#oh also this has smut

[yuwuta]

WHEREVER YOU WANNA GO, THAT’S FINE WITH ME — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO 

cw mentioned/talks about death but not like… in a serious way 😭 this whole thing is very unserious and stupid it’s just a thought i couldn’t get out of my head, megumi being… megumi, f2l but what’s new, also inspired by some clip from a tv show i’ve seen on tt but idk the name of it, if you do pls let me know

you ask megumi you make one of those marriage pacts with you—that if neither of you are married by thirty-five, you two will get married to each other—and he just hums for a moment before asking, “do you think i’ll be better suited for marriage at thirty-five?”

“what? n—i don’t know? maybe? it just seems like an appropriate age to get married if you’re not already, that’s all,” you explain.

more humming. he blinks, “i don’t think i’ll be all that different at thirty-five.”

“well, that’s concerning,” you joke, “you’re supposed to change—grow a little bit as a person and all that, megumi. even you are capable of it.”

“i won’t want anything different out of a marriage at thirty-five than i would right now,” he corrects you, then turns to you, and with all seriousness demands, “so, state your stipulations. what do you want from me, let’s figure out of this is gonna work now.” 

you scoff, and cross your arms. “what do i want from you? that’s not how a marriage works.” 

“that’s how this friendship already works.” 

you say, megumi does; he pushes it than he should have, you say to stop, and eventually he does, and the cycle continues. he’s always stubborn, and sacrificing himself beyond necessity, and you’re always pulling his ear for it. 

“okay. fine,” you settle, straightening your posture, “i want a house. three bedrooms, so nobara and yuuji don’t have to bicker about sharing when they stay over.” 

megumi considers it, then counters with, “four. gojo needs a bedroom, too. one floor, i don’t like stairs.” 

“where the fuck are we going to find a one-level four-bedroom house? i don’t want to live in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.” 

“we’ll find one,” he shrugs, doesn’t flinch when he promises: “or i’ll have one made for us. next: vacations.” 

“twice per year. somewhere tropical, and somewhere metropolitan.” 

“i don’t like the beach.” 

“then you don’t have to go on the beach.” 

“you’re responsible for me if i burn.” 

“i’m responsible for you either way, i’m your wife,” you taunt, “pets, next. i want dogs. two. maybe three. and a bunny.” 

“no bunnies, they’re too much work.”

“but i want a bunny, megumi.” 

“you won’t have time for a bunny,” he rolls his eyes, “and you’re gonna get pissed when it chews up the expensive couch you’re gonna make me buy, and takes a shit in the expensive fruit bowl you’re gonna con gojo out of. no bunnies.” 

you pout and frown, but megumi doesn’t budge: “no bunnies.” 

you sigh, “no bunnies, but i want the dogs.” 

“i didn’t say no to the dogs. unless you want a golden, then i’m not raising that.” 

“why not? we already have yuuji.” 

“exactly, we already have yuuji.” 

“fine. i want a king sized bed. the really big, oversized ones you get in america.” 

“done. children?” 

“you want children?”

megumi shrugs, but you swear there’s a dust of pink on his cheeks, “maybe. maybe not. if i did, no more than two.” 

and suddenly you can’t help but feel heat in your own face, hot with the image of two tiny megumis running around. 

“that’s fine with me. maybe kids, but no more than two,” you cough, “i want one of those heated driveways for the house.”

“i’ll have it built. i’ll clean and do laundry and take out the trash if you cook.”

“what about days i don’t cook?”

“then i’ll do that, too,” megumi nods, “anything else?”

“yes. if i die first, you can remarry, but you visit my grave at least twice a year, and bring peonies. and that picture of me from prom where i look really good.” 

“no.” 

you stop. you blink. “what do you mean ‘no?’ you wouldn’t visit my grave?—kinda cruel considering i birthed your up-to-two future children and raised your dogs.” 

“i won’t remarry. and i don’t want you to if i die first,” he corrects you, again, “and there’s no dying first and leaving me behind, i’m going with you.”

he doesn’t leave room for debate in his declarations: won’t, don’t; not wouldn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t—you have to pinch yourself to stop chasing the rabbit of temptation running through your mind. 

“i don’t… think you get to decide that,” you chuckle. 

“of course i do,” megumi grins, uncrosses his legs and leans over. he reaches a hand to the back of your head and pushes it forward until your foreheads meet gently; and as if the affection wasn’t shocking enough, he continues, “where you go, i go. that’s marriage, right?” 

he widens his smile a bit, before letting you go, leaning back into his seat again with crossed arms like nothing happened, and you’re left staring, blinking, breathing shallowly like prey that narrowly escaped being caught.

you don’t speak, so megumi does, “i have one more thing.” 

and slowly, you unthaw enough to let out a questioning hum. megumi tilts his head before telling you, “i want your last name.” 

“what? you—you would change your name?” you stutter, “but fushiguro is so pretty! and it’s your mom’s name, so few people get their mother’s names.” 

“yeah. this way, our up-to-two children get their mother’s names, too.” 

“i—okay… yeah, i guess they do,” you gape, then pout, “wait, what if i wanted to be mrs. fushiguro?” 

“tough luck,” he grins, “you get everything else.” 

you get me, instead, is what’s left unsaid. 

“okay, fine. sounds like a deal to me.” 

“great. we can’t have a spring wedding because gojo and toji will sneeze obnoxiously loudly, and we can’t have a summer wedding because the anniversary will conflict with our tropical vacation, and nobara will kill us if it’s too close to her birthday,” he says, standing up from the couch to head to the kitchen, “so i’ll see you at the courthouse in september.” 

you nod reflexively, sinking back into the couch with a satisfied smile. it’s a while before your brain processes his words, and when it finally does, you spring up in a fluster, “october? megumi, i said when when we’re thirty-five and if neither of us are already married! megumi? megumi fushiguro, come back here!” 

[aelinschild]

Dropping this and running away.

Regular evenings seemed to come less frequently these days.

Aelin remembered when the drip of some leaky floorboard was the sole pace of her shifts. The dripdripdrip a marker of seconds passed. Ticking in the back of her skull like a pulse she'd long forgotten. A beating heart settled - put down. It's gentle sounding no different than a petulant child. Itching underneath her skin like the uncomfortable scratch of wool gone too long without washing.

She had grown fond of the noise, though. Like the hand of a clock steadily raced forward, so did that godsdamned floorboard. Racing against time, or the composition of the building in it's entirety. She didn't know. Didn't care.

Much of what she did here was just for the wad of cash slipped under worn tables. Hands cracked and peeling - slivers near her nail beds. The blood lasted on the money, so long as it stayed with her longer than a night.

It was why she was still here. Still watching the same game of poker begin for its thousandth consecutive time. Roucous chatter drowning out the drip. The sound of heavy coins denting the rotted wood.

Funny, how it was strong enough to pierce her skin and simultaneously bend to the weight of a piece of silver.

She didn't take well to the irony.

Her shifts had for so long been the same routine. Serve the regulars. Pocket a coin from the gaggle of grannies, crammed into the recess in the wall. A little alcove. Made great shadows to conceal the trick of fast hands and faster tongues. Wipe down the tacky residue that accumulated faster than she could keep track of. Argue with the old man from across the street - he didn't like the (outrageous) fractured neon lights. Pity for him, because when he was knee deep in his points, face red from exasperation, pulling out a chair had the most similar movements as a sly hand into a pocket. Cool cash crawling up her sleeve. He'd leave in a huff and Aelin would be a little lighter when she missed back behind the bar. Then the night would roll in on itself. Drunkenness a curse of this corner of the Earth, she was only powerful enough to keep her head above water and do her job. Close the bar. Count the cash. Wire it away and consider mourning the loss. Until she wouldn't and was back behind the counter.

That was her normal.

And so when her flagging gaze swept across the floor, the appearance of a new piece on the board made her falter. She wished there would be more reaction than the stuttering of her eyes, wished that she felt something deeper, drawn from newness, but there was nothing.

Nothing walked closer to her. She had the thought to smile, make herself pleasant, but the action didn't follow. Nothing laid large hands upon her bartop, the one to her right (nothing's left), crawling with whorls and scribbles. Like a child had gotten a hold of a tattoo gun. How unfortunate. Those hands - large, uncomfortably so - were attached to arms. Shocking, she supposed, as her eyes crawled up along the weaving tattoo. Golden skin and visible definition could have heated something in her. Maybe it did, maybe it had been so long she no longer knew what heated her core.

"...neat,"

Hm?

The dripdripdrip was gone. And with it took the clarity borne from acute annoyance. Hands, arms, shoulders... Was she warm? Or was she losing it?

"Love."

Like a fog had descended over her minds eye, snapped away as quickly as it had formed at the call of that petname. Love. What?

She balked. "Pardon?"

He - nothing, nothing of nothing who is nothing and of no effect to her - pursed his lips. Rolling the flesh between teeth, tightening the hinge of his jaw. Gods, there was definition there too. The angle of that jaw raised to high chedckbones, a tinge of red, pulsed with life. An overwhelming urge to follow that rise and fall, trace the hollows and contours. Feel along the strong brow that framed pine green eyes. Eye that sparkled. Eyes that tightened. Eyes lined with mirth...

