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kthologue · 1 year ago

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happy wife, happy life — gojo satoru

synopsis. not fawning over his wife may prove to be harder than gojo thought.

contents. fluff, gojo is so whipped for his wife and everyone is tired (whats new), ooc gojo?

notes. this was pure self indulgence. i wanted to slander and coddle gojo all at once and this was it teehee :3

the first thing you hear when you stand up to leave the staff meeting is a wolf whistle.

“looking good,” satoru looks you up and down. you roll your eyes playfully, your husband’s behavior is not foreign to you. he taps your upper thigh, dangerously close to your butt as you take your leave. however, the others in the room don't take kindly to the action.

“highly inappropriate behavior gojo,” utahime mutters under her breath from across the table. beside her, nanami is giving your husband a hard stare.

satoru pays no mind to them though, smiling up at you as you walk out of the room. you shake your head when he continuously blows a series of kisses. he ignores your rejection, opting to mouth crude comments instead.

the moment the door shuts, the strongest sorcerer immediately deflates, disinterested in whatever matters the rest had to discuss about.

“i don’t know how she puts up with you,” utahime takes a long sip out of her cup of tea. beside her, shoko snorts.

“probably for his body.” shoko is not unfamiliar with satoru’s antics, having witnessed it since his rowdy school days. she applauds him for coming far with you, but it was still fun to tease him.

gojo crosses his arms, emitting a disgruntled sound. “and my golden personality?”

nanami sighs, “ieiri’s conclusion is most likely right.”

the limitless user wiggles his finger playfully. “nanamin, how scandalous of you to fantasize about my body! i’m a married man y’know~”

nanami looks like he has eaten something sour. unlike you, nanami’s attitude towards gojo has not softened as the years passed.

“i’m surprised she’s still with you.” utahime snickers. “she’s a sensible woman and you’re–”

satoru frowns at her statement. he’d never thought about how you felt about his behavior. perhaps that was his fatal flaw. gojo satoru had a nasty streak of negligence. and the last time he failed to notice someone dear to him —

“well i’m glad she ended up choosing me, yeah?” his frown is quickly covered up by the wide smirk on his face. he leans back on his chair that’s starting to feel less comfortable by the second. the chair creaks under the weight of his body. honestly, how old are these old wooden things? “as much as i’d like to keep chatting about my lovely wife, i’d like to get this meeting over with so i can see her again.”

the rest of the meeting ensues as usual.

“sensei has been weird… right?” itadori offers his hand after knocking megumi down during a sparring match. the black haired boy grunts as he is pulled up.

“if by weird, you mean normal.” megumi glances back at you and gojo who are watching intently at the first and second years practicing close combat on the training field. it was a bit peculiar to see satoru not throw himself all over you. gojo without pda is like a jigsaw puzzle missing its most essential piece, leaving the overall picture incomplete and lacking the electrifying energy that defines his existence.

“i feel like i should be happy, but it’s unsettling to see him not initiating some misconduct. do you think they’re fighting?” nobara is panting on the grassy floor. she raises her hand in surrender when maki leaps in to take her head off with a spear.

maki retracts her blade, turning back to observe you and gojo, “nah, gojo would fold at her command.”

“salmon.”

from across the training field, you turn to your husband nervously, “why are they staring at us?”

satoru hums, his blindfolded gaze focuses on the field in front of you, “hm, maybe they’re admiring their very beautiful [name] sensei.” the blindfolded man pauses. compliments should still be okay– right? satoru can’t imagine a life without lavishing you with love, yet he will content himself with gently sprinkling you with affection.

you smack his shoulder playfully. to your surprise, your husband doesn’t reciprocate with some form of physical affection. you tilt your head, perplexed.

quickly dismissing it, you yell at your students to continue their training.

you don’t notice the way satoru clenches his fists, keeping his eyes trained anywhere but you.

the next time satoru is tempted by your presence is when he comes back home after a mission. it was a walk in the park, but the heavy stack of paperwork that followed it had depleted his energy. all he wanted was to snuggle in bed with his wife, selfishly keeping you all to himself.

and you’re not making it easier to resist with the way you warmly greet him with a smile in nothing but a small cotton tee and those tiny pajama shorts. eyes up, eyes up, eyes up, satoru mentally chants.

he thinks he might actually die.

“toru!” you abandon the book you had been reading to pay your husband taxes (kisses that satoru demands he must have). “you’re home awfully late.”

“mission… paperwork,” his clipped response is mumbled as he hurries past you and to your shared bathroom, avoiding your touch. satoru silently prays to the heavens that you don’t notice his suspicious efforts as he makes his way to take a much needed ice cold shower.

you stand in your spot in confusion, letting your husband go. slowly, you start to connect the pieces of satoru’s strange behavior from his refusal to touch you to his sudden responsible disposition. gojo satoru never does paperwork– not unless you bribe him with a dozen kisses. speaking of kisses, you don’t even remember the last time he had demanded one. something was definitely wrong.

without missing a beat, you quickly follow your lover’s trail into the bathroom.

to your delight, your husband had failed to lock the door. in the hush of your silence, you can hear the subtle rustle of satoru's garments.

his sky blue eyes go wide when he sees you walk through the door.

“toru… is there something wrong?” your voice is careful.

the white haired man in front of you nervously laughs as he covers his bare chest, “geez, ask me out to dinner first.”

“gojo satoru.”

your husband winces at his full name being used, but he puts on another mask. a faux smile plays on his lips as he shrugs. “i don’t know what you mean, gojo.”

your heart drops at his insistence to shut you out, but you stand your ground. with sheer determination, you walk up to your husband, closing the gap between the two of you. you cup his cheek with a hand while you start to lean closer, your lips nearly brushing.

satoru shuts his eyes, inhaling a deep breath to regain composure. he even sucks in his lips, making him look utterly ridiculous. despite the dangerous allure of your proximity, he resolves to stand firm.

"you won’t even kiss me anymore! satoru, this is absurd. what's happening?" you distance yourself, seeking answers.

despite his towering stature, a snort escapes you as satoru resembles a mere child when mumbling something under his breath.

"come on, use your big boy words."

"i don't want to drive you away," he avoids making eye contact now that his blindfold is off. "i know i can be a bit overwhelming at times."

upon hearing his excuse, you snort loudly, “seriously?”

“seriously.”

“i can’t believe i married such an idiot.” you huff, wrapping your arms around his neck.

satoru pouts, “you’re breaking my heart wifey.”

your lips softly kiss the corner of his mouth. like it was muscle memory, satoru’s lips chase yours even after you pull away. you smile.

“for such a genius, you really are stupid ‘toru.” you flick his forehead. he whines and you know it didn’t hurt, yet you entertain him by leaning up to kiss his injury. “believe it or not, i married you for reasons beyond your pretty face and body.”

“you think i’m pretty?” his eyes shine bright as they lovingly gaze into yours. you take one hand to cup his cheek. he nuzzles his face into it.

“of course you’d say that.” you laugh softly. “but honestly, i’m offended that you thought i would ever be annoyed by your affections. might i remind you that we have been madly in love since our youth? i found myself captivated by your ability to love effortlessly, and the way you hopelessly pined for me for years? i knew i was a goner. that… and your bank accoun–”

satoru kisses you with an intensity that leaves you feeling blissfully lightheaded. lost in the haze of the moment, he showers the rest of your face with tender, wet kisses, and you stand there, surrendering to the sweet assault.

upon withdrawing, satoru wears a broad grin. "i was an idiot today, wasn't i?" you nod, breathless. "how about i make it up to you tonight?" he proposes, drawing you close. you are all too familiar with that feral grin adorning his face.

#kt.writes.·:*¨༺#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo fluff #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader

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taradactyls · 1 day ago

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Ahhhhhh I'm sorry I'm going to argue with you on a few points. Not what you find personally makes the romance more satisfying, since that's entirely individual, but unfortunately just about everything else.

I've read through a few of the moral/instructional texts of the day and you might actually be surprised at the breadth of opinions in them! Some (including the one Queen Charlotte praises, ironically) actually do advise young women to only marry for affection, and don't marry a guy much older than you or only for money. I don't think it's correct say marrying for love would be at all an unrealistic sentiment for a Georgian/regency gentlewoman to hold, even if not everyone felt the same and even those who aspired for a love match might choose to go without it when the time came. The expectation was still that the object of their love had to be of suitable class and wealth, naturally, but affection and practicality were meant to be united rather than mutually exclusive opposing forces. (See also Elizabeth joking to Colonel Fitzwilliam that younger sons tend to like where there's fortune - a tongue in cheek acknowledgment that practicality plays a part, but it falls short of condemning that behaviour entirely or taking affection out of the equation).

So, I think there's a very wide middle ground between considering someone a hopeless romantic and being willing to marry without affection, and I'm going to argue that Elizabeth (and Jane Austen herself) occupies that space.

I'd say there was a lot of nuance as to where the mercenary/practical/idealistic borders were when it came to opinions of marriage at the time - which could also arguably be read into when it comes to the women of Pride and Prejudice. Charlotte is all about her situation after marrying and very little about who she's marrying beyond feeling he's a safe choice, Lydia and Kitty are the dangerous opposite, Jane and Elizabeth somewhere in the happy middle. I imagine that's quite a good snapshot of what Jane Austen saw around her, and talk about love whilst also needing something to live on happens often in her books (I adore Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner's discussion of it in regards to Wickham, and Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion in particular both have this as a reoccurring theme). Marrying (as opposed to becoming engaged) for love without considering practicality is universally depicted by Austen as foolish and the 'love' of such couples is often shown to be only the affects of rash attraction rather than abiding respect and affection, whereas Charlotte's practical and unemotional acceptance of Mr Collins is both sympathetic and condemned by saying she 'sacrificed every better feeling to worldly advantage,' so we can see very clearly that Jane Austen was not a proponent of love over everything else, but nor do her novels promote ignoring love either when discussed as a hypothetical or when it comes to evaluating suitors. The conclusion that every protagonist comes to when they talk about this or choose their partners is that both are important. Mutual love and respect and maintaining a suitable status are both necessary for a happy union. Even the paragraphs explaining Marianne marrying Colonel Brandon, which talks of her friendship and happiness first, says that she can't love by halves and fell very much in love with him. That's the closest Jane Austen's protagonists get to entering into matrimony on the strength of friendship, respect, and happiness without love, and I'd argue that the immediate inclusion afterwards that she did fall entirely in love with him shows just how crucial Jane Austen viewed love for any relationship to be truly good.

