in the process.

You groaned at the push, your skull mere inches away from making painful contact with the floor. As you recentred, you looked back up at him again to find him towering over you, chest heaving and jaw clenching.

“Now are you gonna be a good little cockwhore for your Daddy?” Bo asked, unbuttoning his jeans. Your head nodded furiously, throwing in a prompt ‘Yes Daddy’ as not to further anger him. You heard him chuckle again, butterflies erupting in your stomach at the sinister sound.

Bo’s hand reached inside his underwear, pulling out his painfully hard cock. You knew that all it took to get him going was seeing you writhing under his grip, following his command, but your eyes hazed over nonetheless, feeling a lump in your throat at the very sight of him.

Bo stepped closer, lazily jerking himself at the base. He bit his lip as he watched you stick your tongue out without question, something he had conditioned you to do from many similar situations that had occurred before.

“Oh you know just what to do, don’t you, Pumpkin?” he growled, his voice nasally and hoarse with desire. You looked up at him through your fog, nodding dutifully, tongue still hanging from your mouth.

You loved to see him like this. Towering over you, taking complete control of your autonomy. Bo was rough, but you trusted his authority without question and your heart swelled as he looked down at you in a moment of reverence.

“So good for me, baby” he pampered, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You leaned into his affection like a touch starved puppy, whining as you felt his hand leave your face. You straightened back up however as you felt him tap his cock against your face, partially waking you from your lovestruck haze.

“Open wide, little whore” he sing-songed, back to his cold, cruel facade.

You stuck your tongue out further and opened your jaw as wide as you could muster, eyebrows furrowing as you focussed all your might.

#bo burnham x reader #bo burnham smut #bo burnham x reader smut #bo burnham x female reader #bo burnham x female reader smut #bo burnham self insert #bo burnham self insert smut #bo burnham imagine #bo burnham imagine smut #bo burnham oneshot #bo burnham oneshot smut #z’s writing

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bts-hyperfixation · 3 years

Note

Hello! So, I would like to request a headcannon from you. How do you think each member of BTS would respond to their Lady Love being in a dom drop situation? Like I've said before, it isn't even funny how many people seem to think dom/mes never need a safe word nor have drops. Thus I am feeling a mighty need to see sub! BTS responding to that in their domme girlfriend or even just their not very submissive girlfriend. I will not lie, this need comes from unfollowing a total idiot who posted that if a dominant goes into drop or safe words it's because they aren't a real dom/me. 🤢

Anyway, thank you in advance if you choose to write it. 🌹

Namjoon - Is all about preventative measures. Will make you have regular conversations about what works for you. Exactly what he likes, how much pain he can take. How far into subspace he is willing to be pushed right now. Unfortunately sometimes drops are inevitable, when these happen he makes you recount the scene with him and figure out exactly where you started to lose faith in either yourself and him, then figure out if you need to put a new boundary in place to keep yourselves safe and loving.

Seokjin - Jin is very intuitive with others emotions, he can tell if something about your demeanor changes. If he thinks you are dropping during a scene he will Amber out and reassure you. Make sure you don't need to stop. If he feels you are lying to protect his High, he safewords for you. Switching to taking care of you. If its after a scene he will shower you in affirmations. Ensure you that all his needs and wants were taken care of and how good you were to him.

Yoongi - A man of few words. Insists on making you feel small for a little while. In a not quite little space way. Wants to show how well you took care of him by waiting on you hand and foot. Carrying you, having you sit in his lap, waiting for you to come around when you are ready to tell him, because he knows he doesn't have to ask.

Hoseok - Constantly prattling on to you. Refuses to leave you any space, even if that's what you think you need. A little selfish in his want to stay with you, but he needs that otherwise he thinks he did something awful. Eventually his chatter gets through to you so sit him down and give him softer orders to help him and yourself into a slower paced more vanilla end to your day. He likes to transition into taking care of you physically with oral and massages.

