#anon reply

alfie didn’t waste a second in dragging you into the shower with him when you got home from sidemen charity match. you were so tremendously proud of him, and you felt like you could give him a million kisses everyday and it still wouldn’t be enough.

the water pressure was perfect as it ran over the both of your bodies. you kept your hands clasped at the base of his spine, arms folded around his middle and cheek resting against his chest, occasionally kissing his skin.

you hummed contently as he lathered shampoo into your hair, using the tips of his fingers to massage your scalp.

you obviously returned the favour, making sure to give him more care and attention.

he slotted his lips against yours as the water rinsed through your hair, sending the soapy shampoo suds down your back and chest.

“love you, alf.” you grinned, “you did so well today, really.”

“that means everything coming from you.” he responded sincerely, kissing your nose and then forehead before reaching for the conditioner

throughout the shower, the two of you shared a couple dozen more soft, meaningful and meticulously placed kisses.

you didn’t even let the thought of blow drying your hair cross your mind when you stepped out, instead choosing to briefly towel dry it before changing into your pyjamas (one of alfie’s old youngLa shirts that didn’t fit him anymore) and got into bed with him.

he scrolled through his phone, ordering dinner from wagamamas before burying his face in your neck, collapsing all of his bodyweight onto you.

you groaned, patting his back as your arm were partially pinned to the mattress and your sides.

the pair of you enjoyed a sweet cuddle full of lingering pecks and muttered words of approval. your hand was buried in his curls, stroking through them and rubbing at his scalp, making him hum and shut his eyes. your other hand rested over his face, your thumb switching between stroking over the length of his nose and his cheekbone.

when your food arrived. you ate on the sofa with each other, cuddled up as you rewatched game of thrones for the millionth time. the way you ate was leisured and lethargic, the both of you starving out of your minds but also desperately ready to sink into the mattress in the room above you.

when bedtime finally came, you were both brutally knackered. he’d had an entire day of running up and down, kicking his legs about and constant adrenaline rushes, whereas you’d worn yourself out through screaming and jumping in celebration.

you were half expecting him to collapse on top of you again like he did prior to dinner, but instead, he pulled you on top of him, your leg hooked over his waist and head resting on his chest.

one of his hands rested on your thigh, the other at your upper back, stroking along your spine as you spoke mindlessly, lazily and comfortably.

some sentences earned a tired chuckle, while others earned nothing more than an acknowledged hum.

the intimacy was gentle and casual with his lips occasionally brushing your hairline and your fingertips tracing shapes and the number ‘23’ on the skin of his pec repeatedly.

it didn’t take long for the either of you to fall asleep, your lips parted and cheek smushed against his collarbone, a sight that made him snort and chuckle to himself. he reached for his phone, snapping a picture of a moment he found endearing and worthy of a snapshot in time.

after putting his phone back on the bedside table, he switched off the lamp and sunk further down into bed, careful not to disturb you in your slumber.

you could tell how frustrated viktor had been recently. from the countless nights of sleeping at the lab to the several crumpled up pieces of paper spread along his desk; he was struggling with his latest project. but unfortunately that came with him not sleeping for days— which left you just as frustrated as he was. but when you finally managed to rip viktor away from his work, just long enough to go home and change, possibly eat something, you were reluctant to let him go back to the lab. and the only way you could get him to relax and turn that big brain of his off was to force him to think about only you.

so, after his shower you force him to sit down in a chair in your shared home, planting kisses along his body while you adjust his legs to lay more comfortably for what you had planned.

“my love, what are you doing?” viktor sighs, running a hand across his face as he melts into the chair even though he really shouldn’t. “i need to get back to the lab.”

“nuh uh, you’re going to sit there and relax.” you order with a slight smile. your hands running down the front of his chest and down his thighs, making a slow descent in between his parted legs.

vik lifts an eyebrow at you as you speak, not really understanding what you mean by ‘relax’. you’re unraveling his towel from his thin waist while vik watches on with a tired gaze. and it must have been the several sleepless nights stuck at the lab to cause him to process this so slowly because it takes you fully wrapping a hand around his soft shaft before he even reacts to what you’re doing. his droopy, exhausted eyes fly open wide as your fingers softly grasp around him.

he is definitely awake now. good.

“no more work. no more lab. you need to take a break, v. think of me and only me. right here, right now.” you instruct the man, effortlessly cutting him off before he could protest you, while slowly stroking up towards his head. in response vik sucks a tight breath in through his clenched teeth, amber eyes settling on you in a look of slight irritation. not to worry though, his gaze would quickly soften as time went on for you two; soon he’d look upon you with pleasure in those pretty eyes of his.

unsurprisingly it only takes a few strokes to make vik fully hard. it was all but a simple thumb press against the slit of his head, sliding your fingers across his sensitive tip, before stroking down his shaft to turn him into putty in the palm of your hand; while his own fingers grip the arms of the chair. he groans, eyes fluttering as you press your thumb against his sensitive tip again. soaking in every moan that slips past his lips as your hand jerks him off. stroking him from base to tip, slow and steady, planting kisses along his left knee and thigh.

you move your hand faster at vik‘s sweet moans. taking a second to glance up at his pretty face as he turns bright red, even to the tips of his ears, as he tries his best to look at you through the pleasure.

