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𝜗𝜚 You’ve never really questioned where Megumi gets the money for his nice apartment from as a simple veterinary student. Until you’re scrolling through a camboy website late at night and realise- huh, isn’t that your name he’s whimpering under his breath? And, what would he sound like saying it in real life?
content: smut, camboy!Megumi, friends to lovers, closeted perv Megumi, male masturbation (a lot), female masturbation, edging, WHIMPERING, moaning, rambling, gooner!Megs lowk, pillow humping, overstimulation, dirty talk, teasing, humilation (a little), messy makeouts, dry humping, fingers in mouths, nippleplay, NURSING HANDJOBS, multiple orgasms, happy trails, praise, pet names (good boy, baby, etc), missionary, creampies, oral (f receiving), he eats his cum out of you, choking him w your thighs, crying, aftercare, happy endings
wc: 4.5k
a/n: eek! this is my treat to you all for 9k <33 I really cannot thank you all enough <33!!
more like this
Your day so far has been terrible. Worse than terrible, like you burnt down a village in the eleventh century and now you’re being forced to reap the consequences in painful modernity. Firstly, your lecture was so boring you actively fell asleep at your seat and a girl had to nervously poke you awake with a pencil before you tripped over your own feet in a bid to get out as quickly as possible; then, a car drove through a puddle and splashed you with muddy water, and finally your shoes rubbed through your socks and now you have a fresh blister. It's rubbing against the heel of your shoe with every painful step, and you grimace as it stings.
All you want to do is go back to your dorm, slather yourself in bubbly bodywash, moisturise and pass out in your cosy bed. Unfortunately, you’re pre-booked into a movie night with your best friend, but you’re sure he wouldn’t mind if you cancelled, right? Megumi’s always been understanding, after all.
“Hi Megs!” You say into your phone- he picked up on the third ring, how punctual of him- “I’m super sorry about this, but I’ve just had an awful day and I can’t come over. I’m sorry!”
“It’s fine.” He says back, voice crackling over the speaker. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon instead, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you smile, “thanks!”
On the other side of campus, Megumi Fushiguro is annoyed. Significantly. Because now you aren’t coming over, how is he supposed to indulge in those little squeaky gasps you let out at a scare and wrap his arms around you when you jump into them?
Not that he’s perverted, or anything, though.
Okay, maybe he is a little perverted, but that’s between him and… well, his tens of thousands of nightly viewers that pay to watch him fist his cock stupid.
Yes, tens of thousands- the view count climbing as he goes stupider and stupider, his eyes twitching closed above the field the camera offers to the strangers watching him get off. Sometimes they send in donations, begging for him to edge himself just a little longer or pinch his nipples. He’s surprised you didn’t think he had a side gig going, considering how many little trinkets and gifts he buys for you.
And he’s worked up enough already over your recent post; god, he tries so so hard not to look because he feels awful, but when he catches a glimpse of your thighs in a bikini on his feed he’s so gone he can’t help but mewl into his palm as the other slicks his cock. This week, you’ve posted a cutely curated set of your recent outings- and Megumi finds himself scrolling through the snaps of stray cats, foamy coffees, and study sessions to a selfie.
In the picture, you’re wearing a cute little tank top- and all Megumi can think about is how soft the sliver of your tits the photo affords him looks; how he wants to stuff his face between them and drool (he’s doing that already, saliva pooling in his mouth) while you pet his hair from above.
And so he finds himself setting up his camera to face the chair he’s slumped on, cock straining and leaking impatiently against his boxers as he wrangles his sweats to the floor; all it takes is a few taps of his keyboard, and he’s live.
His hand palms over the bulge in his underwear, watching the way pre dampens the cotton as the first donations already start flowing in. But he doesn’t care about that, not right now, as he has your post pulled up on his monitor and zoomed in pervertedly to the dip of cleavage in your tank top.
If Megumi was happy to let you stay at your dorm, you’re practically thrilled. Honestly, getting yourself off wasn’t part of your intended plan, but the seam of your underwear caught just right as you slipped into bed and now your fingers are carding messily through your own slick.
Your other hand, the one not circling your clit, is scrolling lazily on your phone through a live camboy website of all things. You can’t even find it within yourself to be ashamed, not when you’re being offered such a glorious array of whining men jerking into their hands.
“Nope,” you breathe, flicking past somebody in too-clear, pristine, professional lighting. “No…” you grimace again, ignoring the advert at the bottom of your screen telling you to ‘meet hot singles now!’
God, is there anything good on here?
Actually, you think surprisedly, landing on a slightly gritty livestream of somebody cracking out breathy moans through the occasional whine, maybe there is. It's like audio porn, but even better, because you know he's actually getting himself off, thick globules of pre snaking over his clenched knuckles while his other hand runs teasingly over his chest and pectorals.
Your index finger presses down onto your clit, applying enough pressure to make your hips lift a little off the bed as your thighs twitch restlessly. “Oh,” you moan to yourself, “mhm-“
On screen, the faceless camboy is repeatedly drawing his hand away from his poor, sensitive tip to watch the way his cock spurts out pre and soaks the messy happy trail crawling across his abs. “Hah, fuck-“ he whimpers, hips fucking into the air, “fuuccckk, feels good, hck-“
Oh, you think hazily, two fingers fucking into yourself, he’s gone totally stupid.
Nice!
He keeps rambling, the microphone picking it up. “Ohhhhmygod,” he slurs, “miss you. You’re so pretty, miss you s’bad…”
You pause, fingers buried knuckle-deep into your own cunt. Hold on- you recognise that voice. It sounds eerily similar. Your brows pinch in concentration as you rake through the people you know; nobody from your lectures, nobody you’ve spoken to in passing, nobody. You’ve been through everybody- well, not everybody.
Megumi.
“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself, grabbing your phone and sitting upright, “no fucking way.”
The camboy has a catalogue of previous livestreams pinned on his profile, ranging in length from hours-long edging sessions to quick bursts of videos he must’ve spontaneously recorded in a bathroom or another public space that you really shouldn’t be camboying from.
The phone is obviously slung in his hand, his other set of fingers stroking across his abs before pinching the tip of his cock. The noise he lets out hits the microphone sexily, so sexily it makes your thighs snap together.
The first full video you click on is a landscape view. The bedroom is dark and fuzzy, grainy footage showing his whole, naked body (but not his face) as he spreads himself out rather prettily on top of his sheets. The man’s back is arched slightly as he humps into a pillow, his eyes no doubt rolling back in his skull if you go by the noises he’s making.
“Hnngh-“ he whimpers, cock buried within the plush cotton of the pillowcase, “oh fuck, it still smells like y-you-“ he’s rambling, “smells so good, so gooood, fuck, feel so bad-“ your cheeks are hot. That’s definitely Megumi’s bedroom, you’d recognise that neat pile of veterinary textbooks on the shelf anywhere; but, that isn’t his pillow.
It’s yours.
“Can’t help myself, feels too good-“ he pants, mouth muffled against the bed as he desperately grinds his pelvis down. “Wish it was you,” he moans as he cums, hips stuttering against the soft material.
It’s definitely yours, the one you accidentally left at his dorm a few weeks ago after you slept on his couch with freshly-washed hair and the smell of your shampoo seeped into the pillow. “Holy shit.” You mutter to yourself, entranced with the way Megumi’s moaning stupidly about how good it smells on camera to thousands of strangers.
Thousands of horny strangers, as evidenced by the comments.
> Oh my god his whines
> I’m so wet rnnnn ughhghgh
> THE RAMBLING FUCKKKK
You know it’s him, definitely- but you can never have enough proof. At least, that’s the excuse you use to justify why you’re salivating over a lewd video of him wrapping his shaky fingers around his base and tugging. “I wish it was you-“ he breathes, “wish you were here.”
Surely he isn’t talking about you, is he? At least, that’s what you’re trying to tell yourself as you turn up your volume and your brightness simultaneously. “Fuck, you looked so good earlier,” he rambles to himself, occasionally cutting off his own train of thought as his fingers pull harshly. “I wanted you to fuck me so badly it hurt.”
He moans loudly, cracking at the end. “So badly, ngh-“
You’re shocked, honestly, sitting in bed as your best friend whimpers himself to an orgasm. You don’t realise he’s cumming until you hear him whine and his back practically arches away from the chair he’s in, shoving his slick tip towards the camera, and oh, he looks so pretty. His abs get a firm splattering, dripping messily across the sweaty skin, before he shakily drags a hand through the white. Then, the video ends, and you’re left to stunned silence and your own soaked gusset. And, of course, the comments.
> WHOOO is he talking about
> He’s so messy
> nghh his happy trail is sosoooso hot
You can barely face speaking to him the next day, nervously curled up on the opposite side of his couch and anxiously worrying your lip between your teeth. Lest you blurt out something along the lines of “I saw the video of you whimpering and humping my pillow and I had to take a cold shower afterwards”, you take a shaky sip of your water instead.
Now you’re back at Megumi’s place, you’re really registering how much money he must make from camboying. There’s nothing broken, not even little things like the window latches that, at your dorm, have a nasty habit of getting stuck closed in summer. And his clothes are nice too, in a subtle way- casual, but definitely made from a comfy blend of materials that polyester is nowhere near.
Your one saving grace is, dizzingly, that now you know he wants you too- and it’s maybe that (or the lack of sleep) that carries your next words out of your mouth.
“You know you can speak to me about anything, right, Megs?”
“Yeah?” He side eyes you, running a pale hand through his spiky hair. You squint. “Like, anything.”
He nods slowly. “Uh, yeah?”
“Oh, okay,” you say, “so when were you gonna tell me you make your money from being a camboy?”
Megumi freezes. His whole body tenses up on the couch and he looks rather nauseous.
“What?”
You shift into your hands and knees in front of him on the couch, slowly crawling towards his stilled body. “Don’t pretend,” you say, voice dropping into something a little breathy and very evil. Your fingers lightly drift across his thigh, and Megumi jolts. “I saw. That was my pillow, wasn’t it?”
His cheeks go redder than you think you’ve ever seen them- but he’s still silent, processing the fact that you know he fucks his hand every night on camera while whimpering your name. “I’m sorry,” he manages finally, voice thick, “I’m so, so sorry, I just- fuck-“
He dares a glance up, and almost chokes on his own spit. You look sorry for him, a little sad at how panicked he is; your eyes are big and round and, most of all, trusting, and it makes him feel hot. Mortification washes over him when he feels the blood previously flooding his face rush southwards, his sweats filling out the longer you pity him.
Honestly, he thinks he just wants you to take care of him. Maybe that’s why he’s spent so long begging on livestreams, cock buried in your scent or the fingers he wishes were yours.
“Admit it,” you whisper suddenly with a fresh burst of confidence at his blushing, your mouth hovering dangerously close to his. “You like this. Me pitying you.”
Megumi’s breath shudders loudly, his eyes screwed up as he gulps. Say it, Megumi! Something hisses at himself, you know you do. “Yeah. I really do.”
The initial press of your mouth against his is curved upwards as you smile into his tongue. You were expecting him to be just as tentative, but instead Megumi is messy- like he needs you to breathe, gripping you through your clothes with grabby hands.
“Mmpfh!” You squeak against his lips when he nips down- hard- on your bottom lip. He’s breathing heavily now, eyes shut lucidly as he leans into the gentle touch of your palms on his face. The kiss is sloppy; you keep pulling away for air, glossy strings of spit clashing in midair, only for Megumi to gasp and pull your mouth back closer.
It’s not close enough, though.
His hands are fisting in the shirt at your back, clinging to your waist to drag you atop his lap. Megumi doesn’t even realise what he’s done until you gasp, pulling back just long enough to gaze down at his face. All flustered and dazed, lips kiss bitten as he instinctually chases after your lips- how pretty.
You feel bad for the viewers, the ones on his livestreams who don’t get to see the face he makes when he’s all worked up. Your lap is splayed across his bulge, and when your hips lift up to awkwardly wriggle out of your jeans Megumi drops his forehead to your collarbone and whines at the loss.
And it’s that thought about those livestreams that brings your hand down his chest, feeling the fluttering beat of his heart, before playing with his waistband. He physically lurches when your hand, so soft and warm and loving, gently coaxes his cock out.
It slaps obscenely against his stomach, tip a pretty pink and dripping big beads of shining pre. There’s a significant vein striping down the side of the pale skin, curving around the length as it twitches hopelessly in the air under your watchful gaze. Megumi’s fingers are curling into the couch on either side, digging hollow dents into the throw pillows like he isn’t ready to allow himself to touch you.
Your other hand travels up his body towards his face, tilting his chin up towards you so you can take in his blown pupils and the haze already seeping over them like ink. His mouth is clamped shut, lips drawn into a thin line to keep his needy noises locked behind his teeth; so, logically, you have to open him up.
Two of your fingers slide tentatively into the warm, small space of his mouth, and Megumi accepts them like a ship going to the sea, waves battering at his sides. He feels a little like he's drowning inside his own head, being so vulnerable and pathetic under you, but the feeling of your digits gently probing at his tongue keeps him steady.
You’re still across his lap, scooted backwards to allow his cock to rest in the heated space between you as you gently take it in your hand. He moans immediately and his hips buck up. “Sorry.” He apologises thickly around your fingers as you ease them out, warm face dropping against your clothed chest. And yet, his hips don’t stop.
