#hands and lips. teeth into skin. cold metal tracing shapes.

[soul-spoken]

Romanticizing things subconsciously while otherwise being terrified and angry, disgusted and withdrawn.

It's so strange.

It's like part of me is still there, while the rest can see the reality of the situation. Like part of me is stuck, frozen in that frame of time like a picture.

I hate that

[inkyajax]

take it slow just as fast as i can

character: boothill notes: i just rly, genuinely think boothill would be obsessed with feeling every fucking inch of you, that’s all c: | title credit: body like a back road by sam hunt warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, thinly veiled body worship, mentions of scars + implied stretch marks and cellulite, marking (biting and bruising), implied multiple orgasms, tiny bit of angst right at the end words: 830

boothill knows your body better than he knows anything else in the cosmos. 

boothill knows your body better than he knows his own—better than he knows his scorched, excavated homeland, better than he knows the smooth metal ripples and ridges, cold curves and contours of his own so called ‘body’, better than he knows his cherished 9mm revolver—the ivory grip, pretty pearlescent nacre shimmering up at him delicately from between the gaps of mechanized fingers, stamped with that gilded eagle sigil; the artfully notched cylinder, embossed with decorative arrows—six, one for each chamber—and the angular hammer, piped with shimmering aureate; the golden barrel, intricate inclinations carved to sharp, exquisite perfection. 

boothill knows every curve, every dip, every edge of your form—all of your lines and dimples and scars, and could map them out with his eyes closed and recite each corresponding story: a single metallic fingertip tracing along the jagged strikes of silver etched into your skin; his hard thumbprint pressing into the dents peppering your thighs, a cool knuckle skimming over that scar on your knee. 

and boothill loves appreciating them, appreciating you, appreciating how it all comes together to create one of the most magnificent masterpieces he’s ever had the pleasure of touching, the privilege of loving. 

it’s become somewhat of a ritual now to take his sweet time admiring your figure before he fucks it, feeling every part of you plush and pliant beneath his grooved palms, revelling in the soft gasps that stutter your chest and dainty shivers that ripple your flesh as he kneads it. 

he fills his touch with it, grabs healthy handfuls and squeezes—so soft, so supple—alternating between harsh groping, iron fingers sinking into your thighs, your hips, your tits, and gentle caressing, bullseye gaze watching with sheer wonderment as his palms glide over your silhouette, slick lips parted and damp with panted breath.

sometimes he’ll just let his hand rest on your ribs, observing the way it rises and falls with each of your quiet breaths, feeling oxygen expand your lungs as it flows in, then feeling your chest depress with every exhale pushed up your throat. 

he loves to experience the thrum of your pulse beneath his fingertips—nothing more than a faint fluttering pressure against his receptors, but present nonetheless—an undeniable confirmation that you are indeed here, alive, his. 

so beautiful, he murmurs from between your thighs, one large hand pressed flush against your heart, his chin resting on your stomach. a work of fudgin’ art, baby, I swear to the stars. 

it all gets him going so goddamn easily, instils a hunger in him so ferocious that it chews on his wires, zipping through the cables in sparks of desire until it devours his brain, gorges every thought and notion until all he can conceive, all he needs, is you. 

he can’t help but lick and kiss and bite and suck, desperate to leave his own impermanent marks on this gorgeous canvas. bruises blossom in the shapes of his fingerprints, sprouted in clusters of five across your form. engravings of razored teeth litter your thighs and hips, his gnawing just a hint shy of too strong, leaving behind wide crescents of thirty-two little crimson pinpricks. petals of thick saliva dry hard and stiff on your stomach and neck and collarbone, planted into your skin by puckered lips and chaste kisses.

it’s customary that he murmur sweet nothings into every claim he creates, knowing that his words will seep into your tissues in the form of gentle vibrations, knowing that they will stay, even after his marks fade.

your body is art, too, you tell him softly, after he’s made you cum several times on his cock, iron shimmering with a thick coat of your arousal, slick he refuses to clean off. a tender finger traces along the tears laden across his torso, rough and saw-toothed—scars he refuses to let heal. 

no, he murmurs, rubbing his mouth into your shoulder as he speaks, eyes closing briefly with a slow, deep inhale. not the way yours is. 

your body is a storybook of your life, inscribed with tales and memories—the way your body developed as you entered womanhood, too quick for your delicate skin to keep up with, procuring shimmering streaks across your breasts and bum; the time you flipped your childhood bicycle, kneecaps scraping concrete, bloody and raw; that dark dash seared along your inner arm, a constant reminder of an earnest mistake, when you accidentally nudged the rim of a pot filled with boiling water. 

his body was carved in a lab, too precise to be real, too perfect to be human, constantly torn apart and put back together; rearranged, scrambled, chock full of modifications he never asked for, never agreed to. a true horror story—a weapon of death and destruction, a film of inevitable demise clinging to the metal.

he fears that’s all it ever will be. 

[shalomniscient]

as the world caves in. || multiple x reader

AND HERE IT IS / OUR FINAL NIGHT ALIVE / AND AS THE EARTH BURNS TO THE GROUND / OH GIRL IT’S YOU THAT I LIE WITH / AS THE ATOM BOMB LOCKS IN / OH GIRL IT’S YOU / I WATCH TV WITH / AS THE WORLD CAVES IN

cw. major character death

notes. felt silly

arlecchino

You find her against a broken pillar.

Her once pristine suit is in tatters. You can’t even discern anymore where red fabric ends and blood begins. The black feather-like horn in her hair has cracked, revealing crimson enamel, pulsing in tune with the balemoon above both your heads. Her curse, once up to her elbows, has creeped up to her shoulders, her neck, and just below her jaw. Each breath she takes is labored, pained. One of her wings lies uselessly by her side, while the other is just a stump.

She will die here.

But that’s fine, because you plan on dying right along with her.

Arlecchino’s head snaps up as you hobble over to her. The second coming of the cataclysm hadn’t exactly spared you either; a rifthound’s cursed teeth had sunk deep into your thigh. The wound is likely fatal on its own, though the abyssal corruption spreading through you at an alarming rate only solidifies your death sentence. Still, it doesn’t stop Arlecchino from snapping at you as you approach, brows furrowed, her clawed hands digging into dead soil.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses. You really know the extent of her injuries and exhaustion now—if she was in even slightly better condition, she’d have picked you up and flown you right back somewhere safe. But she isn’t, so you let yourself slide down the pillar next to her with a snort.

“What does it look like?” you huff. “I’m here for you, idiot.”

She gives you a look between incredulity and despair. “You—“

“If you think I’d ever leave you behind, I’m going to smack you.”

Arlecchino quiets at that briefly. You lean your head back against the pillar, a remnant of a building ravaged by the angry surge of the Abyss, and shut your eyes. You can feel Arlecchino’s eyes bore into the side of your face, tracing the line of your jaw, the swell of your cheek, then the shape of your lips, as if to memorize you. When she speaks again, her voice is remarkably soft.

“You’ll die,” she whispers, and you turn your head to her with a smile, meeting her eyes. You take her larger hand in your own—your wedding bands meet with a soft clink of metal.

“I’d follow you to oblivion and back, Peruere.”

Something in her expression shutters, and Peruere leans down to press her forehead against your own. She’s so close, like this. Close enough for you to see the way the veins and arteries in her neck pulse under curse-marked skin to a beat that mirrors your own; close enough for you to feel the way her breath fans over your cheek; close enough for you to kiss her.

And you do, free hand cradling her cheek while the other cups the nape of her neck. Peruere returns the kiss like she’s trying to press her soul against your lips. To give it to you instead of whatever higher power will claim it in the end. Her hand in yours squeezes gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. Her remaining wing rises, a little shakily, and wraps around you, pulling you closer. You smile into the kiss, even as wetness gathers in your lashes.

Peruere wipes them away with her thumb. Draws back just enough to look you in the eyes one last time, selfishly. The earth wails in the distance, cracking and splintering, and the wind howls above your heads. The crimson balemoon shines impassively down as the herald of the apocalypse, cold and unfeeling. But Peruere’s wing around you is warm, and her palm caressing your cheek feels like being at home.

“To oblivion and back,” Peruere whispers, and then the world ends—

—but at least for you and her, it ends in love.

shalom

Shalom has always known you would meet a solitary end. She had said as much to you, back in the bureau when she had first met you—or rather, when you had first met her, in your fragmented memory. And some part of her was content with the fact. She’s smart, diligent. A HUSH. She could learn you utterly and completely, dive into and discover the depths of your heart before her time runs out.

She does achieve her goal, in the end. But she also falls terribly in love with you, and now the thought of being without you makes her unbroken heart constrict in her chest.

Now here she stands, in this field of lillies she once haunted. This realm of Mania, deceptively beautiful, with a cloudless blue sky stretching on endlessly. She can feel the gaze of the Illusory Moon crawl up her spine, but that is not her concern. No, her concern is you, standing off into the distance, alone—a solitary figure of grey against the blinding white. And somehow, you just know she’s there; like Orpheus for Eurydice, like something bone deep in you compels you to turn around and look.

But Shalom doesn’t disappear like Eurydice. Instead, she steps forward and slots herself into your arms instead with a hum, her hands splaying on your shoulder blades, holding you close. She buries her head in your neck, breathes in your scent—lillies, always lillies—and speaks.

“This is it, then.”

You nod. Card your fingers through her wine-red hair. “This is it.”

“It’s quite peaceful,” she muses, shifting to rest her ear against your chest. Your heartbeat thuds, calm and powerful, and Shalom lets her eyes flutter shut at the rhythm. You manage a small chuckle.

“For now. It’ll get quite ugly soon, at least on the outside,” you murmur. Your lips press a kiss to the top of her head. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She laughs at that. “There are many things I shouldn’t be, and yet, here we are. Mostly because of you, you know.”

“You know what I mean,” you huff, and she smiles. Of course she does. This is your solitary end, the cold calculus of the universe that demands your life in exchange for the world. If she was still HUSH, she’d see it as a bargain. But she’s not HUSH anymore, just Shalom, and suddenly the price is too high, too unacceptable.

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m selfish,” she admits, voice barely above the breeze rustling the flowers by your feet. “I don’t want to be in a world without you.”

Not when you are the one who gives it meaning.

You’re silent for a moment, before a rueful expression pulls at your lips. You shake your head with an affectionate sigh, resting your forehead against hers. You know better than to argue with her. Your hand finds hers, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently. No words are exchanged between you, but no words are necessary. Her hand squeezes back, and then you’re turning, facing the growing light at the end of the horizon. You’re her Orpheus amidst the flowers, leading her forward step by step until the light devours you both. To life, or to death, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t quite care.

For like Eurydice, what else mattered besides the hand in her own, the proof that she was loved?

kujou sara

Sara once thought she knew pain. Cuts and bruises, arrowheads and sword slashes—none of these are new to her. Her body is a canvas of scars from her time as a warrior, some pale and faded, while others are pink and freshly healed. Pain is inevitable, in a profession such as hers. Sara once thought she knew pain, but nothing could have ever prepared her for the agony of seeing tears paint your soft cheeks as you lie in her arms, staining the burnt soil below you red with your blood.

It feels like someone has reached into her chest, fingers curling around her heart and squeezing tight. Everything else has faded to a dull sensation; the arrows lodged in her wings as she shields you both from the world; the gash in her side from an axe-wielding hilichurl; the throb in her skull from when an Abyss Herald had managed to get a lucky hit in. The war around you both is now an afterthought, even as the skies rage and the Abyss spills forth like a hellish tide. No, the only thing she can focus on is you, as your lips painted red part and whisper to her brokenly.

“Sara,” you choke out, “I love you.”

Sara leans down, pressing her forehead to yours. Her golden eyes meet yours, and she hopes you can see the sincerity within. “I love you too, dearest.”

Your breathing rattles ominously in your chest, and Sara holds you tighter. Closer. A small comfort as death approaches you both on silent feet, ready to collect. Your fingers grip the front of her uniform tightly, staining her white uniform red. “Promise me,” you rasp, and Sara exhales shakily.

“Anything.”

“Find me again,” you plead, your voice so small she would not have heard you, were it not for her tengu senses. “In the next life, promise you’ll find me again—“

She grips your hand tightly. “I promise. I promise, my love, so wait for me.”

She doesn’t even know what awaits either of you beyond this. Is there even such thing as a next life? Heaven? Hell? She doesn’t know, but she doesn’t care. If there is a next life, she will find you, over and over again until the end of time. If heaven doesn’t exist, she’ll build it with her own hands for you. It it does, she’ll meet you there. If hell exists, she’ll carry you out on her back herself. Sara would do anything for you—all you have to do is ask. She kisses you as your breathing slows, your final breath mingling with hers. As death’s shroud settles on her shoulders, she memorises every line on your face, the set of your jaw, the arch of your brows like they’re her north star, to shine forever in her sky and lead her home. Home, wherever you are.

(In another universe, a pair of crows roost on a powerline. In another, a black obi is tied around a beautiful kimono. In another, a museum’s display katana rests peacefully in its delicate sheathe.

In another, she stands hand in hand with you again, looking at them all.)

[hannyoontify]

dream - yoon jeonghan

member | jeonghan x reader

genre | pure. teeth-rotting. fluff. js kie going through jeonghan brain rot

word count | 2.8k

synopsis | jeonghan pinches your cheek to remind you that this isn’t a dream

warnings | ass-grabbing?? but in a non-sexual way, lots of cheesy pick-up lines and flirting, reader and jeonghan are absolutely down bad for each other and it’s sickening

notes | my baby :((( i hope he feels better soon

Jeonghan’s eyes fluttered open as the pale sunlight seeped in through the bedroom window and curtains, casting bright rays of light onto the walls. Jeonghan could hear your soft, stable breathing next to him and rolled over to face your sleeping figure. You looked so peaceful asleep, your usual creases of worry were nowhere to be seen. Rather, it was replaced by a look of serenity and Jeonghan smiled endearingly as you wrinkled your nose in your sleep. He rubbed his eyes and draped a lazy arm over your waist, quietly watching you as you slept. He tried matching his breath with yours, but it only left him wheezing and breathless. 

His eyes roamed around your face, starting from your soft lips that jutted out in your sleep. Your nose that Jeonghan loved to kiss. That small tear mole on your cheek that mirrored his own. He admired the swell of your cheeks and traveled up to your closed eyelids. Jeonghan’s eyes trailed back down to your lips, which now were slightly parted, revealing the slightest bit of your teeth. He leaned over to press a quick kiss to your lips, smiling against your lips. You stirred a bit, which startled Jeonghan, but remained asleep. 

Jeonghan propped his head up with one hand, the other still draped over your waist, and watched you sleep, watching your chest rise and fall in a rhythmic pattern. After a while, (Jeonghan doesn’t really know how long it’s been–it could’ve been a few minutes or a few hours–he always had a horrible sense of time when it concerned you) your eyes opened and reached up above your head for a stretch.

“G’morning, sunshine.” Jeonghan whispered as you twisted around to get another stretch. Your hair was mussed and a mess, but he couldn’t care less.

“Morning, Hannie,” you mumbled as you scooched into his warm embrace. You pressed your face into his chest. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“Yeah.”

And although he couldn’t see your smile, he could hear it in your voice. “You’re such a creep.”

Jeonghan simply hummed and traced shapes on your back as you stayed in his warm embrace for just a little longer. You (unfortunately) pulled away and rubbed at your sleepy eyes and Jeonghan leaned over to press a kiss to your forehead.

“We need to make breakfast.” you muttered and threw the duvet off to get out of bed. 

“Oh, no you’re not.” Jeonghan’s strong grip on your waist kept you from going anywhere, and he wrestled you back into a tight cocoon of blankets. “You’re staying here today. I’ll make breakfast.”

You didn’t respond and looked at Jeonghan with a delighted look, your eyes sparkling. Your husband’s cooking was always a delight–and a surprise. You never knew if you were gonna get a Michelin star worthy meal or a barely edible looking lump of burnt… something. But judging by the soft look in Jeonghan’s eyes, you had a feeling you were going to get the former today. 

He reached over and pressed a gentle kiss on your lips, his warm hand cupping your cheek. The metal ring resting on his ring finger felt cold against your face, raising goosebumps on your skin. You smiled into the kiss and giggled as Jeonghan pulled away with a lovestruck look in his eyes. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

You felt your cheeks burning up at what he said and waved him away. “What’s with that cheesy line? We’ve been married for 5 years now, Hannie.”

“Exactly, and each day is better than the last.” Jeonghan pressed one last kiss on your forehead before disappearing into the hallway. You rolled your eyes at your cheesy husband and nestled into the blanket cocoon he stuck you in.

In the kitchen, Jeonghan was bustling about with a boyish grin stuck on his face. He loved doing these things for you; you were never an early bird and struggled to get out of bed and Jeonghan was always willing to do these things for you. After almost dropping two raw eggs and chipping a porcelain plate, your breakfast was ready to be served. 

Just as Jeonghan was ready to bring a tray into your shared bedroom, you shuffled out, still wrapped up in the blanket wrap he had put you in earlier. The edges of the blanket dragged along the floor as you sauntered up to the kitchen island and looked at Jeonghan with an expectant smile.

“Breakfast is served.” Jeonghan tipped his non-existent top hat and grandly gestured to the plate he laid out in front of you. The smell of the toasting bagel was what had drawn you out of bed, and the food looked better than it smelled(? Did that make sense? You didn’t know but you really didn’t care because you were so damn hungry).