Jimin - Puts his praise kink into good use. Very vocal about how much he loves you, how well you treat him. Asks if you need anything from him, is very good at leaving you in peace if that is what you need, especially if he feels well cared for.

Taehyung - he will fetch things that you can use to take care of him and vis versa. Uses that to figure out what type of drop you are in. Knows that letting you rub scar cream or even just sudacrem on him will assuage your guilt enough to have a conversation. And if he works out he went too far, he puts on a comfort film and fetches your favourite food. He will then ask how else he could help you

Jungkook - Panics a little. Thinks he did something wrong. Does his best not to show his panic cause he knows it will make you drop further. For this reason he tends to press himself against your back to hide those doe eyes of his. Wraps you in his arms and litters kisses along your shoulders, whispering occasionally to reassure you in how he is feeling.

Submit here!

Masterlist

#yoongi reaction #namjoon reaction #seokjin reaction #bts reaction #jungkook reaction #taehyung reaction #jimin reaction #hoseok reaction #bts fic #bts smut

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gureishi · 3 years

Text

Aha, a fic absolutely nobody asked for! I wrote this purely to appease myself, but perhaps somebody else will get some pleasure out of it, too?

Saeyoung X Reader, Rating: E (BDSM: dom Saeyoung, sub f!reader; discipline; protocols; honorifics; subspace); Words: 5236

set me on fire

A crucial disclaimer: This fic is a depiction of a consensual dom/sub dynamic. Please know that I am absolutely not an expert on BDSM or kink in general! I write, as always, from a combination of experience and research; you should never read anything I write and think, “Ah! It must always be this way!” Please do your own research~ And, of course, skip this one if these aren’t topics you wanna read about! <3

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The slip of paper feels unsettlingly solid as you draw it out of the box, hold it with trembling fingers. The curvy scrawl on it is your own—though right now, you hardly recognize it.

“Show me,” he says; his voice is lower than usual, eyes hard as he watches you. You aren’t supposed to talk, so you hold it up to him wordlessly—you don’t miss the way he swallows (hard, almost audible) or the way his breath hitches in his throat. He rips the piece of paper from your hand; a thrill runs up your spine.

He chuckles as he reads the paper, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Is this even a punishment?” he asks, his tone teasing. You can feel his intense gaze on the back of your neck. “I feel like you’ll enjoy this too much.”

You’re on the ground at his feet, naked except for the cuffs around your ankles. You shake your head, which is all you’re supposed to do, in this scene; he kneels, using one finger to tilt your face roughly upward.

“Will you enjoy it?” he purrs; oh, and he’s really asking, that familiar sparkle of Saeyoung in his eyes beneath the pretense. You bite your lip, nodding; feeling yourself floating away again, the ground disappearing beneath you at the feeling of his fingers—now sliding down to grip your throat, stinging where you’re already bruised.

You gesture with one hand, the signal to ask permission to talk; he cocks his head to the side, considering it. Even now, you notice the way his hair falls messily to the side—he’s tried to tame it, but it springs free so easily, curls falling across his forehead. He’s cute, you think—wondering, with a little thrill of desire, what sort of punishment you’d get if you told him that.

“Fine,” he says dismissively, letting go of you. Oh, but you want his fingers around your neck; you shift toward him and he smirks, knowing this.

“Can I…?” You reach for him, a little unsteady with your ankles bound like this. Your fingers skim over his erection, through his pants, and he hisses.

“You already broke one rule,” he mutters, low and throaty (and he sounds nothing like himself, and everything like himself; his eyes are like fire). “Do you really want to break another one?” “No,” you murmur, letting your fingers fall. The cardboard box on the floor beside you, full of the punishment slips you’d started writing out months ago (and there are still so many in there: things you’ve already forgotten, ideas that absolutely terrify and delight you) seems to stare at you too: full of promise and intimidation.

“Now, kitten.” He’s kneeling again, on your level, fingers—yes!—gripping your throat, his other hand dancing tantalizingly over your thigh. “You came before I said you could once. Are you gonna be good for me this time?”

