#dreampacknet

I know I'm a contributing factor for the general angstyness of prokopinsky, but here: Enjoy the boys being high and happy for a change "Fuck men." Furrowing his brow, Prokopenko asked, "Are you making a feminist statement right now, or...?" Glancing up from where his head was pillowed on Proko's thighs, K admitted, "Don't think so." The words came on a puff of silver-blue smoke, and he smirked when Proko lifted a hand to wave it away. "I'm just saying." He took a drag from the joint Proko rolled for him earlier. Proko always did a better job of it than he did. "Fuck men." With great concentration, he blew out a perfect smoke ring. This, he was better at than Proko. "Fuck women." Another perfect ring. This one, Proko caught on his middle finger for a few seconds before it dissipated around his hand. Another smirk, and Kavinsky's dark eyes snagged Proko's colorless ones. "Fuck me, preferably." Though Proko's eyes rolled, he didn't outright refuse, instead brushing dark hair away from Kavinsky's forehead and asking, "How high are you?" Pursing his lips, eyes hooded, K eventually said, "Couple thousand feet." He shot Proko a dirty look for laughing at him. Proko was, naturally, not the slightest bit intimidated: Kavinsky was too out-of-it to even lift his head. "Could prob'ly join the mile-high club right now." Carding his fingers through spiked hair, carefully easing out a few tangles, Prokopenko said, "I don't think that's the kinda high they mean, K." Glancing up with blown-dark eyes, one brow lifted, Kavinsky asked, "You sure?" Clicking his tongue, Proko half-laughed, "Pretty sure, yeah."

"Got something for you." That could be a wondrous thing, or a terrible, terrible thing. Proko wasn't sure which possibility he liked more, and he snuggled deeper into Kavinsky's chest, both of them sprawled out on the sofa, chest to chest beneath a mass of blankets, the TV blaring some oversexed rap video that neither of them were paying any attention to. When it was clear that Proko was interested, K reached beneath the couch to pull out a parcel wrapped in glittering purple tissue paper, and he promptly pressed it into Proko's hands. "You dreamed it for me?" "Gotta take care of my baby, yeah?" Wondrous or terrible. It was a risk Proko was willing to take. He was always willing to take a risk for K. Turning onto his side and pressing his fingers to glitter, he shot K a sidelong glance, saying, "If it's another sex toy--" "Enough is never enough when it comes to sex toys," was K's defense. It was as sound as any, Proko supposed, and with a roll of frosty eyes, he tore through the layers of tissue paper to the large circle at the heart of the mass. It was pale pink, made of soft, buttery leather and studded with rhinestones. Opposite the buckle was a D-ring large enough to fit a leash through. Hanging from it was a tag, heart-shaped, which read Daddy's Little Princess. It was a collar, it was thoroughly demeaning, and Proko pressed it back into K's hands, pleading, "Put it on me."

NSFW prokopinsky "Say it again." Despite the softness of K's voice, it's a command, and licking his lips, Proko breathes, "I love you." It's entirely true, K knows, and he shivers, hips pressing deep and grinding hard. Beneath him, sprawled along the leather sofa, Proko has the fingers of one hand tangled into his own hair, his head tossed to the side, frosty eyes squeezed shut, the opposite hand scrabbling at K's hip. He looks like a goddamn porn star, and there's nothing K wants more than to simply devour him whole. "Look at me." Another command. Proko is too far gone to even hear it. Hips stilling, just for a moment, K leans in, pressing one hand to Proko's chest, feeling the beating of the other boy's heart frantic and desperate against his palm. "Look at me, baby." This time, Proko obeys, his pale, pretty eyes fluttering open to meet K's. Without his sunglasses to shield him from the heat in that look, K burns. Propping up on one elbow, Proko reaches his free hand out to grasp at K's nape, pulling him closer and breathing against his plush lips, "I love you." A reply is bubbling at the back of K's throat, and he pulls back, hips rolling hard. Proko's voice is a rapidly failing thing, catching in his chest in soft whimpers and wet, needy gasps, and he hitches one thigh around K's waist, riding his cock against K's stomach. One hand at Proko's hip, holding him down, K's other hand drifts to Proko's cock, biting back a low growl when Proko flutters around him at the contact. The way Proko reaches down to place a hand over K's, guiding the grip on his own cock feels more intimate than any of their words have, his eyes on K's, dark and adoring and wanting for far more than just sex. It's a strangled whimper and a bitten lip and the press of Proko's blunt, chewed down nails to scarred knuckles that has K coming hard inside him, shuddering apart with his face hidden against one of Proko's uneven shoulders, mouthing along golden skin. "Don't stop." It isn't a command; It's a plea. Proko is submissive through and through. "K, please, don't stop." Dropping down to one elbow, keeping a tight grip around Proko's cock, K tangles his other hand into sandy locks, pulling just the way Proko likes, and Proko's responding moan is a thing of beauty, breathy and soft, his pretty eyes squeezing shut again. It isn't enough. Curling his arms around K's shoulders, nails digging into soft skin, Proko rolls his hips into K's grip, tossing his head back against the pillow when K's fingers tighten in his hair, tugging hard and possessive, pulling his head back to lay claim to his throat, a series of red-black-violet marks laid into his skin for all to see. "Mine." K's voice is low and rough, muffled against soft skin. It's as close to a proper I love you as Joseph Kavinsky is likely to get, Proko knows. It isn't enough. Pressing his cheek to spiked hair, Proko says again, shivering at his own voice, "I love you, K." Though his rough, calloused hand doesn't stop working Proko's cock, K does glance up for a moment, his eyes half-lidded and dark as sin, and just the way he kisses is enough: Possessive and needy and wanting and strangely warm, strangely soft. Soft doesn't really suit either of them, but Proko is immensely grateful for it all the same, his hips pressing up into K's hand as he comes down, shivering hard when K's tongue laps at the bruised skin of his throat, half an apology. Again, his voice sex-wrecked and thoroughly indecent, K murmurs, "Mine." Pressing his mouth to the corner of K's lips, feeling warm and spent and fucking glowing, Proko agrees, "Yours."

okasian - no flex zone / keith ape - it g ma / okasian - walkin remix / zico - bermuda triangle / ikon - anthem / mino - body / bobby - holup / mobb - full house / agust d - agust d / g dragon - coup d'etat / skrillex - dirty vibe / dean - pour up / bts - cypher pt 4 / kohh - dirt boys / bobby - go / zico - yes or no / g dragon x taeyang - good boy / epik high - born hater / dean - i’m not sorry / zico - though cookie / ben owen - pusha vibe / sik-k - alcohol / sik-k - rendezvous / j hope - 1 verse / ikon - rhythm ta / keith ape - vigorous / winner - i’m him / jay park - mommae / paloalto - turtle ship / the quiett - my life

“ i like picturing the pack in suits, custom fit and proper. their hair is greased back and sunglasses are replaced by rings because the boys have some obsession with accessories. they keep their composure for only a bit before someone cracks a joke and all serious faces are replaced with wide smiles and hyena laughs. ” (c) 

~insert a cool, quirky quote that captures a Vibe~