Leaning on the opposite of the kitchen island as you, Jeonghan watched you inhale the bagel slathered in cream cheese, a bit of the spread smeared on your cheek. He reached over and wiped it away with his thumb, which made you cover your face in embarrassment and he laughed.

Jeonghan loved these kinds of mornings with you, a slow start to your day with no responsibilities. He could lie in bed with you as much as he wanted and he could press gentle kisses on your soft lips as much as he wanted to. 

He sighed and rested his head against his hand on the counter, his eyes full of endearment as he watched you enjoy your breakfast. You caught Jeonghan’s eye mid-bite and smiled sheepishly. “What?”

Jeonghan felt his own lips tugging up into a small smile. “Nothing, I just love you.”

He paused for a moment. 

“And sometimes I wonder if this is all a dream. I get scared that I made all this up in my mind and I’ll wake up any second as the loser I was seven years before I met you.”

You frowned. “You weren’t a loser, baby. You just hadn’t hit your prime yet.”

“In my mid-20’s? Sure babe.”

“Baby, don’t talk about yourself like that. I know for a fact I didn’t fall in love with a loser,” You pouted with more cream cheese on your lips. Jeonghan grinned like a middle school boy falling in love for the first time. As he bent over to kiss it off your lips, you reached for his hand and rubbed a soothing thumb over the back of his knuckles, feeling and committing to memory, every groove and channel etched onto his hand leading to his slender fingers.

When Jeonghan pulled away, it was your turn to reach over and pinch his cheek. “Ow, what was that for?” Your husband pouted and rested both hands on the edge of the marble countertop, slightly bent over at the waist to maintain eye contact with you. 

You smiled mischievously, but soon, the cheeky look in your eyes softened into an endearing one. “You felt that, right? I promise you, my love, this isn’t a dream.” You walked around the kitchen island and ducked under his arm to cage yourself between his body and the countertop. 

In a much softer voice, you said, “If this was a dream, I wouldn’t be able to do this…” you wrapped your arms around his torso and squeezed tightly, pressing your face into his chest and inhaling the scent of his body wash and your laundry detergent. The smell of home. “Or this.”

You reached behind Jeonghan and grabbed a handful of his ass and squeezed. Hard.

“YOWCH!" Jeonghan rested his head on your shoulder and whined as you simply giggled into his chest. "Honey…”

It’s a languid and lazy afternoon; Jeonghan’s favorite kind. Even the weather seemed to act idle, the way the October sun hid itself in the clouds, refusing to reveal its face for the thousands of bustling people in the heart of Seoul.

Similar to the sun, you were also currently refusing to reveal yourself to Jeonghan. You hid your face in the sleeve of your sweater as Jeonghan whined. “Honey… it’s nothing to be embarrassed of! It happens to everyone. I wanna see your gorgeous face.”

You said something that was muffled by the fabric of your sweater and Jeonghan stopped walking to bend over to hear you better. “It’mmfs embarramffing.”

“What’s so embarrassing about a zit? I get them all the time!” Jeonghan said loudly, his chest puffed out with pride. It was your turn to whine this time as you hit his arm with a stifled giggle. Jeonghan’s face suddenly turned serious and he turned to face you. He gently pried your hands out of your face and held them in his own. “Baby, I love you and your face just the way that they are. No amount of zits or acne or bug bites is ever gonna change that. Okay? So let me see your absolute drop dead gorgeous face.”

You couldn't help but smile at his heart-warming ment and Jeonghan immediately brought a hand to his heart and pretended to faint. “They’re too lovely! Catch me, I think I’m falling for you!” 

You couldn’t hide your groan this time as Jeonghan slumped into your arms dramatically, imitating the flatlining sound of a heart monitor. “You’re the corniest person I’ve ever met.”

Jeonghan looked up from his place in your eyes and flashed you a blinding smile. “But you love it.”

“I would beg to differ.”

“Baby!” 

After lots of consoling and reassuring (and kisses), you were able to convince Jeonghan that you did, indeed, love his corny pick-up lines, and stand upright again to continue your late afternoon stroll in the neighborhood park. 

Hand in hand, the two of you continued your walk in silence. Jeonghan’s fingers were entwined with yours, his palm radiating with heat and comfort as he occasionally stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. The soft crunch of leaves under your feet and the soft, gentle breeze blowing past were the only sounds Jeonghan could hear. 

He heard you gasp softly and he looked over to see what had grabbed your attention. You tugged on Jeonghan’s sleeve and pointed towards a pathway to the right, where bright flowers were blooming.

“I wanna walk through there.” You whispered excitedly. 

Jeonghan didn’t know why you were whispering, but matched your volume nonetheless. “Let’s go, then.”

You began walking towards the direction of the flowers and Jeonghan lingered behind, watching you bound and leap towards the plants. When he caught up to you, you were already bent over, admiring the vibrant colors. As you began reaching out to pick one, Jeonghan grabbed your hand and pulled you upright. 

“It’s okay, I’ll do it for you.” Jeonghan bent over in your stead and picked out the prettiest flower he could find in the patch (that was within reach. Jeonghan loved you but he didn’t have the heart to step on plants to get a flower). He spotted a dandelion and he reached for it as well before straightening his back and looking at you with a proud smile. 

You stifled a giggle as Jeonghan gave you a once-over with a love-sick look in his eyes before he stepped closer to you and tucked the flower behind your ear. 

“What’s so funny, angel?” Jeonghan asked in a hushed voice. His dark brown eyes stared into your own. They were delicate and sweet as enticing pools of swirling dark chocolate, like a glowing light with flecks of gold reflecting the dull sun’s shine. 

“Nothing, I just feel like the main character in a cheesy rom-com movie,” You whispered. “Like you said earlier, I really hope this isn’t a dream.” 

This time, it was Jeonghan’s turn to reach over with his free hand—which wasn’t soaked in the sticky sap from the stem from the dandelion he picked earlier—and pinch your cheek. You pouted but Jeonghan simply reached over and pressed a quick kiss to your lips and rested his forehead on your own.

“It’s not a dream, okay? Here, we can blow and make a wish on this dandelion and wish for us to be happy together, just like we are now, until forever and after. Until the ends of the earth.”

Jeonghan revealed the dandelion to you and placed it between your two lips. “Make a wish,” Both of you screwed your eyes shut, desperately wishing and praying that the two of you will always be happy forever in each other’s arms. “And blow.”

Hundreds of white, cotton-like bristles flew in every direction–but mostly into your mouth. Due to Jeonghan’s poor calculations, he blew a millisecond before you did and sent all the bristes flying into your mouth. However, Jeonghan wasn’t left unpunished by the gods. 

The two of you pulled away, violently hacking and coughing as you tried to spit out all the fine needle-like substances out of your mouth, and Jeonghan began reaching in and swiping at his mouth and tongue.

A moment of silence.

“… Thath wath a lot leth romantic than I exthpected,” Jeonghan said. You gave him a look before bursting into laughter. He joined you soon after and the two of you doubled over, holding onto your stomachs for dear life until tears sprung out of your eyes.

Wiping away a stray tear, Jeonghan offered you a hand with a faint smile. “Let’th go home.”

If Jeonghan had to pick and name one place in your shared home as his favorite spot, he would pick the balcony with no hesitation. It was where the two of you shared your first meal together as a married couple in your new house, as none of your furniture had arrived, so the two of you sat on the floor of the balcony and watched the sun set over the skyline of Seoul and watched the nightlife come to life. 

It was where some of the most quiet, intimate moments that Jeonghan shared with you took place. Late night talks full of giggles and nonsense. It was also where the two of you had your serious conversations. Stolen kisses, hushed whispered, loving glances. In short, the balcony held a lot of memories for you and Jeonghan.

The balcony has changed a lot since the first night you and Jeonghan ate jjajangmyeon on the floor of the balcony. The railing was decorated with fairy lights and there were two lawn chairs and a coffee table—perfect for your late night talks.

Today, you and Jeonghan opted to stand. Your husband’s arms were on either side of you, trapping you between his warm body and the railing. His body acted as a wall of protection from the cold wind. Jeonghan nuzzled his face into your hair and inhaled, breathing in the soft scent of your shampoo and sighed in content.

You stared out into the sky, watching the sun set lowly over busy Seoul when Jeonghan spoke lowly into your ear. “What are you thinking about, angel?” His warm breath tickled your ear. The sun was a bright shade of red as it bid farewell to your side of the world, ready to pass the imaginary baton to the moon. Streaks of bright red, orange, and yellow pierced through the sky and cast shadow where the clouds were. It was like a painting. 

“Nothing, just… looking.”

Your husband sighed and rested his chin on your shoulder. After a beat of silence, he spoke again. “I love you, a lot. You know that, right?”

You hummed. “Of course I do,” You reached behind you and lightly ran your fingers through Jeonghan’s hair, the silk strands slipping through your fingertips. “And I love you too. So much.”

Jeonghan’s heart suddenly swelled with the immeasurable amount of love he felt for you in that moment. He buried his face in your hair to try and hide his welling tears, but his sniffling gave him away.

“Hannie? Are you crying?” You don’t wait for a response. You whipped around and held your loving husband’s face in your hands as he sniffled, his sparkly eyes tinged with red as a single tear streamed down his cheek. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Jeonghan nodded and smiled through his tears. “I just.. love you. So much. I never want to forget this moment with you. I want to treasure all the memories we share forever, locked in a vault in my mind so I can remember it for all of eternity.”

You gently pinched his cheek. “Not a dream, right?” Jeonghan nodded. “As long as I’m here with you, by your side, you’ll always remember the warmth and the love that we share.”

Jeonghan pulled you in by your waist and captured your lips with his soft ones. He pressed your body tightly against him, sharing your body warmth. You wrapped your arms around his neck as his mouth moved against yours, making you lose track of all sense and time. 

“I love you,” Jeonghan mumbled softly against your lips, as if it were a secret just for you to hear. “Always have, always will.”

“Me too, Hannie. I’ll love you for as long as you use those cheesy pick-up lines.”

“You’re never hearing the end of those.”

“I really hope not.”

reblogs and feedback is always appreciated ^-^

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Midnight Blades

Aemond Targaryen x princess!reader (Dark!themes) Summary: Your father's kingdom had always been enemies with the Targaryen's and so you were trained from childhood to be prepared to defend yourself. This skill is needed when the second born son of King Viserys comes to assassinate you one night. This is a Dark!fic with slightish dub con to some sexual acts. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, dagger fighting, violence, blood play, rough sex, anal. WC: 2587

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten || Part Eleven || Part Twelve || Part Thirteen || Part Fourteen || Part Fifteen || Part Sixteen || Part Seventeen || Part Eighteen || Part Nineteen || Part Twenty ||

The room was dim, not a single candle burning on the autumn night. It was only the soft moonlight through the open window that allowed Aemond to weave his way silently through the furniture to where you slept. Not a sound was made from his careful steps nor did a cricket chirp, it was as if the entire world held its breath.

Cold Valyrian steel pressed to your throat and your lips twitched at the touch of the sharp blade. One clean slice and your life was forfeit, one prick in the right spot and your sheets would soak up your life blood as it spurted from your throat. It would bring the Targaryen prince infamy to kill the princess of his family’s enemy.

“Unless you wish to lose your manhood, you should sheath your blade, Aemond One-Eye,” you said as you opened your eyes to see his silhouette above you.

“You are in no position to give orders, princess.”

“Is that so, prince?” You pressed the blade that you never slept without up from your hip, the sharp tip piercing the sheets and the leather trousers at the juncture of his thighs.

The moon broke the clouds and his hair caught the light enough that you could see his features, and the hint of amusement on them.

“Even if I die, I can promise you that your life would certainly lack the finer pleasures in it.”

His lips curled up in a dark smile before he traced his blade down the valley of your breasts, taking the cover of your sheets down with it. “What does a protected, innocent little princess know of such things?”

Your back arched into the kiss of metal and your nipples were bared to the night air, quickly pebbling at the loss of warmth. “I’m not as protected as you might think, nor am I innocent. It is just as easy for me to evade the guards leaving as you did coming here. So, there are a great many pleasures I know, none of which I have found within these walls.”

“That is quite the secret to tell your enemy,” Aemond murmured as his eye traced the shape of your lips before drifting back to your breasts. “You should really keep such things to yourself.”

You chuckled and dragged the flat edge of your blade over the hard length tightening his trousers, watching his lips part with a sharp intake of breath. “You can shout it to the world, tell everyone you meet how I thoroughly enjoy mounting a man and riding his cock until the sun breaks the horizon. Tell them all how I love to see their teeth marks left on my skin and feel the ache in my cunt for days when they are finished fucking me.”

Even in the dim light you could see his pupil explode with dark desire and his blade drew a thin line of blood above your heart with a trembling hand, as if it was taking all his strength to fight the urge to carve it from your chest. He bared his teeth at the sight of the red welling on your skin and growled into your ear, “No one would believe the word of your enemy.”

“I know,” you said with a smirk that taunted him more than your dirty words. Your warm blood rolled over your skin to drip on the white sheets and you ran a lazy finger through the thin cut, hissing at the sweet sting it elicited. “You stained my sheets.”

Aemond scoffed and threw your blankets from your body to see the thin blade that had threatened him. “I have stained many ladies’ sheets.”

“Of that I have no doubt, but I do owe you now.” You leapt from the bed and he was quick to react, but not quick enough. Your bare feet met the cold, stone floor at the same time you struck. The blade was more like an extension of your arm than a separate weapon for all the years you had trained with it and like most men, Aemond underestimated you. 

The prince laughed as you stepped back and licked your blade, tasting the dragon blood on your tongue as more of it seeped into his black tunic. The scar would match yours perfectly and you grinned as he tore the ruined clothing from his body to bare the wound to you. “Now we are even.”

His eye trailed over your body, leaving flames in its wake as he finally seemed to notice your lack of dress extended past your breasts. That intense stare lingered at the juncture of your thighs where you stood with your legs parted hoping to cool the needy throb in your core. Finally he managed to drag his eye back to your face, the promise of violence in that blue orb. “There is no even, someone must always win.”

You twirled your dagger and let the familiar weight of the handle fill your palm again. “Oh, I intend to.”

Your feet were swift and silent as the dance began, your partner prepared this time and ready to prove his adept skills as he parried your attack. To and fro, you made ground and ceded it. His offensive attack was as strong as his defence and you had to hand it to whoever trained the prince, they did a damn good job. 

“Give it up, princess, this is a battle you won’t win,” Aemond goaded you as he dropped his dagger to his side. 

“I have the finest history tutors in the land,” you purred as you lowered your own knife and circled him, small knicks bleeding from both of your bodies. “You are awfully confident for a man who himself has not yet seen a battle.”

His eye followed your graceful steps until you were in the blind spot left by the carved sapphire set between a thick scar. Self preservation had him turning to follow you, the eyebrow above his deep blue gem cocking up as he spoke, “You studied me.”

“Don’t feel special, I research all of my enemies.” 

His steps mirrored yours and the tension built as the heavy silence seemed to vibrate the charged air. This time Aemond attacked first, closing the distance with one step of his long legs and feigned a stab at your shoulder only to drop to his knees as you lifted your arm to parry. He had the opening he needed. 

The pain was instant, a burn that flashed up your inner thigh and told you that it was not a deep wound. You didn’t even bother to check it as you felt rivulets of blood rolling down your leg, adding to the droplets that already littered the stone floor. 

“What did your research surmise?” Aemond asked as he fingered his blade, playing with your blood and smearing it between his thumb and forefinger. 

“You are arrogant.”

“I am a prince, it is our prerogative.”

“And stubborn,” you added, pointing your dagger at his scarred eye. “You have a chip on your shoulder for the scar you wear but even if you were to carve your nephew’s eye out and eat it, the rage will never be sated. Unforgiving Aemond, that is what they should call you, for you never forget a wrong against you, no matter how slight. Tell me, when was the last time you ate a juicy roast pig?”

His sapphire eye caught the moonlight and reflected in the many facets of the gem as his teeth ground together. The cold fury evaporated in an instant and a carefree smile once again spread across his lips. “I must commend you and your spies for the thorough research, princess. But, you forgot to mention how handsome I am, scar and all.”

You smirked and rolled your eyes. “I knew there was one starting with H, of course, it couldn’t be humble.”

A roar of laughter filled the room and before you could think better, you dropped your dagger and closed the distance to press your hands to his lips. The clatter of metal on stone rang out and you froze against his body, an ear tilted towards the door as you listened out for the guards. 

A moment passed, then two. All was silent in the palace, no alarms were raised.

Aemond made no effort to move, not even taking the opportunity to end your life while you were unarmed. It was only when the fear of the guards arriving wore off that you realised your entire body was pressed against his, his bare chest warm against your and his cock hard beneath his pants.

You slowly lowered your hands from his lips and let them fall to his blood smeared chest before dragging your nails across the defined muscles and down his navel. His chest rose with a deep breath as your hand dipped under his waistband and palmed his erection, a soft groan teasing your ear and sending a throb straight to your core.

“You will still be my enemy in the morning,” you murmured as his teeth grazed over your racing pulse and his own dagger fell to the floor.

“You are still my enemy now,” he replied as his fingers dipped between your legs and felt the slick arousal at your entrance. 