“Y-yes,” you pant, your thighs trembling as his coarse fingertips part them.

“Good kitty,” he whispers hoarsely; his fingers tighten around your throat—just the right amount, making stars burst before your eyes. “You’d better.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Later, he holds you in the bathtub, fingertips rubbing gentle circles on your sore shoulders. You’re wrapped up in smells: his familiar spicy-sweet fragrance, and the lavender bubbles, the rose-scented candle—you’re finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

“You with me, babe?” He dips his head, pressing his lips to your shoulder. You twist to smile sleepily into his face.

“I feel…soft,” you say, which is true; so often, after you play like this, you feel like your brain has melted—it feels sloshy inside your head, like everything’s not quite where it’s supposed to be. You love this feeling—and sometimes it takes hours for it to fade, for you to settle comfortably back into your body. Baths help; his firm back behind your head, and his gentle hands on your tight muscles, help too.

“You wanna go to bed?” he murmurs; his fingers part your hair, working through it—it’s damp but not wet, and you’ll have to wash it tomorrow, but you don’t mind—the way he brushes through it calms your racing heart. “Or do you wanna stay here a little longer?”

“Stay here,” you murmur, letting your head fall back onto his chest. He wraps both arms around you, pressing his lips to your temple. His hand, hazy and indistinct under the water, reminds you of the slip of paper; a memory swims to the forefront of your mind as though through honey. “Oh!” you say—louder than you meant to, startling him a little. “The punishment! When are we gonna do it?”

He laughs, and it makes your whole body tingle.

“Well,” he says, drawing out the single syllable—there’s a touch of the version of him you saw in the scene earlier, as he considers it. Then he settles—your regular, sweet boy, soft lips moving against your cheek: “We have Zen’s play tomorrow,” he says.

“At the play?” you squeak. Your friends will be there—you’ll be exposed. Vulnerable.

“It’s one of those outdoor Shakespeare things,” he says, brushing your your back, kissing your earlobe. “So it’ll feel pretty, uh…relaxed. If you wanted to, you know. Try it then.”

Ah, what a difference between the man who’d loomed over you earlier—hard eyes, cold face—and your sweet, blushing boyfriend, stumbling over his words. But they are the same—god, you adore him more than words can describe.

“Yes,” you say—feeling the way he squirms beneath you, thrilled by your enthusiasm. “Okay. Yes. I want to.”

He’s got your earlobe between his lips; for a moment, you feel his teeth, excitingly sharp. Your eyes flutter shut; he’s pulled back in an instant, tucking your head under his chin again, feathering soft kisses over your brow.

“Good,” he whispers. “I can’t wait.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

As soon as you see your friends rushing chaotically toward you—Jaehee and Yoosung in the front, Jumin lingering behind—you realize that this will be much more difficult than you’d anticipated.

Yoosung throws his arms around you, and you hug him back—mentally, you run through the protocols, pretty sure there’s nothing in there about hugs. He’s chattering excitedly and you don’t quite hear, peeking at Saeyoung through Yoosung’s hair. He raises his eyebrows—daring you to.

No speaking without permission—you know.

Yoosung’s hand, on your back, brushes against the edge of the harness you’ve got on—hidden by a t-shirt and a sweater; still, the leather straps are firm and stiff enough to be noticeable. You flinch, shifting away from him.

“Oh!” he says, big eyes taking in your strange posture. “You okay?”

Frantically, you give Saeyoung the signal, a casual little flick of your fingers. He pauses, thinking; it feels, for a moment, that everyone’s eyes are on you (though you know they aren’t). Your cheeks flush.

Finally, he nods.

“Yes!” you gasp, realizing you haven’t spoken since leaving the house earlier. “Sorry, just got the shivers for a second.”