"You work here?" He gruffed. The smirk in his eyes didn't reach his voice. But that voice... She'd love to compare it to crashing waves, smoothing over jagged rock. Endlessly leaving a print on what was considered impenetrable. But it instead stroke along a frayed edge in her. Breaking, rather than soothing.

A pause. Where were her words? "Yes."

"Right," he murmured. Muscles flexing as he rapped his knuckles along the worn bartop. She wanted to tell him to not. Grab his fist in her own and hold tight above the shitty wooden slab. Cover it with her own. "Then I'll get a whiskey. Neat."

Crawl over the tanned skin. "Of course." Trace the inked designs. "Just give me moment." Litter a marking somewhere.

Something tangible.

-

"Yes!"

She didn't know how it had really happened.

Well, she did. She had played her part, and now was enjoying the outcome. Somewhere along the lines of him ordering the whiskey, leaning only lightly against the barstool, delicately draped like he was ready to spring up at a moment notice. She had wandered around. Who knew that dust collected so quickly on tables that were just cleaned? Repetitive movements only let her drift into the sensation of green eyes pinned to her back. Lower, even.

She needed extra cleaner from the back. And it was only an accident that her hand grazed his upper thigh. She had practice in the deft movements that could steal a pretty coin, but her fingers didn't dig in, clasping around valuables. Rather, she had grazed the worn jean. Lighting a blaze, trailing the fire down to his knee.

It had pulsed in her core as she walked to the back room. The bar quieter, different to the usual rowdiness of a Saturday. She had swayed her hips a little more. Sensual machinations coming back like the flip of a switch. She felt a buzz in her head, unlike a dripdripdrip of a leaky floorboard.

It was stuffy. Her face so close to his, the height difference didn't serve them well at first, until he had hoisted her up around his waist. Her legs locking her tight. She had felt the heat of his body. Felt the heat through the clothes - get them off - felt the heat from her body, emanating out in a pulsing rhythm.

She had been panting. Breath coming out faster and faster as she wiggled her hips to tuck deeper into the hardness she felt pressing into her core. Writhing would get her nowhere when he was holding her in his arms. Her mouth found the underside of his jaw, and she sucked hard.

His groan was music to her ears.

Her apron fell. Ripped apart by those large hands. How much could they hold? He was surprisingly deft with unbuttoning the front of her dirty blouse. Button after button, down until he could rip it from her waistband, and shuck it off her shoulders.

Her bra was nothing special. Some department store sale piece, but it didn't matter, because it was off just as quickly and she was bare from the waist up.

"Off." She tugged at his shirt, taking a break from marking up his neck. She wanted to feel him against her. Skin to skin. She needed the contact more than anything. She was burning.

He had leaned her back, still in his hold. A little rough, her head nearly crashing into the wall they were pressed up agaisnt. She'd forgive him though, when he snaked one arm behind his head and expertly peeled the shirt from his torso.

Gods. Gods above, was this her lucky night. The tattoo wound all the way from his wrisr to his neck, matching like a puzzle along his chest. Corded with muscle, Built from genuine use, she could tell. This man was not built of aesthetics.

Her fingers found the hardened planes of his stomach, pressing lightly along the muscles. It tightened under her hand. Palms pushing agains the tautness of his abdomen, she didn't know whether to trail back up to his mouth, or push lower.

"Hold on," he bit out. Breathless just as she was.

She dug her nails into the shoulder she was tracing, his hand snaked to the button on his jeans. Her breaths came more rapidly now. Blood rushing through her ears. It was hands and tongues and teeth and no other thoughts. Nothing but what would come next. Nothing at all.

The zipper was so loud amongst their panting. But it was pulled down, and Aelin made a effort to shuck off her pants as well. But where her thighs were stretched around his waist kept her from making any further moves. She wanted nothing between them.

"Hurry up," she hissed, pressing herself back against him.

He shuddered when she pulled him tight, nails digging deeper. She hoped they would mark him. Stay with him longer then this moment. "Gods." It's not soft the way he shoves them closer into the wall. The way his hand is under her nondescript panties in seconds. Burning a trail along the most intimate skin. He stalls there for a second. Aelin is pulsing; in her head, in her blood, in her cunt.

His eyes find hers. Green and vibrant and swirling and dark. All blown wide with lust. He keeps her trapped there, pinned by his gaze while his fingers swipe along her folds. Through them, deeper until they wetten with the arousal she surely though was dripping down her leg by this point. He traces along for a moment, and she has half a mind to snap at him to hurry it up when his thumb is pressing into her clit so hard she sees stars.

She squeaks out a breathless yelp.

"You're soaking," he drawls, mouth coming down to the skin at the coloumn of her neck. He breaths into her, breathes her in. "Just waitin' for me, weren't you? All pretty behind your bar top."

She would roll her eyes if they weren't already at the back of her skull from the pleasure. He kept a steady hand on her clit while rough fingers slipped back through her folds, down to where she needed him most. Yes. The roar in her head heightened.

"Please..."

He hummed. "Please what?" A smirk, in voice or against her skin, she could not tell "Please who?"

Fuck. She hadn't gotten his name either. They had tumbled into the closet so quickly, bodies pressed so close, that introductions had been skipped. She thought she could make it throigh without his name. But this bastard was going to hold it over her head.

Fingers traced around her entrance; probing, waiting.

"Please... Sir. Fuck me."

He laughed. She jostled with the movement and his fingers pushed against her just right. "I'll let it slide," and with little pause, he pushed in. Slicking in quick, easy, the slide only assisted with the way she was falling apart in waiting for him. Two - two - fingers stretching her wide and pushing that rising wave higher. She keened a breathy whine when he curled those rough fingers. Pressing hard into that spot inside of her she could never reach herself.

His breath curled around her ear. He bit the shell of it before murmuring "But you better call me Rowan. No Gods or Sir. I want to hear my name from those pretty lips."

She nodded, feverish for more. He bared his teeth in a satisfied smile, increasing the pace of his fingers inside of her. She had hardly noticed when he swapped his thumb for the heel of his palm against her clit. But she felt it now. Pushing against her whole he slicked up her panties. The wave rose higher and higher.

"Rowan!" She cried. "Ah! Don't stop... Please."

"Wasn't even thinking of it, love." He kept her trapped under his gaze. And she wanted to look away when her jaw dropped in white-hot pleasure but something in his eyes promised to hurt if she did. "There you go, pretty girl." She moaned at his comment, riding high after the crashing of the orgasm. She could feel every press of his fingers inside her as he stilled them, still sensitive even after the rush of pleasure.

And oh, was she riding a fine line. Legs a little shaky and breath hurried. But when Rowan pulled out - to her displeasure - and brought those hands to his face, to his mouth, and licked her clean off of them.

She whined. A pitchy sound that worked its way out of her as he stared into her eyes, licking along the crevices between fingers. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he quickly shoved those same fingers against her tongue and pressed down. Freezing her there.

"Taste like heaven, love. But that was only the first course"

Jeans ripped off and pants pulled down. She swapped the wall against her back for cold air. Stiffening nipples to an even harder peak than what they had come to in post-orgadmic bliss. More more more, she changed in her head. She was so sensitive and so ready and so-

She squeaked. He had pulled himself from the confines of his underwear. She has missed it. Blissed out with the feel of him against his chest, but he was there, notching against her entrance in hasty movements.

He eyes met hers, "Condom?"

Fuck her. "I'm on the pill."

His grin was feral. His grip tightened to a near bruising hold. She felt his cock prod at her entrance, and he pushed it around, catching on the arousal she had spilled. At least he had prepped her. She hadn't seen his size, had felt it, yes, but this man seemed like he was blessed, if only judging by what she had already seen.

The moment spans, and her what desire jumped thrpigh her at a rushing pace came to a near stall. The dripdripdrip threatening to return, when the air was punched from her lungs as he pushed up, up and into her in one stoke.

"Ah! Rowan!" She choked. Stretched so full she felt him in her stomach. Tears brimmed her eyes as the stretch ached. Gods, the prep wasn't enough, and the tight grip on him must have let him know, as he held still, caressing her back and down to her ass, before his hand snaked back around to her clit.

She moaned, sharp little breaths as he circled his finger with enough pressure to relax the tightness in her body. She hadn't noticed, but when she looked up to his eyes, wanting to see him fully, his jaw was tensed so tight that the muscles of his neck pulled. Was he in pain?

"Ah... Rowan, wh-whats wrong?" Her tears brimmed and fell over. A loosening in her core and a rushing through her mind. Every sensation was a fire lit inside of her, so much so that she didn't notice as the pain morphed into pleasure, and how she could feel every ridge, every vein, of his cock inside of her. Inside of her, gods, he needs to move.

"Nothing," he gave a shallow thrust, Aelin keened. "Jus' squeezing me so fuckin' tight I can barely breath."