They splatter your hand with pre, almost erratically bucking up into your awaiting fist as you curl it into a tighter hole for him to thrust his length through. You use your other hand to pull at his hair just hard enough for him to turn and look at you, his cheek still pressed up hard against the outline of your tits visible through your shirt. You grin.
“Do you want me to take it off?” Your fingers are already curling into the hem. When you take your hand from his cock to wriggle out of the fabric, Megumi chokes on his own whine and desperately lurches forwards- but while your edging was cruel, the sight of your tits in front of him makes it worth it.
“Wait, slow down-“ You’re only just fumbling with the clasp and giggling when Megumi decides that it’s been long enough and he needs his mouth on you now. He trails sloppy, open-mouthed kisses from your throat to your sternum and soaks the lace of your bra with his spit before you rip the garment away and he connects his lips to your nipple.
At the same time as you gasp softly and arch further into his mouth, your fingers reconnect with his aching cock and resume their prior movements, only this time Megumi’s whimpers are muffled around your chest.
“Never want to think again,” he slurs suddenly against you, glossy spit trickling down the valley between your breasts as he pops back long enough to shove his tongue greedily into your mouth again. “Just… just- fuck, I’m so needy,” he cracks out, your lips parting loudly to welcome his own.
“You are,” you agree, gently bringing his face away from yours so you can look at him. His eyes are heavy and glassy, his mouth hanging open slightly as though their purpose is to await the next lick of your tongue between them. “But that’s okay,” you continue, stroking his head as his mouth attaches itself to your chest again. “You’re allowed to be needy.”
Your hand feels warmer, suddenly, as Megumi cums from your allowance. Maybe he’s been waiting for it, secretly, the permission from you to let go; his release drips hot and sticky across your knuckles, and there’s just so much of it. His cock is still spurting when you push him back against the couch, still messing the sliver of happy trail on his stomach you want to mouth at and ruining his shirt that’s covering the rest of the hair.
He has a forearm thrown across his eyes as his hips continue bucking, little whines and gasps hidden behind the skin. Your fingers trace the hem of his shirt and he shivers. “Off?” You question quietly. When he nods jerkily, you peel it away and oh, it’s even better than the livestream.
You always knew Megumi went to the gym and ate reasonably well, but the refined ridges of his abdomen, splattered with a trail of hair from his navel downwards, makes your mouth salivate. He’s embarrassed by you looking, you can tell, but it really isn’t your fault!
“I see why you have so many viewers now.” You giggle, standing up to unhook your panties and toss them to the side. Megumi watches in nothing less than total awe as your bare body is revealed to him in his living room. It’s an invitation, the way you look at him, he knows that, but he can’t figure out what he wants to do with it.
Bend you over the glass coffee table? He wouldn’t be able to see your tits. Doggy? Same problem as the coffee table, and he doesn't think he could handle seeing your ass move. If you got on top he thinks he’d cum embarrassingly quickly and then pass out, too much for your first time together, really-
He settles on missionary.
Which was probably a gigantic fucking mistake, he thinks as soon as you’re lying beneath him, because his brain immediately blanks when faced with you spread out like this. He’s kneeling in front of you, cock still dripping, but he’s unable to move from shock. “Fuck,” he swallows eventually, shaky hands landing on your soft, bare thighs.
“You’re… so pretty.” Instinctually, you blush; your cheeks are pinker at his sweet little praise than they were when you’d laid back on the carpet, rug cushioning the feeling of your bare spine and sinking comfily into your feet as you drew your knees up. “You too.”
It sort of just slipped out, a casual response to what Megumi said, but it makes him freeze. A slow, slightly malicious smile paints its way across your face as you sit up on your elbows, unintentionally pushing your chest towards him as your legs fall open. “You’re just sooo pretty, Megumi, the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, it just makes me want to-“
A palm clasps itself over your mouth and you make a muffled, indignant sound of protest. “Stop.” Megumi’s head is hung low as his chest reverberates outwards in his plea, his other hand tightly squeezing his cock; he must be sensitive if this is what a teeny bit of praise does to him, you think, letting your thighs spread further for him to shuffle between.
Your hand reaches up to peel his palm away from your lips. “Megumi,” you whisper, “you can fuck me. You’re allowed to.” His next breath escapes shakily, as his eyes fixate on the way his tip is lined up glimmeringly with the entrance to your pussy.
Somehow, the overwhelming need to bury himself inside you overrides the sense of terror within his bloodstream, and Megumi finds himself slowly pushing himself into you. “Oh,” you moan, hands coming up to splay across his shoulders, “fuck, Megs. That's so good, baby.”
The nickname unlocks something new in him, the feeling of your walls stretching out for him (and only ever him from now on, he decides hazily) while you gasp his name quietly makes his thrusts turn harder, seeking a new level of release he fears- no, knows- he’ll now only be able to reach from this.
The stretch is mean at first, his flushed length scraping past your sweet spots like he’s teasing them for later. Your chest heaves as you breathe through it and let him in, legs wrapping loosely around his lean waist while your hands come up to cup his cheeks and drag him down into another sloppy kiss.
This kiss is messy beyond comparison, spit and teeth and tongue more than lips as the pace of Megumi’s cock thrusting into you picks up. There’s a rushing of blood in your ears when your hand drifts down to rub your clit wonkily, a noise that subsides quick enough and lets you listen to Megumi instead.
And oh, what a thing to listen to!
“Fuck,” he’s moaning, voice cracking on the syllables, “you’re so warm, so tight, wanna- hnngh- stay here forever, god-“
He’s whining and crying, sobbing uncontrollably about how good you feel, how warm and wet you are wrapped tightly around him, and it sends a fresh wave of slick from you that decorates and splashes against his pelvis.
As hard as he tries to hold back and be a goody boy for you, Megumi cums first. The feeling of him spilling into you, thick and wet, makes you gasp brokenly as your nails dig into his shoulders. “Sorry-“ he heaves, pulling out, “I’ll make it up to you-“
He presses himself flat between your thighs, and you’re too dazed and throbbing to do anything but watch the way he’s staring pussydrunkenly at the sight between your legs. It’s almost nasty, just how much is dripping from your cunt down to the floor, in one thick droplet he’s lurching forwards and licking up with his mouth.
“Oh my god-“ you mewl, back arching up as he eats his own cum out of your pussy. Your hands reach down to grip at his spiky hair, more as an anchor than anything else- you don’t need to guide him, he’s good enough, although you don’t think Megumi would pull away if you wanted him to.
He’s completely lost in it, groaning and whining into your pussy with his eyes half-closed while his big hands wrap around your thighs and dig into the flesh until it dimples beneath his touch. You’re whimpering by the time he pushes you into an orgasm, lips suctioned tightly over your sensitive clit, but he doesn’t stop.
“Hah- wanted to do this f’so long,” he’s mumbling against your cunt, shoving his mouth open to lick a flat stripe across the full space you offer him. “So good, so good…”
Your pussy flutters needily around his tongue, his tastebuds coated and lacquered with your slick and his own cum. The concept should be off-putting to him, he knows that, but he can't be ashamed when your hits jerk into his face and he raises his hands to grip onto your plush thighs even more. Megumi barely realises what he's doing before you call him out on it.
"You- you want me to clamp them?" You gasp, watching the way he's smothering himself with your skin. Megumi moans in agreement, in admission. And you oblige.
Your thighs tighten around his head harshly, applying the maximum amount of pressure you can manage; his dark hair gets messed even more, his skull compressed, and yet Megumi thinks this feels like heaven.
Eventually, what little coherence he had left devolves into something close to devotion. He can’t do anything but lie there and gently grind his overstimulated cock into the soft carpet, his mouth smushed against your cunt as he unintentionally drags you into a second orgasm and you sob.
In fact, you’re both sobbing a little. There’s tears brimming in his eyes, saline drops threatening to streak Megumi’s already bright cheeks, while the water collecting at your waterline has already begun slipping down your temples. “S’too much.” You hear yourself slurring. Your voice sounds underwater, like it’s a recording of yourself you’re listening to.
As shaky and weak as you are, your hand manages to fist in Megumi’s hair and pull him back. His long eyelashes flutter a segment open, like he’s checking you’re real and here, before he draws himself up blindly to collapse beside you on the rug as you catch your breath.
A little like a tired puppy, Megumi drops his forehead against your shoulder and buries his face into the damp skin. Your arm curls around his back loosely, heat prickling your skin, and you clear your hoarse throat to speak coherently for the first time since he pushed himself inside you.
“You did really good.” You mumble, eyes closed and head tilted back. “So good.”
If a fresh sheen of tears starts to leak out onto your skin where Megumi is buried, you don’t comment on it. He wouldn’t say it out loud to you, not in a million years, but he feels safe. In an odd way, considering he’s naked and spent next to you in his living room with your taste still coating his tongue.
“Maybe…” you giggle, eyes still lazily shut as your fingers trace shapes across his bare back. “You should livestream it next time.”
He groans and tightens his arms around you. “Absolutely not.”
masterlist
a/n: thank you all so, so, so much again!! + this post was mainly inspired by @lipstainedgemini ‘s lovely posts about camboy megumi! <33
Submissive! Naoya Zennin x dom! fem reader. FYI, it’s a bit dark. Mentions of abuse, bondage, peeing, mindbreak, a little bit of pain infliction. He’s wearing a bitchsuit and is on piddlefours. I’d recommend searching this up if you want a better idea on his position during this story. Also, based on the few stories on my page, you can tell I have something for puppy boys 😕
The room smells of stale sweat and desperation.
It's a small, windowless space. A former storage closet, perhaps a servant's quarters in some forgotten wing of the Zenin estate. The only light comes from a single bare bulb overhead that flickers every few seconds. It's been hours, but feels like days. Time has become a slippery thing, measured not in hours but in the erosion of his spirit.
The mattress on the floor is thin and sagging. Naoya Zenin lies on his side, legs tucked slightly toward his chest, the same position he's held for what feels like an eternity. His dyed blonde hair which is more so just green hair, once meticulously styled to perfection, now lies lank and greasy against his forehead. The sharp, aristocratic angles of his face are hollowed by exhaustion, his brown eyes dulled.
In the corner sits a chipped ceramic bowl filled with water. Beside it, another bowl contains something that might generously be called food—a greyish, mushed-up paste that smells faintly of meat and grain. It's been there since morning. He ate some of it. On all fours. Face-first. The memory makes his stomach turn.
And then, the final piece of humiliation. Spread across the floor near the door, a rectangular dog peeing mat. Disposable. Absorbent. Printed with little paw prints around the border as if that somehow makes it less dehumanizing. He hasn't needed it yet. He's been holding, fighting his own body with the last shreds of his Zenin discipline. But the pressure in his bladder is becoming impossible to ignore, and the realization that he will eventually have to crawl over to that mat, squat over it like some housebroken mongrel—
The door opens.
No knock. No warning. Just the sudden intrusion of light from the hallway, cutting a harsh white wedge across the grimy floor. Naoya flinches, instinctively curling tighter into himself. The bare bulb above seems to dim in deference to the brightness spilling in.
You stand in the doorway, silhouetted against the polished wood corridor beyond. You don't step inside. You don't need to.
He looks up at you from his mattress on the floor. His cracked lips part. A sound tries to escape—perhaps a plea, perhaps a curse, perhaps just her name—but nothing comes except a dry, rasping exhale. The heir of the Zenin clan has been reduced to this: a creature who waits, who endures, who has learned that survival means silence until spoken to.
Ever since that night—the night you walked through the estate gates and painted the Zenin compound red with the blood of his family—he has been unmade. Piece by piece. Layer by layer. You killed them all. Every sorcerer, every elder, every cousin. Everyone except him. He still doesn't know why. Probably because of the way he treated you back when you were just a helpless girl. Before you surpassed him, something he still isn’t willing to admit.
Your gaze sweeps over the room—the mattress, the bowls, the peeing mat—with clinical detachment. If you feel satisfaction at how thoroughly you've broken him, it doesn't show on your face.
"Get up," you say. Your voice is calm. Absolute. It leaves no room for anything but obedience. "You're going to follow me."
You step back from the doorway, making space. Naoya's body moves before his mind has even finished processing the command. His muscles, sore from hours of stillness, scream in protest as he pushes himself up onto all fours.
You begin walking away and he follows.
The hallway stretches endlessly before him. Each shuffling movement showcases his restriction. Naoya Zenin, heir to a name that once commanded fear and respect, now exists solely within the confines of his bondage. The bitchsuit is a masterwork of gleaming black leather, locking his knees and elbows into an acute, permanent bend. He cannot stand. He cannot straighten his limbs. His world is reduced to the fifteen inches between his padded knees and elbows, the polished floor, and you.
The gag stretches his jaw wide. A thin strand of drool has already begun to escape the corner of his mouth, a glistening thread that sways with his laborious crawl. His pride, once a towering inferno, is now a tiny, sputtering ember.
You walk ahead of him, a vision of casual dominance.
Click, click, click, is the sound your heels make. In your hand, you carry a slender, elegant riding crop.