The gentry, and growing middle class (that the Gardiners belong to), were actually in a very unique position at this time when it came to choosing spouses. Rich enough that they needed to keep money and connections in mind if they wanted to maintain their lifestyle and status, but not important enough to marry as often for political or financial alliances as the nobility did (though secret love marriages had become SO common amongst the nobility in the century before that laws were changed to restrict the definition of marriage itself - so even they often didn't marry for pragmatic reasons as Jane Austen would've been well aware). They were also largely absent of the pressure of very poor girls who might need a husband to literally survive. Proposals were beginning to be commonly made by the man directly to the lady, who had the power of refusal, rather than being decided in talks between men behind closed doors. So, for arguably the first time in English history, there was a wealthy class of people who were regularly marrying for affection.

A huge part of that was because fathers were able to leave their daughters enough that the passive income would keep them from destitution even without a husband bringing in an active income. Mr Bennet certainly failed at providing enough for his daughters for their station, but it's important to note that his widow and daughters would never have risked starvation or living on the streets even if they hadn't had the Philips and Gardiners available to help support them - they would've been at least twice as rich as Mrs and Miss Bates in Emma and half as well off as the Dashwood women in Sense and Sensibility. Genteel poverty was completely incomparable to the very real and horrific poverty of the era, and as the Bennets did have the Gardiners and Philips to help care for them their status would have suffered but they still would have been able to socialise with much the same people and be considered gentlewomen even if they couldn't attend as many balls or dinners. It wouldn't have been fun to drop down quite significantly in society, and the fact that it did not seem likely to happen while they were young probably altered their assessment of the danger, but they certainly would have survived in relative comfort for their time, though not their class at birth, without a husband. The Bennets, even with their fiscal mismanagement, were of that class which could afford to think about the man and not just the marriage. So, whilst I agree that Elizabeth would never have been sitting around as an old maid waiting for a love that would never come, that's not because she would've married without love but rather because her life would have still been fulfilling in many ways regardless. Her life did not revolve around finding a husband because she truly didn't need one (and Austen is critical of every single character whose life does revolve around finding a husband) and one doesn't have to be a hopeless romantic to find the idea of marrying without love unappealing. She had options other that marrying for purely prudent reasons or sit around daydreaming, as there's a huge amount of middle ground in there. A middle ground and options that Jane Austen herself would have been highly aware of as she was unwed in her mid-thirties as she gave Pride and Prejudice that final review before publication. She could've emphasised the importance of being married, shown Elizabeth struggle more with her future, or praised Charlotte rather than the mix of sympathy and condemnation which characterises how she speaks of her marriage, but she didn't. I think that shows that even as an old maid herself she felt marriage was only worth it if there was mutual affection and respect and I don't think this was an unusual stance.

The term 'helpmeet' was very popular in this period for what wives should be in a marriage, and was a promotion of (allowing for the strong sexism of the era) a sort of equality and mutual companionship being at the core of a marriage. Jane Austen was certainly writing when this expectation was established, and every single admirable couple in her books are very in love. Nor were her books condemned for being unrealistic or for giving young ladies fancies (in the way that gothic novels were accused of doing) so her promotion of marrying for love and respect definitely wasn't counter-cultural. It might still have been considered not perfectly realistic, but there's little indication it was widely considered a harmful or impossible daydream, which must indicate some level of public acceptance to the idea even beyond what the moralists or romantic poets (and Jane Austen was writing in the middle of the romantic era and enjoyed their works) promoted when it came to love and matrimony.

And though Charlotte is portrayed very sympathetically despite not marrying for love, so is the idea that it's not good to marry without love. Darcy's belief in Jane's indifference (and thus a crucial justification for separating her and Bingley) is after all treated so understandably by the novel that Elizabeth forgives his interference and comes to love him before he 'fixes' that problem. Darcy wanting to protect his friend from marrying without mutual love - even though Darcy acknowledges that Jane herself is good and enjoys Bingley's company and attentions as a friend and does not seem mercenary or negative on her own merits - is upheld as understandable despite his conclusions and motivations being tainted. Elizabeth felt love was important enough in a marriage that such a huge mistake - which broke Jane's heart and left her miserable for months - was eventually forgivable when the motivation had been preventing a union where only one party was in love.

Elizabeth herself I will fully agree is way more concerned with respect and being well suited for each other than love itself, she's observed her parents, after all, but I still think it falls far short of her assuming that she'll not only marry but that she'll do so for practical reasons. Her refusal of Mr Collins does not once mention she isn't in love, and only that they wouldn't make each other happy, but again, that's prioritising the personal sentiments of the people involved rather than anything else. It has far more in common with marrying for love than marrying for practicality and does solidify that personal feelings were held to be important when choosing a spouse even when it's a very eligible marriage in every other way. And though Elizabeth doesn't mention love, neither are Mr Collins or Mrs Bennet's professions that she might be single forever or reliant on relatives at all shown as sympathetic reasons for marrying when the spouse is Mr Collins, or persuasive to Elizabeth on an individual level. Personal happiness is upheld as Elizabeth's only reason that she would marry, rather than any expectation that she should or would need to in order to maintain her position in society. She doesn't once assume that she will or needs to marry at all or have a husband supporting her to be happy, which we can argue is her naivety, but certainly isn't condemned by the text nor supportive of the idea that she would marry without love if she respected her partner and felt they could be friends.

Jane Austen's works show again and again that love alone is not enough, but at no point do they get rid of love altogether or even treat it as exceptional, it's just a normal part of the equation. Even Elizabeth, when talking with her aunt at Christmas, isn't sure it would be wise to resist her feelings for Wickham should she fall in love with him though she's happy enough to do her best to avoid falling in love with him for practical reasons. The implication is that if she fell in love she's not sure adhering to the strictly practical course would necessarily be wise, an idea that gets explored in great depth with the short lived engagement between Wentworth and Anne in Persuasion. The struggle between love and practicality is always depicted as deeply complicated, but I don't think (especially when we consider what I mentioned above about Elizabeth's ultimate feelings towards Darcy's involvement with Bingley and Jane) there's ever anything to suggest that Elizabeth would choose practicality without love. Rather than saying Elizabeth expected to marry for love or Elizabeth expected to marry for pragmatic reasons, I think it's most accurate to say Elizabeth didn't expect to marry at all. It was a possibility she was never against, and the security and affection of someone who suits her definitely seems appealing to her given her reaction to herself and others falling in love, but it wasn't an expectation she was taking for granted.

I also think it's important to note that women didn't gain significant legal rights upon marrying as opposed to being single under the care of their father or brother. In some ways they lost them as they became an extension of their husband and in many ways legally ceased to exist as an individual - widows were the women who enjoyed most recognition and rights in the eyes of the law. Wives could not hold property (in the cases of wealthy women, trusts were normally drawn up in the marriage contracts, they did not hold it directly), the children were the property of the husband, your husband could beat you (their were laws for 'excessive' beatings but you can imagine how rare convictions were), consenting to marry was considered sufficient as consenting to sex at the whim of your husband and marital rape would not exist for almost two centuries, you had to live where your husband said, he could prevent your family from seeing you, trap you on his estate, etc. Wives had social status and generally greater comforts and control over their households than their single counterparts but not so many benefits legally. Until women were widows, or wealthy orphans (such as what Emma Woodhouse might have been, or even what we see of Caroline Bingley - though Caroline's money may be controlled by her brother and she only has the legal right to the interest, and if Mr Bingley chose to withhold it she would have to sue), they had very, very little freedom beyond what their husbands or fathers allowed. And poor widows (such as Mrs Clay or Mrs Smith in Persuasion) show that achieving legal personhood at last doesn't necessarily guarantee you any freedom from poverty or dependence. Legally speaking, it was just very hard for women to end up as a Lady Catherine, Lady Russel, Mrs Ferrars, or Mrs Jennings even if they did marry. Women were just pretty screwed over by the laws of the time no matter what they did - only money in their own possession changed that.

Nor was marriage, whilst very important for a woman to maintain importance in society, at all a guaranteed outcome during the regency. I don't think we really can say that women 'expected' to find a husband to provide for them. Wanted to - hoped to - yes, I think most probably did; but expected? At least not as much as earlier or later generations. Jane Austen herself, as well as her books and those of other writers later such as Elizabeth Gaskell, show it wasn't rare for middle aged women to have never been married just as they show the struggles that came with that. Decades of war with France meant there were significantly more gentlewomen then there were gentlemen, and so the chances of a woman marrying suitably, let alone someone as rich as her own father (which had always been low, due to how rich men could have many daughters but generally only one son would inherit the bulk of the inheritance leading to a vast disparity in the amount of marriageable ladies compared to marriageable heirs of equivalent rank) was growing increasingly slim. Young women would have been growing accustomed to the idea that they might never marry and old maids are hardly a topic young ladies seemed to avoid judging by how casually it's mentioned in literature. Which, for some, could very easily make them more desperate to grasp onto any good offer of marriage despite the drawbacks, but for others could instead help remove the social stigma and inure them to the idea of being single forever and so perhaps remove the fear that came with that idea and make their standards for matrimony higher.

The dangers of being married to a 'bad' man were also more easily observable to gentlewomen in the Georgian era as they hadn't been before, as the printing press had made newspapers increasingly common and one of the most popular topics was the scandals of the upper class: who was having affairs, abandoning their spouses, going into debt, being cruel and violent, etc. The Crown Prince himself was often condemned as a husband, and Jane Austen certainly agreed with that sentiment and disliked how he treated his wife. Jane Austen and the society she lived in were very aware that wealthy men are not necessarily good men and thus would be bad husbands and so, again, marrying for practical reasons was shown to have its pitfalls and the idea of actually having affection and respect for the man you marry was gaining a new appeal it hadn't previously held.

Modern adaptions definitely add the need for love in a modern way, but the same modern sensibilities that encourage that also encourage us to view marriages or this era as less romantically driven than contemporary sources depict. Our ideas of love and romance are subtly different with different concerns in play, and women did have less freedom to make the choices they might wish, but too often our modern perceptions of that lead us to assumptions which aren't entirely true. Elizabeth isn't a hopeless romantic by any means and understands the importance of respect and practical concerns in a marriage, but that doesn't mean she doesn't value her emotional happiness above fiscal and societal comforts when considering matrimony, and adjacent evidence from her conversations with others and forgiveness of Darcy in regards to Jane/Bingley certainly indicate that she placed a high importance of love in a marriage. She did not seem to think it was necessary for everyone to aspire to, but that she valued it I consider inarguable. I also believe that this is the standard stance Jane Austen took when it came to marriages: love, respect, and practicality must be united in order for the relationship to be truly healthy and happy. The moral educationalists and poets of her society also championed love, and Austen wouldn't have been alone amongst the growing gentry and middle class which actually had the freedom to act on that without needing to be so concerned over alliances as the nobility nor poverty as the lower classes. And, in a society where so many young men were off at war or dead from war, marrying itself wasn't as sure a prospect as it had been historically and so suddenly young ladies were faced with the idea that they might never marry even if they were willing to throw away every 'better feeling' and so had the opportunity to really consider what they would be willing to sacrifice in order to avert a future that might be inevitable anyway.