"Y-yeah?" She laughed, salty lines tracing down her face. "Gonna come?"

The words were out of her mouth before she had really considered the implication of them. She was no sadist, liked the high better then the route there, but something in her tingled (beside his cock, nudging deeper and deeper with every breath) at the fire that lit in his eyes.

He laughed, a deep rumble from within, and moved. Soon, they were back up against the wall. Aelin squeezed him so tight, wanting some pleasure and wanting it now. And maybe she was egging him on more. But when Rowan tossed her legs up above the crook of his elbows - rendering her immobile - and pulled out, she almost came again there.

He pushed back in with so much force that her hands came up to cover her mouth. He set a relentless pace, hair falling over his brow and beads of sweat beginning to form at his brow. He leaned over her, pushing closer and closer and testing the limits of her flexibility. Aelin was still moaning, but it was punched out in a yelp every time his cock shoved deeper inside. The slick noises only added to the lewdness. "You gonna come? Huh, love? Gonna come for me now or do I need to fuck you harder?"

He was teasing her.

He leaned down, she dropped her hand, expecting his mouth to close over hers. But he just smirked. When his tongue traced the lines of her tears, licking all the way up her face, she closed her eyes and let go. Falling deeper into the sensation.

It wasn't long before he bored of licking her face. His mouth did finally come to her, and she let him into her mouth so fast that her head was spinning. He still thrusted in, a relentless thwap at every entrance inside of her, and she felt the wave rising again. She traced up his abs, winding around his shoulders to grip onto his hair and pull, just as he pushed in so deep she saw stars.

"Come," he growled. Tiny little movements only to plant himself deeper inside. The roaring came back to her head and she nearly screamed when it hit her. Harder than anything she felt before. Harder than she knew how to handle. Rowan groaned above her, and that was it.

He came inside her. Flooded her cunt so thoroughly it was actually uncomfortable. And it dripped down when he pulled out with little celebration. She whined at the loss of him. Whined more when he set her on her feet and stepped away.

"Thanks, love." He said, breathless and reverent. She felt lost in the aftermath. Head empty and body shocked.

"Yeah. Yeah, no problem...?" It came out as a question and she didn't know what to think. He grabbed a tissue from someplace and offered it to her. Well, at least he did something. Strange and beautiful man. Rowan, oh Rowan.

"Fucked you so hard you forget how to think, huh?" He smiled. Less feral than before, but still the edge of a knifes blade inside of those green eyes. She just nodded, reaching for her clothes that had been scattered on the floor.

She guessed that he was giving her space to come down, giving her a moment. But it crashed into the dirt when he gripped her chin between his forefinger and thumb and searched so deep into her eyes. He held her in his grip, both naked and reeling, and said, "don't shut me out, love." Before he pressed his lips to hers again. Kissing the roaring in her head to a stop and breathing something into her. Something she'd like to hold onto.

"I'll be back. Proper date and all soon, alright love?" He said as he stepped into his pants. Dressing with all the grace he had exhibited while fucking her a moment ago. What? He just moved for the door, shucking his shirt back over those beautiful shoulders and hiding the length of his tattoo. "Don't wander too far away anytime. I don't want to waste my time chasing."

The door opened, just a crack, "I'll see you soon, Aelin."

When Aelin was clothed and less in mental limbo, she pulled on the conversation (one-sided). Some deep, darker part of her was satisfied to see the nails marks she had driven into his back. Some tangible sore he'd no doubt have to clean up, if he wanted the blood off. She smiled to herself.

It wasn't until she was stepping out of the backroom that she realized Rowan had called her Aelin. Had said goodbye to Aelin.

She had never told him her name.

[b1mbodoll]

GABIIIII 😭

i need irene so bad rn like 😖 she’s so mommy i’m crying

anyone you’re particularly thirsting over today ? 😋

love, 🔗

god, mommy irene im fucking dizzy 😵‍💫 i like to think she’s a very sweet mommy that lives for spoiling u <3 watches you get all dolled up for her n when youre done, she can’t help but kiss you deeply, ruining your pretty makeup in the process T_T every time you get all cute, expect to end up beneath her as she rides your face, praising you for being such a good girl for mommy.

she thinks you look the cutest all fucked out, mouth n chin slick with her arousal and your eyes unfocused as your chest heaves while you catch your breath, on the verge of passing out because you kept whining for her to keep going and use you for her pleasure <3

[seraphdreams]

one singular burning thought… step bro yuuta im afraid

i had to take a deep breath because the first thought that came to my mind was sweet step bro yuuta knocking gently against your room door, calling your name in that soft croon of his, and stepping in even if you don’t respond . . it’s really his fault for walking in on you with your hand in your panties, huffing out the cutest (and only) moans he’s ever heard in his life — oh, how he apologizes and backs away, the cause of his racing heart above him . . and it’s really your fault for aiding your step brother in the perfect source material for getting himself off — the moans of his sweet sissy through the thin bedroom walls . .

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Ready to Comply

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Villain!Reader

Plot: Something had been missing. But that has nothing to do with your life time enemy standing in front of you to finally end this.

Warnings: 18+. Smut, light angst and violence.

Words: 4,4OO

He remembers telling Steve and Sam about them – “Their most elite death squad. They speak thirty languages. Can hide in plain sight. Infiltrate, assassinate, destabilise. They can take a whole country down in one night. You’d never see them coming.”

…and you used to be one of them.

Bucky takes another look around the massive room, wincing when he sees all of his colleagues passed out around the space. It happened way too fast. How is he the only one still standing? They walked in here so confident, so prepared. He had done so much research on you. He knew everything.

His mind is running a million miles an hour to try and process how you are still so calm after single-handedly taking out his entire team. So skilled, so graceful. Only one strand of hair had come loose to hang over your eyes.

It’s just you and him now. Again. Exactly how you ended up last time. And the time before that, long before he had a team to stand with him. You’re the only one who has had nearly all versions of James Buchanan Barnes as your opponent. Why the fight has never been settled before, neither you nor Bucky know …or let yourselves admit.

It is a thing of Bucky’s nightmares. The same one, over and over and over again. You are always in it and always have the winning hand. Never has he been able to figure out how to make the odds turn in his favour. This conniving, effortless and mean – mean – woman. This picture of a villain that heats his blood to a boiling point and makes his skin tighten with frustration. He’s had the dreams for years. For years, the image of you haunted him.

Though if he had to be honest, despite the endless losing battle, seeing you in his dreams was a welcome relief. You became a confusing token for him during these years of recovery. A constant – an image of beauty almost. Now here you are, again.

Bucky turns to you, his piercing eyes connecting with yours as you raise your brows in curiosity.

“Am I supposed to be scared of you?” he scoffs and you admire the way he sounds so cool. Like you haven’t just proven how easily you could beat him. Not that you’d make it quick or easy – not with him. What would be the fun in that?

You have spent years perfecting an attack on this man, knowing he’d return to you time and time again. Like fate wanted him in your claws. Your little plaything. All you can see is a challenge. For you, yes, but mostly for him. To break him, tear him to shreds. Perhaps, if the fates allow, for him to change his alliance. For him to finally embrace that inner darkness, find harmony and purpose with that Winter Soldier monster in his body.

A challenge indeed…

“Scared of me?” you drawl with an indifferent shrug of your shoulder, “No.” You never intended to scare him – of course, not until the next words fall from your lips. “I think you and I both know perfectly well there’s only one thing you in particular should be scared of,” you start, “a part of you that can hurt you beyond torture.” You can tell he has caught on when you see his jaw tick and his eyes harden. Your footsteps are slow and long as you approach the metal-armed soldier in the middle of the large hall of the worn castle you decided to reside in. “And don’t be mistaken, I don’t need ten pretty, Russian words to turn that side against you.” Silence before your final blow, “Your trauma will work just fine.”

That seems to be the trigger as he lunges forward, raising his hands and turning them to claws before you take a few steps back and halt him with a simple palm in the air.

“ –Careful,” you warn with deadly calm. “Every time you show people that short fuse of yours, you make it so easy for someone to grab onto it and light it on fire.” Short puffs of air leave his flaring nostrils and you purse your lips to repress the sadistic smile spreading over it. Until you realise you don’t care, letting the corners of your mouth tug upwards.

“Look at you,” you mock, “still depending on the control exercised on you for years. You have no idea how to take the reins yourself.”

“You don’t think I can exercise control?” The question is his way to take back his power, having had quite enough of you pressing where it hurts. His voice is clear, sharp, the gravel in it completely gone.

Bucky’s face, to your disappointment and his credit, remains stoic and you have no idea how lucky you are he has learned to restrain himself even just slightly, because you don’t know how dangerous Bucky becomes when he is genuinely pissed. Sure, he’s grumpy and harsh all the time and you’ve seen him channel Hydra’s fury, but hardly ever does his own rage come out to play.

“A smart and well-trained assassin doesn’t dive at his target like that. Any chance you’re still as good as the Winter Soldier without Hydra telling you what to do?” A small part inside you is warning you to back off, to not test the dangerous man any further. Just because you know exactly how to push the Bucky Barnes past his limit, doesn’t mean you should.