Yoosung, thankfully, doesn’t question this—and you greet the others with smiles. Saeyoung lays a hand at the small of your back—a gentle reminder of the rules (as if you needed one). You bite your bottom lip, grateful that your friends are loud—grateful that Saeyoung can answer for you (nice, general questions, like “how have you been?” and “how was the drive here?”—easy, not requiring any particular response from you).

Jaehee ushers you over to a blanket she’s already set out on the grass—close to the stage, of course; she’s explaining that she’s seen the play once already, that she’s picked the best angle to catch all of Zen’s entrances. Someone has brought lawn chairs, though you’re relieved to see Jaehee and Yoosung sink directly onto the blanket, on either side of the picnic basket. Sitting below him is part of the game, and you’re not sure how it would look to the others if you were the only one on the ground. You feel your cheeks flushing again and you take a deep breath, nervously lifting your hair off your neck—which feels hot and a little sticky. The harness is tight underneath your clothes—the perfect size, bruising your skin as you shift.

Jumin is saying something about the quality of the set that makes the others laugh; you don’t quite hear him because Saeyoung comes up behind you, chest against your back—one hand slides into the front pocket of your jeans and his breath is hot on your ear.

“You gonna make it?” he murmurs; he’s got that rough voice on, just for you—so different from the sweet way he speaks to the others. You grit your teeth as a little spark of desires flares within you; he doesn’t miss the way you subtly try to rub your legs together, the small, silent moan that escapes your lips.

You give him the tiniest nod, showing him you’re good, you’re here, you’re in it—you don’t want him to stop. He grins, fingers wiggling inside your jeans pocket, making your breath stutter.

“You’re doing good, little kitten,” he whispers. For a moment, he presses against your back, and rainbows swim in front of your vision; for one wild second, you want to throw all the rules out the window, spin around and tackle him to the ground right here. The thought alone is thrilling.

Your vision clears and he’s pulled away; you don’t miss the wicked glint in his eyes, but it’s gone an in instant. And then he’s skipping ahead, unfolding one of the lawn chairs—seemingly berating Yoosung about something, a big grin on his face.

As unobtrusively as you can, you take a seat on the blanket, between Jaehee and Yoosung—right at the foot of Saeyoung’s chair, of course, where you’re supposed to be. You feel eyes on your back and spin; Saeran’s watching, a curious expression on his face. He never asked why you were so quiet in the car (of course he didn’t)—he would never ask what you’re playing at, what sort of strange scheme you’ve concocted. He looks away, shaking his head the tiniest bit; he lives with you, after all. He doesn’t not know.

You bite your lip, feeling embarrassed again. The harness feels impossibly bulky under your clothes, all of a sudden—obvious, like everyone can see it. You tug at your sweater, trying to focus on your friends’ conversation. The sun is setting, casting an otherworldly glow over the stage. The harder you try to listen to your friends’ voices—or the scenery, or the soft blanket beneath you—the more distracted you feel by the heat that’s building between your legs. As discretely as you can, you try to adjust, the friction of your jeans and underwear giving you the tiniest hint of relief.

Oh, but there’s a hand on your shoulder; you turn, gazing up at him—and he’s not looking at you at all—he’s saying something to the group at large, smiling—but his grip is firm and definitive. He’s telling you no.

So you try to sit still. He taps your shoulder twice with his index finger before pulling it away—good job. These signals are thrilling at home—a delightful way to communicate without words, a secret code that makes your mind feels sparkly—but in public, it’s something else entirely. Your heart is pounding so hard you’re certain your friends can hear it; your legs twitch, heat pooling low in your belly. You’re wet already, you can tell—embarrassingly so, just from the harness under your clothes; just from staying quiet for him. You wish he knew—you’d love to see the look on his face.

You take a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. You’re not sure how you’re going to make it through a whole play, in this state.

Jaehee’s voice drifts through the glittery haze you feel and you shake your head, trying to clear your clouded mind. You raise your eyebrows and she repeats herself (and thank god for Jaehee, you think—she doesn’t ask any questions like why aren’t you talking? or why are you making that kind of face? If she knows what’s going on, she doesn’t say so).