And, all in all, I don't think it's at all unlikely to think a regency lady of twenty would determine to marry for love, nor do I think contemporary society would find her foolish for doing so. It's certainly not what every young lady of the era did, but I think textual and contemporary evidence point to it as far more likely than the extremes of assuming your only future is to marry without affection or being a hopeless romantic sitting about mooning for love. It's the middle ground which we can find not only Elizabeth Bennet in, but I believe the majority of real contemporary women of her class. Love in a marriage was praised in their society and important to Jane Austen, it just wasn't everything.

Adaptations of novels by their very nature are always going to differ from the source material but I find it interesting precisely how they do.

For instance, I find it curious that both the 1995 and 2005 adaptations of Pride and Prejudice feature scenes where Elizabeth declares she will only marry for love, because not only is such a quote nowhere to be found in the novel, I also find such a sentiment unrealistic for a Regency lady.

As stated in Chapter 22,

'[Marriage] was the only provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want.'

All women knew they would be expected to find a husband to provide for them, given that they weren't... you know... classed as people in their own right by law. Especially the Bennets, who lack substantial dowries and know as soon as Mr Bennet dies, any unmarried sisters will be entirely dependent on their male relatives, which isn't a secure position.

Of course, it wouldn't be unheard of for a woman to wish for a husband she could respect and who respected her in turn. But she's not an idiot! I think Elizabeth is astute enough to realise that a love match would be a bonus rather than an expectation for her marriage. She doesn't quite sink to the depths of pessimism of Charlotte in asking only for a comfortable home, and I think Elizabeth would still expect a partner to respect her (hence why she refuses Mr Collins and Mr Darcy at his first time of asking) but I don't see her as a hopeless romantic. Not Elizabeth, who voiced her increasing dissatisfaction with the world and the people who inhabit it.

I wonder if these adaptations included such a line because they find the idea that in Mr Darcy, Elizabeth found the true love that she was never expecting to find to be the most romantic idea of all. Personally, I think that not expecting to marry for true love but finding it anyway, especially in the man she least expected, is far more romantic.

These scenes have long frustrated me because I think they fundamentally underestimate the pragmatism of women at the time and make Elizabeth and Mr Darcy's union a little less satisfying! She loved him in the end, yes, but even if they failed to overcome their respective shortcomings and somehow failed to end up together, I hardly think that Elizabeth would have turned into an old maid, sitting at Longbourn and desperately waiting for a true love that would never come...

#sorry i hate to sound like I'm just saying 'no' to everything but i had to argue this #<3 #i'll reread this tomorrow and shiver at my grammatical errors and who knows what else but oh well #the core message i'll definitely stand by #pride and prejudice #jane austen #elizabeth bennet #history #discourse #austen opinions

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paniniani · 14 days ago

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I think Bakugou would be a Pilates girlie in secret and if anyone walks in he’ll roll over and do push ups

BAKUGOU PILATES PRINCESS (drabble)

been waiting to write this silly little drabble for a little while! bakugo x reader, sfw (wowww everybody cheer), misinterpretation of cheating

"gently roll forward, and exhale to come back up. focus on engaging your core.." what the fuck? keys still jingling in the door, you stepped into your apartment that you shared with your boyfriend. why the hell did it sound like a.. woman was in here? alone with him?

"thats it.. right there" you saw red as you came to the conclusion that your LONG TERM BOYFRIEND KATSUKI BAKUGOU was with some other bitch. trying to step quietly and not angrily, you stood at the closed door to your shared room. in your own room? unable to hold back any longer, you threw open the door to see-

"inhale slowly for a count of four-" Katsuki, horror filling his eyes as he looked up at you from his pilates pose on the floor, one leg raised as he lay on his back. before you could even speak, he moved in a flash, twisting onto his stomach into a plank position. before your eyes, he started doing franzied pushups until he was interrupted by his laptop once more.

"now slowly exhale as you bring your leg back down". throwing his computer halfway across the room in a frenzy, the instructor from his Youtuber was suddenly cut off, quickly replaced with his own shouting as he sat with his head in his hands.

"WHATTHEFUCKWHYAREYOUHOMESOEARLYSTUPIDWOMAN" he yelled, immediately flushing red from his cheeks down to his shoulders. his screams did nothing to distract from the scene that had just unfolded in front of you, and you tried to hide a giggle as you carefully replied.

"are you... doing pilates?" his hands sparked as he replied, you could practically see steam coming out of his ears.

"SO WHAT THE FUCK IF I AM! IM ALL SORE AND SHIT FROM FIGHTING STUPID DEKU ALL THE DAMN TI-"

you cut him off with a quick peck on the lips, laughing at how much his face resembled a tomato. "kats.. you think i give a fuck? you don't gotta justify it or anything... and here i was thinking you were with some other woman behind my back" your mouth turned down at the end of your sentence, remembering how your jealousy took over.

"what the fuck would i need some other extra for? got all i need here."

"and here, apparently" you pointed at his laptop to the instructor, who had now moved onto a resistance band. bakugou had recovered from his embarrassment enough to roll his eyes at your comment.

"nahh. ya scared me real bad though, heard a good cure for a fuckin heart attack is makin out with your hot pilates boyfriend or whatever though." pulling you onto his lap, he met your eyes with a devilish grin as his hands traced your hips.

"now exhale slowly for a count of four-"

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE”

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kalims · 1 year ago

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kiss your best friend | diasomnia

kiss your best friend and see how they react!

parts. one , two , three , four , five , six , seven

characters. malleus, lilia, sebek, silver

content. gender neutral reader as usual, mentions of murder by lilia's cooking, someone faints lol

note. finally last part after ten years /j

malleus

goes absolutely silent but his surprise is definitely there -> eyes widen, brows raise on a miniscule scale. you'd think the guy would be all lowkey about his joy but five seconds later and there are comical sparkles surrounding his face.

I mean. you had to formally confirm that you two were friends before, and you had off-handedly linked his name and best friend in the same sentence a few months later (he was bursting for like a week.) and now all that?

thrown away, nu-uh. you two are NOT friends no more, he doesn’t have a single care in the world. he's throwing the friends label off a cliff with his foot and skipping off with joy cause you just got upgraded to the next ruler of briar valley wink wonk.

or perhaps you'd like being referred to as his consort? he can always make the people refer to you as both.

if you're wondering why he's so silent all of a sudden; malleus: already thinking of how he'd decorate the castle when you move in with him. maybe... he can break down the wall to link your two bedrooms together—wait no he'd very much like to share the same room instead..

"child of man, do you prefer violet or green?"

"uh... green...?"

"excellent choice, you have my gratitude."

the thing you should be asking is 'why' because it's either the main color theme of your wedding or the gem he'd engrave on your ring (he's very happy it's green though, since it'd be a constant reminder of him.. oh he knows! he should get his a color of your eyes too—)

someone stop him.

lilia

spiderman kisses spiderman kisses spiderman kisses spiderman kisses

more knowledgeable than malleus about the level up of relationships so he doesn't jump from best friends to newlyweds immediately. actually he doesn't even need a label, if you're going around kissing him he's just gonna act like you two are a married couple without a confirmation on your status'

"darling, could you hand me the sugar?"

"lilia, I hope you know that you're supposed to use salt for the sauce not sugar." <- *passes the right bottle*

ignoring lilia's attempts on lives he acts pretty normal.

ahem, besides the fact that your first kiss on him has made him come to the conclusion that he can now incorporate kisses in your daily routine since you've already done it, so apparently that means he can too.

kiss him once, he kisses you thrice I guess. it's either the occasional jumpscare from the ceiling since he felt like reminding you of his love through a pack or the times you blink and feel a sensation against your lips without seeing anything cause his affection can be silent as it is loud you suppose.

pov student you were speaking to who definitely saw that but you didn't midst your blink: 😨—

"lilia are we dating."

"i suppose it would make us more official like you humans like, so of course~"

he just accepts it without any complaints, just announce you're spouses and he'll accept that too probably.

#chill

silver

if we have spiderman kisses surely we can have the sleeping beauty kiss?

sleeping beauty kisses sleeping beauty kisses sleeping beauty kisses sleeping beauty kisses

I reckon he would be a pretty light sleeper though the quantity of his sleep is more often than not so even though he accidentally passes out a lot he's really easy to wake. trained to be vigilant and all, courtesy of his murderous father (well, murderous through food?)

he knows the weight of certain things. a blanket draped over him, the feeling of something squirming on his shoulder—a squirrel, most likely. something on his head, a bird or some other critter. but this?

a light press on his lips, gone as quickly as it came. that, he isn't sure of. the animals don't tend to linger around his face so the unknown origin of it has curiosity opening his eyes.

and boy, he is trying to find every reason to not believe that you didn't peck him.

perhaps they touched it? he furrows his brows lightly, attempting hard at trying to avoid your gaze because he feels guilty at his first assumption, you're his best friend! you wouldn't do such a thing..

"did you touch my lips?"

"nah, is it fine that I kissed you?"

"..."

*passes out*

is he dreaming?

sebek

in what scenario will sebek even let you near him? hmmm.. I suppose being 'best friends' (he calls you self proclaimed, and that you guys aren't that close but still rages over someone and hits them with an essay why you're so much better than their insults) makes you more tolerable around to be closer.

totally not the fact that he might have a crush on you, which can't be right cause he can't be capable of having feelings for a *gasp* human!

scandalous. he knows.

raises a brow when you do anything but be discrete with your intentions of shuffling closer but he doesn't really double back, okay. he's getting a little concerned now when you continue getting closer, he takes a step back not because you're near or anything but this behavior is... just strange.

you're in his face already and before he can question (loudly) what in the seven's name you're doing before you just casually peck him on the lips?

WHAT IN TARNATION!

stiffens up immediately, his face looks like it's holding in a yell. maybe that's why it's getting so red? he's just standing there with shoulders so tense he looks like he's trying to seem big.

"..." WHAT JUST HAPPENED. DID THIS HUMAN JUST.. NO, WE ARE MERELY BEST FRIENDS—are we even friends.. NO! THIS IS THE MOST INAPPROPRIATE ACT TO COMMIT. THIS HUMAN NEEDS TO KNOW BOUNDARIES. I mean he enjoyed that and all—I mean what..

"why are you so quiet."

if only you knew.