You shoved him back towards your bed, instantly missing the touch of his fingers but in need of something far larger. Patience was not a strength of yours as you tried and failed to quickly unlace the cords that kept the leather trousers between you and your release. Reaching under your pillow, you grabbed the spare knife hidden there and cut the ties from him. 

You shoved the short blade back where it belonged under the watchful eye of Aemond before dropping the trousers beside his ruined tunic. Every muscle was honed to perfection and scars littered his pale skin, adding to the image you already had of the warrior swordsman. You traced the larger scars on his chest with your tongue and nipped at another across his nipple until he hissed and his cock twitched where it rested against your stomach.

With a growl, he turned and threw you onto your bed, pinning you beneath his body and shoving your legs wide open with his knees. Two digits curled into your dripping cunt and your head tipped back with a silent cry as he roughly fucked you with his fingers, palming your clit with each roll of his wrist until you came hard enough to bite through your lip to keep quiet. 

“Fuck, I need more, I need you to fuck me,” you begged as he kept his fast paced fingers riding through your pulsing walls.

The wet sounds filled your room and you felt your cum leaking down your slit and to the bed. 

“I’ll fuck you, princess.” He chuckled darkly and your core clenched in anticipation. “Consider this my first battle won.” 

Before you could question him, you felt his thick head pressing against your ass and gasped as it stretched you open. White hot pain flashed before the sudden fullness drew a heady moan and his fingers began to move in time to his thrusts. Your breath came in fast grunts as his long strokes felt like they could reach your lungs and knock the air right from them, each one louder than the last.

“Shhhh, don’t want to get caught now…” he whispered before he withdrew his fingers from you and pushed them into your mouth to silence you.

The taste of your arousal on his fingers had your eyes fluttering shut and you swirled your tongue around each finger, cleaning it until he gave a satisfied growl of approval. 

“So. Fucking. Filthy.” Each word was defined with a hard thrust that rocked your bed against the wall and left your legs shaking around his narrow waist. “On your knees.”

You felt incredibly empty without him and quickly obeyed, needing him buried deep inside once again. There was nothing gentle about Aemond and gentle was not what you wanted. You wanted rough, you wanted hard, and you wanted pain.

A sharp slap sent flames across your ass and the moan that was about to erupt was silenced when Aemond shoved your face into the sheets and slammed his cock back in your ass. The air was thin through the sheets but it only added to the experience of feeling high with the room spinning around you.

“If only the King knew what a whore he had for a daughter,” Aemond growled in your ear as he pulled your back flush against his chest and curled his long fingers around your throat. “Taking a Targaryen cock in your pretty ass. I might just conquer your kingdom and keep you as my personal fuckhole.”

Your lips parted with a wordless cry and your body trembled as his words stoked the fire warming your belly, the muscles tensing as another orgasm spread like a wave from your core. It grew and grew, cresting with each harsh thrust that you pushed your hips back to meet until it crashed. His fingers tightened as his pace faltered and he shuddered his release, his cock pulsing inside you and filling you with warmth before letting you gasp for air. 

He pushed you back to the bed as he withdrew himself leaving you empty and your limbs weak and heavy from the release. With a feline smile you rolled to your back and stretched to feel the sweet tenderness in your muscles before curling up to watch him dress. 

“Is that all you Targaryen men have got?” You propped up on your elbow and rested your chin on your hand as he swiped his dagger from the floor, tucking it into the sheath at his hip. “The men in my realm can fuck all night before they are spent. But, I guess that is why we battle like we fuck - outlasting the House of the Dragon and such.”

Aemond stalked across the floor and grabbed your chin in his hands as he bent at the waist. “Still that tongue before you find yourself without it.”

“I think you would rather like what my tongue can do,” you purred as you laid back on your pillow and blinked up innocently at the prince. “Maybe another night when you have bathed and rested.”

“There will be no other nights,” he sneered but his eye betrayed him as he drank in the sight of your body sticky with blood and his cum leaking from your abused hole.

He turned away and you caught his wrist before he was beyond your reach. “One last thing before you go, Unforgiving Aemond.” You drew the short knife from under your pillow and slashed through the leather covering his thigh. “I owed you one.”

The prince hissed at the shallow cut to match the one gave you before he smiled and gave a small regal bow out of your reach. “Well played, princess. I’ll remember that when our paths cross again.”

You closed your eyes with a yawn and patted around blindly for your blanket as the adrenaline faded and sleep called. “I’ll be ready.”

A breeze danced over your body a moment before your blanket drifted over your skin but when you opened your eyes to catch him, the prince was already gone. The scent of sex and drying blood the only sign he was ever there at all.

Click here for part two.

[theoneandonlysemla]

A fashionably late WIP Wednesday

(This is my fifth try to post this because the German internet is a so called "Bambusleitung" again)

Wohoo!

Thanks for the tag to @skyrim-forever and @thequeenofthewinter!

Tagging: @vanilleeistee @ladytanithia @tiredela @kartaylirsden @dirty-bosmer and everyone else I forgot and who wants to do one too. Feel free to tag me! :)

So, the WIP. It's a writing WIP again, long time no see! I'm gnawing on this chapter for almost two now and it is blowing up, I may have to split it in two because some important things still need to happen (*cough* Elenwen being a bitch *cough*). Plotwise we're in Nevri's POV and she had the misfortune of getting captured by the Thalmor and they abducted her to the Embassy's dungeons. There, she has a not so nice meeting with Rulindil. (Uhm CW for torture I guess [no gore]) Have fun reading:

The door to her cell opened once more, the iron’s creaking hurt in her ears. Nevri did not lift her head, but she saw a pair of black boots with golden adornments enter her prison.

“Hello Madame Veledor, I hope you're enjoying your evening so far?” she heard his sardonic tone.

Fatigued, she closed her eyes. Her shoulders and arms ached so badly. The angle at which she was chained caused her hands to go numb. In response, she only let out a muffled groan and paid no further attention to the Thalmor.                        Crunching footsteps followed and something cold and smooth touched her chin, pushing it upwards.

“Look at me,” he commanded with threatening calm in his voice.

Nevri squeezed her eyes even tighter shut. A sting on the soft underside of her jaw made her flinch. Moist warmth trickled down her neck and she lifted her lids. Rulindil stood before her, far too close for her liking. The blade of his golden dagger rested under her chin. He held a goblet in his other hand and took a savoury sip from it. Drops of cold, clear water caught in his beard and Nevri's throat clenched. It had been so long since she had had a drink and now the refreshing relief was within her grasp. But she could not reach for it. Rubbing her rough lips on the cloth in her mouth, she felt her mouth dry out even more. She had no choice but to fixate on the goblet of water.

“Are you thirsty?” he mocked her and barked a laugh. “If you're ready to have a little chat with me, I could give you something to drink. But you'd have to co-operate. What do you think, Dunmer?”

Nevri's eyes flitted to the chalice of water again, then met his gaze. Dark and ominous, he looked towards her. She didn't move her head, stared back at him.

“No?” he asked, a look of false pity on his features.

The tip of his dagger traced her jawline, came to a halt at her earlobe. For a second, Nevri expected to lose an ear. At least it was the left one, that was already crippled. But instead of separating the cartilage from her skull, the tip found its way under the rag that was her gag, following its course to her lips. One tuck, and the fabric spilled from her mouth like bile. The sudden freedom in her mouth came so unexpected that a retching cough shook her. Gasping for air, she clung to her shackles, her fists clenched and her nails driving crescent-shaped indents into her flesh.      When her cough had settled, Rulindil held the chalice to her mouth. Careful not to tilt it, he pressed the gold-plated metal to her lower lip. Nevri felt the coolness of the water on her skin, as fresh as snow. Her tongue sticked to the inside of her teeth and with a smacking sound, she opened her mouth a little.

“Will you speak to me?” he inquired once more, watching her restless figure in awe.

A craving dominated Nevri, she wanted, no, she needed the water. She had to have it in her mouth, taste the damp liquid and it to rain down on the desert that had formed in her throat and oral cavity. Her lips became numb, trembled and heat accumulated in the back of her head. It ran over her scalp, reached her face and flushed her cheeks. At the same time, goosebumps formed on her arms and legs. Thirst was all in her head and finally, she nodded.

A satisfied grin spread across the inquisitor's face. However, he did not hand her the redemptive sip as expected, but instead brought the goblet to his own mouth again. He drank with relish before lowering the blade on her neck.

“Let's get straight to the point then,” he said and took a step back. “How did you survive the fall?”

Nevri fixed her gaze on the chalice in his hand, unable to think of anything but the water in it. A pulsating headache spread across the right side of her forehead, dragging down over her eye like an axe blow.

“I - I don't,” she stammered, every little word an ordeal for her throat. “I don't know, she finally pressed out.” And it was the truth.

Rulindil let out a pretended sigh and approached her again.

“Lying won't get you anywhere, Dunmer,” he muttered. “As long as you don't come clean with the truth, you'll stay here. Without bread, without water.”

He held the goblet next to her face and tipped it, the contents splashing on the ground. Small drops stuck to Nevri's bare legs and she trembled, her vision blurred with tears.  

[and-the-stars-collided]

The First Elves as Aesthetics:

Finwë  —  grey skies, pine trees, stag's antlers, gritted teeth, piles of firewood, howling winds, lace table cloths, black ponds slick with ice, cautious, likes to plan, whispered confessions onto the autumn wind, the sharpness and cutting edge of a cold breeze, the glint of a metal blade, the bright teal of a midday ocean and the blackness of wild volcanic beaches, strong and independent, black hair, often staring into space, autumn mornings, braiding hair, love ballads, smiling fondly, lying by a small creek, falling in love when you shouldn't, starlit nights, regret, bittersweet kisses, being left wanting more.

Míriel  —  memories of past lovers, withering flowers, polished gravestones, being young and naive, gathering flowers and seeds, uncut gemstones, the gleam of a single tear falling, the silver reflection of the moon mirrored on the surface of a pond, an absence of sound, morning mist, hazy eyes, uncertain smiles, subtle exchanged glances, rich tapestries, tears streaming down their face, shattered promises, a not-quite persistent yearning, shaky breaths, moonlit rows, nimble hands, dancing to music playing softly in the distance, trusting the secrets of the night, waking up anew with determination.

Indis  —  warm tea, comfortable silence, soft eyes, messy hair, golden clouds, the sound of rain, a heart traced onto fogged up windows, yellow clothes on the days where the sun seems to have left forever, waking up to tear-stained sheets and feeling a little bit lighter, hopscotch in puddles, love at first sight, soft forehead kisses, secretly insecure, easily mistaken for the bad guy, wants the best for others, lost in thought, star gazing, always wearing some sort of shimmery nail polish, flowing dresses, wavy hair, the peace maker, the one to be called when something very specific is needed, butterflies, sparkling eyes, second chances.

Ingwë  —  bare feet on warm summer dirt, flower crowns slipping off heads after being flung back with laughter, mugs of too-sweet tea, sweet kisses, heart-wrenching poetry, pressed flowers, long hugs, warm and hazy afternoons, singing old songs, sunflowers, laughing till your chest hurts, bathing in sunlight, has the brightest smile ever seen, dried paint on their clothes, headbands and scrunches, fresh pancakes in the morning, stubborn but quick to learn, wanting to be on time and always a few minutes late, an artist's way of thinking, a journey of discovering one's passion.

Ilwen  —  the feeling of walking barefoot, inhaling the salty smell of the sea, forgetting about everything else but the fact that you are alive in that exact moment in the universe, grapes and oranges, the refreshing feeling of laying on the cold sand, complex architecture, busy markets filled with noises, the light swaying of a ship, sun-kissed skin, the smell of freshly baked bread at sunrise, drinking coffee under the warm morning sun, linen sheets, home-made jam, caring touches and warm smiles, looking for a shape in every cloud going by, simply enjoying the scenery, watches butterflies, drowsy days. 

Ingwion  —  dark brown eyes, apple cider, thunder, creaking doors, owning up to rare losses, not accepting the path already created, confidently moving, staying in the deep end of a pool, reserved laughter, reckless, somehow manages to stumble into opportunities whenever they need them, quite the expert at falling out of love, will not worry unnecessarily, not taking the word of strangers seriously, seems warm but surprisingly coldblooded, deadpan jokes, sees everything but speaks rarely, dark under-eyes, loves stormy nights, punches and bruised knuckles, surprises and laughter, long empty hallways, tight hugs.

Thingol  —  regal, attempting to remain calm while in pain, silver moonlight, a thin pane of glass between you and society, luminescence, corrupted kings, forced smiles, too much ambition, protective of their family, falling through the sky, sharp collar bones, lip biting, purposeful words spoken with a sharp tongue, black coffee, dangerously flashing eyes, dripping false smiles, talking to people they have never met before aggressively, not held back by wanting to be in control, hoping for your demise, viciously smiling at others innocence, craving to turn the knife in the wound, perfectionism.

Olwë  —  begging to fly, pebbles thrown into the sea, rain falling against your face, not knowing if you are alive or dead, fingers tracing the petals of a wilting flower, rejoicing in storms, losing reality, staring at the horizon, deep conversations, knowing looks, rather standing shoulder to shoulder with one of their own than with an outsider, living a solitary life, sleeping on the ground, carving their name into rocks, crashed and wrecked boats, smoke signals, a fear of confrontation, bruised knuckles, patiently waiting for their enemies unhappy ending, pretty smile concealing a savage nature, bad manners sometimes.

Elmo  —  faded sunsets, running wild in the mountains and plains, kissing their lover in uninterrupted nature, dim lights, diving deep into the ocean, heartbeat pounding against your chest, flowers blooming slowly, feeling like you were made for another world, flowers growing in your heart, the accidental brush of fingers with your lover, nervously running one hand through your hair, red cheeks, tenderness, falling in love with someone you don't even know yet, pink clouds, nervous fiddling, notebook pages full of rambling, moonlight, rainy days, dreamy eyes, healing people you love, curiosity, old folklore.

[mara-xx217]

Ending H (Fear & Hunger) Ch. 2- A New Dolly

Why does this game unlock a fucked up part of my brain FR-

It's no fun when he's left all alone after the torturing is done... Why not make himself a soft, sweet little doll that can keep him company in the monotonous breaks between his thrilling work?

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Physical and Psychological Torture, Bondage, Rape/Noncon, Experimentation, Amputation, Mind Break

That frail looking, disfigured torturer managed to catch you unawares. The blow to your head had knocked you unconscious and while you were out cold he managed to haul you onto the flat table in the torture room and bound your hands in place. Even as your head throbs and your eyes struggle to adjust to the unnatural dark of the dungeon, you know that you are totally fucked. You don’t need to see the implements that the little freak was fondling and drooling over to know that your death will be a slow and painful one. 

“Yesch, Yesch… So many different ways, s-sso little time…” He was mumbling to himself, picking up one thing only to hesitate and set it down before picking up another. The soft metallic clank of the tools repeatedly tapping against the sheet the torture devices were displayed upon constantly played upon your frayed nerves, making you twitch and jump at every little noise that echoed off the stone walls of the torture room.

You couldn’t see much from the angle you were laying. Not only were your wrists and ankles bound, but your head was strapped down so that you couldn’t turn your neck at all. All you could do was stare at the torturer’s hunched back, waiting for the inevitable. When he turned around to face you, your stomach dropped. 

Everything about him was grotesque. You couldn’t stand to look at him but looking away into the pitch blackness wasn’t a good alternative either. Panic began to numb your mind as the torturer looked over your body. He seemed to still be debating to himself on the best place to begin your torture. 

“Too little… Too little…” You jumped and tried to shrink away from his touch, the tips of his brittle and cracked nails touching your bare hand had your skin crawling and a chill racing down your spine. A pathetic whimper bubbled up from the back of your throat. It was all you could do to not burst into hysterical sobs. The anticipation of pain and suffering might be the worst kind of torture, you thought. But you didn’t know cruelty like this miserable creature did… 

Trortur was scrutinizing every little detail of your body. Your bone structure, your weight, the suppleness of your skin… He pinched the skin of your cheek, pleased with how soft it was and how it quickly snapped back into shape. You pressed your prettily shaped lips into a thin line as his fingers traced around their edges, but it wouldn’t stop him from prying them open so he could look at your pearly white teeth. All there, in pristine condition…  

“F-Fine s-specimen… S-sso…” The words got lost in his throat as he fished for his trusty knife. It was an old favourite of his: sharp enough to flay a man but also sturdy enough to cut through the pesky leather straps that held your armour together. The look of terror on your face went straight to his core as he sliced through the first strap with a flick of his wrist. 

“W-Wai- W-Wait a moment-!”  

Trortur hummed to himself as your struggle against your bindings renewed. The whimpers and cries of despair and defeat are so sweet on the ears… Yours were no different from the others, yet the thrill it brings him is already enough to cause his hands to tremble and he has yet to cause you any real pain yet! 

Cut.

Cut.

Cut.

Your chest plate is peeled away like a layer of skin. With every breath you took, your chest heaved. Sweat soaked through your tunic and your eyes were pinpricks with fear. Trortur placed his hand on your chest so he could feel the beating of your heart. 

Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum-  

Quick, just like a little rabbit’s… He stroked the slope of your chest, his own heartbeat quickening as your body shuddered and tears formed in your bloodshot eyes. 