“The first scene is the best one,” she says, eyes shining; there’s a woman sitting on the edge of the stage now, bare feet hanging over the edge, strumming an acoustic guitar. “Just wait until you see what he’s wearing.”

You open your mouth to speak—forgetting, for a moment, the situation you’re in—and immediately feel Saeyoung’s hand on your shoulder again, squeezing. You look up at him and he tilts his head to the side: a warning. The heat is building inside you again—for a split second, there’s that hard look in his eyes, the one that’s normally reserved for private moments at home. You can’t resist: you squeeze your legs together, biting your lip. You know he sees; he exhales shakily, conscious of how turned on you already are.

You realize you haven’t answered Jaehee—and you can’t, of course. His warning signal was clear; the confusion makes your head spin deliciously. You squeeze your thighs tighter, unable to stop them from trembling; you wiggle your shoulders, trying to focus your attention on the way the straps of the harness burn as you rub against them.

Jaehee (bless her) has started attempting to explain the plot of the play to Saeran, who looks only mildly interested. Saeyoung asks her a question and the sound of his voice (even this version of him—bright and friendly) makes your toes curl. Perhaps his enthusiastic demeanor—so distinct from the persona he’s put on for the game you’re playing—actually escalates your excitement; it’s the thrill of the pretense, the almost unbearable delight of keeping a secret.

Then Jaehee is shushing everybody; the woman with the guitar stands; the lighting on the stage shifts (and it’s so well-timed, you think: the sun is just sinking behind the trees, the first stars coming out). She leans over, whispers that you should watch the stage right door for Zen’s first entrance; her shoulder brushes yours, and again you flinch—terrified she’ll feel the harness (delighted by your fear).

Your phone buzzes. All your senses heightened, you jump, grabbing it. Your heart does a little flip when you see his name—oh, but he’s so calm, sitting behind you, leaning forward a little to peer at the stage (for all the world attentive to the play). But you know better.

“Little blue building to the right of the entrance. Go,” says his text. You peek at him, but he isn’t looking at you. Just as you’re getting to your feet, his hand shoots out—and his fingers dip into your back pocket, and he’s placing something there, a tiny smile dancing over his lips.

You’re sure your whole body is flushed. You feel a little light-headed as you stand, edging backwards so nobody notices the obvious lump in your pocket—and you’re pretty sure you know what it is; you’re embarrassingly on edge, obviously aroused. You don’t want to know what your face looks like right now, but you can imagine.

Only Yoosung sees you slipping away, and he turns, raising his eyebrows quizzically. You see Saeyoung lean forward and mutter something to him; then you’ve turned and you’re jogging, then running, making your way through the crowd of spectators on lawn chairs and picnic blankets, vision blurring as you make your way to the little blue building.

It’s not hard to find, positioned conveniently near the entrance to the park. There are five doors along the front: single occupancy bathrooms (you wonder hazily, as you pick the one on the far right and tug the door open with shaky hands, if he looked this up beforehand, or if he just noticed the building on the way in. Both are plausible).

Locking the door behind you, you breathe a huge sigh of relief. Your legs feel like jelly; you can feel your clit, swollen and hot, practically throbbing through your jeans. Your phone buzzes—and again you jump, your entire body on high alert.

“Tell me when you’re there,” he says.

“Here,” you text back with shaky fingers.

Instantly, you feel something vibrating in your back pocket, and you almost yell aloud; you pull out the little silicone vibrator, unable to stifle a small moan.

He’s typing again; urgently, you unbutton your jeans, sliding a finger down over your underwear. Your mind feels thick; thoughts languid, drunken.

“You know what to do with it,” he texts.

You exhale shakily, full of relief. He’s controlling the toy with his phone—you can picture him easily, eyes trained on the stage, fiddling with his phone (held discretely in one hand). Your friends are used to him doing this: always typing, checking something, his attention a million places at once.