#ㅤ◜◡◝ . . signed !#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst fluff #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia x reader #silver x reader #twst silver x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek x reader #x gn reader

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edenspoem · 1 month ago

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ermmm jackson!ellie fluff (that slows into suggestive themes) (not planned) trigger warning: Pregnancy. loser!faggot!GAYGAY!ellie. conclusion ellie loves milfs. center img from joelbebi.

sorry not sorry thinking about jackson!ellie x pregnant!reader (ripcord promo what about it?): who insists on throwing a baby shower for you, come rain or come impenetrable shine. now—ellie has no soft spot for parties; once, the town held a get-together for her seventeenth and invited joel, whom at the time she would entertain not a single word with, so, that speaks for itself. but something cracks her poor, forbidden and encrusted heart seeing you, sullen, fearful, and prepared to bring a little one into jackson without a smile about it. her freed heart gives itself a firm squeeze imagining all the impossible things she could give to your child—or the love of her life. but do you know that?

the whole hating-parties ordeal still strums its chord within ellie; she doesn't suck up to vanity and hosts it in joel's living room, (don't worry—they've made with good terms at this point!) all plain poppies, carnations and yellowed wallpaper (because the red means she loves you) but quite a humbling of invitations: her immediate friends and a few regulars on patrol, but nothing serious. and it especially makes sense when ellie chooses to give you your presents (or theirs) in private, the subtle rapture of conversation subdued a floor down. “here.” her freckled hands held out a box, with suspiciously good brown-paper wrapping you speculate to be joel's handiwork, unable to withhold the smile when she does. she follows along it with a continuation, “found it a long time ago—but, i guess you'll need it more than anyone else, now.” she pats her own thigh anticipatingly once its in your curious grasps, bouncing the same leg.

you sighed, soft as heaven. “you're too sweet.” and she is, going out of her capacities to accomodate your needs. the promise after that proves it. “um, you can also.. borrow or use whatever the fuck you need from my place—or joel's, cause he suggested that i.. uh, keep a warm bed ready. i think that's what he said, not sure what he meant by it though,” she all but sailed smooth, stuttering herself into confusion, and a laugh. it mattered no more, though, than the sweet, quick, quirk of her lips post-sentence, and her awkward (but cute) picking-at-a-random-spot-on-her-jeans is saliently interrupted—with a kiss. “it means you'd be sleeping on the floor.” you inched closer, catching her off-guard when she perked up at the silent shifting of the bed. “but i don't mind sharing.” moreso, when she forgets to close her eyes the second your lips clasp her upper one, surprised—but not at all complaining. she accepts it with an overwhelming kiss to reciprocate (the one she's been dreaming of, with a hungry pout and loving hand reaching up), and possibly a few marking over the round of your belly as she does what a Milf-loving-girl would do. The End <3

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lucky-slice · 2 months ago

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Okay okay but that scene with Kevin and Jean in the kitchen really got me.

The "I can still hear him. Can't you?" and "best not to think at all" And then also the whole just casual use of alcohol as preemptive coping mechanism.

Like we see Kevin's breakdowns through Neil's eyes, his fear, his famous declaration after getting his tattoo covered in a drunken stupor. But from Neil's perspective, it's almost distant - if that makes sense? What we glean from Neil is only what can be physically observed and Kevin is reluctant to discuss anything that is not immediately necessary for Neil's safety or the success of the team.

But with Jean it feels so intimate and very humanizing. Jean has sunk so much of his trust and his life into Kevin, and to see Kevin fail to live up to those expectations is jarring through Jean's pov.

Even with all the panic and the drinking etc, Kevin is still idealized in Neil's perspective. He is Kevin Day, he is the queen of the court, Riko's number two. He may be a mess the minute he gets off court, but that hardly matter in the face who he is on court.

But for Jean, Kevin is just Kevin and everything else comes after. He is supposed to be "stronger than Jean" not because he is the number two or the son of exy or whatever, but because he is Kevin as Jean has known him since he was 14. He is Kevin who withstood Riko's abuse long before Jean got there and long after. Kevin who allowed a little sliver of softness to sneak through by asking jean to teach him his first language. Kevin who seems to slip into casual physical intimacy with Jean like it's nothing, grabbing coffee mugs and allowing Jean's knuckles to press against his palms. It is not the perception of Kevin as an exy player who is failing but it is Kevin himself, a very human self, that is failing.

I've always kinda felt as someone who adores Kevin, we never really got a conclusion to Kevin's whole arc. Like yes, he played against Riko and yes, he covered up his tattoo, but it's so clear that Kevin is still not entirely coping. There are so many loose ends left with his character at the end of the first trilogy.

We get to see Neil fumbling his way to a semblance of self-acceptance and hopefully we get to witness Jean slowly healing, but I don't think we're gonna get that with Kevin in a way that I personally would find satisfactory. Such is the plight of being a non-pov character I suppose. That is to say that I need all the crumbs I can get.

#the golden raven #the golden raven spoilers #tgr spoilers #tgr #gnat be quiet

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yuanist · 6 months ago

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kuroo texts you at 3:52 am, almost three months after you broke up.

admittedly, you probably should've silenced notifications from him by now, but when you roll over—eyes barely open, a little headache from the light—you know you're much, much too late.

a text, from your ex-boyfriend, the big, blue bubble stretched across your phone.

i just moaned your name during sex.

you blink at the screen.

you what?

moaned your name, he sends. totally ruined the moment.

you look up, and then down, and then up one more time to make sure what you’re looking it is real and not some strange, midnight hallucination before typing again.

you’re fucking with me, right?

dead serious, he replies. worst moment of my life.

you can hear his voice in the text, and if you weren’t so caught up in thinking about the poor girl who probably just had the worst sexual experience of her life, you would laugh.

you need to find a hobby or something, tetsurou. you send. and preferably one that doesn't involve tinder.

i have hobbies!

non-sexual ones?

he types for a while before a short, little totally! pops up on his side of the conversation.

and you hate that this is the part of him that’s most intriguing. the unintentional charm, too weird for his own good part that keeps you texting him at four in the morning.

yeah, you send, quicker than you intended. totally.

and suddenly, you're really considering something you shouldn't. before tonight, you hadn't heard from in a while—at least not enough to be thinking about him. you'd resigned yourself to your little, single life and you figured boyfriends might be more harm than they're worth (at least for a while, anyway), but now you have a new little do you wanna come over? typed out into your messaging app, finger hovering over the send button.

you take a minute, trying to rationalize.

the responsible part of you thinks it's way too late to be asking for anything good. you have class in the morning, and you're all tucked into bed, and bringing him here would really stir up some old feelings you weren't looking to bring back right now.

the other part of you—the more fun of the two, you'll admit—knows that you're thinking about him and he's... definitely thinking of you, so what's the harm in indulging a little bit? maybe nothing would happen anyway and you'd just end up staring at each other for a while, but sitting in your bed alone, staring doesn't sound like the worst thing in the world.

you send the text.

there's radio silence for a moment, and you think you might have just fucked the whole we can be exes and friends! thing up, but after a moment or two, he replies.

really?

and you sigh, don't make me change my mind.

he sends an immediate be there in 10, and you flop yourself back into the pillows.

now, okay, you'd be lying if you said you haven't been in this situation before. you and kuroo have always had a strange habit of—gravitating towards each other, to put it politely. it doesn't matter how many times you guys swear each other off, there's always going to be a party, or a text, or a run-in at the grocery store that brings you together (in more ways than one).

the whole i just moaned your name thing, though, that one's new.

your eyes flicker up to the ceiling, then down to your feet, and then, finally, your phone—the reality of this whole thing sinking in a little.

are you supposed to—shave your legs for this? put on your good pajamas: the ones that ride up a little when you bend over? is that where this is going? you're pretty sure it is, but every time this has happened before, it's been a little more spontaneous than this. right now, you have time to prepare and time to think, which you're now realizing is something you really did not want.

you sit there for a minute, coming to the conclusion that this is kuroo. you dated for two years, and you shared a bed at night for more of that time than you'd care to admit, so what does it matter how prepared you are?

you hear a key turn in the front door (the one from under the mat; you took away his actual key you think) and, all of a sudden, you're kind of nervous.

you haven't felt this way in a while, especially when it comes to him. you think you might hate it.

nevertheless, your feet hit the floor and you let yourself pad your way into the entryway, just in time to see someone sliding his shoes into the gap between the doorway and the wall.

you flick the light on, and he jumps a little.

a beat of silence, and then, "hi."

that's all you can come up with right now, truly, and you blame half of it on the time and the other half on the fact that kuroo looks like that.

he's always been pretty, no doubt about that, but right now he looks a little beat up in a way that you have to admit you're kind of into.

his hair's messed up: half of it shifted more left than right, with a little curl to it that he doesn't normally have. his cheeks are red, and he's a sort of out of breath and—did he run here?

"hi," he says, smiling, heaving out a breath.

(oh, he totally did. maybe you're a little more alluring than you thought).

you chuckle out one more, final hi, before he steps towards you.

he smells good—not that that's something you focus on, obviously—but he's still wearing that cologne you bought him last christmas and there's a little tinge of sweat to him that suits him so much better than you'd think.

he has a t-shirt on—one you got from a concert a couple years ago; you can't remember exactly when anymore, but it's clear that the thing has gotten its wear. the hole in the left shoulder is glaring at you from here and you kind of want to poke it.

"i have your key, by the way," he says then, dangling the little thing between his fingers. "did you ask for it back?"

oops.

"i—meant to." you snatch it from him, tossing it onto one of the side tables. "definitely meant to."

his hand lingers there for a second, a big, toothy smile spread across his face. "oh, sure you did."

and you eye him, a short what's that supposed to mean? rolling out of your lips.

he shakes his head, moving closer again—so much so that you can feel the cast of his breath along your cheeks.

"you still like me," he says, and you swear you can see his vocal cords bob in his throat.

"pardon?"

"you think i'm fun—and endearing, and still worthy of a house key."

"i think you're nuts." you say, fluttering your lashes a little. "and really not in the position to be making these accusations."

"you really think so?" he leans in one more time, close enough that his lips brush that arch between your jaw and your neck. "go ahead—tell me all about how crazy i am."

you feel something inside you quiver.

this right here, this is the whole game between the two of you. some sick little cat-and-mouse thing that always leads to something that you regret in the morning and—inevitably—repeat next week.

truthfully, though, you're getting kind of sick of fighting it.

"god, i can't stand you." you back away, edging towards the hallway that leads to your room. "are you coming with me or what?"

and he grins, because of course he is.

reblogs are appreciated! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

#hq x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x you #haikyuu #hq!!#if u recognize this one no you don't #hiiii

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fangswbenefits · 1 year ago

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Fever

Summary: You're running a fever and Astarion offers to cool you down… only to make things a whole lot worse.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Dry humping. Vampire bite and blood sucking. Precum and cum. Skin to skin contact with the purpose of thermoregulation that ends up getting out of hand. Inappropriate use of tadpole. Banter.