“Do you know when a p-perschon dies?”  

No prisoner has ever engaged Trortur in his little musings, but he never really minded. Your eyes were fixated on him, never wavering, never blinking, as a look of pure terror was etched onto your face. You were paying attention and that was more than most afforded him. 

“I-Isch it w-when their heart s-stopss beating?” His hand swept back up your chest, laying to rest over your heart that slammed persistently against your ribcage.

“Or w-when the blood i-is drained from their body?” He raises his hand and places it on your head, a searing pain suddenly causing you to hiss and wince in pain. When Trortur brought his fingers to your face, you could see a smear of blood painted on his sickly yellow skin. 

“I-I think there i-isch another kind o-of death… One where the m-mind goess but the b-body remains…” The blood from your head wound is wiped across your lips. Your mouth twitches and you instinctively licked the blood from your lips. The look on the torturer’s face shifted into something that made the corners of your vision blacken and caused a faintness to wash over you. You were on the verge of blacking out from fear and terror but to Trortur, you were a swooning beauty.  

It was common for arousal to be associated with pain. It was something that Trortur was… intimately familiar with, but it wasn’t only him that experienced euphoria where pain was involved, whether it be from experiencing it or inflicting it onto others. Over the years that he’s been a torturer, he’s seen men and women alike, no matter their birth status or the religion they followed, they all experienced pleasure in the harm he caused them. Shaking, quaking orgasms in the midst of brutal torture…. Of skin being stripped away in neat strips, bones being broken, being sawn in two…  It was the pain and trauma that killed them all, but would it be possible for the pleasure to be an equally devastating force? He had to know the truth and now he had the perfect test subject for this little experiment… 

The kiss to your lips was clumsy and full of teeth. You couldn’t shrink away from it nor could you turn your head in protest. His lips were chapped and rough yet covered in foul smelling and tasting saliva. You clenched your fingers into a fist and screwed your eyes shut. The torturer pulled away, cackling maniacally as his body trembled. 

“Hrrrm-! Mmm-! Oh yesch… You will do perfectly…” He purred as he scurried away from your side. He went back to the tray and picked up… a bone saw- Oh no- No no no no no no- NO! NO NO NO NO NOOOO-!!!  

Your pleas went on deaf ears. A tourniquet was placed on one of your legs, in the middle of your upper thigh, the pressure so tight and cutting that you cried out and began to scream hysterically before he even began to press the blade into your flesh. Trortur needed to take a moment to steady his breathing before he began the procedure. 

“D-Don’t worry… There will only be a slight-”  

The moment the saw’s teeth bit into your skin, something primal broke inside of you. It was like the world was in slow motion; you thrashed and screamed but you couldn’t hear your voice over the beating of your heart. The first drag of the saw cut through your clothing and sliced into the skin of your thigh. The second cut deeper into your flesh, hot pain shooting up through your body and warm blood spilling down your leg and pooling under your body. The third had your body quivering and sobs spilling from your lips. The fourth, however, hit bone and what you felt was indescribable. 

You felt like you were dying. To say it was painful would be a grave disservice to the utter agony that you felt. The initial pain seemed to last forever, like it was one hellish moment that would stretch on for the rest of eternity. This is what you imagined the Sulfur Pits to be like. This unbearable pain forever and ever with no relief in sight. You lost count of how many times your leg was sawn into. It all blurred together until the white-hot pain had numbed you completely. You must be in shock, right? Your entire body felt wet and cold and hot at the same time. You didn’t know it was over until a chill ran down your spine and the torturer held his hand in front of your face.

“Ohhh… S-See thisch?” Something slick and musky smelling was rubbed underneath your nose. You didn’t have the energy to react. Only a few stray tears ran down your cheeks.

“Pleasure really is tied to p-pain…” Your sweat and blood soaked hair was smoothed down with a trembling hand. 

“O-Only three more to go…” 

W-What…?  

It started over again on your other leg. Then again on one of your arms. By the time he started on your remaining limb, you had no more tears left to shed. You couldn’t feel anything other than the throbbing of your heart where your limbs once were. This is when you die, right? There’s no coming back from something like this. You have no arms, no legs… All you can do is stop breathing…

But you didn’t.  

Something broke inside of you that day. Whoever or whatever you were before entering the Dungeon of Fear & Hunger was no more, only a shell was left behind that was nothing more than a living doll to the torturer, Trortur. 

Anything spark of defiance that remained in you was quickly demolished once the real torture began. Every moment that he wasn’t with another ‘subject’, Trortur was with you, inflicting every conceivable form of pleasure that his sick, twisted little mind could conjure up.

Even in your mostly unresponsive state, he could still pull moans out of you whenever he would stroke you with his tongue or when he would plunge his fingers inside of you. With time, it’s become easier and easier to get you to cum. No longer did you fight against him and hold back. Now you would come unraveled with the gentlest of touches. And when he fucked you? Utter bliss… Your moans and cries were so sweet… just like how you would clench around him and milked his cock for all it was worth. 

All you would be for the rest of your life is the fuck doll of a demented torturer, kept locked up and hidden away so that no one other than him would be the one to break you over and over and over again. There is no comfort in the moments you have alone as you sit in utter silence and dark, nor was there when that deformed man was hunched over you and humping away at the hole between your legs. Nothing felt like anything anymore… Not when the agony of existence was constantly numbed by the pleasures of the flesh.

Ending H- A New Dolly

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine

[tabletennis20]

(NSFW) Size Difference, Dominant Godrick/Tarnished (1/2)

based off of @tarnussy ‘s horny size comparison post. also i needed to write drunk godrick. yes there’s another drunk godrick drabble i’m writing where he’s submissive. this ended up being way longer than i expected, so it’s going to be two parts :’)

“Well,” Godrick drawled, an auxiliary hand lazily swirling a chalice of wine. “Finally, my consort comes to service me.” The Lord of Limgrave sat reclined in his throne, legs kicked out as his eyes slowly trailed up the Tarnished’s form, pausing at every patch of revealed skin. He made a show of his approval, tongue snaking over his crooked teeth as a finger beckoned them closer.

The Tarnished, no stranger to Godrick’s typical lusts, loosened the string of their tunic as they strolled towards the foot of the throne. The light fabric blew from their shoulders in the always-present draft from the arching doorway, baring their chest. “What is it you wish, my lord?” they asked once they reached him, their hand tracing shapes on his thigh.

Too impatient for foreplay as usual, Godrick grabbed the Tarnished around the waist and lifted them, smirking as his fingers squeezed a gasp out of them. He took a moment to savor how easily they could be manhandled before placing them on his lap, taking care to rub them against his crotch. As he craned his neck down to kiss them possessively, the scent of wine became obvious. The taste soon followed as Godrick ineloquently shoved his tongue into the Tarnished’s mouth, rich hints of something the Tarnished never had dancing across their pallet.

“Enjoying your drink, I see,” the Tarnished purred into Godrick’s ear once they broke apart. Hands wrapped around their legs at their honeyed voice, a gnarled finger prodding incessantly at their entrance through their pants. Up close, the Tarnished easily caught onto the hungry, tipsy mess Godrick had gotten himself into prior to their arrival. His face was dusted with a light pink, his gaze and breath heavily saturated with greed. Already, the warm throb of him was evident beneath them, beginning to stiffen enough to lift his robes.

The Tarnished placed their hands on the one still around their waist, dancing teasing touches around the skin as they ground their hips down into Godrick’s groin. It never took much to rile him up, a trait worsened by his intoxication. Simply rubbing themselves against their lord caused his legs to tense wildly with excitement.

With a starved groan, Godrick tugged his robes up enough to free his lengths, precum beading from the slits. “So eager, Lord Godrick,” the Tarnished said, reaching down to stroke his dual cocks with each hand. Already, the heads were exposed and ruddy, the skin of his shafts feverishly hot compared to their own. Godrick’s pulse beat against their palms from where they gripped him.

A rough, animalistic growl soon echoed from the lord’s chest, and he brought the chalice to his lips, tilting his head back to drain it before tossing it to the side where the metal resonated off the cold floor. The Tarnished looked from where the last drops of wine stained the floor to Godrick’s eyes, which appeared even foggier than usual in his fervor. They raised an eyebrow, letting go of him once a hand skated across their chest, groping at random.

“I has’t been left waiting since thine latest adventure took thee outside my castle,” Godrick complained, roughly tugging on the Tarnished’s tunic until it ripped clear of their body. Thumbs quickly found their nipples, rubbing harsh loops around them. “I demand the warm embrace of thine body, lest I perish on the spot. A lord’s appetite should never be left unsated, be it food, drink, or flesh.”

The Tarnished sighed pleasurably as calloused fingers toyed with their nipples until they hardened into sensitive nubs. “I can see you’ve had plenty of drink,” they said, watching one of Godrick’s auxiliary hands fist into his hair to tug at it. Truly insatiable. “I also trust the cooks have been filling your stomachs. Should I be so flattered as to assume your current state is my doing? After only a handful of days?”

“Yes!” Godrick snapped, his drunken mind confused as to why his aching cocks were still not stuffed in his consort. He lifted the Tarnished again to rid them of their pants, sucking on two of his fingers as he had them kneel on his lap, knees apart. He cupped their ass as the spit-slicked middle fingers of this left hand plunged into their hole.

The prompt sensation of being filled wrenched a moan from the Tarnished’s lips, and they dutifully tilted their hips to meet Godrick’s fingers, each one as thick as a human’s cock. Truthfully, once the patrolling knights had told the Tarnished upon their return to Stormveil of their lord’s desire to see them immediately, they knew little time would be spent preparing. Godrick’s demands were never to be taken lightly. “Ah, my lord,” they gasped, thighs quaking as the demigod’s fingers curled deep within them.

“Ha!” Godrick grinned, adding a third finger to the Tarnished’s steadily-loosening hole. “Thou shall be begging for my seed, and I shall give thee more than thou can handle, since thou has’t denied me for so long.”

[eatommo]

Damascus [j.b.b]{kd12}

Knife play/bondage/cock warming

CW: Knife play, pain kink, mentions of blood, marking, cock warming, bondage, riding. pet names, this is a little aggressive on the knife kink so please read at your own risk, he carves letters into her skin, unprotected sex, creampie

You would usually never complain about sitting on Bucky’s lap, or sitting on his dick entirely, but this? It was near painful.  Your shoulders ached, strung up above your head and tied to the beam above you, and you felt the tip of his knife dragging across the delicate skin of your nipples.

You fight against the instincts you’ve trained, even leaning into the blade slightly, feeling the bite of the cold metal as it splits your skin open just enough to sting.  

His hard cock was nestled inside of you, unmoving, almost begging for your weeping pussy to challenge his composure as you tremble and expose your neck for him as he trails his stubbled lips up the column of your throat.  He pauses hovering over your pulse, you swear you can feel his smirk as he shifts your weight in his lap, giving the muscles in your shoulders reprieve but nudging the head of his cock against your cervix. 

You fight a groan by chewing your lip, the noise gets caught by his teeth and pulled from your chest against your will as he sinks his teeth into the tender flesh of your jaw, sucking a bruise you’ll struggle to cover for weeks. 

“Is there something you want beautiful?”  You pull your lips between your teeth, knowing that if you beg and plead with him his smugness will just make him hold out longer.  But you also feel if you don’t start grinding against him you’ll combust.  

“Let me mark you up more princess.”  He switches the knife to the cool expertly crafted metal hand you’ve come to both fear and respect.  He starts at the center dragging the knife in a sweeping motion, it takes a few seconds of grimacing before you recognize the shape of a “J.” Cool air and pain pull your body taught around him, unwilling to break his talentful concentration as he carves two “Bs.” trailing down your spine.

You feel small droplets of blood line the new intials in your skin, tears forming in your eyes as you continue to practice great discipline and composure.  

When he’s finished the knife clatters to the ground, startling you from your compliant stupor, “So good for me baby, love that you give yourself to me, to just me, like this.” 

You nod and bury your head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the rich musky metallic smell of his skin, and kissing the scared flesh connecting his shoulder to his arm.  “I love you,” the words feel like too much and not enough all at the same time, “I wouldn’t want you any other way, Buck.”

To your surprise, he breaks first.  Arms wrapping around you and lifting you up and down on his cock furiously.  You kiss along his jaw, eager for his mouth to meet yours as you both approach your teased climaxes, faster than you thought possible.

“Please, I’m so close.”  Your brows stitch together. 

“Yeah? Cum for me baby.” His human hand brushes against the cuts on your back, delicately tracing over them as he swears under his breath.  

Together, you fall to pieces, losing every ounce of control you’ve both worked so hard to possess.

[laurelsofhighever]

One Last Song

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Pairings/Characters: Bryce Cousland/Eleanor Cousland Rating: Mature Warnings: Gore, Violence, Character Death Summary: With her last child fled to escape Howe's attack and her husband dealt a mortal wound, the Seawolf makes her last stand. 

Read on AO3

--

A last glint of light sparked off metal armour as the figure disappeared into the shadows, down the narrow path behind the false wall that led through the passages of the old Alamarri tombs, to a hidden cleft in the rock on the lip of the sea. In the night-time dark, the chance was good that Howe’s men, focused instead on their plunder, on withering Highever’s power at the root, would miss the shape of a lone straggler not worth the sport of a chase.

“Eleanor…”

The Teyrna of Highever straightened at the sound of her name. The midst of battle was no place for softness. Death, she had been taught, was steel-hard, inflexible as stone and as inevitable as the sea. And she had been Death for so many. Drawing in a breath of the stale, brackish air that exuded from the tunnel, she pressed the hidden switch to block it off again, and turned to gather barrels and laden crates, anything that might be shoved against the pantry door to keep it fast against whatever soldiers might come. The sounds of fighting were muffled still, distant, but the gate would not hold for long with enemies on the walls. Still, it offered enough of a breathing space for her to see to the one sharing the room with her. In the moments since she had left him to watch that last trace of hope vanish from sight, Bryce had dragged himself upright to rest against a pile of grain sacks, though the cost of the action shone clear in the new, blue tinge to his lips, the fever-brightness of his eyes as he watched her.

“They’ll be alright, love,” he panted, as she wadded up a spare cloth to staunch the blood pooling around him. “Our children will live – how can they not, when they – when they have such a formidable mother?” He tried to laugh, but the sound escaped only as a wheeze.

“We’ve done what we can for them,” she agreed. “And Howe will regret it.”

For a moment, quiet seeped in around them, with the stench of hot iron rising from the stones and acrid curls of smoke wafting down from the floors above. Their hands pressed together over the wound in Bryce’s side, but though the bleeding slowed, the stain in the surrounding cloth betrayed the futility of the effort.

Unsteady, he raised his fingers to brush her face, to trace the fine bones of her cheek, the wrinkles time had left so lightly at her jaw and the corner of her eye. “You – you should have gone too.”

She caught his hand and held it against her skin. It was already so cold.

“I do not run,” she growled, and stood.

Soot had settled on her armour during the mad dash through the castle; with the first two fingers of her left hand she gathered it, then dragged the digits in unwavering stripes down her face so that one passed over each of her eyes. Her husband’s blood gloved her other hand to the wrist; she took her thumb and drew it first over her knuckles, then just as deliberately smeared the red across her teeth. The taste woke the mettle slumbering in her veins, the old ritual meant to draw down the power of the gods, to make her the calm eye at the centre of the storm.

“To the Lady, for the Lady,” she intoned in Clayne, the language of her people. “My blood and the blood of my enemies this night.”

Her husband’s breath rasped harsher in the stillness as she moved into an archer’s stance before the door. Even after so many years, her feet still expected the phantom sensation of a ship’s deck pitching beneath her feet.

“Did I ever tell you – the moment I fell in love with you?” Bryce asked, as she drew the first of her arrows.

“Tell me.”

“The officers’ moot,” he answered, shallow. “After that disastrous introduction.”

“When you made a tit of yourself. Aye.”  The quiver at her belt only held twelve shafts.

He hummed. “You stalked into that stateroom. Full armour and warpaint – just to teach me a lesson. It was that moment. And every moment after.”

She nocked one arrow, and kept two more held between nimble fingers to follow the first. “You’re lucky I didn’t let you drown.”

Behind her, his usual hearty laugh erupted as a weak, bubbling cough that made her fingers clench on the bow. They had shared the same joke for years now, fondly or with exasperation as the situation required. This would be the last.

Tears clouded the vision. She couldn’t afford them. Above the pulse of her heart, beating in her ears like the wings of some great creature, clashing metal and the shouts of dying soldiers became clearer – closer – as the castle’s last defenders were pushed back from the main door.

“Eleanor…”

“I’m here, mo ghràdh,” she said.

“Are they close?” Another laboured breath. “I can’t see anymore. The torches must have – must have gone out…”

“Bryce?” Her heart clenched in her chest. “Stay with me.”

“We must – draw them down. Thin them.” He coughed. “They should consider it – an honour to die at – at your hands.”

“What do you suggest?” she asked, to keep him talking.

He wheezed again, drunk on blood loss. “A song.”

She almost missed the first notes. In earlier days her husband’s voice had been a rich baritone, fair as a harper’s though not trained to anything more sophisticated than an army’s marching songs, and though now his breath was growing more ragged by the moment, the tune hummed true as it ever had in lullabies over their children’s cradles.

Her eyes closed as she recognised it. “I always hated that one.”