Naoya tries to match his rhythm to yours—left knee, right elbow, right knee, left elbow—a humiliating, rocking motion. The muscles in his thighs and shoulders burn. He’s a Zenin, crawling like a common dog. His cock, traitorously, hangs heavy and half-hard beneath him, swaying with every lurching step like a slab of meat on a butcher’s hook.
He grunts against the gag as one of his knee pads slips slightly on a wooden plank out of place. The tiny misstep jolts through his locked joints, causing a sharp jarring pain. His rhythm falters. He pauses for a fraction of a second, just to breathe, just to steady himself.
Thwack.
A sharp, focused sting blooms across the lower curve of his right buttock. It's not a brutal blow, but it's perfectly placed, a mark that makes him flinch and whimper against the gag.
"Did I say you could stop?" Your voice is calm, devoid of anger, yet it cuts through him more effectively than any cursed technique. He can feel your gaze on him now.
Naoya's head jerks up at the sound of your voice, his hair falling messily across his wide eyes locked onto you. He shakes his head quickly, frantically—no, no you didn't, you didn't say I could stop—the motion desperate and jerky, like a dog trying to appease its master. The gag makes the movement clumsy, ungraceful. A thin strand of drool flicks from the corner of his mouth, catching the light before it splatters against the floor.
A hot wave of shame washes over Naoya. He looks back down and renews his efforts, his movements becoming more frantic, more eager. The sound of his knees and elbows scuffing against the floor fills the hallway. He’s panting now, short, sharp breaths forced through his nose around the gag. The drool drips onto the marble, leaving a faint, shameful trail in his wake. He crawls faster, fixated on the sight of your heels, on the hem of your attire.
With a surge of desperate energy, he closes the small gap he’d created. He’s right behind you now, his head almost level with the back of your knees. He can smell you—a faint, clean perfume mixed with the intoxicating scent of power. He lets out a small, involuntary whine from deep in his throat, muffled by the gag. It’s a sound of pure, pathetic canine need. He wants to nuzzle your leg, to feel the fabric of your clothing against his hair, a silent, doggish plea for acknowledgment despite all the abuse you’ve put him through. All he has is you now. You’ve made sure of that.
You stop without warning. Naoya, so focused on chasing you, nearly bumps his snout into your calf. He freezes, every trembling muscle locked tight, his back a sloping line of submission. His heart jackhammers against his ribs. The silence is thick, heavy. He hears the subtle shift of the riding crop in your hand. He braces for the sting, a punishment for his earlier hesitation, for his presumptuousness in getting so close without permission.
Instead, the silence stretches. One heartbeat. Two. Three.
You turn slowly, and Naoya squeezes his eyes shut, bracing. The crop. The scolding. The cold disappointment. He knows these things now. He's learned the shape of your displeasure.
But nothing comes.
He dares to crack his eyes open and finds you looking down at him. Not with the clinical detachment from before, not with the sharp edge of command. Your expression is unreadable for a moment, and then—
You smile.
It's not a cruel smile. It's not predatory or mocking. It's sweet. Bright. The kind of smile someone gives a beloved pet who's just done something impossibly endearing. Your eyes crinkle at the corners. Your whole demeanor shifts, the crop hanging loose and forgotten at your side.
"Good boy," you say, and the words hit him like a physical blow. "Such a good boy, Naoya."
He makes a sound against the gag. Something strangled. Something breaking.
You tilt your head, that radiant smile still in place, and your voice drops to something soft and warm—the voice someone uses to coo at a puppy. "Do you want a belly rub? Hmm? Does my good boy want a belly rub?"
Something inside Naoya Zenin shatters.
It's not a crack. It's not a slow crumbling. It's an absolute, catastrophic demolition of everything he was, everything he tried to hold onto. The last wall, the final brick of pride he'd kept clutched to his chest in the dark of that storage room doesn't just fall. It explodes.
A sound rips out of him. High-pitched. Desperate. A keening whine that starts deep in his chest and punches its way past the bone gag, filling the marble hallway with raw, animal need. His eyes, those sharp brown eyes that once looked down on everyone, are wide and wet and begging.
He doesn't think. Thinking is gone. There is only the need, obliterating everything else.
Naoya flops onto his back with all the grace of a dog throwing itself at its owner's feet. His bound limbs stick up awkwardly, knees and elbows bent, but he doesn't care, can't care, because you're still smiling and he needs—he needs—
He writhes. That's the only word for it. He arches his spine and wriggles on his back, presenting his belly—his vulnerable, exposed stomach and chest—to you with utter, shameless desperation. His bound arms flail uselessly. His hips buck against nothing. The gag muffles his frantic whining, but it can't silence it entirely. The sound echoes off the marble walls, a continuous, pitiful cry of please, please, please.
He's going to die. If your hand doesn't touch him in the next five seconds, his heart will simply stop. He knows this with the same certainty he once knew his own superiority. He will die right here, NOW, on this cold marble floor, a bound and broken thing, because you smiled at him and he needs—
You crouch down.
The sight of you descending to his level, the rustle of your clothing, the way your smile softens into something almost fond—it pulls another desperate whine from his throat. His hips buck harder. His cock, already hard, bobs against his stomach, leaking a thin trail of precum onto his own skin.
"There we go," you murmur, and then your hand makes contact with his belly.
The touch is gentle. That's what destroys him completely. Not pain—he's learned to take pain. Not command—he's learned to obey. But this soft, affectionate touch, your palm pressing flat against the planes of his stomach and then rubbing in slow, warm circles?
He's never felt anything like it. No one has ever touched him like this. Like he was precious. Like he was good.
Naoya screams against the gag. It comes out as a muffled, high-pitched wail, his entire body convulsing. The pressure that's been building for hours, for days, for his entire miserable life—it crests, crashes, and then his cock jerks violently and erupts.
The first rope of cum splatters across his own chest, hot and thick and startlingly white. Another follows, painting a stripe up toward his collarbone. And another. And another. His hips pump uselessly into the air, his bound limbs trembling, as wave after wave of release tears through him. He can't stop. He can't control it. He's coming apart, literally and figuratively, and your hand never stops moving—gentle, circular rubs across his belly as he coats himself in his own release.
The whining doesn't stop. It might be his voice now, permanently. The sound of a dog who's finally, finally been told he's good.
When the last spasm fades, Naoya goes limp. His chest heaves. His limbs, still locked in their permanent bend, fall slack against the marble. Cum pools in the dips of his collarbone, drips down his sides, sticks to your fingers where they still rest on his belly.
He's floating. Somewhere far away. Somewhere soft.
And then, because his body is no longer his own—because it's yours, all yours—the muscles he's been clenching for hours finally give out.
A warm wetness spreads beneath him, pooling on the polished marble. The sharp smell of urine cuts through the air. Naoya doesn't even have the strength to be mortified. He just lies there, in a puddle of his own making, covered in his own spend, while you crouch beside him with that gentle smile still playing at your lips.
The heir of the Zenin clan is gone. In his place is only this: a panting, trembling, emptied thing, staring up at you with hazy brown eyes that hold nothing but devotion.
You give his belly one final pat.
"Good boy," you say again, and Naoya's eyes flutter closed.
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pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader
warnings: established relationship | jealousy (not toxic) | fluff | PinV | oral (f and m receiving) | overstimulation | little degradation | sub!bucky | dom!reader | consensual pain | chocking | mastrubation | use of toys | cockwarming | tons of “colour? green”
word count: 8844
summary: Bucky is Y/N's big and super soldier boyfriend. He always so calm and quiet. He wants more and Y/N is more than ready to give him all he wants.
It was a normal Tuesday.
She was in their apartment, hair still damp from the shower wearing one of Bucky’s sweatshirts and sipping coffee like the world wasn’t about to tilt sideways. Bucky was sitting on the couch, barefoot and loose-limbed in a grey t-shirt, scrolling casually through his phone like it was just another day.
He was looking at her.
He had always been the one to initiate; kisses that deepened too quickly, hands that gripped tighter than necessary and moans that begged for release. But right before things tipped over into something raw and feral, he would hesitate.
A beat too long.
A flicker of something behind those ocean blue eyes.
A silent wait.
That day, as naturally as someone might say pass the sugar, he said something. “I want you to take control of me.”
She choked on her sip. “What?” She asked.
He looked up at her, relaxed.
Serious.
A faint grin tugged at his lips, like he had known she’d react exactly like this.
“In bed,” he added. “I want you to take control. I think I’d like it.”
She lowered the mug slowly on the side table, blinking at him like he had grown a second metal arm. “Bucky,” she said carefully, “you want me to… dominate you?”
He shrugged. “I mean... not with... whips and chains unless you’re into that... in that case then we can talk… but yeah. I trust you. I wanna try it.”
She stared.
He stared back.
“I don’t… this isn’t a small thing,” she said, her voice softening. “You were… controlled, for decades. You didn’t get to say no. Or choose what you wanted. And now you’re asking me to do that to you again?”
Bucky nodded once. “Exactly.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re the only person I’ve ever been with who doesn’t want something from me. Not like that. You never tried to fix me or treat me like I’m fragile. You make me feel like I’m just… your guy.”
“You are my guy,” she said.
He smiled. “Right. So don’t freak out when I say this is me choosing it. Choosing you. Choosing to let go because it’s you. I’m giving it to.”
Her breath caught. “I don’t want to mess this up,” she whispered.
“You won’t.”
“You’re Bucky Barnes. Former Winter Soldier... war hero... treated like a human weapon-”
“…and now I’m a boyfriend,” he cut in gently, “...asking his very loving, slightly over-caffeinated girlfriend to tie him to the headboard and ruin him a little bit.”
She snorted, despite the tears pricking her eyes. He was so strong, now, thinking of the past. She wasn’t.
He grinned. “Look, sweetheart,” he added softer now, “I know what it meant when they took control of me. And it’s not what I’m asking from you. They took everything. I’m giving this to you. There’s a difference.”
She nodded slowly, her throat tight. “And if at any point you need to stop…”
“I’ll tell you,” He promised. “We’ll do safe words, check-ins, whatever you need. But, I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”
A long pause. Then she said, “Okay. Let’s talk about it. Rules. Boundaries. What you like.”
His smile grew wide and boyish. “And maybe… when we start, you can call me something? Like ‘good boy’.”
She smirked. “Get on your knees and ask nicely.”
He blinked. Laughed. “Oh,” he said, eyes darkening. “We’re doing this now?”
She sipped her coffee again. “Don’t keep me waiting, Barnes.”
The first night in control, she led him to the bedroom and closed the door behind her. He sat at the edge of the bed, nervous energy radiating off him, fingers fidgeting in his lap. She stood in front of him, arms crossed.
“Strip,” she said gently but firmly.
He blinked up at her, surprised by the tone, but obeyed. He undid the buttons of his shirt, revealing broad shoulders and the sculpted lines of muscle beneath. She let her eyes rake over every inch of him, and he flushed under her gaze.
“Slower,” she instructed when he moved to undo his belt. He nodded, face pink, and slowed down.
Each movement became deliberate, sensual. He slid the belt through the loops, then slightly lift his hips pushing his pants down, until he stood in nothing but his briefs already thigh.
She stepped closer and tilted his chin up. “Colour?”
“Green,” he whispered.
“Good boy,” she murmured, and his breath shuddered at the praise.
“You like that?” She teased. “You like being called my good boy?” He nodded, jaw clenched, trying not to whimper. “Say it.”
“Yes. I like it,” he admitted. “I like it when you take over.”
“I know, baby,” she said. “I can tell. You’ve been holding back. But not tonight.”
She pushed his back onto the bed and climbed over him, straddling his hips. She ground slowly against his cock through the fabric, and he whimpered, his hands twitching beside him. She grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head.
“Can I tie you up?” His eyes went wide, they were seriously doing it, so he nodded immediately. “Use your words, Bucky.”
“Yes. Please,” he said breathlessly. “I trust you.”
She reached into the drawer and pulled out soft restraints not metal, not rough, just fabric and secured them to the headboard. He laid there, gorgeous and vulnerable, looking at her like she had hung the moon. She kissed him then deep, slow, claiming.
“You’re doing so well for me,” she whispered into his mouth. His cock twitched. She kissed down his throat, over his chest, and when she flicked her tongue over his nipple, he gasped. “Sensitive?” She teased.
“Yes,” he panted. “Please, keep going.”
She toyed with him a little longer, watching him writhe before finally slipping off his briefs. His cock sprang free hard, leaking, desperate. She wrapped her hand around him and stroked slowly and firmly. He moaned, head thrown back.
“You’re being so good for me, baby,” she purred.
“Please… please don’t stop,” he begged.
She smiled wickedly. “Oh, I’m not stopping. Not until you ask me to.” His eyes darkened with lust. She pumped him steadily while she kissed and bit at his neck, murmuring praise between every whimper he gave her.
Then she let go.
“Wha-?” he panted.
“Did I say you would come?”
He shook his head, dizzy with want.
“Exactly. You’ll wait until I say so.” She reached between her legs, wet and aching, and slid down onto him without warning. He shouted, hips jerking up, restrained arms pulling instinctively.
“Fuck!” he gasped. “God, baby-”
She started riding him slow and deep, grinding in a way that had both on the edge in seconds. “You feel so fucking good,” she groaned, nails dragging down his chest.