“The Winter Soldier was created to kill. I can do much more damage.”

“To yourself?” You nearly snort.

Bucky grits his teeth harder. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Let me ask you an important question,” he starts, his voice awfully cool and steady, “what on Earth makes you think I need to control myself when I can so easily control you instead?”

And now you know where that voice, the confidence, comes from. You clench your jaw tightly when the heel of your right foot dips down in the open grove between the floor and the heightened platform. A grove that has crumbled down into the depths of the ancient building, where you know the dungeons are. So far down with so much debris at the bottom, one wrong step and the fall would instantly kill you. Even as you are – a super soldier just like Bucky, yet chosen different paths – you won’t survive that fall and Bucky knows it.

You should have known not to pick this location to hide in – shouldn’t have picked the ruin you passed in the way through the mountains. Bucky guided your arrogant self straight into a trap what he assumed is of your own making. The bastard was always manipulative enough to get people to fall into the grave they dug themselves. So pretty, so skilled and somehow… so, so clever.

Sure, you can be impulsive at times, but it isn’t like Bucky is giving you any other choice than to whip out the nearest blade and charge at him. Smirk on his face, Bucky settles into fighting mode and opens his stance to welcome you in. Not giving him any time to realise that he had you fair and square, you summon decades of training into your limbs. Your head goes quiet, eerily still, as muscle memory takes over and your feet and elbows and hands crack into every open spot that Bucky has.

Quakes of pain hit you at every defence he puts up, but you soothe it over with your next blow. Hit after kick after punch, you work Bucky back into the main hall, away from your previous battlefield and trying not to lose all that space you fought for.

Hesitate and you die. Hesitate and you die. The mantra keeps repeating in your empty head and you scream and grunt and yell with every powerful thrust of your fists, only for all of it to be blocked by Bucky. There is more than anger coming to the surface. This rage – this ancient rage at yourself, at the world, at Hydra–

Bucky doesn’t get any time to retaliate, but you know better than to think you can exhaust him with fighting techniques he has memorised himself. So you switch to the sharp end of the blade and you twist and turn it within your hand as you jab and stab for the soft bits of skin on his body.

Your bones shudder when the knife jams between the plates of his arm and Bucky’s hand flies to take the knife during the abrupt pause your body found itself in. But you’re nearly as strong as he is and definitely faster, so you twist the knife with Bucky’s own power to angle against his chest and jam it there.

The blade tugs at the fabric of his shirt and Bucky’s eyes harden as they fall on yours. You narrow your own eyes at him and grit your teeth as you put pressure behind the stabbing instrument. Your gaze lowers to your hands.

His hand is wrapped around yours almost in a gentle way, the length of his fingers curling around your fist which is clutched around the handle of the blade. The touch makes you shiver and you focus all your attention on staying rigid and exercising enough power to remain in your current position. Both your breaths are shallow and the stare you’re exchanging is so sharp, you’re sure you can see a bolt of electricity shoot from your irises to his.

Slowly dragging your hand down half an inch, he wraps his other hand around yours as well, two of his hands now securing the blade against his own chest. You try not to let it show how much his actions confuse you, apprehension burning in your stomach. His flesh hand is warm, radiating heat from his skin to yours, callouses scraping slightly.

“Right here. Through the ribs and into my heart.” His voice is soft and calm, coaxing a paradoxical reaction from you. It makes you want to prove to him he has no reason to be this calm, but his tone calms you down all the same. He trusts you enough to hold a blade to his chest, yet has no faith in you to drive it through his ribs.

Always these games…

Bucky hisses through his teeth, "Kill me then. I fucking dare you." Though his tone is just as calm and quiet as before, private almost, there’s an impatience to his voice. Like he wants you to put him out of his misery.

“Got something to run from?” you purr with a sympathetic head tilt, eyes still narrowed in on his. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

“On the contrary. I have all the time in the world,” he whispers and you notice his head moving closer just an inch, his scent making your eyes flutter. He didn’t seem like the type to smell exceptionally good – but boy, were you wrong.

“Should I make it a slow death then?” you taunt and he smirks.

“Whatever makes you feel the most power.” Damn him. He knows those words strip the power away from you in an instant. He knows it and he knows you know it, too. “But that leaves you with none, doesn’t it?”

You hold your breath to keep your defeat from slipping out with it. Eyes on the blade in your hands with a look as sharp as the dagger itself, you tighten your fists around the handle.

And all of a sudden it dawns on you. Fear. Gut-wrenching, horrifying fear. Not of Bucky. But losing him. The consequences of allowing yourself to plunge that knife into his body. It’s ridiculous, really. You barely know him. Yet–

Yet he is the only one like you. The only one with emotions and personality traits abnormally heightened like your own, with that goddamn serum tainting his DNA. The only other person in constant war within themself - war between good and evil. Good won in him. Evil won in you. Because the world is so awful, so endlessly painful. And Bucky knows that – has been a victim of that awful nature. Yet good won.

He’s good.

And you want to jam a knife between his ribs.

So you do the one thing you promised yourself you wouldn’t do if you were ever in this position, because it would make you lose your resolve: you look up into his eyes.

Grey-blue.

You remember, from all those times staring him down and trying not to think of their colour. That beautiful, innocent colour that you knew he could flatten with just a look, a drop of his brow. All brightness and light gone and eyes empty. But it is there now. You don’t get where the light comes from that shimmers in his eyes. It’s a dark room.

“Why are you hesitating?” he asks, his voice merely a whisper. You never heard him sound like this before.

“I’m not.”

“I could have killed you five times over by now,” he reminds you, his hands twisting around yours, showing you just how easily he could redirect the knife’s target.

“You won’t.”

“I won’t?”

“You won’t,” you breathe.

A pause.

“I won’t,” he breathes back, his eyes dropping down. You swallow and the room seems to shrink, so much so, you hear your heartbeat echoing around you.

You don’t get to release the air lodged into your throat as Bucky lunges again, this time to cover your lips with his own. You hadn’t realised that your grip on the knife was completely depending on Bucky’s hands, until the weapon clatters to the floor the second his hands grab your face to drag it up to his.

You want to enjoy the feeling of his lips, but the rush you feel and your ramming pulse make you feel impossibly dizzy. His tongue taking advantage of the gasp you let out makes you dizzier, and you let out a whine. He groans back, walking you backward in an attempt to get closer to you. This large, solid man pushing and pushing and pushing as he strips all your bodily control from you with his bruising kiss.

You think you’re kissing him back, you aren’t sure, but every step he takes forward, you flee back. Step after step, you refuse to close the distance, his mouth so wild and feral against yours. Until you gasp again, your back hitting a crumbling pillar and Bucky crushes his entire frame against yours, his nails digging into your scalp as the kiss deepens.

Then it hits you. And it overwhelms you now. Your hands clawing at his chest, his shoulders, his neck – closer, closer, closer. God, he tastes like fire and stone and that ancient fight. You moan desperately and he grinds his hips into yours, making your knees nearly buckle over from the pleasure it ignites between your thighs. You need more of that, of his arousal against your own.

Vaguely, in the back of your mind, you realise that this was your fight all along. This was the very thing you needed to settle. A compatibility no one can match. And you want to tell him that, mock him for it when his lips leave yours, but they attach themselves to that spot below your ear and your eyes roll to the back of your head with a low moan.

This man…

“Who would have known,” he murmurs against your skin, accentuating his words with the scrape of his teeth, barely making you able to register them, “those moans might be the thing that actually kills me.”

You almost want to laugh, but he’s right. If your moans kill him, his mouth will kill you. Your heart is beating so loud, so hard, the organ might give out entirely. Your fingers hurt from clutching onto him and you can’t feel your legs. All he’s done is kiss your neck. His grip on you is so tight, so full of frustration and passion–

“Bucky,” you rasp and he freezes.

His forehead drops to your shoulder. “You’ve never said my name before,” he grinds out, his voice rough. “Do it again.”

“Bucky.”

“Again.”

“Bucky.”

His head lifts from your shoulder, his hands still holding your face and his eyes connecting with yours. “I am not going to stop until you have no voice left to say it with.”

He isn’t asking for permission. Not at all. This was a warning – for you to prepare, to finally settle this. You cling to that last piece, that last little shred of dignity and defiance.

“Who says we won’t leave this battle unfinished like all the other ones?” you ask, albeit breathlessly, clinging to that mechanism that keeps him away and angry.

Bucky narrows his eyes, dragging them over each of your features in a slow, deliberate swoop. You feel like your skin might peel off if he looks at you any longer. He can see it, can see the facade. The grip on your face is tight and you try not to swallow away the dryness in your throat.

Then he smiles.

“Nice try,” he nearly whispers, “but now that we’re here, I’m not planning on any unfinished business with you.”

This time you do swallow, eyes fluttering as you look up at him. You try to snap your walls back up, push him away, but your body isn’t listening. It’s whining for him, crying out for that spark. That final puzzle piece. The one man that can handle you. The only one that is still standing there in the end.