“Oh, drop him, Lady, drop him…” A hiss forced its way between his teeth as he shifted to find more comfort. “Liar. Or you’d – never have married me.”

“I took you for pity,” she retorted, without bite, but without her hands shaking either.

“It’s fitting.” His breath hitched. “Sing it with me.”

Howe would not suffer them to live. But she was the Seawolf, and she would make sure he remembered it. She would cost him.

“Eleanor? I can’t see you –”

“The Lion’s ships were Denerim-bound – Oh, drop him, Lady, drop him!”

In the tiny chamber, her voice rang like a struck chime, thick with the tears she held at bay but battle-hard, defiant, the kind of voice that could shout clear orders over the roar of a storm and be obeyed.

“Let the true king’s call for aid resound – Just drop him, Lady, drop him!”

Beyond the door, the noise lulled, and then she heard an echo taken up. The defiance spread as they sang, the chaos of the attack bridled and reined in and turned back on the dogs who had thought to butcher them in their home. Highever’s soldiers had mighty voices, even in the face of defeat, and to a one they knew the words well.

Turn him loose and let him go – Oh, drop him, Lady, drop him! Down to the rocks and sand below – Just drop him, Lady, drop him! The depths can have that scurvy knave – Oh, drop him, Lady, drop him! For brushing off our Seawolf brave –

She made it to the second repeat before the latch rattled on the pantry door, with a voice raised in consternation a moment later on finding it immovable.

“If it won’t budge, break it down,” came the gruff command. “His Lordship wants his prizes and we’re running out of places to look.”

“‘His Lordship’,” she spat, baring her teeth. “A stolen title he won’t enjoy for long.”

A hatchet was brought to try the door, and long moments passed measured in the thud of steel on wood. Belatedly, she thought she should have poisoned the barrels of Antivan wine standing around her, placed in the pantry to be under Nan’s fierce and unrelenting watch.

“Bryce?” she called, as the gleam of the axehead broke through the wood. “Bryce? Are you still with me?”

The axe withdrew. A chunk of the door went with it, the bright torchlight from the other side blocked almost immediately by an eye shoved against the crack.

“It’s them! Call Captain Lowan, it’s th– aaagh!”

Second arrow nocked.

“Break it down – break it down now!”

Three more arrows found their mark before the hole was widened far enough for Howe’s archers to return fire, but by then she had moved to an oblique angle out of range, and sank two more into the most careless who gave her soft spots to target. They rammed the latch. Two more at the chink of light it exposed. The night grew long. A sergeant barking orders sent man after man into the breach, and when she finally ran out of arrows, daggers did well instead to slice throats and find those same soft, weak points as they tried to widen the opening of the barricaded door.

“When the Soldier met the Mistral’s crew, not a word of their great deeds he knew –”

She gasped the words now, exhausted, the rhythm flowing with the strikes of her blades, and they drew back.

“And the Seawolf he took for a servant lass, great Andraste, what an ass –”

Too used to an open field, their swords swung wide and struck sparks from the walls, while she, who had fought on the confined deck of a ship for almost half her life, wielded death with more precision, striking at any opening they left until the bodies piled high.

“’Fore the Seawolf’s ire no man could stand, Soldier felt his death was close at hand –”

A bright bloom of pain opened in her gut, parried downwards from a stab that would have taken her in the heart.

“Two great steps back did he retreat,” she snarled, holding the hilt to her belly, “And the cliff side crumbled ‘neath his feet.”

Her attacker’s eyes widened as her dagger crossed his throat. Blood sprayed onto her face. A cry tore from her lips as the man slumped forward with a grip gone slack on the hilt and wrenched the sword from the wound, but as she turned to face the next she was met with only silence. It rang as only the aftermath of a battle could ring, harsh with breath and beating blood, deadened by the limp weight of the score of corpses at her feet. Others would come soon, looking for the treasury once the riches of the upper floors had been pillaged, and when they did…

The wound in her side bled deeply even after she pressed hard to try and halt the flow. As the battle lust drained away with the warm seep over her hands, a gnawing pain stole in, spreading through her side like cracks in a frost-weathered cliff.

“Bryce…”

As she turned, the room swayed under her, dimming at the edges so that for a moment she lost him in the gloom. But he had not moved. He lay against the sack of grain as still as an iced-over pond, his head rolled slightly to one side.

“No…” The grey eyes looked on nothing. “No, you cannot do this, you cannot –”

Her bloodied hand reached for his face and found it cold, his life nothing but a puddle beneath him, sinking in a slow drip through the flagstones into the ancient bedrock, and she had not noticed. Her own movements weakened; her arm felt cased in lead, her spine no longer rigid enough to support her as she sank down next to him in a pale shade of the intimacy they had shared for so long. Death would take her. Wings would take her. Tears – a useless waste of fluid – sprang to her cheeks and washed away the Lady’s marks, but it did not matter. Voices hovered on the edge of her hearing, though whether it was Howe or the whispers of the Fade she could not tell, and did not care. Instead, her thoughts drifted to the tunnel beneath the castle, to Fergus marching south unaware of the loss of all he’d ever known, to the last glint of light sparking off metal in the darkness.

Gradually, it seemed, her Soldier’s cheek no longer felt so cold.

[theyoutubedork]

Close to You - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | My Ko-Fi | Leave a request!

Word Count : 2.5k+

Summary: Maybe Wanda and Natasha’s plan wasn’t a complete failure after all…

Warning: Smut 18+, Dom!Bucky, swearing, dirty talk, teasing, breast play, praise, pet names: (good girl, princess, pretty girl, doll, darlin’), cunnilingus, choking, unprotected sex (PLEASE PRACTICE SAFE SEX), and absolute filth.

“Buck..” you whine, and Bucky stops his attack on your neck, looking up at you from his hunched position on the counter.

“Yeah princess?” He asks teasingly, making you let out a sinful moan at just the pet name alone.

“Bed. Now.” You plead, and Bucky gives you a smirk that you may have only seen before if you traveled back in time to his younger days.

“Anything for you,”

Bucky picks you up from the counter, just like before, instead placing his hands directly on your backside, digging his fingers into the plush skin, making you groan into his mouth. Your mouths stayed connected as Bucky brings you from the bathroom into his bedroom. You feel him dip downwards, and your back meets the firmness of his mattress. He seamlessly crawls between your legs, keeping his fleshed hand on your ass while he using his metal appendage to hold himself steady.

You two part after clashing teeth, and you peer into his eyes, his irises nearly overtaken by his lust-filled pupils. He take in a shuddered breath, and his minty breath makes your entire body break out in goosebumps.

“I just want to make sure you want this, Y/N, I don’t wanna mess this up,” He manages to speak, his eyes slightly avoiding yours. You can tell his mind is midst self-sabotage, so you take your bandaged palms and cup his jaw gingerly. His eyes finally meet yours.

“I’ve wanted this for ages Buck, please, there’s no way you can mess it up, as long as you’re not some two-pump chump,” You giggle lowly and Bucky raises his eyebrows, and his mouth open in shock,

“Two-pump chump? That better not mean what I think it means.” You laugh out loud at his expression and he begins an attack on your throats, leaving small little marks just like before. Your hands find their way into his long locks one more. Bucky nibbles his way to your earlobe, and when he sucks just below it, you let out a high pitched sigh in pleasure.

“You’ll regret ever thinking that about me, darlin’. I’d never leave an angel like you unsatisfied,” He growls into your ear, and ever single nerve in your body sets itself on fire.

“I’m not sure I will, given what you’re doing to me,” You sigh happily, Bucky lets go of your neck and moves his face up to yours once more. He barely gives you a moment to breathe, crashing his lips against yours with a newfound determination and fire. You gasp at the feeling of his perfect teeth bitting your bottom lip, and he takes that moment to lick his tongue into your mouth. His fleshed hand has made its way onto your hip, and from how tightly he’s holding you, you might find crescent shaped marks there soon after.

After yet another mind blowing kiss, Bucky finally starts to move down. He kneels between your spread legs, rushing his hands under the soft expanse of your stomach, and helps you toss your shirt god knows where. His lips travel down to your chest and you instinctively arch your back into his mouth, and Bucky takes that opportunity to snap one of the bands of your sports bra, making you let out a yelp. You take the hint and discard the tight fabric, feeling your nipples pebble at the feeling of the cold air and Bucky’s hot breath mixing together over your breasts.

“Absolutely perfect, my god,” He practically gasps, and he hungrily takes your left nipple into his wet mouth. You keen into him, trailing your hands down his bare back, tracing the bridge between his metal arm and the rest of his body with a featherlight touch. Bucky lets out a deep sigh, meanwhile sucking and biting your nipples with incredible fervor.

“God, Buck, you feel so fuckin’ good,” you mewl, grasping for some sort of stability when his tongue encircles each nipples, leaving a wet kiss there, and blowing on them slightly. The feeling was absolutely exhilarating. You just wish Bucky would hurry the hell up, your core was aching for some sort of relief. You begin to grind yourself on Bucky’s clothed thigh, but he immediately tuts at you, gripping onto your thigh, halting your movements.

“Sorry sweetheart, but after that little comment, I’m going to be taking my sweet time with you.” You whine at his words in frustration, and when he trail is his way back up to face, you let out a moan of pure agony,

“Buck…please..I need you..”

“I know darlin’, so needy for me that you’d grind on my thigh just for some sorta’ relief, huh?” He teases you, leaving at chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth. Thankfully, Bucky doesn’t linger, finally traveling below your waist, leaving small, open mouthed kisses in his wake.

“Don’t worry, m’gonna take care of ya, just be patient doll,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers onto your pants. You push away any sense of shame and you help Bucky take off both your leggings and panties all in one go. Bucky merely groans at the sight of your glistening center, and he nestles between your thighs, like it had been his home all along. His face sits merely inches from where you need him most, and he teasingly kisses the inside of your thighs, and you shudder under his touch.

“Such a pretty pussy, my perfect girl,” He rasps, and he takes a human digit, dipping it slowly between your folds dragging it from the base of your clit to your entrance, and you let out a sinful whine at his agonizingly slow trace of his finger.

“You’re so wet for me doll, this all f’me?” He asks, peeking up to look at you with his beautiful ocean eyes. You nod quickly, panting at just the feeling of Bucky’s fingers slowly dancing around your clit, never fully making contact.

“Use your words, darlin’,” He chuckles. You sigh dramatically, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, looking at him with the most menacing glare you could give, despite being completely bare in front of the super soldier.

“Yes, now will you please fucking touch me with your mouth?” You beg, and Bucky chuckles at your crudeness,

“You’re so adorable when you pout like that, you’ve been such a good girl, I’ll give you what you want pretty,” he smirks, and you moan at just the mere words ‘good girl’. Bucky has unlocked the ultimate pet name you crave, and by the look on his face, he knows it too.

“Oh, you like being called a good girl don’t you?” He teases eagerly, ready to use this newfound knowledge whenever he could. Just the way your whole body stiffened when the name fell from his lips made his cock ache even more than it already has.

“Bucky,” You growl at him in warning, and Bucky laughs at the anger flashing across your features.

“Sorry, I should be rewardin’ ya for being my good girl,” He simpers with a wink, and the sinful moan that leaves your lips when he finally prods his tongue at your clit, was better than anything Bucky has ever heard. The taste of you however, was something on a whole other level. Bucky cant hold back his teasing pace, licking at your pussy like it was his last meal on earth. You grip onto his chestnut tresses, your body arching into his mouth, craving more.

“There we go, that’s my good girl, so pretty when you moan for me,” He gasps, sucking in another breath before diving his tongue into your entrance, meanwhile bringing his metal thumb up to your clit. You gasp at the clashing of hot flesh meeting his cold thumb, and you can’t help but moan even louder when Bucky continues to eat you out like your pussy came from a Michelin star restaurant. He switches, suckling at your clit while he pushes two metal fingers inside your weeping hole. He curls them deliciously against your g-spot, and you let out a moan that can be only be described as pornographic.

“Fuck Bucky, I’m gonna cum soon if you keep doing that,” You cry, the pleasure being so great that you can feel the familiar tightness in your stomach.

“Don’t hold back, cum for me darlin’, you deserve it pretty girl, cum for me,” He pants, sucking harshly against your clit as he curls his fingers even deeper into you. You decide to oblige, being that band snap as your body rocks into him, pure, whit-hot pleasure seeping into your veins. You let out a silent cry, as your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you can hear in the foggy distance, Bucky’s moans of approval. He gently brings you down form your orgasm, whispering sweet praises into your cunt as you ride out your high. After what seemed like a millennia, you finally open your eyes, dazedly looking down at the man who just gave you the most mind-numbing orgasm you’ve ever had.

“How did you do that?” You pants heavily, still trying to catch your breath. Instead of answering your question, Bucky just laughs, crawling back up to give you a passionate kiss.

“Still think I’m a two-pump chump?” He chuckles, and you slap his bicep lightly.

“Fuck me and find out,” You tease impatiently, giving Bucky a smirk that makes his cheeks redden.

“Fuck, alright,” He stumbles to take off his sweatpants, and you hungrily look at his swollen cock with a sly smile.

“You ready for me sweetheart?” Bucky asks sincerely, pressing his forehead against yours lovingly.

“Hell yeah,” You encourage him, and you both share a small laugh. He lines himself up with your entrance, and due to how good Bucky at you out, his cock slips in easily, filing you up to the brim almost immediately. You and Bucky let out a collective shuddered gasp, both of you locking your lips together in a heated kiss. You grind your hips against his, and Bucky takes the hint, dragging his shaft out slowly, leaving only the tip inside, before slamming back into you.

“Oh fuck,” You groan, digging your fingernails into his back.

“Fuck, you’re so tight for me doll,” He grunts into your neck, his hot breath fanning against the back of your neck.

“Bucky please, I need you to fuck me,” You plead, and Bucky shushes you with a small kiss to your temple. For such a sinful position you two were in, the gesture was incredibly soft and comforting.

“Don’t worry, gonna take care of you, you’ve been such a good girl,” He grunts out his last words, pulling back out and into you at a steady pace now. His cock fills your walls heavenly, and you let out small whines as Bucky finally starts fucking you, just like you have imagined so many times in the safety of your mind. Bucky echoes your thoughts,

“You even better than what I imagined, pretty girl,” He grunts, hooking his arms underneath your thighs, opening yourself up more to him so he could hit you at even a deeper angle. You can only let out a loud moan at his words, unable to fully form the sentences you’ve had constantly swimming in your brain for a moment like this. Bucky leans upward, grabbing onto your calves, placing your legs on his shoulders as he looks at you with a look of adoration. His long locks sway with each thrust, some stuck to his forehead from the sweat beginning to form there.

“What’s the matter? Is my good girl so drunk on my cock she can’t even tell me how good it feels? Huh?” He growls, pistoning his cock into her at a brutal pace. You can only let out a simple “uh-huh” being so lost in the pleasure you can only grip onto the sheets for dear life. He reaches to your jaw to wipe away a small tear reading down, and you instinctually lift your chin so that his grip falls onto your throat. Bucky lets out a dry laugh, his skin slapping against yours as he tightened his metal arm around your throat,

“Oh, you dirty girl, is that what you thought about when you stared at my metal arm, hmm? Me squeezing your perfect little throat while I fucked you senseless?” You cant even respond, loving the way his hand fits around your throat, constricting your airway just enough that it makes all the sensations you were feeling that much better. You can only confirm his assumption by gripping onto his wrist tightly, keeping it just where you wanted. You saw Bucky smirk at this, as he drives into you even deeper. You feel that familiar knot, and your feel yourself clench around Bucky when he finds that particular spot that drives you crazy. You let out a yelp, letting out a string of incoherent praises at the man you adored.

“Huh? You gonna cum doll? Come on, I know you want to cum on my cock, be my good girl and cum on my cock.” Bucky gasped, nearing his release as well, he would normally last longer if he tried, but the feeling of your walls fluttering around him was a euphoric sensation to Bucky. When Bucky squeezes your neck just a tiny bit tighter, you finally let go, feeling that familiar wave of pleasure rock through you, only even better this time, and you cant help but let out a high pitched moan at the feeling of Bucky chasing his own release, and spilling into you as he collapses on top of you. He loosens his grips on your throat, and he groans into the crook of your neck as you both calm down from your high.

“Are you glad that happened, because I’m glad that happened,” You questioned under your breath, staring at the ceiling as your chest struggles slightly to rise and fall under Bucky’s weight. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, in fact it was quite the opposite. You feel his chest rumble with laughter,

“Yeah, I am. I like being this close to you, feels nice.” Bucky bumbles, his mind swimming in a pool of post-orgasmic bliss, unable to think entirely clear.

You both separate after a moment, and both you and Bucky go into the bathroom, both cleaning up after your sweaty escapade. Bucky even helps redress your palms, convinced that all that activity demanded a fresh, clean, bandage. You were happy to oblige, falling into the familiar staring contest with his metal arm, only this time Bucky only looked at you with a loving glance instead of a confused one. After he finished, he insisted that you stay the night with him, wanting to age sure he’s there first thing whenever your wounds needed to be cleaned. You both settled into his bed, his metal arm wrapped around your waist, and you both fall into a dreamless sleep, with small smiles on both of your lips. You’ll have to thank Wanda and Natasha later.