He moaned, eyes rolling back. “I can’t-I can’t hold it-”
“Yes, you can,” she whispered against his lips. “Be a good boy for mommy. Just a little longer.”
“Y/N... please.”
“I said wait.”
And he did. Shaking, trembling, teeth gritted but he obeyed.
When she finally let him come, it was with her hand around his throat and her lips at his ear. “Now,” she growled. “Cum for me.”
He broke. His whole body arched, cock pulsing inside her, the sounds he made utterly wrecked. She kept moving, pushing him through it, riding out her own climax moments later as he sobbed her name.
Aftercare was slow, tender. She removed the restrain, kissed his wrists where the fabric had left marks, and ran a warm cloth over every inch of him. He clung to her afterward, head tucked into her neck like a child.
“You okay?” She whispered.
He nodded against her skin. “That was the best I’ve ever felt.”
She kissed his hair. “You were perfect. My perfect boy.”
His voice was a whisper. “I want more. Next time… can you make me beg harder?”
She grinned. “Oh, baby,” she murmured. “We’re just getting started.”
“That was…” he whispered. “Incredible.”
“You’re seriously okay?” she murmured again.
“I’ve never felt so safe,” he said.
She nuzzled into him, heart full, body humming.
I want more. Next time… can you make me beg harder
His words still echoed in her mind. She was straddling him again but this time, he trembled before she even touched him. The restraints were tighter that night. His arms stretched above him, biceps flexed with tension, wrists bound in black leather cuffs. Being a super soldier would have allowed him to easily break the cuffs, but that night he wasn’t Bucky Barnes the super soldier. He was Bucky Barnes Y/N’s little toy.
She had blindfolded him too because that night, he had wanted more. He had wanted it harder. Rougher. Deeper. And she was going to give it to him. “Colour, baby?” She asked softly, stroking his jaw.
“Green,” he replied, voice already hoarse. “Please, just do whatever you want with me.”
She hummed approvingly and dragged her nails down his chest, slow and cruel, watching the way his body arched to meet the sting. “You want to be used?” She whispered, lips brushing his throat. “You want me to fuck you like you’re just a toy?”
“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, I want that. Please.”
She slapped his thigh, just hard enough to make him flinch. “What’s my name, baby?”
“Ma’am,” he said instantly. “Sorry... ma'am.”
“Good boy,” she purred. “Now open your mouth.”
He obeyed without hesitation, tongue out like he was worshipping her. She spat. He moaned so loud it shook her spine.
“You’re disgusting,” she said sweetly, wiping her thumb across his wet bottom lip. “I love it.”
He groaned, hips bucking uselessly into the air. “Ma’am, I need-”
“You don’t need anything except what I give you,” she snapped, grabbing his throat not hard, just enough to remind him who he belonged to. “You’re mine. Every inch of you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, already nearly wrecked.
She reached between her legs, teasing herself while he strained against the cuffs, desperate to see, to touch, to feel more. Then she lowered herself onto his cock in one smooth, brutal motion. He screamed. “Shut the fuck up,” she hissed, clamping a hand over his mouth. “You don’t want the neighbours to know how desperate you are, do you?”
He shook his head, hips trembling, cock pulsing inside her.
She started riding him hard. No teasing this time. Just a punishing pace, relentless grind, skin slapping and nails digging into his chest. “You like being used, huh?” she growled. “Like being tied down while I fuck myself on you?”
His muffled moan was frantic. She pulled her hand off his mouth just as he gasped, “I’m gonna come, I-fuck, I can’t-”
She stopped moving entirely.
“Ma’am-!”
She slapped him again. “Did I say you could come?”
“No, ma’am,” he panted. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry... please don’t stop-”
She leaned in close, her voice low and cruel. “If you cum without permission, I’ll edge you all night and leave you in the cuffs until morning. Understood?”
He shook violently. “Yes. Please. I’ll be good. I swear.”
She started riding him again but slower now. Controlled. Torturously deep. She watched his face twist beneath the blindfold, listening to the little sobs he tried to choke down. He was crying by the time she let him speak again.
“Ma’am,” he begged. “Please. I can’t take it...I need to come..I need to cum for you...”
“You want to cum for me, sweetheart?” She whispered.
He nodded furiously. “Please. I’ll do anything.”
She slid her fingers into his mouth and let him suck on them like he was starved. “You’ll come when I say,” she growled. “And you’ll thank me for it.”
“Y-yes... thank you... ma’am-thank you...”
And then she finally let go. She bounced on him hard, merciless, grabbing his jaw, his throat, anything she could reach as she fucked both toward the edge. “Cum for me,” she ordered. “Now.”
He shattered beneath her. He came with a scream, shaking so violently she thought the cuffs might snap. She rode it out, fucked him through it until he was gasping, sobbing, still hard from how wrecked she had made him.
She leaned down, tongue in his mouth, voice soft again. “You did so good for me, baby. My perfect little toy.”
He whimpered. “Thank you. Thank you, ma’am. I love you.”
She smiled and cupped his flushed, tear-streaked face. “I love you too.”
He was still twitching inside her. His skin was flushed, his breathing shallow, arms boneless at his sides where they now rested free, but not reaching. He didn’t touch her unless she let him. She had ruined him, and he had loved every second of it. And she was still straddling him, her thighs trembling, soaked and sore and aching in the best possible way. But she hadn’t moved. Not really. She was still wrapped around him. His cock, softening, was still inside her and she wasn’t letting him go. Not yet. She leaned down, hands bracketing either side of his head, her breath warm against his lips.
“Don’t pull out,” she whispered.
Bucky’s eyes fluttered open, dazed and glassy. “Wha-?”
She smiled. “Just stay there. Stay inside me. I want to feel you.”
His pupils went wide again, and the sound he made was somewhere between a whimper and a sob. “You-you wanna just…” he trailed off, blinking up at her like she had handed him the moon.
“Yes, baby,” she murmured, nuzzling into his jaw. “You feel so warm. So full. So mine.”
He shivered. She shifted just slightly, just enough to press him deeper into her, and his breath caught like she had punched the air from his lungs. “Fuck,” he groaned. “I-Ma’am-please…”
“Please what?” She asked sweetly, stroking his damp hair back from his forehead.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, honest and wrecked. “I just-please don’t stop touching me.”
She smiled, tender and possessive all at once. “I’m not stopping, sweetheart. You’re not going anywhere.”
She rolled her hips just once slow and cruel and he jerked, overstimulated, tears still fresh on his cheeks. Her chest pressed to his.
“Too much?” She asked softly.
“Too good,” he breathed. “I wanna take it. I wanna be good.”
“Oh, you are good,” she cooed. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever had.”
She didn’t move again. Not really. She let him feel every inch of her heat around him, soft and slow and pulsing with afterglow. She tilted his face up to kiss him slow, languid, worshipful. And Bucky just lay there, blissed out and pliant under her hands, letting her own him in the quiet aftermath. He didn’t even flinch when she tucked her hand between their sweaty bodies, reaching down to trace a circle over her clit not to come again, just to feel the pressure with his cock still buried inside. He whined, eyes fluttering shut again.
“You’re gonna stay like this for a while,” she whispered. “Let me soak you up.”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You like being inside me, don’t you?”
“More than anything,” he said without hesitation. “I’d live here if you let me.”
She grinned. “Maybe I will.”
And she meant it. Because she loved the way he melted. She loved how soft he got after she broke him. She loved the way his hands trembled when they finally touched her, reverent and careful like she was made of stardust. She loved that he had asked for this. And now he was hers. So she held him there, cock still buried deep, heart beating against hers, until they both fell asleep together, still connected, still full. Because that was what he wanted. And she would give him everything.
The morning sunlight spilled through the blinds in soft golden strips across the room. He was still asleep when she woke. His arms wrapped tightly around her, and his face tucked into her neck like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.
One of his legs was draped almost over her thigh, and she realized with a soft fluttering ache, that he wasn’t planning to let her go anytime soon.
Her body was sore. Deliciously sore. But her mind… was uneasy.
She kept replaying the night before in her head; the slaps, the pressure, the things she had said. The sounds he made when she made him beg. The tears in his eyes. The way he screamed when he came. She had loved it. He seemed to love it.
But what if it had been too much? What if she had missed something?
She brushed a hand through his messy hair, feeling him nuzzle closer, a low hum vibrating in his throat. He was still half-asleep when she slowly slipped him out of her. Still conscious of her presence, even in that foggy haze.
“Why did you do that? You’re not allowed to get up.”
“You’re bossy again now?” She chuckled quietly. “Is that so?”
“Mmhmm,” he mumbled. He shifted and pulled her tighter. “You’re my pillow now.”
“Bucky…”
He paused. She didn’t mean to say it like that, quiet and uncertain. She felt him stiffen slightly. He pulled back just enough to look at her. She already slid off his body. She didn’t say anything at first. She just looked at him. The sleepiness still in his eyes, the red marks on his neck from her finger, the faint fading lines from the restraints on his wrists.
Then she asked, barely above a whisper, “Was it… too much?” He blinked. “I mean last night,” she added quickly. “The slapping. The edging. The cockwarming. The way I talked to you. You cried, Bucky. I-I just need to know it was okay.”
“The cock-what?” He asked, blinking slowly.
“Is… when you were inside me without moving,” she replied a little embarrassed, worried he only cared about the definition. He nodded.
“So? The other things?” She asked again. He stared at her like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Then he propped himself up on one elbow and took her hand into both of his like it was the most precious thing he’d ever held.
“Baby,” he said, voice hoarse and full of heat and tenderness, “that was the most loved I’ve ever felt in my entire life.” Her eyes stung. “I’m serious,” he said, low and warm. “You were perfect. You were careful. You asked my colour. You stopped when I needed it. You touched me after. You kissed me. You... you held me.” Then, his eyes glittering, he added, “Even that cock… something…”
She laughed. “Cockwarming.”
“Yeah!” He laughed too, dropping his head to her chest. “Cockwarming. Definitely ten outta ten.”
She breathed relieved, amused and totally overwhelmed by how much she loved him. “But I slapped you,” she said suddenly.
He smiled. “And I nearly came from it.”
She blinked. “You did?”
“Sweetheart,” he scoffed softly, “you could’ve spat in my mouth and slapped me again and I’d have thanked you.” She flushed. “Which you did... and if I remembered correctly, I did thank you.” He replied, laughing. “But I’m serious,” he continued. “You weren’t too much. You were exactly what I needed. I felt so safe. Seen. So…” He trailed off, breath catching. Then, softly. “I felt yours. And I wanted that.”
She pressed her forehead to his. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” he said fiercely. “You gave me everything I didn’t know how to ask for.” He kissed her cheeks. Her jaw. Her nose. And then he rolled on top of her, not with hunger or dominance, but with pure, desperate affection.
“Can we just stay here?” he whispered. “All day? I wanna hold you. I wanna fall asleep inside you again. I wanna have breakfast naked and have you drag me back to bed before the coffee even brews.”
She laughed against his chest. “I want that too,” she whispered.
“You didn’t scare me,” he murmured. “You made me feel free.”
Her heart clenched. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed,” she said, eyes shining.
He grinned. “Good,” he said, leaning down to kiss her slow and deep. “Then let’s ruin me again tonight.”
The apartment now smelled like coffee, warm maple syrup, and sin. Bucky stood at the stove completely naked, except for a dish towel slung over one shoulder like he’d remembered to be domestic, just not dressed.
His back was all muscle and bite marks, his neck littered with evidence of how the morning started, his hair messily tied up, strands falling over his cheekbones. He flipped pancakes with focus, but not enough to ignore her as she strolled past behind him equally bare, stealing a strawberry from the counter and kissing his shoulder as she did. He made a soft sound something between a sigh and a moan and leaned into her touch like gravity worked differently when she was near.
She then perched on the counter stool legs crossed grinning, as he brought over two plates cock swaying slightly as he walked not caring at all. He set them down and leaned in to kiss her. “You’re really committing to this naked-breakfast thing,” he murmured against her lips.
She smirked. “Oh, I declared it. It’s law now.”
He chuckled, nose brushing hers. “Then I better never wear clothes again.”
Breakfast took a long time. The coffee went cold.
They ate like that, bare knees bumping, syrup sticky on fingers and mouths. She licked it off his thumb at one point and he dropped his fork with a groan. And when he ended up on his knees between her legs again, she decided that naked-breakfast might be the best idea he ever had.
"You made me feel so good," Bucky murmured, voice thick with devotion, lips already ghosting over the inside of her thigh as he knelt between her legs. His eyes, impossibly blue and blown wide with hunger, looked up at her like she was the only religion he'd ever worship.
“I need to return the favour,” he added, tone teasing but reverent, like the act wasn’t just desire, but duty.
A promise.
She didn’t oppose. Didn’t say a word. Just leaned back on the stool, legs falling wider apart as if to say "Yes. Take what you want".
And Bucky did. Not with greed. With purpose.
He turned the stool, so her back was completely against the counter and then he kissed her between her thighs like she was a sacred thing. Like tasting her was a right he had to earn, again and again. His hands slid beneath her thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. He groaned like her pleasure fed him. And she let go utterly, completely because when Bucky Barnes made a promise, especially with his mouth…
He meant it. In that moment, the submissive Bucky Barnes was long forgotten. But just for that breakfast.