You feel it shift– your alliance.

“Shut up,” you snap and crash your mouth to his, fingers clutching to his shirt.

He laughs against your lips and his hands slide around your waist now, dragging you closer and conveniently dragging you up so one of his thighs slots between yours. The touch of his firm muscle against your throbbing core makes your knees tremble and you would melt to the floor if it wasn’t for Bucky’s hold on you.

The shuddering breath you let out has Bucky knowing enough. He never saw this coming, never even considered this. But he felt the shift – he was sure it was your scent that made his body betray him. Somewhere, his mind was screaming at him to not be stupid and drag that fucking knife away from his heart. Yet his intuition, trained for decades and somehow sharper than ever today, had muffled that scared voice and told him to trust his gut. She isn’t going to do it. And it was right. Just like he wouldn’t have done it.

And now – this powerful, deadly, untouchable woman is in his arms. So pliant, so desperate, so needy. He couldn’t feel more powerful himself. Not a serum in the world, not a stronger metal for his arm could grant him the feeling of power he has now. With you on his side, he is unstoppable. You can make him do anything.

He has something else in mind, however. He wants to show you exactly what anything entails, how much he is actually willing to do for you. And the strangled moan against his hungry mouth when he drags your hips over his thigh again, settles it for him. There is nothing like the pride and hunger that rushes through his veins when he hears that noise.

Maybe one thing. When you say his name.

“Bucky.”

Fuck.

Digging his fingers into your body so hard he’s sure he is leaving temporary bruises –Good, you’re his now– he lets out an animalistic growl and gives a hard thrust against you. Your body moulds perfectly between him and the pillar. The answering grind of your hips against him, brushing his cock so nicely, has his heart coming to a stop. The kiss turns messy, tongues and teeth and bruised lips, he doesn’t know what to do with that endless, dreadful need. Both your breaths are uncontrolled and low noises of need slip from both of you. He doesn’t know where his body ends and yours begins, so entangled with each other as he mindlessly grinds you further into the crumbling stone.

“I swear to God, if you don’t take off your clothes soon,” your growl surprises him and he lets out a low laugh at the desperate command. The only reason he doesn’t mock you for it, is because he agrees. Why are his clothes still on?

Quickly setting you down, he starts making work of his clothes, both of you ripping at yourselves to get rid of that last barrier. But Bucky gets distracted and helps you undress instead. And when you’re left in just your underwear and a lose hanging shirt that sags over your shoulders, all Bucky has managed is to shed his weapons and to unbuckle his belt. Earning an unimpressed glare from you at the lack of nudity, Bucky lets out a growl in answer.

“I’ll fuck you slowly later,” he grunts and is on you again.

You want to protest, you really do, but the words escape you the second his lips connect with yours again. Oh, this man is trouble. Softer and languid this time, his mouth drags over yours, tongue taunting and tasting. You slacken against him, your fingers around his forearms to keep from slipping to the ground. Trouble, trouble, trouble.

In such a daze, such a trance from that sinful mouth, you hardly notice his hands slipping between your thighs after his leg pushes them apart. That first touch, so deliberate, so specific, of his fingers to your aching pussy, has you visibly shudder against him, nails digging into his skin.

“I was wrong,” he breathes over your lips. His fingers slip past the flimsy fabric of your panties and a long finger slips through your folds, dipping into your hole tentatively before teasing you further. “This is going to be the thing that kills me.”

And with that painful confession, his finger slips into your dripping hole so easily, so smoothly, so goddamn deep, you lift to your toes and stretch to make it bearable.

It’s unbearable, the pleasure that sparks all throughout your body. You need him to move, need him to– to–

“More,” you plead, unable to open your eyes back up, “more, more, more.”

You can almost hear his cocky grin as he slips another finger in and curls it against a spot deep inside of you. It releases a moan so sudden, you couldn’t have stopped it if you tried, your eyes flying open. Bucky’s brows shoot up with intrigue, pressing his fingertips against that spot again and almost making you curl up into a ball against him. Fuck. He’s going to kill you.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he breathes, his forehead falling to yours after watching that look of defeat on your face, “I got you.”

Thoughts having left your head, you can only nod breathlessly, tilting your head back against the stone as his fingers start working inside of you. The involuntary convulsions of your cunt around his fingers make your neck and cheeks warm, the loss of control making you feel beyond vulnerable. But God, you can’t find it in you to care too much. The way he stuffs you full, the way his mouth works messily against the column of your neck, the heavy breaths that come from him from just pleasing you – it all builds up in your abdomen. Tightening, fluttering, aching. Your toes curl as his fingers move faster, the friction against your entrance so filthy in combination with the sound of your wetness.

Bucky groans, impatience straining through his cock as he wants to feel you around his fingers. He can feel you flutter, he can hear your breathing getting impossibly laboured and he should, he really should, want to drag this out more. But there is this wild, primal part of him that wants to get you to your next orgasm already, and your next, and the one after that.

He sighs deeply, channelling all of his restraint to keep calm and savour this moment. This moment of weakness for you. Weakness within him. Fuck, you’re his weakness. His fingers keep moving into that spot that seems to make you stutter and stumble, his wrist turning to make you feel that stretch, his tongue darting out to touch that spot under your ear. And then, he presses his palm to your clit, thrumming with need, and the shudder that rumbles down your spine has him stand on alert instantly.

Rotating his palm against your clit, his fingers ramming into your spot, he watches in awe as you fall apart around them. The way your eyes roll back, the breathless scream from your lips, the tension building and building and building in your body before weakening to near paralysis. Oh, that does things for Bucky’s ego.

Fingers trembling and bottom lip aching from the assault of your own teeth, you try desperately to get some air back into your lungs. You can’t feel your legs, your head is buzzing and your pussy won’t stop contracting around Bucky’s fingers, even as they have stopped moving.

“Oh my God,” you whine softly, eyes still closed.

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, burying his face in your neck. That was the best thing he’s ever done. Screw making amends, screw being good, this made it all worth it. He doesn’t know why or how, but this makes that neglected part inside of him hum with delight.

But he’s not done. Oh no, not with his cock groaning at him to explore you a bit further. Not with only his zipper in the way of that warmth that is still wrapped around his fingers. Fuck, how good would his fingers taste right about now?

He’s not waiting to find out and then his eyes lock with yours, darkness and light shimmering in them simultaneously. They flutter to close at the taste, at the way you bite your lip as the sight, but he is not losing you out of his sights.

“Winter soldier,” you breathe, a calm sort of power tainting your tone.

Oh, he likes it when you call him that.

You do not need those ten Russian words. At all.

He smirks, “Ya gotov otvechat.”

[darby-rowe]

hang on i saw this tweet that was like. my bf once duct taped me in a corner and fucked a twink in front of me and mocked me the whole time abt how the twink was tighter then me and . sejanus as the bf coryo twink reader duct taped.

ANON WAIT YOU’RE ONTO SOMETHING. OH MY GOD YOU’RE SO ONTO SOMETHING.

PUTTING THIS SHIT IN MY BACK POCKET RIGHT THE FUCK NOW BC THIS IS SO HOT???????

[fbfh]

as with all nsfw works all characters are aged up to 18+ one thing about Tristin Dugray is he gets pussydrunk so fast. so fucking fast. he is such a cocky motherfucker but the worst part is he can back up all his talk. or at least he can until the second or third round. or when you suck his dick. or when he goes down on you for a while and gets to taste you on his tongue. around then is usually when he just gets really fucking stupid. if he goes from smirking and biting your skin and muttering shit in your ear that has you tightening like a vice around him to all panting and heavy breathing and letting out strangled grunts and moans and "oh f-fuck, mary..."s real close. congradulations. you have officially fucked Tristin Dugray stupid. he's running on two things at this point: his insatiable cravings for you and primal base animalistic instinct. god, he's made you both cum so many times at this point that it's pooling around his cock, smearing all over you both. but it's still not enough of you, because nothing is. he knows he's going to keep going, keep whining for you and panting until he collapses on top of you and you're about to pass out. he's all warm and sweaty and smells so good that it makes your head spin. after a few minutes he shifts on top of you and you do something that acually almost has him ready for another round after that. you tighten your shaking legs around his hips, pulling him closer to you and causing you both to let out a s trangled noise at the overstimulation of his cock rubbing up against your pulsing tight walls.

"Don't pull out yet, just... stay like this for a while?" you ask him so nicely and your voice is all worn out from how he's had you screaming his name, he can't say no to you. he never can. he lets out something between a moan and a laugh and pulls you closer, settling down with you.

"Fuck... you're gonna be the death of me, Mary. You know that?"

[erinravenseeker]

Just had a middle-of-the-night “ohhhh” moment as I just figured out that Kim Dokja needs the Fourth Wall not because of the scenarios but because it was essentially his survival mechanism for life.

Now I have only read the novel once so I could totally be forgetting stuff & way off-base but this is what I remember. Inane rambling under the cut, major spoilers included.

We know he’s generally antisocial, placing himself outside of society like a reader, and he internally smoothed over Sangah’s rough points even before the scenarios, making her into a ‘character’ (a caricature of herself) that fit into an archetype.