Oh, but if they only knew what he was doing with his phone at this very moment; the thoughts makes your knees almost give out, and you steady yourself with a hand on the wall of the dark little bathroom stall.

He’s got the vibrator on a low setting—it’s an unbelievable relief, to finally get the stimulation you’ve been craving since the game began: since you got in the car, lips shut tight, harness rubbing deliciously against your bare skin beneath your shirt.

You hiss as the pressure changes: he’s turned it up, and your hips twitch forward against your will; you’re panting—your head feels like it’s floating about a foot above your body, glittery white clouds closing in around the edges of your vision.

He texts again and you have to try three times to read it: your eyes won’t quite focus, and the heat inside has almost overwhelmed you entirely.

“Tell me if you get close,” he says. God, and you picture his face: the little half-smile as he (ah!) increases the pressure again, making the little toy buzz harder against you. Your hands shake as you try to hold it to yourself, clenching your legs together. Oh, but the clouds are edging closer: you can’t feel your feet and you know you’re gasping out loud, a painful sort of pleasure threatening to tear you apart.

He’s texting again and you grit your teeth, trying your best to read: “I bet everyone knows what you’re doing in there,” he says; and you’re sure he’s smiling now, that slow, lazy grin that’s only for you.

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god oh—

“Almost,” you text him frantically, legs shaking hopelessly, stars dancing before your eyes; and you pray that he’ll let you come: you’re desperate to dive over that edge, feel the relief, that blissful, magical—

The buzzing stops.

“Good girl,” he texts. “Come back now.”

And you knew, of course—knew this was part of the punishment all along, expected it—but still, you feel hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes, desperation coiling within you as you obediently tug your jeans back up. You hiss as you button them—you’re so sensitive, wet and swollen, on the very cusp of orgasm. You slip the vibrator back into your pocket, groaning at the friction of your underwear against your raw clit as you shift the tiniest bit; the smallest thing, you think, could push you over the edge right now—you’re afraid you’ll come instantly if you try to walk.

But you can’t: that’s the whole point.

You feel that everyone’s eyes are on you as you stumble out of the bathroom: back through the crowds of people, using his bright hair to guide you toward your group. You make your way slowly, breath shallow, legs wobbly as you try to push back the desire bubbling inside you. And you were right, walking makes it worse: the harness chafes against your chest and your underwear rubs in all the right places; you have to pause twice to catch your breath, stilling your racing heart, pushing back the burning feeling inside as firmly as you can.

Your friends are watching the stage when you get back; Jaehee was right, you think vaguely, Zen’s costume is excellent—and it’s only once you’ve awkwardly curled yourself onto the blanket that Saeyoung leans forward, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

“You did as I asked, right, kitten?”

His whisper makes your blood sizzle in your veins. Carefully, and as discretely as you can, you nod; you feel his intense eyes taking in your obvious arousal: the way your thighs are still shaking a little, the uncomfortable way you’re sitting, thighs pressed tight together. He makes a soft little sound: almost a groan, low in his throat.

“God,” he purrs in your ear, “Don’t look so desperate for me, or I won’t be able to hold back.”

Please, you want to moan—please don’t hold back.

You nod, eyes lowered; you feel like you’re floating in a thick liquid, every cell in your body full of electricity, limbs almost numb with desperation. He pulls back—once again, his attention seems to be elsewhere (though you know it’s all on you—it always is).

You bite your lip, peeking at the paper program that’s open on the ground before you. Five acts: oh no.

The little flame at your core blazes. You hiss, quietly as you can, squeezing your legs together. Five acts—maybe two hours. You can do this.

He leans forward again, one finger pressing into your back, between your collar bones—right onto the strap of the harness. Another warning: stay still.

You can do this—you think you can.

