pet me as you go, whisper praise and direction as you comb fingers through my hair, leave whispers of your touch on my shoulders and arms. a collar, some cuffs, or rope around my limbs. a blindfold to reduce visual input that could surely bring me out of the place i have settled into. that might make me disobey.

30 Day Idol Challenge

uhhh it's more curtbucky puppyplay sorry

If he didn't know where to look for the heat in Curt’s face, he’d think he was bored, with how flat his expression is. But his eyes are dark, bright blue swallowed up by black, and he’s breathing too steady to be natural. He drops one hand from Bucky’s neck—leaves the other where it is, with his thumb against where Bucky’s pulse is pounding—and holds it out palm-up between them. “Collar.” The question on Bucky’s tongue dries up and goes cold. “Don't have it,” Bucky gets out, and it hits him low, having to say it out loud—he should've, he didn’t think it out, just went with his gut, didn't have a plan. It hits Curt too, and Bucky wants to claw it back because it looks real, the way Curt’s expression goes a little narrow, like he’s disappointed. Bucky opens his mouth to say he’s sorry, to tell him he didn't mean it any kind of way, not bringing it, he just didn't think— But Curt shifts the hand on his neck, fits his hand all the way around Bucky’s throat instead. Bucky gasps, head tilting back against the wall. “Okay,” Curt says, voice level in a way that screams danger. Bucky’s skin prickles up into goosebumps along his arms. “We’ll make do. Heel.”

might post it on curt's bday just for fun /jazzhands