Dissociating from reality & viewing himself as a reader is his coping mechanism & “WoS coming to life” provides a convenient excuse to keep ignoring that fact.

This kind of ties in with an idea I’ve been forming about the Fourth Wall, which is that KDJ is fundamentally incapable of believing that “The Characters” (read: everyone) can experience growth as a result of his actions. He exists outside of the story, he is in the audience beyond the fourth wall, so he cannot affect the characters.

Hence the paradoxical nature of the Fourth Wall. For as long as he is a Reader, the Fourth Wall is maintained. And as long as the Fourth Wall is maintained, he will continue to be a Reader.

(Warning this is where it gets incoherent and messy.)

Kim Dokja fundamentally NEEDS the Fourth Wall to be maintained. Not just because of the OD stuff, but because it’s the way he’s learnt to cope with existing. It’s also why dying is so easy for him—we know he cannot deal with the guilt of making people he cares about suffer, but if he’s just a Reader, that means he can’t really have any meaningful impact on their lives, so it’s fine for him to just… disappear.

Kim Dokja is not actively suicidal, he’s just invested himself so far into the worldview of himself being a Reader that to him, his temporary deaths no longer register as dying. More like… stepping out of the theatre for a bit.

It gets complicated when we hit OD. Because then we realise the KDJ we’ve been accompanying is essentially a self-insert OC. So we can ascribe the way he thinks to OD, including all the coping mechanisms and self-distancing. But where OD manages to escape the narrative along with SP, at the same time the KimCom Crew escape the narrative, KDJ actually kind of… doubles down?

Like, OD does what any Reader does and learns from the book. When KDJ says “I, someone of no redeeming quality, could be loved by the others.” It’s not just him learning this lesson. It’s actually kind of the opposite. OD is Reading this lesson so he learns that he’s allowed to accept the mercy of SP & the 999 crew. So they escape the narrative.

KimCom also manages to escape the narrative but KDJ… can’t. He comes to the conclusion that he was actually backstage all along. But that means he’s still not ON stage. A Character can’t feel for the Script Writer or Director or Stage Manager. So he doubles down on his separation from them, stepping into that role. And then then KimCom comes banging on his door backstage because they’re not just characters, they’re the Actors now, and KDJ disappears because he can’t deal with that, because he fundamentally cannot exist on the same plane as them.

I think that’s why I’m hopeful at a post-epilogue ending. KDJ The Reader exists at essentially a higher tier than the people around him, and so he believes he cannot be loved in a way that has a lasting impact on them. But he DID spend years being affected by WoS, by Yoo Joonghyuk. If he becomes the Character, and them the Readers… maybe, just maybe, he can actually accept that love.

[its-not-sof]

11:43pm

mark fluff + smut - college au

“Oh god, I’m so tired,” you sighed, flopping down on your bed with your books still splayed in front of you.

Mark laughed at your defeated display. You had both been studying at your apartment since your last evening class ended, going on nearly four hours now. It was nearing the end of the semester, and finals were on the horizon. This class happened to be the most difficult for you to study for, with both of you endlessly trying to cram in as much information as possible.

“Let’s take a break then, okay?” Mark murmured, collapsing next to you and pulling you into his arms. You closed your eyes and curled into his embrace.

“Mmm you’re warm,” you mumbled. “I’m going to fall asleep if we stay like this.”

Your boyfriend smiled and held you tighter.

“That’s fine with me, Y/N,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. You sighed.

“As much as I wish I could, I probably should at least try to finish this chapter before we tap out for the night.”

Mark reluctantly let you go as you moved to sit up straight again. He joined you after letting his eyes wander to the exposed small of your back.

You often dressed comfortably, casual, but effortlessly put-together. Mark always insisted that the less-put-together side of you was the most beautiful, and that was certainly the side of you that was on display tonight.

Gently, Mark traced his fingers along your spine. You shivered as he made contact with your bare skin.

“Mark, if you keep doing that I’m not going to want to study much longer,” you teased, only half-joking.

Mark continued his actions, disregarding your words in favor of adding more pressure to his touch.

You blushed, and began to focus more on the movement of his fingers than the words on the page in front of you.

“Mark, I swear to god,” you sighed.

Your boyfriend laughed.

“Sorry, Y/N. I really think we need a break,” he insisted, running his fingers through your hair and gently scratching your scalp. His touch sent pleasurable tingles through your body.

“I don’t know, I’m feeling so unprepared,” you muttered, briefly closing your eyes to focus on the feeling of his fingers.

“Maybe I can help us both,” Mark murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, slowly increasing the pressure of his lips as he trailed lower. You felt yourself shiver yet again.

“What exactly do you have in mind?” You asked, hesitantly. You could feel Mark smile against your skin.

“You just keep studying, Y/N. Don’t mind me,” he whispered.

You gasped as his lips trailed lower, his fingers carefully slipping underneath your cropped sweater. His hands ghosted across your stomach, tracing your ribs before gently cupping your bare breasts.

You steeled your nerves and turned the page of your textbook, determined to cram in another chapter of material.

You let out an involuntary sigh as Mark’s fingers teased your perked nipples under your clothes. He sucked roughly at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, making you tilt your head back to give him more room.

“Eyes on your textbook, pretty girl…” he murmured teasingly, flicking your nipple for emphasis.

You bit your bottom lip and attempted to shift your focus back to your studying.

Mark shifted behind you and began trailing his right hand down your stomach to the hem of your pajama shorts, toying with the strings that cinched them at your hips.

You deliberately chose to ignore his teasing, and made sure your eyes never left your notes. You pulled out a highlighter and began to turn the heavily-notated page of text. You barely registered when Mark’s fingers slipped inside your shorts and began to push aside your panties.

“Ah!” You moaned suddenly, throwing your head back to rest on Mark’s shoulder as his fingers found your most sensitive bud and began to tease it.

Mark continued to suck at your neck while his talented hands worked you into a state of bliss.

“M-Mark, oh god—“ your breathing became heavier as he slipped his fingers inside you, letting his palm stimulate your clit.

All too quickly, Mark removed his fingers and hovered them teasingly about your aching core. You whimpered at the loss of contact. Mark smirked.

“Tell me about chapter five and I’ll start again,” he murmured, ghosting his fingers across your heat in encouragement. You closed your eyes and desperately wracked your brain for information.

“Ch-Chapter five is about the integumentary system… it provides the body with protection and includes the skin, the body’s largest organ,” you squeaked out your answer, eager for him to pleasure you again.

“Good girl,” Mark cooed, gently stroking his fingers across your swollen clit.

“Ah— Mark!” you cried, your legs beginning to shake.

“And chapter 8?” He murmured, removing his fingers once again.

“Reproductive systems,” you moaned.

“Very good,” he whispered, gently massaging your inner thighs, so close to where you wanted him.

“Now, tell me what this is…” Mark’s fingers brushed against your most sensitive bud, circling it slowly. You held back a desperate moan.

“M-Mark, that’s the clitoris…” you whined, grasping at his arm to keep him in place.

“And these?” Mark shifted his fingers to your entrance, rubbing it carefully.

“Those are the v-vestibular glands…” you mumbled, squirming in his hold to get some release.

“You got it,” he murmured. “Now let me give you your reward…”

Mark returned to his teasing, pinching and soothing your sensitive clit with his fingers and licking and biting your pretty neck.

“Mark, I’m gonna—“ you cried out as he pushed you over the edge.

He continued to tease you through your high, reveling in the feeling of you fluttering around his fingers.

He eventually slipped out of you, turning you around in his arms and kissing you gently.

“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” He said, smiling at your satisfied and blissful smile. You quickly buried your face in his shoulder.

“Mark Lee, I can’t believe you did that to me,” you whined, embarrassed, but secretly reeling at how hot that was.

Your boyfriend laughed, pulling you close.

“It helped, didn’t it?” He said, smiling at you. You eventually gave in and met his loving gaze.

“Yes,” you mumbled. “I think I know more than I thought I did.”

“I knew it,” Mark replied, gingerly brushing your unruly hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “My precious girl. You’re going to be just fine.”

You blushed deeply at his words, and pulled him in for another soft kiss.

“So, do you need any help studying, Mark?”

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand 12 - Skin and Water

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: Sometimes, it gets to be too much and you need to feel close. Despite it all, they cross the line. warnings: smut, r18, minors dni

Hot water beads down her back as steam fogs up the bathroom. She closes her eyes, letting the events of tonight wash away down the drain. No blood or cuts, but the touch of that filth still lingers on her neck, on her arms. But she doesn’t want her skin to forget every touch.

The gloved hands around her, the claws poking her clavicle. Those, she wants to keep. I’ve been on my own since then, she told him before. Hell, the last person that did anything remotely close to saving her was Peli stepping in, but this was on another level entirely. Someone took on an entire squad of Stormtroopers for her. Someone braved what she thought to be certain death for her.