She curled up on the couch, the late afternoon sunlight painting soft gold across the living room. Bucky sat beside her, knees almost touching, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. There was something in the air, a mix of excitement and hesitation that made her heart skip. He looked up at her, eyes steady but uncertain.
“Hey,” he said quietly. She smiled, waiting.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, voice low. She tilted her head. “I want to try something,” he said. “Something… a little spicy.” She raised an eyebrow.
Were this two days not spicy enough? She thought.
He exhaled, then chuckled nervously. “Like, I want you to control me more. Outside the bedroom.”
She blinked. “Outside? Like, in public?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Like, I want to feel you have that power. Even when we’re not alone.” Her mind raced thrill.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “What do you mean exactly?”
He pulled something small from his pocket a sleek vibrating ring. “I want you to use this on me,” he said, cheeks colouring. “At dinner. Or a movie. Somewhere public. I want to feel you… teasing me. Controlling me. But no one else knows.” She stared at the ring in her hand, still amazed he had even suggested it.
“How do you even know about this?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Bucky smirked, a rare mischievous glint lighting up his blue eyes. “Hydra didn’t just break me,” he said softly. “They… experimented. Control... submission... all kinds of things. I learned a few things about what made me tick.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “But this?” She said, holding up the ring. “This was your idea?”
He nodded, voice low. “Yeah. Took me a while to admit it. But I knew what I wanted now.”
She studied him. The idea sent a delicious shiver down her spine. “Are you sure?” She asked softly. “It’s a lot.”
He met her gaze without hesitation. “I trusted you. It was a lot back then, now... it's something hot and exciting I want to try with my girl.”
She took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
His smile was shy, hopeful. “Thank you,” he whispered almost relieved.
She leaned in and kissed his temple. “Tonight’s going to be fun.” She smiled, leaning in close. “You’re full of surprises, Sergeant Barnes.”
He grinned, brushing a hand down her arm. “Only for you.”
That night, the small vibrating ring slipped beneath his trousers as they headed out. Their secret, her power and his surrender all wrapped up in one electric thrill.
He stood still in the bedroom, already dressed in slacks and nothing else, his black dress shirt still hanging open. His chest rose and fell slowly as she stepped toward him, holding the black ring between her fingers. His pupils blew wide at the sight of it.
“You remember what this does, right?” She asked, voice soft but firm.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smirked. “Good.”
He watched her drop to her knees in front of him, his breath catching as her fingers slipped the ring on slowly, deliberately around the base of his cock letting the snug stretch claim him fully. He hissed under his breath, hips jerking slightly as the cool touch gave way to tight warmth.
She pressed the pad of her thumb lightly against the button on the side. It didn’t buzz yet, but the threat of it did more than enough. “You’ll wear it through dinner,” she murmured, rising to her feet, smoothing down her dress. “No complaining. No fidgeting. No coming.”
Bucky nodded quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”
She leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “If you behave, maybe I’ll ride you while it’s still on.”
He groaned softly, bit down on it to stay still. She kissed his cheek, sweet and possessive, then stepped back to grab her clutch. “Now be a good boy,” she said over her shoulder as she walked to the door. “And don’t make me press the button while we’re ordering appetizers.”
His cock throbbed inside the ring. And he followed her like he’d been summoned.
The restaurant bustled ambient chatter, clinking glasses, the soft murmur of a jazz band playing in the corner. She sat across from Bucky, her fingers casually wrapped around the stem of her wine glass. His gaze kept flicking to her, curious and tense. Because beneath his tailored black trousers, hidden beneath the table, he wore the small vibrating ring she had slipped on him before dinner.
She toyed with the discreet remote in her pocket, pressing the button lightly. A soft buzz rolled through him. Bucky’s breath hitched just slightly. He cleared his throat, pretending to study the menu. She pressed again. Harder this time. Heat flooded his face. His fingers tightened around his napkin.
She leaned forward on the table, voice low but clear. “Good boy,” she murmured, eyes locked on his. He swallowed. She pressed the button once more. A burst of vibration rocked him. He bit his lip, trying to keep his composure. His pulse thundered in his neck. She watched him struggle silent, obedient. The waiter approached with their food. Bucky kept his voice steady.
“Thank you.”
She smiled.
Later, when the coast was clear, she pressed the button again, this time holding it. Bucky’s hips twitched. His hand twitched on his thigh, but he kept it still. He looked up at her. Eyes bright, pleading.
“Please,” he whispered. “Please.”
She shook her head with mock severity. “Not yet,” she said. She leaned down, her foot brushing his under the table. “You belong to me.”
He exhaled, surrendering. The rest of dinner passed in delicious tension. His control slipping, her power rising.
Later, in the privacy of her apartment, she undid him. His breath caught. “You did so well,” she praised, trailing kisses down his neck. He melted against her, the weight of obedience and trust pressing between them like a secret treasure.
The door had barely clicked shut behind them before she had him against it. Bucky’s breath came in sharp, shallow pants as she tugged at his tie, loosening it with one hand while the other slid down his chest. His shirt was wrinkled, his jaw tense and his cock, still caged in his slacks, was rock-hard and twitching inside the vibrating ring she never once activated during dinner. But he felt it. Every second. Its snug grip. The threat of it. The weight of her control.
“Please,” he rasped, eyes blown wide, hands clenched at his sides. “Please touch me-please, I’ve been so good-”
“I know,” she purred, dragging her lips along the line of his throat. “I watched you squirm through three courses without making a sound.”
She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, fingers quick to undo his belt. The second his cock sprang free, she pressed the button in her clutch.
The ring came to life.
Bucky groaned like he’d been shot, knees buckling slightly as the low hum buzzed around the base of his cock, behind his balls, vibrations shooting straight through him. “Fuck-baby, fuck-”
“Bedroom,” she ordered.
He stumbled down the hall, panting, moaning, too far gone to speak. By the time he reached the edge of the bed, she was behind him again, nails down his spine, mouth at his ear.
“On your back.” He obeyed instantly, cock twitching in the air, the toy still humming around him. She climbed on top, straddling his hips, and reached down to line him up. He whimpered.
“Color?” She whispered.
“Green,” he gasped. “So green, please, I need to be inside you-”
She slid down onto him in one smooth motion, and Bucky cried out. His hands shot up instinctively, but she caught his wrists and pinned above his head. The vibrating ring pressed tight at the base of his cock, amplifying every stroke, every squeeze of her walls around him. “Oh my god-oh my-please, I’m not gonna last-”
His eyes rolled back. She rode him hard fast, deep, controlled. The friction from the ring made every thrust feel impossibly intense, and Bucky was unraveling fast, every moan turning into a choked sob.
“You’re such a good toy,” she whispered, leaning over him. “So perfect like this. Owned. Ruined.”
“Yours,” he breathed, voice shaking. “Only yours-please-please let me cum-”
“Beg.” He did.
Every filthy word, every broken plea. And finally, finally, when she felt him start to lose control.
“Now,” she whispered. “Cum for me, baby.”
Bucky shattered. He came with a cry so loud it echoed, cock throbbing wildly inside her, the vibrations only making it more intense. He trembled beneath her, gasping, helpless, the ring still humming at the base of his spent cock. She stayed on top of him, let him ride it out, let him feel everything. Only when his body went limp did she finally press the button again, turning it off. He blinked up at her, flushed and dazed, eyes glassy with satisfaction.
“I think I saw god,” he mumbled.
She smiled, brushing sweat-damp hair off his forehead. “No, sweetheart,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss him. “You saw me.” And he smiled back like that was so much better.
Since Bucky became aware of the toys you could use on him, she decided it was her time to play. The teasing started long before the limo pulled up to the Avengers’ tower. Bucky wore a black-on-black suit that fit like sin. His hair slicked back but still a little unruly near his ears. His metal hand rested on your thigh.
She wore that dress, the one with the slit high enough to kill and not back to speak of. But it wasn’t the dress undoing him. It was the toy. The small, remote-controlled vibrator tucked inside her.
He knew it was there because he put it in her, right before they left the apartment on her instruction, on his knees, kissing your thighs while she stood over him in heels tall in front of him, already dressed in that backless black gown commanding.
Bucky knelt between her legs, obedient and reverent, his large hands steady as he held the small toy and followed her instructions to the letter. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh then another, higher this time, lips lingering against her skin like he didn’t want to stop. The air was thick with tension, with need, with control.
She didn’t touch him. Just looked down and said, softly, “Good boy.”
And Bucky, hard in his slacks, flushed with submission. Felt pride flood his chest. He slid the toy inside her with care and trembling hands. Then he sat back on his heels and looked up at her like she hung the stars. She hadn’t turned it on yet. Not once. She just wanted him to think about it. So you leaned over in the limo, lips brushing his ear.
“Be good for me tonight,” you whispered. “Or I’ll make it buzz right when Steve gives his speech.”
He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”
You smiled. “Good boy.”
The gala was elegant, classy, and boring as hell. Until she made eye contact with Bucky from across the ballroom and pressed the remote in your clutch. The toy buzzed to life inside her. Just enough to make her legs twitch. He noticed the twitch, eyeing her like an eagle.
Suddenly, he was aware of her movements only, of her perfume thanks to his enhanced sense of smell. He choked over his champagne flute. He tried to pretend everything was fine, but his jaw clenched and his hand tightened around the glass. His eyes burning a hole in your dress.
She raised your glass to him with a smile.
Across the room, he mouthed Please.
She raised the intensity one notch. His fingers twitched. By the time she pulled him into the elevator, his hands were shaking.
He had been hard for over an hour, struggling to focus, fighting the urge to drop to his knees and beg.
“You having fun?” She murmured, pressing him against the wall.
“Ma’am,” he gasped, “please let me taste you. Please. I need to make you cum...please.” She hummed, considering.
Then said, “On your knees. Right here.”
His eyes widened. She hit the emergency stop button and he dropped.
Right there in the Tower elevator, suit wrinkled and tie undone, Bucky pushed your dress up and spread your thighs, devouring you like he was starving.
Like worship.
Like repentance.
Like it was his purpose in life.
She came against his mouth in minutes shuddering and moaning. Her fingers tangled in his hair while the city spun behind you through the glass elevator wall. He was rock-hard and dripping in his pants, panting, looking up at her like he needed her to end him.
But she wasn’t done.
Not even close.
Back in their apartment, she dragged him straight to the mirror in the bedroom. He was still in his suit, shirt open, tie hanging around his neck.
She pushed him into the chair in front of the full-length mirror and straddled his lap. “You’re going to watch this time,” she said, grabbing his jaw.
“W-What?” He stammered.
“You’re going to watch yourself fall apart while I ride you. Eyes open. Hands behind your back. Don’t look away.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he choked out, breathless.
She slid down onto him in one long, slow thrust, and he whined. Her hand clamped around his throat, just enough to hold him still. “Look at you,” she murmured. “Look how desperate you are for me.”
He flushed, panting, trembling under her, watching your body move over his in the mirror.
“Such a good toy,” she whispered. “So fucking pretty when you beg.” She rode him slow at first deep, grinding movements that pushed him to the edge. His moans broke into sobs. “I’m gonna cum-I can’t-”
She squeezed his throat. “No.”
He shook. Whimpered. Fought for control. And she didn’t stop.
“You’ll cum when I say. Not before. Look in the mirror and see what you do for me, baby. Look how perfect you are.”
He screamed when she finally said the words.
“Cum, baby. Cum for me.”
And he did shaking, eyes locked on hers in the mirror, sobbing her name as he came so hard she felt him throb inside you. But she didn’t lift off yet.
She just leaned in and kissed his temple. “Stay there,” you whispered. “Stay inside me, again.”
You both sat there, bodies tangled, still connected, still full.
He closed his eyes and whispered, “I love being yours.”
She kissed his jaw. “I love owning you.”
She hadn’t planned on losing her mind in public.
It started as a normal event, another stuffy Stark-hosted charity gala, another excuse for her and Bucky to show up in matching black and look devastating together. And Bucky? He again looked like sin in a suit.
The dark navy tux hugged his frame like it was made for him, sleeves tight around his biceps, chest mouth-wateringly broad. His hair was tied back, jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He was all smiles and charm, like nothing could rattle him. Until someone tried.
A woman tall, blonde, sharp drifted over during a lull in the conversations. She wore red lipstick and a confidence that read entitled. Her eyes dragged over Bucky’s frame like she was picking something off a menu.
“Oh my god,” she purred. “You’re James Barnes, aren’t you?”
Bucky smiled, polite. “Just Bucky.”
She leaned in, touching his arm, her nails painted blood-red. “Well, Bucky, if you’re not doing anything later…”
She stood right beside him. That woman knew. She didn’t care. Y/N saw Bucky stiffen slightly, polite discomfort but he was still too kind to shut it down cold. And something in her snapped.
Not because she thought he’d cheat. Not because she was insecure. But because he was hers. And someone was touching what was hers like they had a right. Bucky glanced at her, reading your expression immediately. He said nothing but his posture changed. He straightened. Submitted. Even now, in public. She leaned in and took his glass from his hand slow, casual, but loaded with meaning. Then she slid your hand down the center of his back.
“Baby,” she said with a smile so sharp it could draw blood, “can you get me a drink?”
He nodded, instantly. “Yes, ma’am.”
The woman blinked.