A/N: And that’s it! I hope it was worth the wait. I’m not very confident in my smut writing,I always feels like it really sucks compared to when I write more fluffy or angsty stuff. Please let me know if i should write more, cause honestly I don’t know if anyone actually likes it when i write the sexy stuff. So please let me know what you think! I’d love to hear your feedback.

[t-lostinworlds]

Twenty-Five (Tom Holland)

a/n: well, i haven’t posted a fic in a while and i’m scared asdfghjkl. anyhow, this was a last minute idea, a.k.a was written fairly quick so bare with me for it may be shit lol. hope you guys enjoy! oh, and happy birthday to this handsome man in a turtleneck!

pairing: tom holland x female!reader trope/genre: none summary: Tom unwraps his last gift for his birthday, from you. warnings: implied smut (18+), nothing detailed, will include a glimpse of dom!tom at the end. word count: 1.6k+ (short but sweet spicy)

masterlist in bio

-:-:-:-:-

It's been ten minutes since you arrived back home from Tom's birthday dinner, a simple yet eventful night with friends and family. It was a given that the birthday boy was probably tired from all the fun and rowdy activities, add that to the fact that he'd been entertaining his guests the whole evening. But, with one last gift, it was also a given that your night was far from over.

You were nervous, there was no denying that. This was the first time you'd ever bought something like this, much less, show it to someone else. Despite being together for almost two years now, you hadn't really dabbled much into showing Tom a much more alluring type of clothing. But since it was a special occasion, you found no harm in giving your man a little surprise, a gift, as you might say. So of course you were nervous since this was going to be the first time that Tom will see you in something so...lacy, dainty, and well, sexy.

After checking yourself countless times in the mirror to make sure everything was right—with a few pep talks thrown in as well—you tied up your short, red, silk robe before finally coming out of the bathroom.

You found Tom sitting on your shared bed, still sporting his outfit of the night which was his tight, black turtleneck, biceps practically begging to be free with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. It was paired with his striped pants, one that was making his thighs look even more ravishing, inviting. He was looking handsome as always. His eyes were glued to his phone, fingers typing away, probably responding to more of his endless sea of greetings.

You silently made your way in front of the bed, fingers toying with the hem of your robe from the jitters. Taking in a few steady breaths, you tilted your head and said,

"Tom, go on and unwrap your last present for tonight."

"Huh? What present—oh," Tom cut himself off, eyebrows rising once his gaze landed on you. He hurriedly put his phone away, even doing as much as putting it inside his drawer, and you could only assume he turned Do Not Disturb on as well, the eagerness written all over his face. His smirk grew wide as he stood up from his place, walking over to you with his brown orbs gradually turning a shade darker. His hands found themselves on your waist once he was in close enough proximity, squeezing it tenderly. "Is my present under that robe?" he asked, voice falling down an octave.

"Maybe," you said with a shrugged, a feign innocent smile playing on your lips.

Tom shook his head. "I think I might need to sit down for this," he chuckled deeply, settling himself on the foot of the bed, spreading his legs wide so you could stand in between.

He kept his eyes locked with yours as he twirled the tie of your robe around his fingers, smirk only growing wider once he saw you swallow the lump in your throat. With how close you were, he could probably hear how your heart was beating so loud. Tom always found pride whenever he earned any reaction from you by doing absolutely nothing yet. It was very smug of him, but Tom being confident and in control will never fail to be so damn attractive, who were you to complain?

Agonizingly slow, he undid the ribbon, eyes never leaving yours even until the fabric had loosened around your body. Then, Tom reached up, fingers slipping underneath the silk, touch unhurried as he gently pushed it off your shoulders. The smooth material slipped down your body with ease and pooled at your feet, Tom still holding your gaze but only for a moment. With a deep breath, his orbs flickered down, features befalling with awe, his jaw dropping as he cursed,

"Fuck."

It was a simple, red, 3-piece, lingerie set. The garter and lace detailing covered so little but enough to still leave something for the imagination. It was hugging your body in all the right places, accentuating your shape in the most flattering of ways. The set was practically see-through yet the fabric was still cut out in certain areas to show even more skin. There was a ribbon right on top of each bra strap and then a matching one right in the middle of the hem of your panties.

"Absolutely stunning, you are," Tom marveled, almost like a gasp, hands wandering from your shoulders, down your arms, curling around your waist before proceeding down your thighs. His touch was laced with utter worship and praise. Add that to the way he was gazing you up, your nerves were quick to be replaced with confidence. You giggled softly, cheeks flushed as Tom did nothing else but caress your flawed skin amorously, making sure that there was nothing left untouched. His eyes were roaming just the same as if he was being extra sure that he wasn't missing a single detail, both on your perfect imperfections and the lace alike.

"You like it?" you asked.

Tom scoffed, shaking his head as he looked up at you with much adoration. "Like is a massive understatement." Squeezing your waist, Tom let you go as he leaned back on his arms, now all sprawled out with a wide smirk. "Step back a little, darling, I want to see all of you," he drawled. And you did, walking back a few steps so he could get the full scope. Tom shook his head with a low groan, "Fucking gorgeous."

"Now, give me a spin."

You laughed timidly but did so anyway, nothing but hums of satisfaction and appreciation coming out of your man as you did a full 360. Once you were facing him again, you found him with his head tilted far to the side, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his eyes stayed down to which you assumed was ogling at your backside. Your assumption was swiftly proven right when Tom threw in another request.

"Turn to the side a little, sweetheart," he asked, not at all trying to be discreet as to where his eyes were glued. With the confidence brewing in you, you posed for him sideways, chin on your shoulder as you flashed him a charming smile. Tom bit back a groan, admiring you from head to toe, shaking his head and blowing out his cheeks once he did so. After a few moments, he met your gaze again with nothing but a proud and satisfied look on his face. "Difficult decision," he pondered, a soft hum with his voice all deep.

"What?" you giggled.

"I can't decide if I should rip it off of you immediately," Tom paused, tilting his head at you with a knowing grin as he continued with a guttural tone, "Or fuck you while it's still on."

You bit your bottom lip to suppress a whimper, thighs instinctively pressing together which only earned a low chuckle from you man. Yet with your newfound confidence, you took a breath, a soft sigh as you ran your hands slowly, teasingly over the lace repeatedly. Tom's eyes followed your fingers, brown orbs coated with much hunger and lust.

"Well, don't rip it yet. It's new," you hummed, pouting at him sweetly before you shrugged. Toying with the garter of your panties, you added, "Then again, you are the birthday boy, you can have your way however you may please."

Tom's eyes snapped back up to meet yours. There was a flicker in his orbs, like a switch, and that was when you knew he caught on that your words meant more than just the lingerie.

"The latter then," he concluded, sitting up straight before his hands patted his lap, beckoning you closer. "Come here."

You walked over to him slowly, making sure to sway your hips sensually, which made Tom shake his head at you with a low groan. Once you stood right in between his legs, you lifted a hand to grab his shoulder for support, ready to straddle his lap. That until he caught your wrist midway into the air.

Tom shook his head no, tutting with a menacing smirk. He brought your wrist to his lips, giving it sweet, chaste kisses before he slowly guided you to where exactly he wanted you. You felt your insides churn when he simply said, "On your stomach, my love."

With a sharp breath, you did as told, situating yourself on your stomach, your body sprawled right across his thick thighs. You shivered once Tom ran his fingers down your spine before tracing the fabric that hugged your body so delicately that it may have seemed like he wasn't even touching it at all. He was silent, merely admiring, and dare you say it, enjoying his view. If the certain hardness that was poking your stomach wasn't a dead giveaway, then the way he was breathing heavily, would. Yet once he spoke again, you felt your whole body fire up, every inch of your skin tingling with utter fervor and excitement.

"How old am I again, darling?"

You gulped. It was rhetorical, but an unanswered question could only do more harm than good for you.

"Twenty-five."

Tom only hummed in response. There was no use for words anyway when you felt his warm palm smooth over the supple flesh of your ass that was exactly in his line of sight, exposed for his and his sight only. Yet in contrast, the cold metal of his Rolex on your skin emitted another shiver from you, a shaky breath escaping your lips soon after.

Tom chuckled proudly at your reaction, a few seconds of silence floating over you both before a sudden, sharp smack rang in the air.

Your body jolted in utter surprise. The stinging sensation immediately covered your cheek at the harsh impact, starting from where Tom's hand once was before the heat spread to your very core as you breathlessly moaned,

"One."

-:-:-:-:-

thank you for reading love! like, reblog if you enjoyed and lemme know your thoughts! x

[1kook]

one man, no hands

— a some way, some how jungkook drabble summary “Just my mouth,” he reassures you, rough hands slipping beneath the sides of your skirt, urging you to lift your hips as he nudges it over your tummy. “Promise.” warnings established relationship, mechanic jungkook, business woman oc, cunnilingus / eatin out, jk is dirty like in the literal sense rating m (18+) wc 2.5k 

notes am i confident in the title? no. am i stubborn and feel like it has to follow this pattern out of some weird self made obligation? yes, please help me. anyway here is 🔧⚙️ jk and his hot girlfriend once more <3

For the most part, you like to believe you were a pretty composed person. Sure, there are a few instances in your personal history where you exploded, sobbed, cursed the planet to hell and back. But given your chosen career track and the amount of stupidity you dealt with on a daily basis, you’re significantly more mild-mannered compared to your peers. That being said, you were by no means the dictionary definition of serene. After a long day of meeting clients around the city, a rather unsatisfying lunch, and atrocious city traffic—all while breaking in a new pair of heels—there was nothing more satisfying than pulling up to Jungkook’s empty auto shop and huffing out one long, “fuuuck.”

Jungkook doesn’t mind. “Hey, gorgeous,” he calls from over his shoulder, looming over the open hood of yet another innocent vehicle. The metal table beside him holds every tool imaginable. “How’s my sexy department manager doing today?”

“Terrible,” you confess, heels clicking against the concrete floor. You realize he’s hunched over his own car today, a rather rare sight if you’re being completely honest. Jungkook wasn’t the biggest fan of working on his own car(s) at the shop, something about pride and refusing to admit something was wrong with them in front of people who looked up to him. Men, you chuckle, finally closing in on him. 

He’s terribly sweaty, the sweltering heat turning the inside of the garage into a human microwave. “How’s my sexy mechanic doing today,” you hum, throwing all reservations aside to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek. Jungkook, as always, makes sure to nuzzle into the touch. 

“Pretty good,” he replies, taking advantage of your affectionate nature to set aside the tool that had been in his hand. You watch his sturdy fingers reach for the hood of the car, carefully shutting it because he knows you hate the smell of metal. The rag tucked into the pocket of his red jumpsuit is littered with stains, and the half-assed wipe of his hands against it doesn’t help. 

When he turns, that same hand attempts to reach for you, the remnants of oil buried beneath the tips of his fingernails. “Hey,” you warn, intercepting him at the wrist; you’ve spent one too many nights at the local laundromat trying to remove oil from tweed. 

Jungkook frowns, shakes his head to the side in that infuriatingly sexy way that not only lets you see the dark furrow of his shapely brows, but also has the tendons in his neck bulging just the slightest. “Give me a kiss,” he pouts, pretty pink lips fighting off a smile. “I missed you.”

Hands holding onto his wrists, you lean forward, your pointed heel tapping against the dirty toe of his work boots. 

One of your greatest contributions to society was introducing Jungkook to strawberry flavored chapstick, a deed that the universe pays you back tenfold with each kiss he bestows upon you, lips so soft and sweet. If you look past the distinct smells of the auto shop and Jungkook’s own natural scent, you swear you can smell the strawberries. 

It is as you’re trapped in this train of thought that Jungkook manages to overpower you, abruptly stepping forward enough to throw you off balance. Your gravity shifts, and while your heartbeat may spike for a moment, you know he’d never let you fall. “Easy there, beautiful,” he grins, one tatted arm wrapped around you. He’s got that stupidly cocky grin on, the one that usually proceeds some stupid or horny thought. 

Lo and behold, a second later he says, “can I eat you out?”

You roll your eyes, placing two hands against his chest. Jungkook takes it as a sign of your approval and moves in for a second kiss, only for you to shove him away with a huff. “You haven’t even showered, smelly,” you chide, straightening out the front of your blazer in a rather snooty manner that has Jungkook scoffing. 

“Please?” he tries again, not the slightest bit phased by the unimpressed look you throw his way. “I’ll wash my hands.”

“Jungkook,” you level, settling into one of the many rolling seats that decorate the floor of Jungkook’s garage, your cell phone placed down on the metal table nearby. From the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the familiar paper wrapping of the deli down the street, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you eat at Shin’s for lunch? I don’t want your onion breath on my intimates.”

Jungkook steps in front of you, looking down at you with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Well then,” he says calmly, and then, drops to his knees in front of you. It has you jolting in surprise. Before you can accidentally send yourself rolling across the floor, Jungkook catches your ankle in one hand, tugging you forward until your knee presses against his side. “It’s a good thing that was Jimin’s lunch and not mine.” 

“Kook,” you gasp, the muscles in your legs weak against the grip he has on the back of your knees. The muscles in his forearms tense up as he slowly pries your thighs apart, leaning down to place a rather soft kiss against your knee. The tenderness of his kiss shouldn’t be surprising, but it never fails to make you inhale sharply, hands slowly coming to rest against his shoulders. 

The brush of your fingers against him has his eyes flickering up to meet yours, strawberry sweet lips curling into a smile. “Just my mouth,” he reassures you, rough hands slipping beneath the sides of your skirt, urging you to lift your hips as he nudges it over your tummy. “Promise.”

One shaky exhale later, you find yourself slowly nodding along, fingers burying themselves within the dark tresses of his hair. “No hands,” you remind him one final time, letting him manhandle you out of your panties. “And be gen—“

Your words are swallowed up by the surprised squeak that slips through your lips upon Jungkook’s first long lick over your slit. “I’ve got you,” he chuckles, the low and breathy kind that makes your skin tingle. “Hold on to me.”

“What the— fuck!” you exclaim, pulling at his hair in sheer fright when he whirls your chair around suddenly, pushes you the three feet until your chair is bumping against the front of his bumper, appropriately named. “Jungkook,” you scold, roughly yanking him up by his hair. “Don’t do that.”

“Shh,” he hushes, but the shock still has your heart thumping a little too quickly. You pinch his ear. Jungkook shakes you off just as quickly, throws you a childish glare. “You’ll need the support.”

The opportunity to question him never comes, because a second later Jungkook is tugging you forward in your seat, knees neatly placed over his shoulders for easy access to your pussy. You did need the support, you realize, back pressed against the curve of the hood as Jungkook begins the rather torturous process of teasing you. 

As promised, his hands rest over your thighs, thick fingers digging into the soft skin as he descends upon you, one featherlight kiss pressed against your mound. The polite greeting of his lips is followed by the not-so-polite greeting of his tongue, the warm and wet muscle caressing your clit. 

Your breathing hitches, a pleasant warmth settling in your core. It blossoms quickly, stamps out the remnants of fear from a few minutes ago. Jungkook’s tongue plays a key role in that change, nudging your clit back and forth carefully as he listens to the subtle alterations in your breathing. 

After the day you’ve had, the delicate way Jungkook laps against you has you melting, both into his touch and against the cold metal of the hood behind you. “Oh,” you pant, eyelids fluttering at the kiss he places against your labia. 

He’s relatively quiet today, just soft sighs against your cunt. Without his hands, you’re surprised by how easily he navigates his way along your lips, tongue nudging your folds apart. The round tip of his nose throws you for a loop as he kisses down your slit, the soft skin unintentionally brushing against your throbbing clit. (Or maybe intentionally— you never really knew with Jungkook.)

At your quivering entrance, he pauses, pulling back with glistening lips and dark eyes. “Good?” he murmurs, tongue peeking out at the corner to trace across his red lips. Another shake of his head, dark strands tickling his cheekbones. 

“So good,” you exhale, releasing one hand from it’s trembling grip in his hair. You press it against the side of Jungkook’s face instead. Briefly, the tips of your fingers brush against his ear, an action that makes his eyelashes flutter, mouth dropping open just as your thumb presses against his lower lip. “Make me cum,” you command, as if you aren’t completely at his mercy right now. 

Still, Jungkook humors you. His pearly teeth playfully bite down against your thumb, a smile making its way across his features when you pull away. “You got it, boss,” he teases. 

You roll your eyes. “You’re the boss here,” you mumble, shivers running down your spine when he ducks back down once more. 

Lips suctioned around your clit, your thighs quiver beneath his touch. A soft whine pulls itself from your throat, hand jerking forward to grasp at the white undershirt he’s got on, stained like always. Jungkook ups the intensity, pulling away with a loud pop only to bestow a chaste kiss against your sensitive clit. “Please,” you whimper. It takes every last remaining ounce of self-control to keep yourself from accidentally clamping your legs shut around him, hips jerking forward as he licks his way down your slit once more. 

His tongue dips its way between your folds, over your quivering opening, as if he’s circling where he’ll pleasure you next. A second later, you feel your entire body tense up momentarily as he slips his tongue in. It’s nowhere near as girthy as his cock, barely comes close to two of his fingers. But there’s something about Jungkook being so close, mouth against your pussy, that sends a shock of electricity straight there. 

“Oh— Oh, god,” you sigh, head lolling back, tapping against the hood of Jungkook’s car. 