Word count: 3k

A mind-numbing chilling shiver tore throughout your entire body, causing your muscles to contract involuntarily in a desperate attempt to keep yourself warm.

The bonfire crackled vigorously, emanating a welcome wave of heat, as you embraced the blanket around you, keeping both knees tightly close to your chest.

"You can't possibly be cold."

Astarion.

Great.

You lowered your quivering chin to rest on your forearm, definitely not in the mood - or mental capacity - to voice out a proper reply.

"It's blazing hot tonight," he continued, entering your narrowed field of vision. "Hello? I'm talking to you."

Nodding, you hugged yourself tighter.

He scoffed. "What is the matter with you? Oh, do not tell me you're turning into a mindflayer… what a nuisance."

Astarion and his eternal aptitude for inconvenient remarks.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what was to come. "I think I'm running a fever."

Astarion lowered himself to eye-level with you, his body close enough for you to make out the swirling flames of the bonfire dancing in his crimson eyes.

"So what? Drink a healing potion."

You inwardly cussed, pressing your forehead firmly against your arm with an exasperated sigh, effectively hiding from his burning gaze.

Clearly, your silence paired with the deflecting physical reaction was enough for him to draw a conclusion.

"You don't have any."

Silence.

"What have you done with our potions?" His voice immediately shifted into an accusatory hiss.

Another shiver.

This time, you mustered the strength to look him in the eye. "Some passers-by were injured by thieves and asked for help… so… I…" your voice faltered as you struggled to keep your thoughts straight.

He was already pinching the bridge of his nose, his face twisting into a deep scowl. "So you gave them all of our potions?!"

You shrugged with a faint smile and Astarion went ballistic.

"Why must you carry this deathwish around? And why must you drag me along with you?" He growled dramatically. "Why didn’t you just ignore them? Or – I don't know – not give them anything?"

You matched his frown. "They were severely injured. They would have perished from their wounds."

He threw both arms up in exasperation as he raised to his feet at once.

"Well, better them than me – or you, for that matter," he added, both hands on his hips. "You're far too precious to be killed, darling."

How could you forget?

And he was right… to an extent.

You chose silence.

It was a very effective way to handle Astarion whenever he went on a rambling spree.

"When is Shadowheart returning with Gale?"

"Soon. I hope."

He groaned in response. "You're actually fortunate I'm so resourceful."

Your head turned to him and you watched as he strolled away, disappearing into his tent.

A jab of realisation hit you all of a sudden, as you vaguely recalled rummaging through his belongings earlier on when he left to hunt an animal to feed on.

Fuck.

You winced.

"Where are my healing potions?"

Your eyes dropped close and your teeth clattered.

Angry footsteps drew near at lightning speed. "You stole from me?!"

You shrugged. "You steal from everyone."

He then crouched down again, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I steal for us – the collective good!"

You did scoff this time. "Then why were you hiding them away?"

"Call it safekeeping. Although I was careless enough to teach you lockpicking, wasn't I?”

A firm hand came to grip your forearm, but you flinched away. “It's fine. I'll be fine.”

He glared at you in silence as if your reply had snapped him out of his tantrum.

There was no point in arguing with him, as he was known to have low tolerance for unexpected predicaments.

But even through your feverish haze, you could see he was no longer pursuing an argument.

After all, his bond to you was built on meeting halfway, even when disagreements occurred.

“On your feet, darling,” he said, extending his hand to you as rose to his full height.

You grabbed it and pushed yourself upwars, nearly losing your footing. Luckily, Astarion was agile enough for both of you, and he quickly steadied you with both hands firmly gripping your shoulders.

“There you go,” he said almost lovingly. “Let's take care of that.”

You nodded tiredly as he wrapped an arm around you, guiding you into his tent.

“Sorry for the potions.”

He chuckled lightly. “I guess it can't be helped with that bleeding heart of yours.”

You didn’t even try refuting his remark. He was absolutely right. But still, you didn't regret having helped those people.

And now you were stuck in this predicament until Shadowheart returned.

It could be worse… at least you weren't alone.

The shivers were only getting more intense and you watched as Astarion suddenly pulled his shirt off in one swift move.

Instantly, your jaw dropped. “What – Astarion?”

He eyed you with sheet amusement. “Darling, I swear this is not what it looks like.”

Frankly, you weren't even sure if this wasn't just your mind playing tricks on you.

Why would he even remove his shirt in the first place?

“Considering our current situation, this is the best course of action. Skin-to-skin. I'm cold enough to drop your temperature.”

Your eyes widened.

Oh?

He tossed the shirt to the side and moved to stand closer to you. “Let me help you out of your clothes.”

Under different circumstances, this would have been a welcome exchange, but this particular scenario didn't make room for any of those thoughts.

So, you merely stood still as he tugged at your own shirt, undoing each button, hands traveling down your torso.

A wave of coldness took over as your skin met the uncomfortable night breeze.

“It's too cold… Astarion…” you said in between clattering teeth.

He shoved the fabric off your shoulders and down your arms, eyes always holding yours.

You felt your nipples harden, but none of that seemed to matter. He had seen you naked many times and you felt comfortable around him.

But you also felt ill.

And no amount of loving stares could ease the way your body spasmed uncontrollably near his.

“You're burning up,” he said, as he pressed the back of his cold hand to your forehead.

His touch brought immediate relief and you leaned into it, earning a soft caress as his hand trailed down.

As if disconnected from your mind, your body moved on its own accord, closing the gap that separated you from Astarion, and you gasped as his chest came into contact with yours.

The difference in temperature was so stark, that even Astarion flinched momentarily before his arms closed around you.

A gentle tug inside your head made you wince.

The tadpole.

It was trying to connect with his.

It often happened in moments of intimacy when both of you allowed that door to open.

But now was not the time or moment, and you forced yourself to repress it.

Your chin met his shoulder and you eased into him until you could feel the shivers begin to subside.

You weren't sure how long it took for your body's temperature to drop, but what you did know was that you could tear yourself away from him.

Astarion's cool skin came as the relief you were seeking, and you allowed yourself to let out a shaky breath as you clung onto him.

“I've got you.”

His voice was low and tender and your racing heart skipped a bit.

Even standing, you felt as though you could drift off into a slumber at any moment.

More time passed.

More silence.

More comfort.

And the worm squirmed again.

You promptly ignored it.

Astarion shifted against you and you sighed blissfully, resting your cheek on his shoulder, eyelids dropping.

Another tug and you frowned.

What was happening?

The tadpole rattled almost violently and you allowed yourself to let go.

As soon as you felt it reach Astarion's, you gasped and your eyes flew open.

You could faintly feel pulsating waves of pleasure through the tadpole.

His mind laced with yours and that was when you felt a growing pressure in your lower half.

Not now. Not now. Gods.

His voice echoed inside your head in a never-ending plea.

He sounded desperate.

And he felt… hard.

Positively aroused.

Think of Withers. Think of Volo and his abysmal outfits.

That wasn’t exactly the mental images you would have preferred in this moment, but it was quite clear that he sought a distraction.

You shuddered into him and he let out a low groan in response.

Was he aware that you could hear his thoughts? Did he even care?

Your tadpole vibrated evenly and his yearn for friction became yours.

Astarion… what are you doing?

He jolted under your touch, but didn't utter a single word out loud.

Instead, he focused on caressing your naked back with gentle fingers.

You're inside my head when I crave to be inside you.

His bluntness was enough to cause your body to react.

The fever had been broken, but the heat refused to leave.

Maybe we should pull away.

He let out a chuckle that rumbled in his chest.

You're still quite warm, darling.

Your tadpole held on to his viciously, and it was quite evident that the connection wasn't going to be easily severed.

Not when you could now feel how hard his cock was for you.

Inside your mind.

It was as if you were experiencing everything happening in his body.

The gentle throbbing in his lower half was now your own, too.

You can feel it, can't you?

He was almost purring through his tadpole and you tried to find words, but his hard cock was too distracting.

You had often wondered how an erection would feel like for a man.

Now you had your answer.

And it felt almost… urgent.

I never felt this before…

His cock twitched and you felt all of it.

I suppose we never allowed it ourselves, darling.

Your hands locked behind his back, but you struggled to keep your fingers from slipping as sweat gathered along your skin.

As expected, the stimulus was enough to stir your clit, earning another chuckle from him.

Oh, I can feel it swelling up…

You clenched.

It didn't take long for wetness to pool in your underwear.

The two of you were still very much covered from the waist down.

It was almost painful how restricted his cock was against the fabric of his trousers.

Now you know how it feels when you get me hard.

Instinctively, you began to grind against him, seeking that delicious friction that only he could provide.

Or maybe we should save this for a more suitable moment.

His suggestion caused you to bite your lip to muffle a groan of disapproval.

We can just stay like this… for a while.

He hardened even more and you were beginning to feel conflicted on what to focus on: his cock or your clit.

You can focus on both, sweetheart.

You clenched again.

His hands dropped to your waist and he pulled your hips harder against his.

Gods… this hurts…

It truly hurt to feel his cock restrained like that, leaking precum as he kept a steady pace.

You could feel how soaked he was getting.

Does your clit always feel this good grinding against me?

Your arms looped around his neck for support, because you didn't think you had it in you to withstand the unexpected duplication of pleasure.

How are you getting harder?

This time, he groaned in response, angling his hips so you could also physically feel how hard his cock was.

Another clench was all it took for him to move his lips to your neck, fangs grazing your skin.

Would you clench harder if I bit you?

You shuddered, bucking your hips as if they were Astarion's. Now you knew how it felt whenever he began to grind against you.

Astarion… you get harder when you bite me, don't you?

He growled before his lips latched on to you, suckling gently.

Do you want to feel my cock getting harder from your blood?

Maybe you should postpone this endeavour. Even if the fever was no longer an issue, maybe it was better to wait out whatever had caused it.

But he was also waiting on you, his fangs eager to break skin and sink into you.

Logic was replaced with arousal and you nodded.

Please…

Astarion didn't need to be told twice, and you let out a pained yelp, as he tore through the barrier and found his target.

With the first gulp of his blood, you felt your mouth drop open, and not because of pain or discomfort.

No.

You could feel your blood coursing through his body, rapidly shooting downwards and filling his cock with each passing second.

The pleasure was nigh unbearable and you kept on grinding against him, desperate for the friction.

He lifted one of your legs to grant him better access and as soon as he found a sweet spot, he began thrusting as if there were no clothes in the way.

You kept clenching around nothing, squeezing out more of your wetness whilst being able to feel just how drenched he was for you.

With each roll of his hips, you felt more and more precum leaking.