Ma’am?
But she was already turning to her. “That’s my boyfriend,” she said sweetly. “And I don’t share.” Her mouth opened to respond. You didn’t wait to hear it.
“Are you mad at me?” He asked quietly some minutes later. She shook her head once, but she didn’t answer. His breath stuttered. The elevator doors closed behind her with a soft mechanical hiss. And she still didn’t say a word. She stood beside him in silence arms crossed, lips tight, her expression unreadable. Bucky shifted his weight slightly.
“Baby…” She didn’t look at him. His voice softened. Careful. Testing. “I didn’t even look at her.”
Still, she said nothing.
She stared ahead at the metal doors, jaw clenched and her heart still hammering with that sick, hot mix of adrenaline and jealousy.
He glanced at her, worry flickering behind his eyes. “Please don’t shut down on me,” he said quietly. “Talk to me.”
She finally spoke with voice low, calm, and sharp enough to cut. “She touched you.” Bucky blinked. “She touched you,” she repeated, turning to face him now. “Ran her hand down your arm like I wasn’t even standing next to you.”
“I didn’t want her to,” he said quickly. “I froze. I didn’t even look at her, I swear-”
“I know,” she said. “I know, Bucky. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He hesitated. “Then why won’t you look at me like you usually do?”
She sighed, long and tight. “Because I’m mad,” she said. “I’m mad that someone else thought they had the right to even lay a finger on what belongs to me.”
His breath caught. And slowly, almost instinctively, he stepped closer. Eyes wide. Submissive. She didn’t touch him yet. But he already looked like he was melting under the weight of her stare.
“You know I’m yours,” he whispered.
“I know you are,” she snapped, voice rising just a little. “But maybe she didn’t.” She grabbed the front of his jacket and yanked him against her. “Never let other women touch you,” she growled.
“I swear it won’t happen again.”
“I know,” she snapped. “You were good. Polite. Too polite.”
His voice was a whisper. “Are you going to punish me?”
She stopped the elevator. “Pants down.”
“Here?”
She arched an eyebrow. “That’s not the first time in this elevator,” she said in a low and dangerous tone. He swallowed and immediately dropped his trousers. They fell to his ankles with a soft rustle, and his cock sprang free already half-hard just from her tone, her silence, her power. She stepped in front of him, pressed her body close. And she wrapped her hand around him. He gasped.
“Color?” She murmured.
“Fucking green,” he said without hesitation. “Please.”
“Good boy.” She stroked him slowly, her fingers gliding from base to tip in tight, deliberate motions. He moaned low, his head dropping to her shoulder, hips twitching forward as he melted into her touch.
“This what you wanted?” She murmured against his neck. “Some stranger staring at your cock like she had the right?”
“No-no, ma’am-I didn’t-fuck-”
She tightened her grip and picked up speed, dragging her fist up and down with a rhythm that made his knees shake. His breath was hot and ragged, lips parted, brow furrowed in desperate pleasure. And just as his moans grew louder, she reached behind him. And pressed the elevator button. The elevator lurched back to life, beginning its slow ascent.
Bucky whimpered, eyes flying open. “Fuck... are we...?”
“Yes,” she purred, lips brushing his ear. “Let’s see how well you behave now.” He trembled. She didn’t stop stroking him.
The lights ticked upward: 9… 8… 7…
He was panting now, cock pulsing in her grip, his voice nothing more than a choked whine. “Please-ma’am-please-someone might-”
She squeezed just under the head, hard enough to make his whole-body jerk. “Oh, now you’re shy?” She sneered. “Where was that modesty when she had her hand on your arm?”
“I-I didn’t want her-I swear-”
The elevator dinged again. Almost at the exit floor. She stopped, suddenly. Just like that. Let go. Stepped back.
“Pants up.” He stared at you wrecked, leaking, panting, eyes wide and dazed. “W-What?”
“You heard me,” she said coolly, fixing her lipstick in the reflection of the steel doors. “Pants up, soldier.”
He fumbled with his zipper, cock twitching uselessly, breath still shuddering in his lungs. Just as the doors opened, he managed to get himself tucked in.
She stepped out first. “Next time someone looks at you like you’re theirs,” she said over your shoulder, “remember what I didn’t let you have.” She heard him groan softly, footsteps slow behind her. And she smiled. Because he was dripping hard in his pants. And still so fucking her.
He was still panting by the time she got him inside the apartment. Now naked, flushed, his cock angry-red and still leaking from the hand job in the elevator, he stood in the middle of her bedroom, trembling slightly, still under the spell of her power.
“On the chair,” she said calmly.
He moved without hesitation. She watched him sit thighs spread, eyes glassy, chest rising and falling like he had been through a war. She walked slowly to the edge of the bed and slid out of her dress. No rush. She let him see everything. He made a soft, helpless sound when her fingers slipped into her panties.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” she warned. He nodded, biting down on his lip so hard it turned white. She lay back on the bed, legs parted, fingers slipping between her folds as she locked eyes with him. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
His jaw dropped slightly. “Fuck,” he whispered.
She slid two fingers inside herself and moaned, just loud enough to make his cock twitch. Bucky shifted in the chair, his hands still obediently behind his back, but his thighs shook, his chest heaved.
“You want to touch me, don’t you?”
“Y-Yes. Please. I’ve been good. I was good for you-”
“You were,” she hummed. “But this is your reward.”
She circled her clit with slow, steady pressure, letting him see every arch of her back and every twitch of her thighs. She moaned his name. His eyes fluttered. But he still didn’t move. Because she hadn’t told him to. She dragged it out, letting herself fall apart slowly, deliberately, with his eyes glued to her the whole time. When her legs started to tremble and her moans grew louder, she opened her eyes and stared at him.
“Keep watching, baby.”
He whined, desperate and stunned, cock pulsing against his thigh.
And then she came, gasping his name, thighs clenched tight, fingers slick and shaking. He made a soft, broken sound like it hurt not to be touching her. She panted, catching her breath, then sat up slowly.
“Colour?” she asked.
“Green,” he said instantly. “So fucking green.”
She smiled.
“Good.” She walked toward him naked, glowing, slick with satisfaction. Then she dropped to her knees in front of him.
“Now,” she murmured, wrapping her hand around his cock. “Now I’ll let you fall apart.”
He sobbed in relief. She ruined him with her mouth, finger tasting of herself, because he earned it. Because he watched. Obeyed. Surrendered. Because he was hers. She made him stand up, then pushed him down onto the mattress, face-up, spread his thighs, and climbed on top of him. No teasing. No warm-up.
Just her nails raking down his chest, her hand around his throat, her body lowering onto his cock in one slick, deep stroke.
“Fuck!” he gasped, hips jerking. “Keep still,” she growled.
He gripped the sheets. She rode him hard, punishing, hips slapping against his with brutal rhythm. His moans broke into cries needy and high, begging with his eyes even though his mouth didn’t dare speak.
She leaned down, lips at his ear. “You’re mine,” she whispered. “No one else touches what’s mine.”
“No one,” he choked. “Just you-just you, I swear-”
She slapped his thigh. “I know. But I need you to feel it.”
She rode him until he sobbed, begging, coming with her name on his lips like a prayer. She didn’t stop. He whimpered overstimulated, sensitive but she fucked him through it, owning every last shudder.
When she finally collapsed on top of him, both soaked in sweat, her fingers slid up to his jaw, gentle now. “Are you okay?” She asked.
He nodded shakily. “Perfect.”
“Too much?”
He kissed her forehead. “Not enough. Do it again next time someone looks at me like that.”
She huffed a laugh. “You like when I get jealous?”
He grinned, dazed and love-drunk. “I like when you remind me I belong to you.”
She didn’t blame Bucky. She never blamed Bucky. He had stood next to her the entire time, polite and awkward, doing his best to quietly shift away from the woman clearly eye-fucking him across the bar.
She touched his arm.
She laughed at a joke he didn’t even make.
She leaned in, too close, acting like she wasn’t standing right there with her hand around his waist.
And Bucky? He just stood frozen, because he was too good, too careful, too Bucky to snap at a stranger. Too loyal to give her the time of day. But she? She wasn’t built to stay quiet. By the time the woman finally walked away, lips pouted, and pride wounded, Bucky turned to her like he had just stepped out of a minefield. She smiled at him. Sweetly. Too sweetly.
And he knew. “Baby,” he said slowly, carefully, “I didn’t-”
“I know,” she said. “You were perfect.”
He relaxed a little. But that tight, polite smile was still stretched across her lips. And he knew better than to think she’d let it go.
“You going to tell me why you let her put her hands on you like that?” She asked.
His brows lifted, stunned. “I didn’t let her do anything, I didn’t even touch her. I just froze, I guess, when she touched me. I would never cheat on you, doll.”
“I know that,” she said, voice sharp. “I know you would never. But she sure as hell thought she could.”
He blinked. “So… you’re mad at her?”
“I’m furious at her,” she hissed. “For thinking she could flirt with you like I don’t exist.”
Bucky’s breath caught at that.
She paused, swallowed. “I got scared.”
He turned toward her, eyes wide.
“Scared?” He echoed.
She nodded. “Because what if I’m too much?” She whispered. “Too bossy. Too rough. What if you realize you want someone softer? Someone who doesn’t order you around, who doesn’t make you get on your knees in elevators or beg not to come someone who just lets you be?”
There was silence. Then the soft sound of sheets shifting as he pushed up onto his elbows. His voice was ragged quiet, but absolutely clear.
“These last few days with you controlling me? They were the best of my life.” She looked at him, startled. His hair was a mess, cheeks flushed, mouth trembling. “You don’t make me feel small,” he said. “You make me feel safe. You give me the one thing no one ever did.”
“Choice...” Her throat tightened.
“Exaclty. I asked you to do that to me.” His voice broke the silence, low and steady against the top of her head. She lifted her gaze to meet his, confused. He looked down at her like she hung the stars. “All of it,” he said softly. “The orders. The edging. The teasing. The elevator. The way you grabbed my jaw and told me I was yours in front of a goddamn mirror.”
She blushed. He leaned in closer, brushing his nose along hers. “I wanted that. I wanted you. I asked for this. Not because I want to be punished. Not because I feel guilty. Because it feels like freedom.”
Her throat tightened more. He continued, voice barely more than a whisper “I don’t want someone soft. I want someone who sees me. Who knows how to own me without erasing me. Who makes me feel like giving up control is the bravest thing I’ve ever done... and you, baby?” He cupped her cheek, gentle but firm. “You give that to me.”
She closed her eyes, breathing in the safety of him. The weight of his words sank into her bones. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He kissed her, slow and tender. “You don’t have to say thank you for giving me what I begged you for.”
She curled against his chest, fingers curled into his skin. “So, you’re really okay?” She murmured.
“Okay?” He echoed. “More than okay.” He added, “I don’t want softer,” he murmured, reaching for her hand. “I want you. I want your orders, your hands, your voice in my ear telling me I’m yours. That’s what I need.”
She crawled into his arms and buried her face in his neck, holding him close.
He kissed her forehead. “You can be as bossy as you want,” he said, smiling softly. “Just never stop being mine.”
She nodded against his chest. “Never.”
Later, when she was curled around him in bed, stroking his hair, he nuzzled into her chest. “You really got that mad over her?” He murmured, soft and amazed.
She hummed. “I don’t share.”
He chuckled, eyes heavy with sleep. “Good,” he whispered. “Because I never wanted anyone else to begin with.”
they did us dirty cancelling that beautiful man’s release. okay I mean i sort of get where they’re coming from because like people hated on him SO much like oh my god people really have no chill, but like c’mon at the same time so many people (such as myself) were so excited for Valko.
And imagine how much work people put into the creation of Valko, all the hours spent, just to never release him? The people at Infold must be angry too. Im frustrated both at the hateful lads players as well as infold.
-`♡´- Sucking Choso off during a lecture + Sounding him part way through...! :: 18+ :: fem!reader ::
Your boyfriend Choso sits rigid in the back row of the dim lecture hall, legs spread just enough under the narrow desk to give you room. The professor drones on about some obscure theory at the front, voice echoing off the high ceiling, while the rest of the class scribbles notes or scrolls on their laptops. No one notices the slight tremble in Choso’s shoulders or the way his knuckles have gone white around the edge of his notebook.
You’re tucked between his thighs, knees on the cold floor, hidden completely by the desk’s overhang. His jeans are open, zipper down, and that pretty cock of his is already out, thick and flushed, resting heavy against his thigh before you wrapped your lips around the head. It twitches the second your tongue swirls over the sensitive slit, tasting the salty bead of precum that keeps leaking for you.
Choso’s head is bowed low, dark hair falling forward to curtain his face as he pretends to focus on the lecture. A tiny, choked sound slips from his throat when you suck him deeper, hollowing your cheeks and taking him halfway down in one slow glide. His cock fills your mouth so nicely, hot and velvety, the vein along the underside pulsing against your tongue.
“Fuck… baby,” he whispers, barely audible, voice strained. He shifts in his seat, thighs tensing around your shoulders. “Not here… they’ll hear…”
You pull off just enough to whisper back, lips brushing the wet tip. “Then be quiet, Choso. You don’t want the whole class knowing how much you love your girlfriend sucking your cock under the desk, do you?” You lick a long stripe up the shaft, then swallow him down again, bobbing your head with wet, filthy sounds that only he can hear.