The joyous moment where she hugged them still reels in her head even as she shuts off the water. She hugs her arms, trying to still her beating heart. After drying herself off and putting on a bath robe, she steps out, seeing Din stash away his weapons and armor for the night. Just as she's about to speak, he cuts her off. "I know you're tired," he says through the modulator. "Go ahead and sleep. Kid and I will be out here."

Oh.

She nods slowly, accepting it. "Okay... um. Good night, then."

She feels disappointed. Why?

She should at least try to sleep, she decides. Lying down and getting under the covers, she faces the ceiling of the dark room, closing her eyes. She tosses and turns and no matter what she tries to do, she thinks about that moment all three of them shared. Even though it came off of the most frightening moment of her life, she had never felt such swelling elation in her chest before. Being in his arms – Din’s arms – she loved it. And now, she missed it; is it selfish to miss it?

It’s hard to sleep with such thoughts and emotions keeping her awake. She doesn’t want to be here in this giant bed alone, she wants to be near him, as far as he’d allow. Kicking the covers off, she paces around the room, biting her thumb nail. It’s selfish, she tells herself. But I want to ask him. But it’s selfish. Also, he might say no. He’ll think you’re coming onto him! Back and forth, back and forth.

I don’t care.

She steels her resolve and marches to the door. Just before she can press the button, it slides open on its own and a dark outline stands in the frame. They startle each other, but he holds up his hands. “It’s me! It’s me.”

“Oh.” She puts her hand over her rapidly beating chest. “Sorry.”

“Sorry.” His voice is still masked by the modulator. “I…” She waits. “Never mind, sorry to disturb you.”

“No, no!” She catches his arm, surprised to feel only a shirt between her skin and his as opposed to the thick armor. “Wait. Um. I was just coming out because I… well, I can’t sleep. Do… Do you want to come inside and talk?”

His muscles tense under her touch and it still feels like he’ll pull away. “...Y-Yeah. I… wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay.” She takes a few steps back, letting him in before closing the door.

“You can turn on the lights. My helmet’s on.”

“Ah, that’s fine. This is fine.” In truth, she picked out the nearest nightgown which turned out to be rather short, barely covering half of her thighs. No, the darkness is welcome just this once. She sits down on the edge of the bed and waits until he joins her, his movements quiet without all of the armor weighing him down. “What did you want to ask?”

“Why…” He pauses. “Why did he take you? You said it was a trap.”

She nods slowly. “I guess it was half a trap, half revenge. He was talking to me at the table, telling me that I should take my winnings and just leave, that I didn’t want to get involved in this beskar war between you and him. He knew I could beat him, so he tried threatening me.” Her feet rest on the edge of the bed as she hugs her knees against her chest.

“So… why didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t I what? Bow out?” She scoffs at the question. “We had a deal.”

“You made millions of credits. You could have left.”

She peers at him – or rather, the shape that she thinks is his head. “Are you serious?”

“If someone is given a choice between tons of cash and certain death, it’s not a hard decision.” She wants to yell at him, to remove his helmet and smack his cheek for implicating that she was that greedy. But that’s not it, is it? His tone isn’t accusing it’s… tense. Uneasy. Before she goes solar on him again, she inhales deeply and breathes out.

“Where do I begin? First of all, I wouldn’t have won any of those credits if it weren’t for you bringing me here. Second of all, that beskar belongs to you, not some old man clinging to the remnants of the Empire. Not exactly a hard decision. And third…”

Din waits. “...And third?”

I wanted to hear your voice when I gave it to you. I want… I want to see you happy. She can’t say those words, not when they catch in her throat. “I… It’s the least I can do. Look what you’ve given me.”

“Don’t.” The curt tone surprises her. “I haven’t given you anything. I put you in danger.”

“What?”

“I made you a target. You got hurt.” He sounds ashamed. “He used you as bait, didn’t he? It’s the only reason he kept you alive.”

Her hand taps on her knees, lifting off to reach for him… but she stops before it can touch him. “Yes. He wanted your beskar.” Her hand falls to the bed. “But he’s gone now. You did the galaxy a favor, if you ask me. And you saved me.” Her voice softens, hoping to ease the negativity in his.

“No. I put you in danger in the first place.”

The words erupt out of her like a volcano. “Oh, shut up, Din.” He whips his head towards her. “I agreed to this, didn’t I? I kept playing. And you’re right! I could have left with all my credits and sodded off to some faraway planet, but I didn’t, did I? You wanna know why?” She drops her feet towards the floor and leans in. “I want to win. I want to get you that beskar. I don’t care if I lose my money doing it, I want to get it for you!” Din’s brows raise. “I want you…” His heart drums in his ears. “...to have it.”

Din is usually a man of few words, but by choice. This time, she has robbed him of anything that he could say. But why? Why is it so important to her that she do this for him? He doesn’t know… and maybe he doesn’t care. Stars, if he’s honest with himself, he wants to hold her face. He wants to press his forehead against hers, he wants to…

He can’t. He just lowers his head in humiliation, humbled by her words. “You’re a noble one.” Then, he says her name with such gentleness that he usually reserved only for his son. “I don’t know how I will begin to repay you.”

“...Well.” She twirls some hair around her finger. “It’s not like I want anything in return. But, if you want… I wouldn't mind if you… um… stayed."

“...Stayed?”

“Here. Tonight. I’d sleep easier knowing you’re there.”

In the silence, Din weighs the situation in his head. The room is dark enough for it to be safe and adhere to the Creed, but he’s concerned about other matters. There is, of course, the heavy implication of what she’s asking. On the outside, anyone can tell that she means it innocently enough, but a part of him (he’s afraid to say) doesn’t reject it outright. That means he shouldn't... he shouldn't, right?

And as for her, she just assumes it’s out of the question.

He’s thinking about it too hard again. Din stands up. “Just tonight.” He can make it through one night; he has discipline. Circling around the bed to the other side, he sits down on the untouched edge and pulls on the covers. Once she settles underneath them, his hands inch towards his helmet. They feel heavy and his stomach flips as he pulls it off, setting it on the night table.

Din is tense all over as he pulls the covers over himself and slides in. He keeps his distance, hands resting on his stomach as he looks up at the ceiling. “Is… this okay?”

His unfiltered voice makes her a little giddy. She moves slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away if need be, and finds his hand. “You can be a little closer.” She scoots inward and chips away at the gap between them. “Is this fine?”

“Yeah…”

She wants to push it. Sliding closer, she turns onto her side, back towards him, and pulls his hand onto her hip. When she feels no resistance, she draws him in further, resting his hand on her stomach. “There.”

This is closest either have been to another being.

Din’s warm body rests against her back. She can feel his soft breaths tickle the back of her neck and the rise and fall of his chest. Her fingers rest on his hand, feeling his grooves and knuckles. Through the silk of her nightgown, his hand tenses and he doesn’t realize that his fingers are tapping, bunching and smoothing the fabric.

She thought that she would be able to relax at this point, but the opposite has happened. Her tongue dries and heat seeps down into her core. The little voice in her mind is clear of its need: I want Din to touch me more. She thinks about how close his hand is towards her chest. She can do it. All she has to do is move his hand. Just move it a few inches up…

He whispers her name.

“Y...Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” His voice vibrates against her skin. “You’re… shaking. And breathing fast.”

Was she? Shit, she didn’t even notice. “I-I’m fine.” She swallows hard, but she can’t seem to calm herself. Stars, if they stay like this, she will go mad. Din’s palm rests flat on her stomach, feeling hot and even a little damp. I can’t take it anymore. She takes the plunge and she slides his hand up until it covers her breast.

Din’s breath hitches and his fingers, on instinct, squeeze. She makes a soft gasp, her hand resting on his wrist. He knows he shouldn’t, but he cups her flesh between his fingers again. Is this… actually happening? He isn’t sure how slow or fast he should go, so he just continues his gentle kneading. She slips down the straps of her night gown and pulls it down enough until silk no longer blocks him from her skin. He pinches her peak between his index and thumb, earning a little sigh of satisfaction.

Dank farrik, I shouldn’t be doing this.

He hides his heavier breaths against her shoulder, the hairs on his chin tickling her skin. His lips press a soft kiss, then another to her neck right where someone else’s fingers had dug in. Stars, she didn’t expect his touches to feel this good so fast. She squirms against him, shimmying as she pulls down the gown. Din can feel her struggling, so he helps her to take it off until it pools around her ankles and she can kick it off. He knows that means she’s completely bare, she’s pressing into him, she’s wanting more.

Sod it. Sod it all to hell.

He sits up, pulling her cheek so her head looks up, and tilts his head to kiss her. She sighs, melting into his kiss and accepting the warmth of his tongue on hers. As she drinks in his taste, his scent, she lifts a leg and rests her foot on the other side of him. He breaks away, nuzzling himself between her neck and shoulder as the hand that had been groping her slides down her torso. He passes over the lines of her skin, the softness of her flesh sending shock waves down his core. His breaths have a twinge of his voice in them, music to her ears.