God, you hope so.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By the end of the play, you’re a complete wreck. You feel almost drunk: mind cloudy, legs unsteady as you scramble to your feet. Someone suggests waiting for Zen, going out for drinks together; Saeyoung takes one look at you (and you know how you must look: unfocused eyes and flushed cheeks) and tells the group that you’ll have to do it another time.

Luckily, your friends’ general enthusiasm overshadows the state you’re in. You sway as you walk and Saeyoung catches you, sliding one strong arm around your waist.

“You good?” he whispers in your ear; and the fingers that brush your hair off your sweaty forehead are gentle; the act is gone for a moment, his expression concerned as he presses a hand to your cheek—rough fingers on burning skin.

You nod vaguely, leaning on him for support as you trail behind your friends. Again, you feel Saeran’s eyes on you—observing, curious. Still, he doesn’t say anything, and you silently thank him for that.

“You sure? Gimme a color, please.” He steers you toward the exit, hand steady on your waist.

“G-green,” you mutter, startled by how hoarse your voice sounds. He grins; there’s that look in his eyes again, hard and commanding.

“You’ve done so well, sweetheart,” he whispers; his breath in your ear just worsens the situation: it’s like there’s a burning coal in you now, sitting hot and heavy in your stomach. You tremble and he laughs softly.

He handles the farewells; you hear him explaining away your silence, telling the others that you’ve been sick (you haven’t), that you’re getting over it—that you need to rest. You offer cursory hugs to your friends, cheeks hot, body stiff. Saeyoung helps you into the back seat, fingers lingering a little too long on your thigh. Your head swims—his touch feels like an electric shock.

He plays music on the way home; Saeran sits in the passenger seat, and nobody minds the silence. It’s not so strange for the three of you to ride quietly, the stereo loud, the windows rolled down. The breeze cools your burning cheeks.

Time unfurls strangely: you’re on the highway; no, now you’re in the garage; and he’s helping you out of the car, a steady hand at the small of your back; the bunker swims in and out of focus as he leads you inside—Saeran is saying something, disappearing into the living room—Saeyoung is speaking to his brother, his voice soft—and you’re in your bedroom, the door shutting with a definitive click behind you.

“So,” he says. He’s let go of you know, looking you up and down. You try to stand straight for him; your mind feels like it’s full of cotton balls (wonderful) and the hot coals inside you have dissolved into molten lava. “You did amazing, baby,” he murmurs. He comes closer, slipping a hand around your waist—his touch is gentler now, his eyes melting.

You nod weakly and he grins.

“You can talk now,” he says; he moves closer, closer—oh, and you feel a distinct and familiar pressure against your thigh. You wonder how long he’s been hard, aroused as he’s watched you—hiding it expertly, masking his desperation with the bright persona he’s curated so carefully.

“Thank you,” you pant.

“Was there something you wanted to do, kitten?” His fingers dance over your waist; he’s unhooking the button of your jeans, laughing as you pant, keening, hips rocking desperately forward.

“Can I—please—please—will you let me come now?” you gasp, hardly knowing what you’re saying. You picture glitter raining down from the ceiling, silver and shiny and cool on your skin.

“Is that what you want?” he purrs. He walks you back, pushing you gently onto the bed. You give in entirely, letting your body melt as he adjusts you: sliding you up so you’re on your back, head comfortably cushioned by the pile of pillows.

“God, I…Saeyoung…please.”

“Say no more.”

He tugs at your jeans, pulling them down your legs in one swift motion. Then he’s crawling onto the bed beside you, sliding one hand under your shirt to feel the smooth leather straps of the harness. Through hazy eyes you see the way he’s panting, pupils dilating; he slips your underwear off, tossing it aside. Then he’s tugging up your shirt, pressing his lips to your stomach—nibbling, sucking, marking you where you’re already bruised.

As you cry out, he slips one finger between your legs, pressing gently against your impossibly overstimulated clit. He groans as he feels how wet you are; he moves his finger against you, slowly at first, and you feel that the glitter is pouring harder, faster, pooling around you—overwhelming you, carrying you away.