The upside to having this tadpole connection was that you got to hear his voice even when his mouth was busy.

Your walls began to squeeze, yearning for his cock.

Darling, you feel so tight.

His cock was gradually getting warmer from your blood and his balls were getting tighter.

He was close.

He was inside your head and he was dangerously close.

I can feel your clit. You're close, too.

You expected to feel lightheaded from him feeding on you, but it was as if his vigour was now yours.

Your body refused to wither as you remained linked to his.

Dampness was seeping through your crotch as he humped more eagerly than ever.

The temptation to just undo his trousers and let him sink inside you was

I need to be inside you.

It wasn’t a request.

He was begging.

But your ears caught the distant sound of voices nearing the tent.

Astarion. Someone is coming….

He growled, pulling away from your neck and capturing your lips with his blood-stained ones.

You tasted metal on your tongue.

I'm close…

And so were you.

It was probably a mixture of the thrill of getting caught and how delicious his thick cock felt from being pumped up with your blood.

It was overwhelming.

Your mind was not even focusing on your swollen clit.

You just wanted his cock to find release.

And it was a shared sentiment, because Astarion kept on praising how drenched you were for him and how much you were throbbing.

He could feel your clit the same way you could feel his cock.

It was as if the two of you had swapped places and were both desperate to reach the climatic release.

The voices were getting closer and your grip tightened around his neck, his tongue tracing your lower lip before he began suckling in it.

It was an effective way to muffle his moans.

Clench again…

Your body obeyed his words and you clenched in frustration, wishing you could drive his cock inside you and empty his balls.

By this point, you were able to make out Shadowheart’s voice.

Quick…

He kept on grinding and you felt his balls tighten even more as he neared the edge of the precipice, his cock twitching and throbbing as he toppled over.

“Gods!” you almost yelled.

Astarion grunted in between gasps.

Shock and unfathomable pleasure entwined as you felt the first strings of cum shoot from his cock, pooling around it as it remained enclosed in his soaked underwear.

His pleasure was your own.

Literally.

Your mind blanked and your hips moved on their own as if you were the one thrusting his cock, mouth agape and heart almost leaping from your chest in sheer bewilderment.

You're almost there…

His words rang inside your head but he now knew better than yourself how close you were and you simply let go as his warm cum began seeping through his trousers.

So much cum…

Another voice was heard nearby and it catapulted you into your own bodily climax.

And this time, Astarion groaned harder than before as he felt your rhythmic contractions flutter throughout your walls.

“Gods… this–”

Astarion was stunned into silence, having to bite down on your shoulder to keep himself from being too loud as your orgasm tore across his own body.

You felt the contractions.

You felt your clit pulsating in unison with your heartbeat.

But your pleasure was his.

You pressed a hand on the back of his neck, cradling him as he rode out your climax.

Your tadpole squirmed tiredly and you figured you had overstayed your welcome with this sudden and intense connection.

Just as quickly as it had occurred, the link was severed at once and there was a sudden quiet in your head.

Astarion slumped slightly against you, dropping your leg and face buried in the crook of your neck.

“That was…”

Your uneven breathing held you back for a moment. “... amazing?”

He pulled away and your vision cleared with a few blinks only to see your blood smeared across his lips and chin.

“Unexpected, I reckon.”

From outside his tent, you heard someone clear their throat.

“Why am I not surprised that they're in their tent again?”

“Ah, Shadowheart. Young love tends to be lively and intense.” Gale tried to reason.

A pause.

“Well, they could try to be quieter about it, then.”

You glanced down to find the front of his trousers, realising just how much of his cum had spilled from the waistband.

“Are you still feeling feverish?” he asked, capturing your chin in between his fingers to tilt your head up, so that your eyes could meet his.

You shook your head.

“Are you still upset about the potions?”

He rolled his eyes. “I am upset that it took us this long to take full advantage of these blasted worms.”

Masterlist

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #astarion smut #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader

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noistanaccount · 1 year ago

Text

Ryoko Kui Does Not Believe in Epiphanies (or: why Marcille and Mithrun's endings are great actually)

I have seen a couple of people who are upset about the way that Mithrun and Marcille's stories were resolved so I'm writing this to clear some things up. Ryoko Kui does not believe in epiphanies. An epiphany is a sudden and usually brief realization, an "aha" moment. Epiphanies are emotionally powerful moments. Both Marcille and Mithrun have powerful moments of realization, epiphanies.

Whether or not you like these resolutions, there's something you need to understand, Ryoko Kui does not put that much stock into these moments. Immediately after Marcille has her realization, Tansu responds like this:

While this is mostly his own opinion, what he is pointing out is that epiphanies are brief, they are singular moments that do not define a life. Life is long, and epiphanies do not sustain you. Marcille might feel like this now, but what about tomorrow? what about nex year? ten years, a hundred years, five hundred years from now? How often have you felt a sudden understanding? a burst of inspiration, or perhaps a realization that everything is pointless? It generally passes quickly, and you make dinner, and go to bed.

Think about the best meal you have ever had, it was probably a special occasion, maybe it felt like something magical, in the moment you might have felt like your life was changed. Then, in the morning you were hungry, so you ate breakfast. You cooked, you did the dishes, you went on with your life. What "meaning" did that meal have if you were hungry again the next day? Mithrun has to rebuild everything, every day he has to come up with new desires to do the very basics. None of it comes naturally, he has to find a reason to eat beyond being hungry, a reason to want to do anything when he doesn't want anything. Ryoko Kui tells us outright, that there is no magical solution:

The same thing applies to Ryoko Kui's representation of racism in dungeon meshi. Around when the orcs appeared in the anime I saw people gripeing about the way racism is treated. They seemed to think that Laios's party having dinner with the orcs was presented as them "solving" racism. Once again people misunderstand, they did not solve racism in a single moment. A few people, understood each other a little better, came to an arrangement and then parted. This was merely a moment in their lives. The characters continue to do micro-agressions, hold stereotypes, and have implicit biases. In dungeon meshi, characters don't suddenly stop being racist in the course of an evening. Life is a process, learning about others is a process, it's about the accumulation of experiences through the meat and potatoes of life, the daily activities that we actually fill our lives with, not the sudden realizations. Once you make learning about and living with other people into part of your routine, once it is embodied, then it is part of your life.

This is the real conclusion: life is not lived in a state of epiphany. Life is about chores, cooking, eating, shitting, working, and sleeping, it's everyday. Life is about doing simple things and doing them well. An epiphany is a useful tool for telling the reader that everything is going to be alright, we love to read epiphanies and be swept up in them. They can also be a breaking of a pattern, an escape from a spiral.

This is the other take away, it's about the people you do those things with, the way they rub off on you, the way they help you be human. For Mithrun and Marcille their paths would be impossible without other people pushing them back on the path as they stray. Mithrun literally would starve to death except for the thought that kabru and others don't want him to. Eating is a communal activity, so is living, you can have an epiphany on your own; you can't live on your own.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #this is important to me I hope I articulated it well #rant

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marauder-misprint · 3 months ago

Note

I loved Nail polish & cologne, you are such an amazing writer! It's been so long since I read a decent version of Moony in a fic. You made me incredibly happy today 🫣

Sorry if it's rude to ask, any chance you could make a sequel?

Omg, I don't find it rude at all to ask for sequels/more parts to any of my writing! It's one of the highest compliments in my opinion! So, thank you 🥰

Also tagging everyone who asked for a part 2 in the replies/comments ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Fresh parchment & perfume

Remus Lupin x reader

part one

2.3k words

cw: fluff, mutual pining, Y/N, angst if you squint

You want to murder Remus Lupin.

Okay, not really. But you’re frustrated that he’s taken away one of your simple daily joys: staring at him during class. You’ve been caught staring at him multiple times now and you swear there have been times where he was looking at you first. This never happened before so why is it happening now?

You come to a conclusion, but you don’t like it. It’s the only thing that makes sense though.

“Lily!” you yell as you enter your dorm and slam the door behind you. “What did you say?”

She looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“About what? To who? When?” she asks, preparing her defense.

“About what I smelled in the Amortentia!”

“You never told me what you smelled,” she says, furrowing her brow. “I mean, I can assume, but you never actually told me. And who would I have told?”

“Oh, I don’t know, James, maybe?”

She laughs. “Potter?” Then she looked down at her hands. “I mean, yeah, we’ve talked a little bit and he doesn’t seem… as bad? But we don’t talk about you.”

“Oh.” Your voice is small. “Never mind then.”

You collapse on your bed and Lily is sitting at the foot of it within seconds.

“What gave you the idea that I’ve told Potter about your feelings for a certain quiet prefect?” she asks.

You lift your head to glare at her. You’re not in the mood.

“He’s been looking at me…” you mumble, which causes Lily to fall into a fit of laughter. “Lily!”

“I-I… I’m sorry, but… that’s ridiculous and you know it,” she manages to say in between her laughs. “He’s been looking at you?”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “He’s never looked at me this much before”

You pause as you hide your face in your hands.

“He must know and he’s trying to figure out how to tell me that he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“Or…”

“Or what?”

“Or he’s working up the courage to talk to you?” Lily offers.

“He can talk to me just fine. We’ve studied before. Played Summoner’s Court. Wizards’ chess. We talk.”

“Okay, yes, you talk. But have you tried flirting with him?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “No… But then why is he just staring at me and not talking to me?”

“Why have you been staring at him and not flirting with him?” she shoots your question back at you.

“I don’t need your logic right now,” you groan, rolling over to shove your face into your pillow.

---

“Has she always stared at me this much?” Remus asks Sirius nervously as they lounge in their dorm.

James was at quidditch practice and Peter had solo detention.

“Can’t say I’ve paid much attention to her, Moony. Might be a better question for Prongs.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because Y/N’s always with Evans? And he stares at her quite often. Come on, mate. Two plus two.” Sirius gives his friend a sympathetic look. “Have you talked to her at all since?”

Remus doesn’t answer, letting the silence answer for him. No, he hadn’t. The amount of times he’s caught you staring at him over the past two days is startling. Each time, you would turn red and look away almost immediately. He hasn’t been able to focus as much in classes, not when he knows you might be looking at him, not when Sirius thinks he might actually have a chance with you.

“Have you… oh, I don’t know, considered talking to her?”

“Padfoot,” Remus says tiredly.

“You can’t ask a girl out without words.”

“You would know.” It comes out more as a sigh.

Remus doesn’t want to admit it, but yes, out of the Marauders, Sirius had the most experience with girls. But whether his “expertise” could actually be trusted was up in the air. He never stayed with a girl for too long and he wasn’t sure if it was his choice or a result of his actions.

“Yes, I would know. And if she has been staring at you as much as you claim, even if just these past few days, ask. her. out.”