“you’re so pretty viktor.” you praise against his knee as your hand moves faster. sliding your free hand to grab the base of his cock while your other hand moves faster against his sensitive head, smearing precum every which way.

vik whimpers at your touch and your words. his body tensens as you use both hands along his shaft. his breath hitches in his throat with another whimper, tears clinging to his pretty eyelashes as your hand rubs over his sensitive tip again and again. god, he looked so good like this. under your work, head tilted back, fingers trembling, struggling to sit still, slipping in his chair, and whimpering your name like a prayer.

you needed to get him out of that damn lab more often.

your mouth waters at the sight of the man before you. you lean forward, spit rolling off your tongue and dripping onto the slit of his head before you follow its path and slip him into your mouth.

“d-darling!” vik cries, thrusting his hips upwards and forcing more of himself into your mouth. you take him with ease as he practically fucks himself into your mouth now.

he’s rapidly coming undone now. his fingers manage to tangle into your hair while his hips move erratically. you suck harshly when his cock hits the back of your throat, spit slipping down your chin, causing vik to moan your name.

oh he’s so pathetic and sweet like this. rutting helplessly into your mouth, slipping in the chair he sits in because he’s so eager to come; mind blank with only the thought of how good your mouth feels.

“mmph! i can’t, please!” viktor sobs. his mouth falling open with sinful moans and whimpers. his pretty eyes fall close as he whines your name again and again, chest heaving with every breath he semi-struggles to take as his orgasm burns through his entire being. “coming!” the words slip off his lips with little warning as his climax surges through him. his back arches slightly, forcing the rest of his cock into your throat as he comes.

you keep your mouth wrapped around him until he finally stops moving and his hips do not falter or stop until he’s entirely spent. you take every drop he spills before he begins to whine from overstimulation; so you slip your lips from his cöck but keep your hand slowly stroking along his shaft.

“do you still want to go back to the lab or should we just keep going?” you ask devilishly, smiling up at viktor’s blushing face.

he blinks in his dazed, post-orgasm state but manages to shyly nod in response. “i want to keep going.” he mutters.

good thing you had already planned to keep going. nothing would stop you from pleasing him so he could forget all of his worries.

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SFW:

Claims you instantly — the moment his eyes lock on you in the chaotic IKFC crowd, you become his personal prize. No discussion, no escape.

Tracks every second of your day through his network of loyal shadows. Miss a single check-in text? He appears in person within minutes, baek-jeong’s intense stare pinning you in place.

Sends black-box gifts: diamond chokers he expects you to wear daily, clothes he personally chose, a luxury apartment wired only for his cameras.

Eliminates threats quietly — a flirty coworker “transfers cities,” an ex who texts you vanishes from your life forever. He never brags, just smiles when you mention how peaceful things suddenly feel.

Pulls you onto his lap during crew meetings, massive arm locked around your waist like a steel cage while his men avert their eyes.

Calls you “my only weakness,” “little prize,” or “bloodhound’s queen” in that low, dangerous voice that makes your knees weak.

Studies you like a fight tape — knows your favorite coffee order, the exact way you bite your lip when nervous, what makes you laugh or flinch.

Keeps you close during underground matches you sit ringside so he can glance at you between brutal punches, drawing strength from your presence.

Jealousy is ice-cold and lethal. One lingering male gaze at a party and that man is politely escorted out… permanently.

Marks anniversaries (the day he decided you were his) with private blood-soaked spectacles held in your honor or forcing his entire empire to raise a toast to you.

After brutal fights, he rests his bruised head on your stomach, letting you clean his knuckles while murmuring you’re the only thing that silences the roar in his head.

Public possessiveness: hand on the back of your neck, pulling you behind his broad frame at any hint of danger, kissing your temple like a silent brand.

Builds an entire hidden world for you...bodyguards who answer only to him, a wardrobe that screams “taken,” late-night drives where he confesses fragments of his violent past.

Hates when you’re away too long. Will cancel his own plans just to show up and drag you home, saying the city feels wrong without you in his sight.

Treats you like forbidden treasure: soft with you in private, terrifying to everyone else who dares approach.

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Fucks like he fights ...raw, dominant, endless stamina. Pins you down with boxer strength, growling “Mine” against your throat with every punishing thrust.

Obsessed with marking teeth on your inner thighs, fingerprints bruised into your hips, hickeys hidden under the clothes he picked for you.

Mirror kink supreme makes you ride him while forcing you to watch every expression, one hand gripping your jaw: “Look how pretty you break for me.”

Phone sex during his long nights running fights deep voice commanding you to touch yourself on camera, edging you until you sob his name.

Ties you up with silk ropes, edging for hours. “Beg properly. Tell me who owns this pussy and I’ll let you cum.”

Breeding obsession finishes deep every time, holding you down while whispering filthy promises about filling you until you’re dripping and claimed.

Jealous sex is violent heaven drags you home and fucks you raw against the wall, making you scream loud enough for the whole building to hear who you belong to.

Loves you on your knees after his victories cock down your throat while he praises how perfect his prize looks choking on him.

Fingering you under the table during important meetings, hand over your mouth, continuing business like nothing’s happening while you tremble.

Stamina sessions keeps you in his bed for days, fucking you senseless between short naps and forced meals. “The ring can burn. You’re my only fight now.”

Worships and ruins at once eats you out for hours with that fighter endurance until you’re shaking and oversensitive, then flips you over for more.

Possessive aftercare pulls your exhausted body against his chest, big hands stroking your hair while he murmurs dark praises and darker promises of forever.

Risk play bends you over in semi-public spots near the arena, whispering how anyone could walk in and see who owns you.

Trains your body like he trains for matches teaches you exactly how he likes to be pleased, rewarding perfect obedience with mind-shattering orgasms.

Sleeps wrapped around you like a vice, cock still buried inside after the last round, refusing to let even an inch of space separate his prize from him.

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