Din takes his time. He makes circles below her navel, enjoying the little jolts she makes with each tickling touch. Her whines make it evident that she needs him to hurry up, but all in due time – after all, he doesn’t know when he would get another chance to feel her again. His free hand slips under her shoulder and neck, wrapping around and inviting hers to rest on it. Their fingers fan out and intertwine and after one more kiss against her shoulder, he’s ready. He snakes his hand past her thick curls.

Her shuddering whimper sends carnal hunger throughout his body in waves. His fingers find warm slickness between her thighs and he freezes for a moment, worried his rough, calloused hands wouldn’t feel any good. But her hips wiggle and she bucks towards his touch, all but begging him to continue. He dips his fingers further, middle finger stroking the small bud that makes her voice higher and her fingers squeeze his harder. Neither can see each other in this darkness, but he can imagine that she must be in beautiful bliss.

“Yes…” Her chest hastens in its rise and fall.

Stars, he loves hearing her. “Yeah?” he whispers against her ear, sending delicious chills down her back. She represses a sound of affirmation behind firm lips, but that only spurs him to hear her more. Din uses two fingers to slip between her folds, delighted in the tremble of her body. He draws his fingers back and she aches for their return, her hand gripping his shirt. She pulls it up, her palm brushing against his chest and the contours of his muscles. He doesn’t want to let go of her, but he’ll comply for now.

Din pulls his hands away to reach behind his head, pulling his shirt over and throwing it somewhere – he doesn’t care where. One of her hands pulls on the hem of his pants and the other presses its palm against his firm stomach, inching down. His groan when she finds his girth is louder than he intends it to be, but it just feels so damn good. He kicks off the pants and lies down on his side again, gently pressing on her chest so she lies on her back. Din holds her chin gingerly, delivering open kisses to her lips.

As he places her foot behind him to spread her thighs, she reaches between them, pulling his thick cock against her slit. His head clouds with desire, hips grinding against her – he needs to be buried deep inside her now. He holds her leg with one arm and snakes behind her neck with the other again, letting her rest on his bicep. She finds his hand again and once more they intertwine. They break away from their kisses, foreheads touching as she lifts her hips, angling his tip against her slit. “Oh, fff…” As soon he splits her walls, he groans deeply, pressing inside further. Their bodies shudder and euphoria pulses through them. Din rocks his hips, starting off slow, not wanting to hurt her.

“Din, haaah…” Her hand squeezes the one she holds, her free one resting against his chest. Her moans sound torturous, turning into fluttering mewls. Din curses under his breath right against her ear and any coherent thoughts are ousted, his body acting on instinct. He wants more, he needs more. But he restrains himself. Then, she whispers his name again. "It's okay," she says. "Go harder. I can take it."

"I-I don't want to hurt you--"

"I'm fine. Please, Din..." That alone ushers him to plunge further, sliding all the way in until she takes the entirety of him and hits his base. She squirms, thighs quaking, submitting to his touches. Din rests her leg in the crook of his arm, his hand pressing on her lower stomach to make her flush against his chest. He slides his fingers over her bud, making wide swirling motions to feel her tighten around his length.

She presses her forehead against his, making sure only he can hear her perverted noises, each whimper, each moan and mewl. Whenever he fills her entirely it causes her to convulse, her thighs wanting to instinctively close, but he has her right where he wants her. Their hands hold onto each other tightly and they truly feel like one.

She feels perfect. This feels perfect.

“Din… Din… don’t stop. Don’t stop!”

Her name in his throat is gravely and carnal, his fingers rubbing faster. Din’s core twists in his stomach, his body chasing the peak of his high. Her voice escalates and the writhing in his arms turns more violent as she nears. Her back arches off the bed and she tosses her head back with a final cry, her walls clenching around him. Din can only thrust a few more times before his body releases all of the ecstasy at once, tightening his muscles before relaxing them. He holds her trembling body in place while he fills her with his seed, his fingers making indentations in her skin.

With one deep sigh, it all ends. They fill the room with their heavy breaths, their minds wiped entirely of anything else. “Come here,” he says tiredly. “Come here…”

He adjusts their position so he can slide on top of her, their chests pressing together as his arms snake underneath. She tilts her head up and meets him in a hot, long kiss, pulling him to press his weight on her. Stars, she knows she would never get enough of this feeling. She’s sensitive to all of his touches, including his stubble tickling her chin. Din’s hips give hers a few soft grinds before he collapses next to her, still holding her close.

The last thing she hears is him whispering her name in her ear, lulling her to sleep.

[lyraeeee]

let me cook???

a small sneak peak of my upcoming work🤞🤞

it really has been such a long time since I last wrote anything and I’m just so excited to share this to everyone soon.

might be posting this on tuesday? wednesday? It’ll depend on my mood

I only wrote for the earthrealm gang so far but if other people ask for it then I’ll consider writing one for the other characters too :)

[yuwuta]

my f2l yuuta idea of the week, if i may: childhood bsf yuuta, nerdy and shy, who grows up with you. ur popular but u always stick by his side, and he's in love ofc. stuttering and failed valentine's confessions, blushing whenever u show him affection, doodling ur name in his notebook in class, classic loverboy yuuta

this omg :(( i’ve had conversations about something similar—childhood friend yuuta, but i love the idea of him being a little nerdy omggg

you’ve known him since before you two could even talk, you were just infants babbling at each other, but i’m sure in yuuta’s little baby brain he was trying to say i love love love youuuu :(( your parents have so many pictures of all the pretend weddings you guys have had as kids, so many pictures of yuuta in his dad’s huge tux jacket and you in a big shirt with a makeshift belt that’s really just an extra long friendship “bracelet” yuuta made for you bc he was trying to make a bracelet big enough to show you how much he loves you, but he ran out of beads :(((

school is harder for him as you two get older, yuuta doesn’t make friends nearly as easily as he did with you but he always has you and it just makes him more in love with you… the horimiya of this all……. yuuta trying to recede into the background but you’re the friend that pulls him out of his own head and introduces him to maki and toge and yuuji and megumi and nobara and everyone else and sometimes he just sits at the lunch table w everyone and thinks how lucky he is to have all his friends but esp you because none of it would be possible w/o you :(( definitely gets a piece of food thrown at him by nobara who’s calling him out for looking dazed and lovesick but he just blushes and tries to hide it behind stuffing his face he’s so cute god,,,……. definitely doesn’t help that you call him cute too and he’s *////////* all day… doodling your name in his book is so real he’s definitely written “(_____) okkotsu” on a handful of pages which is why he’s so weirdly anxious/protective of his notebook he would literally fizzle away into dust if anyone every saw it GOD

don’t even get me started on the failed confessions PLS so many times he tries to hype himself up to leave a note in your locker or ask you out but either something goes wrong or he’s not specific enough, so it always seems platonic…. the misfortunes of yuuta…. leaving a letter in your locker on valentine’s day but he forgot your way more popular than him, so it’s just one of many notes buried in there and ofc he’s a fool so he didn’t sign his pls 😭 asking you to get ice cream after school and it’s cool, but the next day he sees you getting ice cream w megumi and he’s like oh… wait… you probably do that will all ur friends ofc,,,, just constant blundering i love him sooooo bad

the only time he gets it right is prom, and i can see him either (1) being fed up by his own blundering and really wanting to get it right, (2) being worried/jealous about hearing other people’s plans to ask you to prom, (3) you teasing him about waiting for a certain somebody to ask youuuuuu…. he definitely stutters and stumbles a bit, but he’s yuuta he’s just a sweetheart so it’ll work out :(((

[teecupangel]

August Posting Schedule

Alright, people. Here is your head's up that August MegaPosting Birthday Celebration (I don't remember what I called it last year) will begin in... well... August.

Anyway, so here's the schedule starting next week:

July 31 (Monday): Eagle of Alamut weekly update

Aug 8 (Tuesday): Eagle of Alamut weekly update AND a Yew Branch fic

Aug 12 (Saturday): Eagle of Alamut weekly update AND a special chapter for Beloved Moon

Aug 16 (Wednesday): Eagle of Alamut weekly update AND a Layla-centric oneshot

Aug 26 (Saturday): Eagle of Alamut weekly update AND a Yew Branch fic AND a short smut

Aug 28 (Monday): Eagle of Alamut weekly update AND the start of a 7-chaptered absolutely self-indulgent fic AND the start of uploading of Tumblr posts into AO3 *

(might happen, might not happen: a short smut in Aug 12, idk, we'll see)

(*) might also not be able to answer any asks on August 28 because... uuuhh... familial obligations due to being my birthday? Honestly, I don't know what's planned so we'll see.

[buysomecheese]

Y’all ever spend.. 2+ hours consuming fan content for a ship for a show you Refuse to watch?

Anyways Tweek and Craig are so cute together and they love each other

[hua-fei-hua]

it's definitely extremely funny that after i start writing a smut For Real (not clickbait) i proceed to receive. a fucking nosebleed. like this is anime.

[sickgraymeat]

It’s funny that I can only read/write AT fanfic that’s both (a) canon compliant and (b) not too sad by my (very sensitive baby) standards, bc ofc those things contradict each other a lot