He bites his lip hard, a muffled whimper vibrating through his chest. One hand drops beneath the desk, fingers threading into your hair, not pushing, just holding on like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. “Shit… your mouth feels too good,” he breathes, hips twitching forward despite himself. “I’m gonna… ah—gonna moan if you keep doing that…”
You hum around him, the vibration making his cock jump. You suck harder, tongue pressing flat against the underside, working him with slow, deliberate strokes while your hand pumps the base he can’t fit. Choso’s breathing turns ragged, little broken gasps escaping no matter how hard he tries to swallow them. Every time the professor pauses, he freezes, terrified someone will notice the way his leg is shaking.
After a few minutes of torturing him like that, you pull off with a soft pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to his glistening cock. From your bag you fish the thin, smooth sounding rod you’d slipped in earlier, metal cool and slick with lube. Choso’s eyes widen when he sees it, pupils blown.
“W-wait… what are you—”
“Shh,” you coo, pressing the rounded tip against his already leaking slit. “Open up for me, pretty boy. You’re going to hold every drop of that cum inside until I say so.”
He exhales shakily as you ease the rod in, slow and careful, stretching his sensitive urethra just enough to make his thighs quiver. The sight of it disappearing into his cock is obscene, his reddened tip widening slightly around the metal. Choso lets out a strangled moan, quickly turning it into a cough when the girl two rows ahead glances back.
You stroke his shaft gently while the rod sits nestled inside, plugging him completely. “Good boy,” you murmur against his thigh, kissing the tense muscle. “Keep it all in. No cumming until the room’s empty.”
Choso’s head drops lower, forehead nearly resting on the desk as he fights the overwhelming pressure. His cock is throbbing visibly now, veins standing out, the plugged slit flushed dark and puffy. Every tiny shift of the rod makes him bite back another whimper. “It’s too much… feels so weird… so full,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Baby, please… I need to cum so bad…”
“Not yet,” you tease, licking lazily at the stretched skin around the base of the rod. “You’re going to sit here like a good little slut, cock plugged and leaking, while everyone else packs up. Think you can do that without moaning my name?”
He nods frantically, teeth sunk into his lower lip. The lecture finally ends. Chairs scrape, voices rise as students file out. Choso stays glued to his seat, pretending to organize his notes with trembling hands. The professor walks over, stopping right in front of the desk.
“Choso? You okay back there? You look a little pale.”
Choso lifts his head, face flushed, eyes glassy. “Y-yeah… just a headache,” he manages, voice rough. “I’ll… I’ll just take a minute to pack my stuff. Be out soon.”
The professor nods sympathetically and leaves, the door clicking shut behind the last few stragglers. The hall falls silent except for the distant hum of the air conditioning.
The second the lock catches, you don’t waste a single second.
You yank the sounding rod out in one smooth pull. Choso’s eyes roll back, a raw, broken cry tearing from his throat as the pressure releases all at once. His cock erupts instantly, thick ropes of cum shooting from his widened, reddened slit in powerful, messy spurts. It paints your tongue, your chin, drips down his shaft and over your fingers as you stroke him through it, milking every last drop.
“Fuuuck—oh my god,” he sobs, hips bucking wildly into your fist. “It’s too much… cumming so hard… baby, your mouth—shit—”
You wrap your lips around the sensitive head again, sucking gently on the puffy, stretched slit while he keeps pulsing, more cum flooding your mouth in weaker waves. His thighs shake violently around your head, soft desperate whimpers spilling out nonstop now that he doesn’t have to hold back.
When the last tremor fades, Choso slumps back in the chair, chest heaving, cock still twitching in the cool air, slit glistening and slightly gaping from the rod. You lick him clean with slow, thorough strokes of your tongue, savoring the taste of him, then tuck him back into his jeans with a soft kiss to the damp fabric.
You crawl out from under the desk, lips shiny, and climb into his lap, pressing a filthy kiss to his slack mouth.
“Such a good boy for me,” you whisper against his lips, tasting salt and desperation. “Next lecture… maybe I’ll plug you again and make you sit through the whole thing with my cum dripping down your thighs.”
Choso just groans, arms wrapping around you tight, already half-hard once more at the thought.
synopsis: valko is in deep heat with the supermoon occurring, and he wants a solution that requires restraints, a collar, and you.
warnings: valko is in heat, sub!valko, good boy!valko, collar use, bondage, riding, overstimulation, biting, licking, scent marking, edging, knots, rutting, monsterfucking.
wc: 2,3k
a/n: i love him already, he's such a cutie. he deserves endless cuddles, BE NICE TO HIM! i want to devour him. I NEED HIM TO EAT ME OU– enjoy a pre-release celebration of our handsome wolf, valko!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
He must be in heat. that’s the only way Valko can describe this feeling. The moon has been full for less than an hour, and he’s already twitching. Usually he can handle himself. But that’s not gonna work out well for him if all he can think about is you.
Your scent is delicious, beyond the scented lotions and perfume, he’s talking about your natural aroma, amplified by sweat and other smells your body emits. It draws him in. He can’t help but sniff the air every time you walk past him. His cock won’t stop twitching in his pants, tenting at the sight of you catching his gaze.
Valko wants to bite you. Valko wants to slather you with his saliva until you smell like him. He wants to rut his cock so deep inside you, cuddle you so close and keep you so warm with his hot body that you just have to call him a good boy.
“…ko,” He must be imagining you saying his name so nice and breathless.
“…alko.” There it is again, louder, your nails could drag down his back until he bleeds and he’d thank you.
“Valko!” He blinks, the mirage of a heated embrace disappearing from his perception to be replaced by your fingers snapping very close to his face. Such pretty fingers, he wants to lick—
“Yeah?” His voice is gruff and hoarse, almost like he’s keeping a whimper tight in his throat. His leg bounces as fast as his heart pounds his chest. You’re so pretty, with your pretty parted lips, and how your saliva keeps it just wet enough to shine in the warm lamp light. So plump for him to kiss and bite—
“As I was saying,” You pull your hand away, not hearing the small whine that leaves him from the lack of contact. “We need to make sure you’re comfortable for the next few hours. You said you can get agitated when there’s full moons, right?”
“Mmh.” Better a grunt than a moan. You brush it off assuming the effects of the celestial event are starting to mess with him internally.
Of course, you’re well aware that he’s got an extra pair of fluffy scratchable ears on the top of his head, an even fluffier tail protruding from the base of his spine, and sharper canines. You’re not ignorant.
What you don’t know is that he’s much more prone to getting heated in these hours. Especially in the presence of someone who his body, mind, and soul are attuned to completely. It’s you. You're that someone.
But he has to behave for your sake. He can’t be bad, he can’t be too rash and aggressive or he might scare you off. You might not like it. But he wants you so damn bad, he can’t even hide it anymore.
You’re rattling about restraints, something to tie him to incase he goes berserk.
Restraints. Belts. Muzzle. Chair. Tie him to a chair. He wants you to tie him to a chair.
He wants you to restrain him. He wants you to sit on his lap and feel how hard his cock is for you, feel it throb just below your cunt, grind his hips up to you still so retrained and held back that he has to beg you to ride him. He might as well ask for it.
“…unless that’s too extreme.” You mutter, expecting a response. Nothing. Did he zone out again? What’s going on with Valko to be so distracted? He wasn’t like this last month. “Look, I know the full moon can be a messy time for you, and now that it’s a supermoon it could be worse, but I’d prefer you to actually respond— oh.”
Valko is drooling. Valko’s eyes are glazed over. Valko is blushing beyond relief. And Valko is sporting a rock hard boner.
The silence that stretches between you would have been uncomfortable, it should have been. But you seem to enjoy the rough pants that escape his lips, how his hands are balled into fists to keep himself at bay. How the veins on his neck are far more prominent now.
You sink your teeth into your lower lip, hoping you won’t say anything foolish.
“Don’t laugh.” Valko grits, his fluffy ears drooping a little.
“I wasn’t going to.” You say, trying to ignore the fact that your lips are twitching into a smile.
You glance down from his agitated golden eyes to his neck, to his large muscular chest covered by the black tank you always find so attractive on him, to the taper of his waist, to the pulsing print of his cock bulging against his pants.
Now that you think of it, you two haven’t shared the bed recently. You’ve both been so busy with work that neither of you have had time for each other. And you’ve been very wound up these last few days.
“I think we should figure out what restraints will be good for you.” A purr follows your words as you rest your hands on his chest. Muscular, warm, huge chest that you love to sleep on. You’re making this much, much worse and you know it. You can hear it in the groan that rumbles in his chest.
“Oh, is it getting worse?” You play an aloof demeanour, reaching to caress the soft ears on his head, making sure to rub on that sensitive spot where his hair is its softest. A soft moan escapes Valko’s lips as his golden eyes flutter closed.
“Please…”
“What do you need me to do, my love?” Your lips ghost the shell of his fleshy ear, tongue peeking out to trace the shell. He shudders, head lowering to give you more access, hips rocking towards you so you can feel just what you need to do.
You don’t want that, though. He has to say it.
“I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”
A pained moan rushes right into your ear as he drops a part of his weight on you. Valko doesn’t want to say it but he also wants to say it. It doesn’t make sense. This heated state is driving him insane, and you’re giving him such a clear path to relief. But what he wants is different from what you usually do… will you agree?
With a shaky breath, Valko nuzzles the side of your neck, mustering the will to confess his desire. “You have to tell me no if you can’t do it.”
“I will.” You reassure him, stroking his soft hair. His arms wrap tight around you, grounding himself in your presence as the words unknot themselves to flow out.
“If you’re grossed out—“
“I won’t be grossed out, Val.” You softly say, rubbing circles into his lower back. “Nothing about you grosses me out. I trust you, so you need to trust that I’ll handle whatever you need and that I’ll tell you if I can’t. Outside of cannibalism, I'm not doing that.”
That makes him chuckle. “You’ll tell me the second you’re uncomfortable?”
“The millisecond.”
His next request comes out more sheepishly. “You’ll tell me I’m doing good?”
“I’ll put a poet to shame.”
“Pull my hair?”
“Put a collar on you too if you’re feeling feisty.”
A sigh of relief escapes Valko’s lips. Oh, he loves you. Finally, he pulls his face away from your neck to level your gaze with fresh determination on his face. “I want you to tie me to the chair, and ride the shit outta me.”
Ask and ye shall receive, as you hear them say.
It was easy to put Valko on a chair especially when he's drunk on your kisses, hungrily biting marks into your bare chest and stomach, gripping your hips so tight you’d think he’s terrified that you’ll run. It was easier to get soaked just from watching him strip for you— that, and having his fingers curl so good inside your cunt as he slurped and lapped at your clit.
The only ‘difficult’ part was restraining him to the chair, legs, arms, and torso roped tight, and that’s just because he’s antsy whenever the full moon happens.
But something about this supermoon has got him more riled up than usual. Why, you ask?
You’ve been bouncing on the man’s cock for two hours.
You’re not complaining, you love every second of this. Your walls are fluttering around him as he slides in and out of you so easily, caught by you keeping his fat tip inside leaking all that sticky, hot precum before you drop into his lap again and again and again.
“Val— ooh, fuck!” Your praise has otherwise become mush, slurred moans of his name and whatever adulation could come to mind. Valko doesn’t mind since he isn't doing any better. If anything, he’s lost the need to think.
“S-So good,” His throat is torn from how loud he’s been, his hips jutting into you even with his thick, corded thighs roped down to the chair. His tail is slapping the floor, his fluffy ears are twitching. He can barely move, limbs strapped down and a collar wrapped around his neck at his own request. And he loves it.
He wants to cum so bad. But then he’d end up swelling so much that he’d be stuck for hours, just grinding and grinding and plugging his seed inside instead of feeling you slap down on him with each rise and fall of your full hips. He wouldn’t have your soft breasts bouncing in his face, or feel your hands scratch his undercut and pull his hair, or hear the hiccups in your voice or the ragged moans in his own.
Why make this pleasure so short-lived when he can prolong it?
His cock is leaking like a faucet, keeping him smooth and wet for you to use him as you please, pulsing with the desire to just release. His sacks are drawn up tight, literally clenching with enough cum to repopulate a country, and yet he still won’t give in.
Valko drags his tongue up your jaw all the way to your cheekbone. “ ‘m I fuckin’ you good?”
“Hah— mhm. Such a good boy.” You ramble into his lips as you kiss him, slipping your tongue inside to taste him as if he isn’t all that you can sense. “So big and thick and hot… so— Valko— so full ‘f you, want you deeper, you’re so good!”
You’re on orgasm number five by now, gripping onto Valko’s strong shoulders for dear life, back arched, tugging his hair like you want to rip his red locks off. It’s the supermoon, you tell yourself, it must be shooting his stamina through the roof.
It fucking has to be if he’s been rutting into you like a bullet train without cumming even once. His girth twitches with every rock of your plush hips, it leaks and weeps inside you every time you squeeze him hard enough to cut off his blood flow. It has to hurt, prolonging his climax for this long.
Valko likes it that way. He likes the hurt. He likes the way his body just responds to you so well, like you’re made for each other. You have to be.