“Already right on the edge, aren’t you, little one?”

You moan, fingers scrabbling hopelessly against the sheets, hips shaking uncontrollably as he flits his finger over you—finally, finally giving you what you need, fanning the flames, letting the fire burn rampant through your muscles.

He shoves the harness aside roughly, bites down where your skin is red and raw; and his finger moves faster, faster—

—and the fire rages, the glitter falls—

—stars burst, the world ends—

And, at last—god, thank god—you’re pushed over the edge, gasping out his name as your whole body shakes; he restrains you with a hand on your hip; and all you can see is the burning look in his eyes as you tremble through it, panting and gasping; falling to pieces.

You’re still shuddering as he presses his lips to your jaw, mutters in a low voice: “You are amazing, my love.”

“Saeyoung,” you say in a voice that’s reedy and thin. “Fuck me.”

He grins—and there’s pure delight on his face now. His eyes flow as he bounces off the bed, tearing off his pants with remarkable speed.

“If you insist.”

You gasp as he flips you over; you lay face-first on the bed, legs straight out behind you, and he slides a pillow under your hips. His hands are in your hair then, tugging it, lifting it off your back—then you feel his weight on your thighs, as he presses against your entrance.

“Please,” you murmur again; and he slides into you, roughly, both hands on your waist—your face is shoved hard into the mattress and it’s difficult to breathe; he groans as he rocks into you, tugging at your hair, nails on your scalp.

You can feel from the way his hips shake that he’s been pushed to the edge too—unravelled by the danger, the expectation, the delight of watching you fall apart. And he’s praising you, murmuring your name, whispering his adoration as he rocks into you—faster, faster.

He pulls out of you, flipping you around so you’re facing him; his fingers curl under the harness, eyes widening as he takes you in: you feel dizzy, swollen, sparkly; little; safe.

Then he’s inside you again and you weakly lift your legs, wrapping them around his waist, pulling him closer. His countenance is softening now, the scene melting away as he meets your eyes. Often he needs this: the eye contact, the tenderness, as the character he’s been inhabiting fades away.

“I love you,” he murmurs, rocking into you slowly now, a hand on your cheek, sweet gold eyes on your face.

“Love you,” you gasp, pulling him in for a kiss. His hips stutter; his shoulders shake—he comes, shivering in your arms as you move your lips against his, tongue darting out to taste him, fingers curling in his hair.

And for a moment, you stay like this: he collapses against you, your arms tight around him, his breathing unsteady.

Finally, he pulls away. He grabs a towel, gently cleans you off, a little smile playing across his lips.

“Uh, wow,” he says—and this is Saeyoung again: voice soft, eyes adoring—“that was something.”

You laugh, shaking your head. He moves closer, unhooking the harness with nimble fingers. You wince as he slips it off; your skin feels raw.

“I saw glitter fall from the ceiling,” you tell him. He’s still moving, grabbing the cream you use for bruises from the windowsill, dipping a finger into it.

“Is that a good thing?” he asks you.

“Very much yes.”

His fingers are soft as he rubs the cream onto your chest, tracing the red lines the harness has left behind. He presses his lips to your shoulder: warm and tender.

“I feel a little bad for our friends,” you say, and he grins, hair falling messily into his eyes.

“I honestly don’t think they noticed a thing.”

“I know that was technically a punishment,” you say thoughtfully, brushing his hair back off his forehead, “but, uh…”

“You wanna do that again sometime?” he asks, perking up. “Cause I definitely wanna do that again. I have another idea, where we can…”

“Later, baby.” You pull him to you and he sighs, settling in your arms, head on your chest. “But yes. Yes, I absolutely want to do that again.”

He kisses the your shoulder, where a small purple bruise is already forming.

“I adore every version of you, and every single thing you say and do,” he whispers, voice like melted chocolate. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” you say. You kiss his lips, gentle as a summer wind. “Same goes for you.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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