“What if she’s just been zoning out? You know, when you stare but you’re not really looking?”

“She’s just been zoned out in your direction multiple times a day?”

“Yes.”

Remus knows it sounds ridiculous, and that’s only enforced when Sirius chuckles from the window where he’s smoking. Then he’s standing up and offering Remus one.

“Stop being so dense,” he says. “And so hard on yourself. I know what that voice in your head is saying.”

Remus takes the cigarette and follows Sirius back to the window.

“And what is it saying?”

“That you’re not worthy of love or attraction, that you’re not attractive. So how could lovely Y/N actually like you when you’re, well, you.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Remus says dryly before taking a drag.

“Oi, not saying any of that’s true.”

Remus rolls his eyes.

“Ask. her. out. And you’ll see that you’re wrong.”

The two boys sit on the window ledge for a while, each going through a few cigarettes. Silence fills the room. Sirius is more than content to just let his brain empty while Remus’s mind is running circles around itself.

Was he imagining the blush when he caught you staring? Were you staring because you liked him? Were you just staring into the distance and turning red because you realized you were staring at a person? How often did you stare at him? Was it because of that Potions lesson? What if you were staring near him and not actually at him? Was he being narcissistic to think you looked at him? He sat by Peter, James and Sirius in every class. It was very logical to think that you were staring at one of them.

“Shit,” Remus mutters.

“What?” Sirius’ voice sounds far away despite being right next to him.

“She’s been staring at you.”

Sirius laughs.

“No, Pads, think about it. You’ve been next to me every time I’ve caught her staring. It makes so much sense!”

“Moony. You’re delusional,” Sirius says.

James enters the dorm. Sirius’ eyes light up.

“Prongs, help me out here!” Sirius calls as James throws his bag down on his bed.

“Yeah?”

“Y/N. Has she been staring at me or Moony in class?”

“I’m not getting in between you two if you’re fighting over a girl,” James says, laying down on the floor near the window.

“Not fighting over a girl,” Remus says, giving Sirius an annoyed look. “Padfoot just figures you’d know who she stares at, if she’s staring at all, since you, you know, stare at Lily.”

“I do not!” James exclaims as he sits up rapidly.

Sirius laughs, “She’s not in here and we know you do. Don’t lie.” He pauses for a moment to light a new cigarette. “For Moony’s sake, does Y/N stare at him during class?”

James slowly lays back down while giving Sirius a wary look.

“I swear, if I get hexed for answering…”

“Not going to hex you!” Sirius says.

“She stares at Moony. A lot. Think she pays more attention to him than lessons.”

“So she’s gone for you!” Sirius barks, clapping a hand on Remus’ knee and causing him to grimace. “Fucking told you!”

---

You make a serious effort to not look in Remus’ direction during classes. It kills you. It’s been your habit for years and you’re quitting cold turkey. You’re both grateful and mortified that Remus hasn’t called you out for it; he can’t call you out for it if he hasn’t talked to you.

It doesn’t help that Lily has started gently nudging you every time Remus enters a room or sits remotely near you. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know what she’s thinking.

“You’re the first thing he looks at when he enters a room,” she whispers during Transfiguration.

“Or he’s looking for the Marauders,” you retort just as quietly.

“Yeah, right,” she says sarcastically.

Professor McGonagall flashes a harsh look in your direction and the two of you fall silent. You’re thankful that she didn’t call you out, or worse, ask you to share what you were talking about with the class. That would have been mortifying.

You’ve been successful in your mission to not stare at Remus so far, despite the insatiable urge to do so pulling at your eyes. You swear, the man is magnetic. It doesn’t help that Lily has suddenly become relentless in her nudging and subtle poking.

“What?” you hiss, looking down at your notes.

“He keeps looking this way.”

You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to McGonagall. While Lily’s words stoked the flame of hope in your heart, you didn’t need to be losing house points for not paying attention.

When class ended, Lily put her things away at record speed.

“Potter! Wait up!” she calls, leaving you behind.

You frown as you briefly watch her go. You usually walked to your next class together. You knew that she smelled something like James in the Amortentia and that had fueled her new friendship with him. And as much as you liked seeing your friend this happy, you didn’t like that it meant walking to your classes alone.

Except when you exit the classroom, you aren't alone. Remus is right at your side. You walk in silence for a few paces. It’s not uncomfortable but it’s charged. Despite the other students in the corridor with you, you swear you can hear every step you take. It doesn’t help that you can feel your heart beating in your throat.

“How’ve you been?” you ask. You keep your face straight, knowing that if you look at Remus, you’ll likely trip, fall and embarrass yourself.

“Oh… I’ve been relatively good.” He pauses momentarily. “James hasn’t shut up about what he smelled in the Amortentia.”

You try not to laugh. “Lily’s not been too shy about it either. I think she’ll say yes sooner or later.”

Remus gestures ahead of you to where the two are. “Seems like it.”

Silence falls between you again. You were used to being with Remus in the quiet; that’s how it usually was when you studied in the library together. Except that was different. When you studied, you had your books in front of you and you were both scribbling away, scrawling on parchment until your inkwells ran out.

“Did you really smell the library in the Amortentia?” you ask, breaching the silence. You’re not really sure what made you ask, but something inside of you needed to know.

“Erm, yeah. Yeah, I did,” he answers. He’s not looking at you in the same way you’re not looking at him, meaning you’re both trying to gauge the other’s expression in your peripheral vision. “What did you smell? You got pretty quiet after smelling the potion.”

“Oh, um, I smelled… nail polish, chocolate, parchment,” you listed off with a glaring omission.

Remus let out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding. He didn’t want to admit that he was disappointed in your answer. He was hoping you had smelled something more obviously him. It didn’t register in his brain that he was the chocolate and parchment you smelled.

“That all?” he asks hesitantly.

“Was the library all you smelled?” you retorted defensively.

You saw his features tense.

“Was it?” you repeated, more gentle this time, like talking to a scared child.

“It was the library. Everything that encompasses my usual visits,” he starts to say as he turns to look at you. “The books, fresh parchment, ink, your perfume.”

You stop walking. Remus notices immediately, having been watching you and your expression. His heart is racing in his chest. He can’t tell if your reaction is good or bad, based on your wide eyes and sharp intake. You swallow, looking up at the taller, scarred boy next to you.

“My… perfume? You smelled me?” you ask. “You smelled me in the Amortentia?”

Remus flushes with embarrassment. He feels like he should’ve known better than to trust Sirius on this. He was a self-proclaimed ladies’ man afterall.

Remus nods. He doesn’t know if he trusts his voice, but then he starts rambling.

“I thought… Sirius said you couldn’t look away from me so he said I had a chance, but obviously, if you don’t feel the same way… I don’t want this to change anything between us. I don’t want it to be awkward. I really value our friendship. I’m so sorry if I just ruined it, but I like you. I really do. I have for a while, but I’ll try to stop if it makes you uncomfort-”

“Remus,” you say firmly as you grab his arm.

He stops talking immediately. His eyes search yours for an answer that he realizes he probably cut off.

“What do you always carry with you and share with me in the library?” you ask, your voice just as firm.

“Chocolate?” His brows bunch in confusion.

“And what you always, always have a fresh roll of?”

“Parchment?”

“And… I may have smelled one more thing. In the Amortentia.” You took a breath. “Your cologne.”

“My cologne?” he echoes like how you had repeated him earlier.

You wait for him to connect the dots, pressing your lips together.

“So you smelled chocolate, parchment and my cologne?”

“Don’t forget nail polish.”

He chuckles. He takes your hand that’s on his arm and holds it in his own.

“What you’re saying is that I do have a chance? That Sirius was right?”

“Sirius was right,” you laugh.

“In that case, would you like to come with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“I would love to come to Hogsmeade with you, Remus,” you answered with a smile.

Maybe Sirius does know a thing or two about girls, Remus thinks as he walks with you to your next class.

Tags: @oursweetmoony, @pinkdaiisies, @iloveremmy, @3sriracha, @auntjezzy

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin

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mmirx · 1 month ago

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AFTERTHOUGHT ⋆⑅˚₊

Who were you if not unremarkable? You had finally come into terms that you are someone who was meant to stay in everyone’s shadow, but not until you met Caleb, or so you thought.

cw/tags: PART 2 of this, university au, non-mc reader, frat guy caleb (but not really important), angst, jealousy, self-loathing (please just lmk if i missed more cw, i just cant identify more as of now)

note: i dont know what im writing but im enjoying it, so suffer (kidding). the guy that inspired me to write this recently posted smth, so I HAD TO. he looks good and i hate it. nway, this might be shorter than i originally planned bcs 1) i might cut some parts 2) univ is so demanding

word count: 865

Scrolling through your archives, you saw a picture you took a year ago—one in the range where the archery team in your university frequented. It reminded you of the fact that it was around the same time when you started to orbit around Caleb's circle.

The first time you saw him was when you were thirty minutes late for orientation of the organization that you wanted to join. At first, you didn't notice him at all because you were too embarrassed to look around. I mean you were late and had to walk towards the front since there were no seats available near the entrance. Where's a catastrophe when you need one?

Anyway, after you introduced yourself as someone whose desire is to advocate for human rights, you finally had the chance to look around—you saw him immediately. Why? Someone that tall couldn't go unnoticed. His looks alone could prove the existence of a divine creature; God probably pats himself to congratulate himself whenever he sees Caleb.

You thought that would be last time you'd see him. It wasn't.

After gushing over him to your friend, you found that he's also in the archery team. They were literally teammates, so being the ever-supported she is, she devised a plan: you'd be tagging along during their training sessions.

And that started it all.

Initially, you started questioning why you even agreed to this since it wasn't like you were desperate to find someone right at the moment. However, after several attempts of your friend, Zan, urging you to push through, you accepted defeat. Plus, it wasn't that bad of an idea—you have a crush on him, so why not?

The plan was to present yourself as someone carefree and effortlessly cool. That was the plan. But fate is cruel—such a dramatic conclusion—because when Caleb arrived, you didn't even get to say ‘hi’ at him. Your reason? Nothing, you just happen to not be able to say anything because you froze. God forbid your mouth that seems to automatically work every inconvenient moment stops working the moment you needed to be social.

It was embarrassing, even for you.

A voice suddenly came from your back knocking you off your little reminiscing moment. You looked around to see MC approaching with a frown. There she was again, looking like an angel sent in the world of mortals as an apology for every sin that everyone had committed. You pondered every day how someone can be your friend at all too.

“Lost your hearing?" she said laced with sarcasm and affection.“I missed you," she sighed dramatically as she tried to take away your supply of oxygen with her embrace.

“Oh, dear, I know."

"Can we go get lunch together? I ditched Caleb for today.”