The fingers digging into your skin tighten to the point of bruising, his hands growing anxious with every breathless moan drawn out from you. His plush lower lip is warm against your puffy skin, hot breath fanning over your wet folds as his tongue slowly works its way in and out. Slow, painstakingly slow. The speed has you growing restless, legs threatening to lock around his head, pushing him against your cunt until he can’t breathe. 

It’s a good thing Jungkook is the one in control, his flattened tongue trailing one, long lick over your pussy. It starts at your entrance, glistening with arousal and his saliva, and ends at your clit. You’re almost certain you can feel your heartbeat through the bundle of nerves, releasing a loud cry at the way the tip of his tongue flicks against it once more. 

The muscles in your legs, tired from walking all across the city, spasm beneath his ministrations. Your shoulders, tight from the weight of your responsibilities, relax back against the warm metal hood. Every kiss Jungkook places against you has you melting, feeling so unbelievably pampered. “Fuck, J- Jungkook— baby,” you whimper, letting go of his shoulder to bite down on your knuckles. 

Jungkook breathes harshly against you, brows furrowed together as he focuses on making you feel good. The sight of his handsome face buried between your thighs makes you shiver, jolt when he pushes his tongue into your entrance once more and begins slowly thrusting it in and out. It’s so wet, mixes with your arousal and makes this lewd sound that only fans the flames of your pleasure, fingernails pressed against his shoulders and then burying themselves against his scalp. 

It doesn’t take much longer, fatigue and pleasure catching up to you all at once, accumulating in a toe-curling orgasm unlike your usual ones. It’s quieter, filled with stuttered gasps instead, Jungkook’s name occasionally finding its way into the mix. By the end of it, you find yourself fretting over the state of your boyfriend’s scalp, having pulled it roughly at the height of your pleasure. 

“How cute,” Jungkook hums softly, eventually releasing one of your trapped legs from over his shoulder. He rubs the back of his hand over his mouth and chin, transferring a dark stain of something onto his porcelain skin. In that moment, you’re glad you banned the usage of his hands on your pussy. Without anything to hold it up, your leg slips down, the impact of your heel against the concrete sending a tingling pain up your leg. 

“Ouch,” you murmur, and then find yourself demurely covering your exposed pussy, still glistening with cum and saliva. At your modesty, Jungkook snorts, releasing your other leg only to surge forward and knock his forehead against yours. “Ouch,” you repeat, the stinging pain exacerbated when Jungkook pushes himself closer.

“So, what do you say?” he asks, smiles that devilish smile that makes him look like a Calvin Klein model. His hands are at your waist, helping you tug your skirt back down. It’s nothing grand, but your rose-tinted view makes you swoon at the way he manhandles you. He’s dangerously handsome, has you mindlessly wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Say about what?” you mumble, hypnotized by the cherry hue of his lips, and the fact they probably taste like you. 

Jungkook tilts his head to the side, like he’s going to kiss you. Instead, he pauses just in time to say, “how was my onion breath?” 

You’ve never pushed someone away fast enough, nearly impaling him with the sharpened heel of your shoe against his chest. It sends him tumbling back, a rough cough mixed with a boyish chuckle, the dorky kind as he sprawls himself over the dirty concrete floor of his auto shop. It’s as you’re glaring down at your immature boyfriend and what you’re certain is a tiny puddle of motor oil beside his head, that you realize this is your life now. Men, you think bitterly. 

“I hate you,” you announce childishly. You find your discarded panties on the metal table beside a goddamn wrench. You fling it at his chest, only the slightest bit turned on when he raises it up for a sniff. “Mmm,” he purrs, letting the flimsy fabric rest over his eyes. You don’t even have it in you to scold him on how dirty that is, instead nudging his side with your shoe. “You know,” he says, catching your ankle in his hand. He guides your foot over him, surprising you when he places it directly over his chest. “I had a dream like this in high school,” he confesses, making your face heat up. “Think it was because of those 50 Shades of Grey books we found in your attic.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

little birdie, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: The cat has asked the little birdie to make an appearance. You have been turning down private dances, preferring to focus on the art and glamour of the burlesque shows themselves. Besides, old money was entitled, twice your age, and, worst of all, ugly, inside and out. But Min Yoongi doubled his original offer and, well, he is new money.

these events occurred prior to twelve hours, m | jjk

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; reader is a burlesque dancer, caged bird performance based on Dita Von Teese; smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamics, tiny bit of striptease, red lipstick kisses on nether regions (oop), m-receiving oral); non-idol!AU - cocky, rich!Yoongi x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader; a little drabble based on this ask

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He cocked an eyebrow at you, holding the handle of the leather crop in between his perfect white teeth.

You cocked one back, covered in diamonds, rubies, and red feathers.

The room was silent except for breathing.

These walls were soundproof.

You leaned forward, lids lowered, staring at those dark brown, cat-like eyes through your lashes, your tongue extending, the warmth of his skin and his breath against your lips. You licked the handle. His pink tongue flickered out, brushing against yours.

Instant electricity.

You retreated sharply, eyes narrowing.

“You were instructed not to touch, Min Yoongi.”

The man in the expensive designer clothes tilted his head at your cold tone, not responding. He surveyed you calmly, hint of a smirk around the leather crop, his hands behind his back. Primly tailored black vest with black satin piping with matching slacks. Silk handkerchief, cobalt blue, matching his silk shirt with the subtle checkered pattern and designer logo stitched into the squares, tone on tone. Despairingly expensive, but not gaudy or over the top. Didn’t need to be. The sheen in his black hair indicated it was pampered and well taken care of. The shine of his black oxfords indicated real leather. The strength and potency of his spiced cologne made him smell like the pure sex he was from presence alone.

Behind you, your two bodyguards stood side by side, sunglasses on, unmoving.

You agreed to this private dance when Yoongi said he was willing to pay double the initial amount he offered.

New money really spent it on the dumbest shit.

You leaned forward again, watching him carefully. You were wearing long opera-style gloves made of a lush red sparkling fabric, embellished with intricate stitching.

Lifted your hand, turning it around, palm up.

“Drop.”

He only moved his lower jaw, the leather handle falling from his lips and right into your palm.

You flicked your wrist and ran the crop up the inside of his thigh, forcefully spreading his knees with one of yours, narrowing your eyes, nicking the flared end against his crotch.

Lesser man would have jumped away.

Min Yoongi was not a lesser man.

He confidently spread his legs and tipped his head back, black hair falling over one eye, smirk on those shapely pink lips. He didn’t speak or make a sound. It was disconcerting but somehow intriguing in its own way.

As if he didn’t need to speak to indicate confidence in his position.

He was a caged bird in this private room, willingly trapped by you.

You smiled.

Fitting, for the theme of your burlesque show tonight had been a large steel birdcage at the center of the stage and you inside it, dancing within the visible enclosure, skillful hands holding onto the metal bars, lush hips swaying to ruffle the feathers attached to create a half-skirt that mimicked tailfeathers of an exotic bird. You were still wearing some of the pieces now, the lingerie, the tailfeathers, and the heavy necklace of diamonds and rubies splayed out on your collarbones and chest.

You slid onto Yoongi’s lap, closing his legs with yours, entering the alluring aura that seemed to surround him, trapping the leather crop between your crotch and his. Slow exhale, mixing with his as he lowered his chin to look you in the eye, unafraid.

“Hello, little birdie.”

You did not typically touch the men you danced for. They were usually old, crass, and undeserving of your touch. You treated it as business because that was what it was. A simple service for money. Nowadays, you cut back on the private dancing and upped your price. It just wasn’t worth it, being so close to such filth.

But.

Every once in a while.

Sometimes, you got young money like Min Yoongi.

You dragged the crop up his abdomen, up his chest, shifting your arm in a graceful swoop, turning it so it grazed his cheek, outlining that high cheekbone and elegant jaw. You stared into his eyes and he stared back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips, not backing down.

Sometimes, you got someone fuckable like Min Yoongi.

“Do you think you’re in charge here, Yoongi?” you murmured dangerously.

He ticked his head.

“I’m usually in charge everywhere I go,” he chuckled. Deep, husky voice edged with amusement. “It’s very tiring being the king and the boss all the time.”

Slow blink, piercing gaze on you with a wry smile.

“I would like to have a break from that.”

You sucked in a breath.

Min Yoongi was more than fuckable.

He was going to get fucked, tonight, by you.

You closed the distance, swiping the flared end of the crop against his lips, pressing inward, taking in his smooth fair skin, his even breath, his calm demeanor, and suddenly you wanted to mess it up, you wanted to tear down this placid façade and find what was underneath, find the passion and desire you could see shimmering in those dark brown orbs, challenging you to draw it out.

“Do you understand the position you’re in, Min Yoongi?”

He chuckled, voice low and smooth.

“Little birdie and her two shadows, I understand very well and I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

Damn.

He was good.

You tossed the leather crop to the floor and captured his lips, inhaling his cologne and his scent.

Yoongi did not move his arms, devouring your lips, hungry and intense, deft tongue flickering, testing the boundaries, and you pushed your tongue into his mouth, winding with his, hot and fluid and lustful, your hands sliding up his chest and reaching his shoulders, fingers one by one falling into place, sliding your lower body up to his, sucking in his breath, heat to hardness, your body heavier from all the jewels, but Yoongi seemed unbothered, deepening the kiss and sucking on your tongue, humming contentedly.

Even though he said he wanted a break, old habits were even harder to break.

You broke the kiss forcefully, the immaculate waves of your hair tumbling down your shoulder, seeing the red lipstick smeared on those shapely, smirking lips, his eyes drifting to yours.

You lowered your arms, slowly curving your hand, pulling back your arms in one smooth arc, fingers splayed, shoulders back. Measured, slow breath, always on form, every movement a performance. He watched closely as you reached back, unhooking and unlacing the tailfeather skirt with expert precision, keeping eye contact. You didn’t need to look to undo it.

You didn’t need to look when you released it, knowing one of your bodyguards had already stepped forward to catch it, retreating to place it aside.

Yoongi smiled, dark eyes gleaming.

“An agile little birdie, I see.”

He did not need to verbalize your beauty or attractiveness.

You could see it in the way he looked at you.

Startling how lucky you were to have met such fuckable young money tonight.

You placed a gloved hand on his chest and slid one leg back, then the other, red soles clicking, tracing down his torso, kneeling now, dancing fingertips up and down his thighs, admiring them and letting him know with your gaze. Black hair over one eye again, small smile on his lips, and yet you noticed the pink tinge on his ears.

Interesting.

You retreated your hand.

Brought it to your lips.

One by one, tugging at the tips of each finger with your teeth, loosening the glove.

Dark brown orbs watched you, entranced and fascinated.

Gripping the middle finger with your other hand, tugging on the opera glove, sliding it off with one swift arc of your arm, bringing your hand behind your head as it came off, tossing the glove aside carelessly. Yoongi couldn’t see, but your hand was poised behind your head, always aware of even the unseen details, bringing the other glove to your lips and doing the same, one by one, loosening the tightness before your hand flourished out from behind your head and your arm mirrored the previous arc, into the air and behind your head, throwing the discarded glove in the opposite direction of the first. Yoongi watched with patient, precise interest, like a cat observing a bird.

He smiled appreciatively, enjoying the show.

It seemed precious, Yoongi’s smile.

A strange thought.

Painted red nails gliding up his thighs, following the shape, tracing the waistband, parted lips smeared with lipstick, the tremble of his body finally evident and, with a tight inhale, you realized you too were breathing shallowly, matching him, looking up to see his pupils dilating, his hands still behind his back.

Your index finger traced the fastening of his slacks.

Yoongi raised a dark eyebrow, questioning.

You undid it while staring at his face.

Lowered the zipper, having to lift it because of his straining erection, seeing Yoongi clench his jaw, legs tensing, shoulders shaking, watching your face, hands, the diamonds laden on your collarbones and cleavage, equally embellished bra and panties covering everything else, but it was impossible to deny, incapable to resist, inescapable sensuality between you and Yoongi, a stranger until tonight, a shadow in the crowd until this moment, now well defined by light and lust, raising his hips so you could lower his pants and boxer briefs to his knees, sitting in a heavy ornate chair in a private room with your bodyguards right behind you as you lowered your head and your lipstick-covered lips to his thigh.

Red kisses imprinted on that fair skin, shudders under your breath.

Travelling up to his hard length, tongue slipping out, tracing a fat stripe over hot, taut skin, your satisfied sigh melding with his soft hiss at the contact of your wet muscle to his hard, twitching cock.

You drifted your gaze back up to his, lazy and purposeful.

Yoongi looked down at the red lipstick kisses and his cock quivering against your warm breath, leisurely lapping at the underside of his length. His voice was a low octave, almost raspy.

“Little birdie…”

The first time he said it, it had been borderline mocking, but now there was a fondness to it. Admiration. Appreciation. Adoration.

It made your core burn and heat spread all over your lower belly, dripping between your legs.

Black hair over his eyes, breathing hard, maintaining eye contact.

“Please.”

Simple.

Effective.

Sexy.

You closed your mouth around the head of his cock, tongue lapping the underside, his scent invading your nose and your lipstick coating his skin, your fingers lacing over his hips, sliding that thick length down your tongue and into your throat, his soft moan drifting from his. He was losing control of his hands, slamming them down onto the seat of the chair and clutching the sides, manicured fingers tense, knuckles white. You tilted your head and ran the head against the curve of your teeth, heartbeat racing as you witnessed Yoongi gasping at the sensation, his broad shoulders flexing, his hips trembling in your grip, struggling to stay still.

Losing control.

Maybe he didn’t spend his money poorly after all.

You ticked an eyebrow and adjusted your head again, tongue extending past your lips, suffocating your throat with the swollen tip and cutting off your air, curling your tongue around his balls, scooping them up and pressing them to your lips, dripping saliva onto the seat, eyes on his the entire time, choking yourself on his cock and licking his balls with a blazing, intense stare. No need to say who was in charge because you knew it and he knew it, growling deep in his chest, shivering in his designer clothes from primal desire that required no such things.

You were the same, diamonds or not.

Lust feeding off lust, money or not, you probably would have fucked Yoongi regardless and you could see it in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing.

You pulled back and began your pace, swallowing his length hungrily, tongue all over the base of the head, stimulating the thin skin and his sensitive nerves, his breathing turning into involuntarily gasps.

Faster.

Rougher.

Tighter.

Finding that sweet spot, that moment where his expression changed and his irises were overtaken by black, mouth open and panting, locking his shoulders and his hips, feeling him throb in your constricting mouth, just a little tighter to prolong his orgasm, making it a little more difficult so he had to chase it, his handsome face wincing, black strands fallen over his eyes, his body humming with energy and arousal, so close, you could see it, smell it, hear it, his suppressed hisses and darting eyes, taking in the whole image, your back, the curve of your ass, your hands on his thighs, fingers splayed out, your mouth on him, taking him there, there, earning his wanton moans and fluttering lashes, twitching hardness and then he threw his head back, neck straining against his buttoned collar, a perfect image, his hips bucking up, lost control, spilling into your throat with a sinful gasp, his chest prominent against the silk shirt and vest, begging to be freed from its confines.

You swallowed it all, savoring his strong taste, delicious as his body.

He lowered his head slowly, panting, his previously neatly combed hair messy now, cheekbones glowing with a faint sheen of sweat.

You licked him off just as slowly, finding his dark brown, cat-like eyes once more.

Yoongi smiled at you, cocking an eyebrow.

Your bodyguards would probably prefer you to stop here, but you had other plans.

You popped your mouth off, a drip of saliva snapping against your chin, rising, poised on red soles and leaning down, capturing that waiting smirk, one of your hands lifting to toy with the buttons on his vest. First undoing one. Then one more.

“Touch me,” you whispered.

Yoongi’s hands flew up and gripped your waist, promising all night.

Tonight was going to fun.

--

masterpost

[sunmoonandeddie]

feelings are fatal (21/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 4,110

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing, violence, fluffiness, SMUT

masterlist

a/n: you guys

“Stevie?” You murmured softly as you laid on his chest, tracing shapes on his shoulder absentmindedly.

“Yeah, honey?” He asked with a grunt, his eyes closed. He was clearly really, really close to falling asleep, but…

You couldn’t sleep.

You were wide awake, the only sign of exhaustion being the ache between your legs.

Steve had just gotten back from a mission a few hours before. It had been no contact for a week as he took down this bad guy or that bad guy in… Where was it this past time? South Korea? Seoul, you were pretty sure.

Though, you didn’t understand why he was considered ‘undercover’ anywhere, considering the fact that he kind of stood out no matter what he did.

“Have you… Have you ever thought about marriage?” You asked, voice trembling. You two had been together for a few months, but… He’d already told you he loved you.

And you just wanted to know if you two were on the same page for the future.

Your boyfriend’s body went tense underneath you, and a sense of dread filled your heart.

You knew you shouldn’t have asked such a dumb fucking question.

“Sweetheart…,” he said slowly, coughing to clear the lump in his throat as he smoothed down your hair. “You know I love you, right?” He relaxed a little as you responded immediately with an affirming nod.

You sat up as he did, straddling him as he cupped your face in his hands. You needed to be close to him, pressed against his chest and leeching his warmth.