Your knees are starting to ache. Your thighs are burning from the constant bouncing up and down his thick length but the feeling of him dragging through your walls with each vein pressing against your walls is too good. The overwhelming bump of his cockhead kissing your cervix may just tip you over the edge again. The fucking curve of his cock and the angle just lets him reach the sensitive nerves of your g-spot so good every damn time!
You love these fucking supermoons.
“Valko,” You hum, licking his lips then his chin and jaw, your breath heavy as you maintain your pace. Just a few more and you’ll be in pure bliss. But you need him there with you. “I’m close. I’m so close. Hnn, need you— cum with me.”
“You— oh, you sure?” He whimpers, nuzzling you as you lick the tears off his cheeks. “I’ll—“
“Knot me, mhm.” You nod, rubbing your nose into his cheek, inhaling his scent. This man’s frenzied behaviour has been rubbing off on you too much, not that there’s reason to complain. “You’re gonna swell up so fuckin’ thick, yeah?”
He nods. “Gonna plug all that cum in me, keep it warm inside while you grind ’n rut into me?”
“Yeah,” He affirms, his arms pulling against the restraints. Is this what you want? You want him to bond with you to that much of an intimate extent? You must truly love him. “ ’m gonna stay in you the whole night, snug inside. But I like when you ride me.” You can feel him pouting as he pecks your skin. So cute.
“Then you’ll be a good boy, right?” You coo, your hands cupping his face as you press your thumbs on his lower lip. “Cum with me, and stay inside all night.” You fight every urge to give in to the pleasure when he bites your fingers.
You suck his upper lip, letting your moans vibrate into his. “Can you do that for me?”
Valko’s a simple man. You ask for something and he’ll give it to you with a smile. Like he is now, canines bared, tongue lapping at your fingers before he attacks your lips with a bruising, hot kiss. He pulls away just for a second to mutter against your mouth, “I love you.”
“I know, baby.” You huff, smiling into the kiss as you scratch his fluffy ears. Valko’s hips rut up faster and you can feel his cock swell at the base, almost ready to be plugged into you. Oh, he is so going to eat his cum out of you once he’s soft. “Now be good and cum with me.”
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“ow! that hurt, kacchan!” little izuku cries out, cradling his scraped knee.
katsuki laughs, the other bullies joining in. “that’s what you get for being so slow, deku. next time, slide down faster!”
“don’t call me d-deku..!” izuku says with a wobbly lip.
“that’s what you are, stupid deku.” giggles erupt from the rest of the kids, making izuku go red.
fat tears begin to form and fall down izuku’s chubby cheeks. there’s a second of worry that takes over katsuki’s thoughts, but he pushes it down and smiles smugly before going down the slide himself.
“why..” izuku sniffs. “why’s he so mean to me..?”
─────── ─────── ───────
“d-does it hurt, kacchan..?” izuku asks through heavy breaths, cradling the back of bakugo’s head.
“fuck— no..” bakugo shivers at deku’s touch. “deeper.. i-i need you deeper, izuku.”
“m-mm— are-are you sure?”
bakugo gives a little nod, and that’s all the confirmation izuku needs. he slides his dick slightly outwards, then back in, all at once.
“oh— oh, fuck— izuku—“ tears begin to form in bakugo’s eyes, and he quickly shuts them closed.
“k-kacchan—“ izuku huffs. “call me deku.”
“what?” bakugo’s eyes flung open. “why— haa— t-that.. out of all th-things..?”
“the way you say it,” izuku says softly into bakugo’s ear, making him shiver. “m-makes me feel— nghh~ special..”
bakugo goes red with embarrassment. he turns his head away, and, barely audibly..
“deku..”
izuku trembles on top of bakugo, his legs shaky as bakugo repeats the nickname again. he cups bakugo’s face in his hands.
“don’t turn away from me, kacchan..” his pace increases. bakugo’s grip weakens as he struggles to keep up with the speed.
Your boyfriend Satoru Gojo would always shave his happy trail, because he kinda thought you’d hate it when having sex and/or blowing him.
Until one time, he’d broken his wrist and was then unable to shave anywhere.
And obviously, since his wrist was broken, you just had to help him out! (You would’ve done it anyway but yk)
And the second you removed his sweatpants and boxers to let his cock spring out and got a glimpse of these white hairs down his abs, your mouth literally started watering.
So instead of directly heading towards his leaking tip, your mouth went to leave a hot trail of kisses down his happy trail, hairs tickling you as you finally reached the base of his cock.
Satoru being on painkillers somehow made him even needier than usual, which you didn’t think was possible.
He was exhaling heavily now, bottom lip genuinely trembling at your teasing, bucking his hips up to get your attention.
You giggled at the scene, enjoying his furrowed brows and teary eyes a little longer.
Your trail of kisses continued up his throbbing length before your lips settled on the red tip of his dick, tongue drawing circles around its slit.
Beads of precum were basically pooling out of him, balls twitching as if he was about to cum just then and there.
And he did, to both of your surprise. The last time he’d came that fast was during you guys’ first time together — which was also his first time.
Your face was painted with sticky white strokes of his release, Satoru immediately grabbing the hem of his shirt to clean you up.
Your mouth was still agape from the shock of this hasty orgasm. “Wow, babe. What’s gotten into you?” You said while grinning, dragging a finger from his pelvis all the way up his chest, teasing.
You left a small peck on a tear that was rolling down his cheek, stroking his still twitching biceps.
“I-uh don’t know..? Must be the painkillers…” He murmured, looking down like an embarrassed puppy.
Let’s just say it was not the painkillers at all, but he didn’t want to admit it. Look, he was open about pretty much everything with you, but come on the man still had some ego.
So he kept to himself how insane the way you kissed around his happy trail made him feel.
However, from this day on, he never shaved there ever again…
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"them pieces of silicone won't look at you the way i do" ; a sly challenge against your boyfriend's ego after he criticises your use of sex toys
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃 cw: bondage. use of a vibrator. sub!fratjo. very light degradation. overstimulation. ۶ৎ 1.5k words.
"𝓲 𝐦𝐞𝗮𝒏, 𝓬'𝒎𝐨𝒏. i just don't see the point in this thing. you've got me to take care of you, baby."
was the last time such an order of words had escaped satoru's lips in so polished a succession. what followed, traditionally recognised by the average onlooker as something so unbecoming of the charming athlete, was but one of many sly confirmations of a modest inclination.
gojo satoru bled with a vivacity that infected those around him like a deadly virus. symptoms varied. admiration. envy. annoyance. desire. and an unyielding fancy from others to conquer.
it was with such knowledge that he didn't cheapen himself to anything less characteristic of he who is captain of the football team and president of his fraternity. to some's pleasure, and to most's chagrin, vanity was a second skin, a wretched kink in his dna that, alongside his devilishly good looks, he'd felt no need to stifle; present during football games, head to head with his opponents as he speaks ill of their athletic prowess. present during frat parties, head to head with other frat bros as he speaks ill of their sexual prowess.
and as his girlfriend, to think that you'd be exempt from such torment may only determine you as dangerously unwise. which is why it came to no surprise that he'd dared to question your use of sex toys, and that such audacious questioning served as none but yet another opportunity to advertise his own superiority. after all, nothing came close to the near biblical ecstasy of being split open by his cock, and more so, bearing the privilege to access such ecstasy at your very own command. smug as ever, with the conviction of one forever pardoned from subjugation, he shamelessly expressed this reminder—not even bothering to apologise for rummaging through your things, but had somehow reassigned his place on the moral low ground to you for owning such supposed abominations.
and certain responses, a huff, a cross of the arms—the smallest indication of having taken offense, typical of you, quickly concealed by the clearing of your throat, he hadn't been naive to expect.
but he had been naive to expect defeat.
"ah...fuck! c-c'mon! i said i was sorry—ngh!"
alas, his transgression was rendered impossible to overturn. but such a reflection wouldn't come easy to him by simply observing your expression—soft eyes suddenly interested in your nails, your walls, the open novel on your lap in which the content had been reduced to incoherent lines of black ink.
still. rested.
as if the soothing quietude of your dorm wasn't polluted with the buzz of your vibrating wand and the shaky urgency of satoru's cries. heard from the foot of your bed. mere meters from you.
you simply cross your legs, lean calmly back against your headboard, which all but prompts satoru into a fervid quest for only the smallest glance.
"please…i can't…i can't take it anymore…" he pants, to which you make no discernible physical response, except avert your eyes from your lap, almost as if searching for confirmation. and surely enough, he was still there. the ever so fierce gojo satoru—hottest and toughest boy on campus, the social kingpin, sex god, from whom a glance was worth the world's riches, restrained to a chair with your vibrating wand—the contraption previously subjected to his cocky ridicule—tied to the hardened and aching length of his cock.
his tip glows an angry red from the continued abuse, beads of precum leaking obscenely down his veiny girth as each plea rings louder than the last. then, perhaps to prove your motivations less base, your eyes travel upwards, passing over the way his sweaty pectorals strain against the tightness of the rope, to a set of pink and glossy lips agape in none other than pure bliss.
and then it became clear to you.
this wasn't beneath him at all.
a smirk finally tugs at the corner of your lips, and a voice, sweet and thick as honey, yet fierce as the heat of molten steel, fans into the atmosphere as a deceptively maternal response, "i'm sorry, baby. what was that you said again?"
"ngh—baby!" the plea escapes in parts of a sob and a laugh, back arching against the chair in a delicious battle against his powerlessness. you only shut your book, a dusty page-riddled 'thump!' that signals anything but mercy, and set it aside as he continues to plead, "i said…i said…i can't take it! it's too much…"
"nah ah…" you tut, "before that."
the state into which satoru's features contort warms your heart, and just for a second, his confusion turns you away from how the length of his cock rivals that of the wand that continues to buzz mercilessly against him. how the movements of his hips don't cease, riding the vibrations in earnest as if he were a bitch in heat. it pulls a soft coo from your throat, making his cock twitch, no less when you continue to taunt him with this riddle.
"oh, come on…" your tone teeters on the edge of a sneer, "you're usually all talk, mr quarterback. nothing to say this time?" a high pitched whine follows, and after that, a witch-like cackle as you salaciously cross one leg over the other, intending only to reveal a sliver of skin from your sundress to contrast your boyfriend's state of vulnerability. you sigh, feigning resignation, "you're slow, aren't you? where was all that sweet talk about being better, hm?"
"i know! i know—fuck! i'm sorry! i'm sorry! i didn't mean—"
"—about how nothing compares to being fucked by you?" you tilt your head, smiling as if you were merely spectating upon a performance of which you had no control. "because from where i'm sitting, it seems like i'm still yet to witness this stamina you keep blabbering about."
conceding to what is now, undeniably, a spell of torment of which he can no longer plead his way out, he shakes his shoulders in a light sob, a rhythm that nearly matches that of his hips. "fuck…you're evil…you're so fucking evil…"
"maybe," you purr, tracing the hem of your dress, rested and wrinkled on your upper thigh, stopping short of what he would kill to watch you touch. "but we both know that you asked for it."
"god! okay! fine! i'll never say anything like that again! I swea—"
"i like you like this," you interrupt, as if musing upon a trivial observation, "why would you hide this side of you from me, baby?'
with his mouth agape, and his eyebrows creased as if he were about to break into tears, he sneaks a quick glance below his waist, eager to witness the nearing of his own climax. his cock bobs lightly against his toned abdomen, a string of creamy white stretching between them—and the wand, ever so obtrusive, taunts him with several reminders of his incapacity, daring him to break free and give himself the release he so desperately craved.
"it feels so fucking good…"
"I know, baby."
"but it's nothing compared to you."
you pause.
he continues, "i wanna breed that sweet little pussy and feel it squeeze every drop out of me. i wanna watch your tits bounce when you ride me. god, i'd rather you milk me for all i'm worth—'til my cock fuckin' snaps. i'd rather it be you torturing me like this…not—ngh!—this fuckin' thing!"
the plea, an elixir most damning to inexperienced taste buds, almost catches you—the smell of your arousal guarded feebly between the full flesh of your thighs, dripping like molten lava, taunting satoru's nose like a siren's call.
but then came his next words. and oh, thanks be to his naivety, for baring his armor to your procurement.
"i know you want it too." he grunts. "you know you want it."
complete silence. satoru pants as if his speech were a bout of strenuous exercise, and even still, the sound takes defeat over the loud hums of that damnable sex toy.
"oh, toru…" you coo, and his posture straightens—wand be damned—as he awaits your response in hopeful anticipation, "you still haven't learned, have you?"
you don't even give yourself time to watch his face drop, his head tip back again, his hair slap back onto his forehead like leaves of a willow tree in a snowstorm, his orgasm come upon him in a violent twitch of the hips. the bliss had betided within the few seconds it took for you to swing your legs off of the bed, retrieve your novel, and make but a casual destination of the door to your bedroom.
averting his eyes from the mess of cum on his abs, upon realizing the lack of intervention proceeding his orgasm, he strains his neck towards the door, catching your hand against the doorknob. "hey—hey! what the fuck! come turn this thing off!"
your expression, eerily calm, discourages further thought. just another loud cry. "ah, baby! please! i can't! i can't take it anymore!"
"i'm off to study. thanks for taking care of me, baby. that was amazing."