“The man that wanted marriage… kids… the whole picket fence thing…” He took in a shaky breath. “He died in the ice… That’s not saying that I don’t want a future with you, because I do! You’re my girl. You’re my forever,” he said reassuringly, his lips finding your forehead. “I don’t need to involve the government to know that—they’ve involved themselves in my business enough—or a dumb piece of paper. If you want a ring, I’ll buy you all the rings you could ever want.” Steve gave you a warm smile, the same smile that was plastered all over tabloids and history books alike. “Besides… We don’t need a piece of paper as long as we’ve got each other, right?” He asked.

“Right,” you said without hesitation, giggling as his lips pressed to yours and he flipped you over, ready to ravish you all over again.

“Malen’kaya?”

You stared out the window above the kitchen sink, elbow deep in soapy water.

“Honey?”

Vaguely, you can hear the mirth in his voice, tinged with a bit of worry.

But you’re too busy staring out the window, watching as the storm raged outside and rain pounded against the glass.

“Sweetheart? Darling?”

You’d watched Steve leave you from this window. Your life had ended, or so you thought.

So much had changed since then, and… And it was all for the better.

You jumped a foot in the air as gentle hands found your hips. His metal appendage slipped under your sweatshirt, gently rubbing your tummy. “H-Hi.”

“Hi,” he chuckled, resting his head on your shoulder. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours? You’ve been staring off into space for ten minutes.”

Sure enough, you realized that the formerly hot water in the sink had gone cold and most of the bubbles had disappeared.

“I was just thinking…”

“Oh, yeah? Sounds dangerous.” He let out a laugh as you smacked his arm, not caring that you were getting him wet.

“I was just thinking about the last time we were here and I was in this spot… and how much better my life is,” you said.

You could feel his sharp inhale at your words, his hand continuing to rub soothing circles into your skin. “Yeah? You mean it, pretty girl?” He asked, his lips ghosting against your shoulder.

“I mean it.”

Bliss surrounded you two like a heavy blanket as he held you, the both of you relishing the closeness.

“Maybe we should just stay here forever,” you said with a lazy smile, finishing the dishes as he held you.

Bucky hummed softly, his eyes closed. There was no way he was going to disagree. “Why are you washing the dishes by hand if we’ve got a dishwasher? A very expensive one, might I add.”

“Because,” you snorted, rinsing your hands and drying them after letting the water out. “Sometimes it’s better to do things yourself…” Heart warm, you let your head fall back against his shoulder as he slowly began to rock you back and forth.

A hum from deep in his chest lulled you, some forties song.

“Heaven… I’m in heaven,” he started to sing, surprisingly well. “And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak, and I seem to find the happiness I seek when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek…”

It was all you had ever dreamed of, when you were younger. Like in that dingy motel room. Despite knowing it was wrong and he wouldn’t take advantage of you like that, you had so wanted the Soldat to love you. You had wanted him to take you like how the older girls had talked about when you were barely a teenager.

Of course, it hadn’t been your Soldat doing that. He wasn’t like that.

But the other Soldats had been, and you were lucky that yours had protected you so well as you’d gotten older.

“Yes, heaven… I'm in heaven, and the cares that hung around me through the week seems to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak when we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek.”

“Isn’t this song usually a lot faster?” You asked, a smirk playing on your lips. “Are you just so elderly that you can’t keep up, Barnes?” Squeals filled the air as he tickled your sides, and you thrashed in his hold. “Jamie! Jamie! No!”

Hot breath tickled against your ear as he stopped. “Are you gonna let me be all sweet with you or are you gonna keep being such a brat?” He asked, squeezing you close once again.

God, you’d let him sweet with you all he wanted and then some.

“I guess you can be sweet with me,” you said after a moment, voice breathy and barely audible. “Especially since you actually aren’t a half-bad singer.”

“Not as good as you,” he said, beginning to rock you once more as lightning lit up the sky outside, a clap of thunder following soon after. “I love listening in when you’re putting Morgan to sleep… singing her those little lullabies…” He pressed a kiss to your hair before he continued on, “Oh, I'd love to climb the mountain, reach the highest peak, but it doesn't thrill me half as much as dancing cheek to cheek.” He finished the rest of the song, before humming a faint melody as your head lulled back against his shoulder.

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world, James.”

“And you’re mine.”

Bucky, the loving man that he is, led you to the couch and tucked himself in beside you. “Friday, turn on the fireplace,” he said as he wrapped his arms around you. The hunk of a man pulled you to his chest and onto his lap. “You know, if we keep joking about staying here forever, I’m gonna take it seriously and you’ll be stuck here with me.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me,” you said, your lower lip tugged between your teeth as you leaned back against him. Your fingers ran up and down his arm, tickling his skin. “Just you and me… Maybe Morgan can come visit…”

“Or we can go live in the woods like a bunch of cavemen,” he said. You could feel his lips turning into a slow smile against your shoulder. “You wanna watch a movie? We could continue on our journey of catching me up on pop culture.”

You turned to look at him, mouth opening with a response. But as soon as you looked into his eyes, every thought you had ever had just disappeared.

The cerulean of his eyes seemed to pop, glittering in the flickering warm light of the fire. Shadows danced on his face and for a moment you could’ve sworn he was a Greek god.

You have compared him to Hades many a time in your head.

Bucky breathed out your name, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“James… I—” You suddenly cut yourself off as you rushed forward, pressing your lips to his in a fierce, passionate kiss. It wasn’t like the one from the aquarium. This one held so much more.

“I need you,” he breathed out as he kissed you over and over again, his hands cupping your face. His broad chest was pressed against yours as he moved one arm to wrap it around you and lay you down on the soft couch. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this.”

“Trust me, I’ve probably been dreaming of it longer,” you insisted with a snort, the two of you laughing into the kiss.

You never used to laugh with Steve during sex. It was always so serious, so intense.

You liked being able to laugh while the love of your life was holding you, touching you, kissing you like you’d never been kissed before.

Bucky pulled back enough to look you in the eyes. “Absolutely not. I’ve been dreaming of it way longer than you have.”

You sit up on your elbows so you can kiss your noses together. “Jamie… I’ve been dreaming of this since I was sixteen.” A smile spread over your face as you watched his cheeks go red.

“That’s not fair,” he insisted as he pouted at you. “If I wanted you like that back then, I would’ve been a sicko. You were allowed to have a crush on me without being a creep.”

There’s another round of kiss-drunk giggles as you peck his lips over and over again. “Not my fault. Though I do really appreciate that you didn’t see me that way when I was a literal child.”

His vibranium hand slips up underneath your top, tickling your tummy as he left a trail of kisses down your neck. “Not that I didn’t find you absolutely adorable back then, but can we please not talk about you as a child right now?” He murmured against the delicate skin of your neck.

“Yeah, I guess that’s fine,” you said, trying to joke but losing your voice as his lips found a particularly sweet spot right along your collarbone. “Oh, Jamie…” Your skin feels like it’s on fire everywhere he touches you. “Fuck…” You barely heard him curse about how small the couch was for his super soldier frame, before he scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. Arms wrapping around him, you found his lips again as you kissed him deeper. “Where we goin,’ Jamie?” You asked with an impish grin.

“Right here,” he said, chuckling as he laid you down on the fur rug in front of the fireplace.

Tony had resorted to only buying fur from indigenous vendors. Hell, he’d given Natasha a whole lecture about how her faux fur and faux leather (AKA plastic) clothing and accessories were worse for the environment than real fur and leather.

Which was true.

He’d spent the last decade of his life doing everything he could to turn his life around, even though he did mess up quite a few times.

But you’d rather not be thinking about the environmental logistics of fur at the moment.

The only thing about fur you wanted to think about was how soft it was against your skin as Bucky laid you down, leaning over you and pecking your lips over and over again.

“Comfortable?” He mumbled in between kisses.

The fire crackled beside you as you nodded breathlessly, shivering as his hand found its way to the hem of your shirt, tugging on it.

“Can I take this off, darlin?’” He asked, his voice husky and deep, slow like molasses.

You were pretty sure you heard a bit of his old Brooklyn accent slipping in there.

Fuck, that was fucking hot.

“Please,” you said, lifting your arms so he could tug it off of your frame and toss it somewhere to the side.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect,” the man breathed out as he looked at you under him. His hands went to your cotton sleep shorts next, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours in a silent question.

“I trust you,” you said, lifting your hips for him.

It was like a wave of reassurance had washed over him. He carefully tugged your shorts down and pulled them down your legs. The shorts did get caught on your foot, and he scowled as he had to untangle it, though he clearly wasn’t actually mad.

The air was soft and light around you, which you hadn’t been expecting. When you’d had sex with anyone else, it was always so heavy and hot and intense. Stifling, was the word you were looking for. It felt like you were performing when you were naked with anyone else.

With James, in your mismatched laundry day lingerie, you felt more like yourself than you ever had been.

“I like this,” he teased as he nodded to your Calvin Klein bralette and your bright tie-dye patterned panties. His flesh hand had wrapped around your ankle and was holding your foot up so it was up at his chest. “I didn’t know it was possible to look so cute and so sexy at the same time.” He pressed a kiss to your inner ankle, right next to the bone. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Jamie,” you whined, instinctively covering your face. “Stop it.”

“What? Nah. That would make me a liar. A liar by omission,” he said as he kissed up your calf, taking his sweet time. Occasionally he’d give a little nip and smirk at the way you jumped. “And baby girl, we both know I’d never lie to you.”

You’d never been loved on the way he was loving on you. Your insecurities seemed to disappear under his heated but adoring gaze. “James…” You wanted to reach out and pull him to you for another kiss, but at the same time, you never wanted him to stop the trail he was leaving up to your knee.

“You know, I could spend hours just looking at you…,” he said as he started to lay down between your legs, his lips pressed against your inner thigh. “I went to art school back in the day… and I could fill an entire gallery with pictures, sketches, paintings, sculptures of you.”

Despite how calm he seemed, you could feel the slight trembling of his hands, could hear the waver in his voice.

He was nervous.

His baby blues focused in on the wet spot at the front of your panties, his breath hitching in his throat. “Can I touch you, baby doll? Please?” The second you nodded, his hands were on the thin, silky fabric, and you gasped as you heard the tell-tale rip.

“You ripped my panties?! Those are one of my favorite pairs!” You whined, pouting. “And all my other pairs are in the laundry!”

“Good thing I can buy you a million more,” he shot back with a sheepish grin. “And I don’t think you’re gonna need panties for the rest of the day, honey. Or clothing, for that matter.”

Rolling your eyes, you peeled your bra off your body and threw it in the general direction of the couch. “You’re such a bad influence.” But every thought in your head completely disappeared as he leaned in and his tongue ran through your slick folds. The moan he let out shook you to your core. “Holy shit,” you cursed as your hands flew to his head.

Bucky just smiled as your fingers tightened in his hair and accidentally pulled as he did it again. “You taste like heaven,” he said into your pussy as he sucked one of your folds into his mouth. Using his fingers, he spread your pussy open so he could get a good look, letting out a groan. “So pretty… So soft.”

“Jamie… Please… feels so good,” you breathed out as you instinctively tried to push his head closer again. You needed more. He couldn’t just tease you like that.

He really didn’t need anymore encouragement, and he wasn’t going to make you beg for something he’d been daydreaming about since he’d seen you again, when he’d broken out of Hydra’s control. When he’d seen you again, and even after he’d found out that you were his best friend’s girlfriend.

You had no hope of hanging on the second his tongue found your clit. For a moment, you felt like you’d blacked out as your orgasm washed over you, wave after wave of pleasure drowning you. “JAMIE!” You shouted as black dots appeared in your vision. Chest heaving, you tried to catch your breath as you laid back on the rug.

“How you doing, baby?” Bucky asked huskily as he kissed your hip, rubbing your thighs soothingly. “You still with me?”

“Yeah, I’m with you,” you breathed out as you reached for his face, pulling him close to kiss you. “You with me?”

“Yeah,” he said as he rested his forehead against yours. “I’m with you.” He smoothed down your hair, pecking your lips. “You wanna keep going? It’s up to you,” he said, voice low and soothing. “This is all about you, malen’kaya.”

Running your fingers through his hair, you kissed him fiercely. “I wanna keep going. I want you. I need you.” You didn’t hesitate as you pulled his shirt off of him, drinking in the sight of his broad chest. “Beautiful,” you said as you ran your hands over his hot skin. Your fingertips traced over the scars on his left shoulder, and you could feel the shaky breath he took. “You are, James. You’re so fucking handsome…”

The blush that dusted across his cheeks complimented that bashful smile he wore. “Now you’re just flattering me, sweetheart,” he said, kissing you as he worked off his pants with one hand.

“Commando? Really?” You drawled as you glanced down between you. However, you were mostly just trying to not let yourself panic a little at his sheer size.

Steve had been long, yes, but Bucky was thick.

What was it Peter liked to say? Thick with two c’s?

“You sure you wanna do this?” He asked quietly, pulling you out of your head. “We don’t have to.” His fingers blazed a trail along your hip, dipping into the apex of your thighs. As he waited for your answer, he slipped two fingers into your wet t, heat, slowly pumping them in and out and scissoring them to open you up, preparing you for his length. “You gotta talk to me, pretty baby…”

“Yes, I wanna do this,” you insisted, mouth falling open as he found that soft, spongy spot inside of you. “Fuck… Jamie, please… Don’t wanna wait any longer.”

Thankfully, he relented and withdrew his fingers, leaving you with an empty feeling. He lined himself up as he gave his hard cock a few strokes.

The air left your lungs as he slowly pressed against your entrance, before he finally pushed in.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking tight, angel,” he whispered, the strands of his hair tickling your face as his head hung low. “Is it romantic of me to say that I might cum just from this?”

Laughter bubbled up in your chest as you nodded, raising your legs to wrap around his waist. “The most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” you teased. “I wouldn’t judge you if you did. I know how good my pussy is.”

Bucky had tears in his eyes from how hard he was laughing, nuzzling his nose against yours. All of the anxiety you had noticed before had dissipated, leaving behind the man you knew and loved.

The fire crackled beside you, and you reached up to caress his face. “You’re my favorite person in the whole world,” you said. You’d told him before, but you felt the need to remind him.

“And you’re mine,” he answered as he pushed in further, moaning lowly. He was really struggling with the whole not cumming too early thing apparently. “I haven’t had sex with anyone in over seventy years, let alone a dame as stunning as you,” he said, stuttering over his words. “Fuck… Really not trying to embarrass myself, come on, Barnes.”

He hadn’t even noticed that you were losing yourself to the pleasure he was giving you, the delicious ache the stretch of his cock brought.

“Jamie, please.”

It must’ve been the whine in your voice or something, but his eyes locked in on yours. “Fuck. I gotcha, baby girl.” Focusing hard enough to cause a vein in his forehead to pop, he bottomed out inside of you, taking a moment to compose himself before he started to move. “My sweet malen’kaya,” he said against your lips. His fingers threaded into your hair as he leaned on his elbows for support. The roll of his hips was unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned, head falling back to expose the smooth, unmarked column of your throat.

Well, it wouldn’t be unmarked for long.

You squealed as his lips found your neck, sucking and biting. It might’ve been a little juvenile, but the thought of him being so desperate to mark you up, to show the world that you were his, got you even more hot and bothered than before.

“Feel good, baby? You like that?” He asked in a growl as he jerkily moved one of his hands down your body to rub your clit, awkwardly having to take a moment to regain his balance on one elbow. “You feel like heaven. My own little corner of paradise…”

The rainstorm raged around you, but you didn’t notice or feel the thunder that shook the earth. The only thing you could focus on was Bucky.

You would’ve liked to think that you would’ve been a lot more eloquent, perhaps sexier and kinkier, if and when you two finally slept together, but every thought had left your brain. It was like he’d fucked you stupid.

It didn’t take long before you felt the familiar tightening in your belly, your nails digging into his back muscles. “Oh, god. Yes, yes, keep going,” you begged, finally finding your voice. “Yes, holy shit, yes. Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna… Oh, fuck.”

“You gonna cum for me? Huh?” He rasped, brow furrowed. “Go on… Cum for me. On one… two… three.”

Your back arched sharply off of the bed, and he wrapped an arm around you to hold you to him as he continued thrusting. Your climax came on like a tsunami, and if you weren’t so dazed from the orgasm, you might’ve been stupid enough to been embarrassed by the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your core.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he said, biting at your neck as his thrusts became sloppier and harder. “Fuck, fuck, holy shit, malen’kaya.”

“Inside me,” you said, forcing him to look you in the eyes. “Please… Need you to fill me up, Jamie. Please.”

At that exact moment, you watched a moment of panic come over him before he suddenly slammed his hips against yours before going incredibly still.

Your heart caught in your throat as you felt him cumming, spilling inside of you and filling you to the brim.

“Darlin,’ you can’t just say shit like that and not expect me to lose it right then and there,” he rasped, feeling like he was walking on air.

The tight grip your legs had around his waist stopped him from pulling out.

Not that he was complaining.

“Mmm… I need to lay down for a minute… let some blood get to my brain,” he said, lying completely on top of you and hiding his face in your neck.

“Mmm…. I think we should just stay like this forever,” you said as you closed your eyes, letting him take his comfort from you. You craved it. Loved it. Your lungs felt heavy as you (somehow) snuggled even closer to him.

“Me, too,” he said as the two of you started to doze off, utterly exhausted. “Me, too.”