Oh. They were supposed to eat together? You didn't know what to feel as your stomach formed a circus within its premises. It felt funny and unsettling. To be honest, you're a fool for even getting surprised with how they do the most mundane things with each other. You hated yourself for having such thoughts because you guys were perfect as friends. It's starting to feel as if you were the problem with all these negative thoughts that you concoct nonstop.

“Serves him right,” you laughed as if you didn't bear any thoughts you just had, "but I don't think I can join you today, MC.”

You had to decline her but not because of your self-loathing! It just happens that you have to finish a group presentation today with people you barely know. Another challenge for you.

You heard her sigh dramatically—it almost made you laugh. Her theatrics never seemed to be on a time out. Truthfully, you wanted to be with her, too, because it might remind you more of the reasons why you were in each other's lives.

“Trust me, if this shit wasn't so important, I'd choose to eat with you." You tried to defend yourself to not make it seem like it wasn't out of willingness that you won't join her.

“I know, it's just, you know you're too busy these days. I mean, I know why because you're such an exceptional woman but still!”

You? Exceptional? Those words being in a same sentence doesn't feel right at all. Was she blind?

“You’re trying to flatter me! But I'll call you once my schedule lets me. I promise, MC.”

She sighed defeatedly as she bid her goodbye. You really did feel bad for not having been with her for such a time. You missed the times when you didn't feel comparatively smaller to her.

You walked for minutes. Gosh, didn't know university was a field for you to battle with so much stairs. But as you neared towards the range, you heard a familiar voice.

“I mean, I don't even know how I managed to put up with her.”

Was that him?

“Didn't you approach her only because you were trying to recruit someone that time?"

You knew that voice, a senior of yours and MC’s. They were laughing. You had a bad feeling brewing up.

All was confirmed when the first voice spoke again.

It was him.

Caleb.

PART 3

tag(s): @justpassingdontworry

#love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb lads #lnd caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #caleb x mc #caleb angst

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whitexwolfxx310 · 11 months ago

Text

|| What’s Your Favorite Scary Movie? || Part 2.

Pairing: Dom!Bucky x Sub!female reader

Summary: After accidentally revealing that you have a masked man kink, Bucky starts taking it to the next level. The reveal!

Warnings: Smut- MDNI please!, unprotected sexual intercourse (p in v), don't forget no glove no love, edging, asphyxiation, fingering, mild dirty talk, language, praise kink, masked man kink, stalking, harassment, implied harm, breaking in.

Word Count: 5.4

A/Ns: Hi babes! Sorry this took an extra day than intended. Tumblr is being super finicky tonight, I’ve edited and re-edited this so many times. If there’s mistakes just ignore. I hope you like the conclusion!

In case you missed it, Part 1

You didn’t sleep much the next couple of nights, and decided to take some time off of work. Bucky finally reached out, and you updated him as to what was going on. He immediately offered to come home, which you refused and started to downplay the situation.

Hailee has been great with letting you borrow some clothes and little things, since you only grabbed a small bag in a rush before heading to her place to stay a few days ago. You’ve been dreading going back to the apartment, scared to find someone in there waiting for you. But it’s at the point where you need to grab some of your stuff.

Walking into the apartment, it was eerily quiet and uncomfortable. But nothing looked out of place, and was exactly how you left it. Deciding not to spend any longer there than you had to, you promptly tossed a large duffle bag onto your bed and started stuffing it with clothes and any other necessities.

Zipping the duffle closed, you felt a light gust of cool air. Scanning your bedroom window assuming it was the source, you realize it’s open. You never open this window. In fact, it’s always locked. All of the hair on the top layer of your skin stands up to the extent it almost feels like tiny pinpricks. Flight mode is instantly activated; before you can even think, you grab the bag and run, practically tripping over your own feet out of the room.

Grappling with the door knob, the pure panic starts to set in. Just as you’re twisting the knob open, you hear a distant bang coming from another room in the apartment. You freeze at the realization:

I’m not alone.

You know when you’re watching a scary movie and yell at the tv, wondering why the one of the characters was so fucking stupid to do something?

Well, you did exactly that. What possessed you in that moment, you haven’t the faintest idea. But, with your heartbeat pounding in your ears so loudly that you thought your eardrums might rupture, you started to turn around to look.

What primitively catches your attention isn’t what you expected, but quickly makes your chest tighten. The fruit bowl on the kitchen counter that is normally overflowing with lucious, red delicious apples, now just has all apple cores.

The flashback of one being on left on the countertop after Bucky had left blazes in your mind. It suddenly makes sense. Bucky would never leave a mess and it wasn't long after that you saw someone outside your window.

Attempting to swallow the growing dryness in your throat, you continue to turn around. And that's when you see him for the first time. About fifteen feet away, stood an obviously immensely tall man. He wore thick, black shiny leather boots that gleamed lightly in the natural daylight within the apartment. Fitted black jeans with a loose, black hooded sweatshirt that failed to hide how muscular and broad his chest and shoulders were with the hood pulled up.

But two things stuck out the most about his appearance. First, was the tight, black leather gloves he wore on his hands that were currently clenched into rigid fists. The second, was the fact that you couldn't make out his face. All you could see was an elongated paleness, caverned by the blackness of the hood, and it seemed... sinister. He didn't move or make a sound. It was as if you would blink and he would be gone, like a cloud of smoke.

But if anyone was going to disappear, it was going to be you. So taking a chance, you ran. And you didn't stop running. Even with the faint vibration in your pocket alerting you to the new text notification on your phone, you kept going.

It wasn't until you got back to Hailee's place and frantically, out of breath explained to her, that you even remembered about the text message.

"Here," You toss the phone in pure detestation onto her bed, "I don't even want to fucking know what it says." You lean against the opposite wall of her bedroom, crossing your arms across your chest in an attempt to control the body shakes as you come down from the adrenaline.

Hailee watches you for a brief moment, still not having said much aside from asking if you were okay. Her expression was soft and sympathetic and yet had an dissenting undertone. You couldn't blame her, this all sounded absolutely insane.

Letting out a small, exasperated breath, Hailee sits on her knees from her previous crossed legged position and grabs your cell. As the screen comes to life, her teeth clench down reading whatever is on the screen.

“What?” The concern is evident in your voice as you pry away from the wall, though still holding onto yourself.

Hailee inhales deeply through her nostrils, faking a tightlipped smile, “it’s nothing,” her tone is flat. She’s lying. Clicking the sleep button on the side of the phone to make the screen go black, she makes her way off the bed, “hey, how about we head down to the cellphone store and get you a new phone and number?” She asks, trying to sound like her usual carefree self as she grabbed her crossbody bag.

“Hailee,” you uncross your arms and step in front of her, forcing her to make eye contact, “what is it?”

Searching your eyes, you can see that she is torn. She wants so badly to do the right thing, but isn’t sure what exactly that is in this situation. On one hand, she could just keep it to herself. Let the unknown and curiosity eat you alive from the inside out like it inevitably will. But only because she wants to protect you, shield you from anything that brings you the opposite of joy. Or, she can show you what you’re actually dealing with, and the two of you can come up with a plan and handle it together. Hailee decides on the latter.

Hesitating, her hand shakes slightly as she holds out the phone to you. It appears that now both of you will take this predicament more critically now. Grabbing the phone a tad more aggressively then you meant to, you unlock it and open the messages. But it's not often Hailee gets rendered quiet. Scrolling through the back to back texts, you understand why.

Taking your best friends advice, you immediately went to the cell phone store. She tagged along as you got a completely new phone and number, not transferring anything over, not wanting to take the risk. You didn't download any social media, deciding to take a much needed mental break for a bit. The only thing you did do, was take a few phone numbers that you needed out of your old phone, and even then you wrote them down on a piece of paper to manually add them into your contacts later.

Walking out of the store, you felt as if a weight had been lifted. Hailee locked arms with you, leading you around the corner to the nearest cafe to get iced coffee. It was her answer for everything. Bad day? Iced coffee. Need a pick me up? Iced coffee. Need to clear your head and just ramble about random shit for a bit? Iced coffee. Your best friend has an apparent stalker and we're hoping that changing phone numbers is the end all solution?! Obviously, iced coffee.

Sitting at a small table outside the cafe, enjoying the slight crispness in the fall air, you let out a huge, relieving sigh that makes your shoulders sink. You take the opportunity to add Bucky to your contacts and text him your new number. Although, you decide not to go into detail about your most recent encounter while he's still away on a mission.

Putting the phone down on the table and not have it incessantly go off with calls and texts, let's you feel as though you can finally breathe. "Thank you for coming with me, Hales, I really appreciate you."

Hailee is sucking the remnants of her drink through the straw as she looks up at you. She gives you a small, genuine side smile, "you're welcome," before smirking, "so I'm supposed to have a date tonight, with that guy Noah I've been seeing..." she leaves it open ended. "But, I should totally cancel after everythi-"

"No, please. Go out and have fun. You've been dealing with my shit enough," trying to make your words sound affirming, even with the lingering dread that you still felt.

That's one thing about Hailee. You never quite really have to twist her arm to do anything.

After showering and changing into your comfy jeans and oversized cropped sweater, it was hard not to feel the slightest tinge of jealousy watching Hailee do her finishing touches for date night in the mirror. Jealousy in the sense of missing Bucky and going out and having a carefree night, not in comparing yourself physically.

She swipes yet another layer of clear lip gloss on before fluffing her beach wave blonde hair. Turning to face you, her thick heels clack on the wooden floor as she starts adjusting her boobs in her sleek, dusty rose colored dress.

"What do you think?" Her hands glide down over her curves, "Dress is okay?"

"That dress is fire," and it is, she looks amazing. By the smile she's wearing, she's feeling it too, "too bad it's going to end up on Noah's floor ten minutes into your date." Hailee dramatically gasps, as if that's not true. It totally is.

You're both laughing until she abruptly stops, "I have to go!" She gives you a quick hug and starts scurrying towards the door, a bit awkwardly in the heels, "Bye! Love you! Lock the door!" As she goes to close the door behind her she yells back in, "don't read too much smut on your kindle while I'm gone!" and the door slams.

Shaking your head with a small laugh, you lock the door. Hailee just gave you the perfect idea of how to spend your night.

About an hour had gone by, you comfortably laid in Hailee's spare bed, a few chapters deep into your latest book. It was quiet, so when your phone vibrated on the bed next to you- you jumped slightly. Assuming it was Bucky finally having the chance to text you back, you pick it up fairly quickly. But the message you received isn't what you expected at all.

Before even unlocking the phone, you had a text alert from Unknown. There was nothing written, but all the way to the right of the alert, you could see a picture was included.

Promptly, you sat up in the bed and stared at the notification. That familiar wave of unease dispersed throughout your body as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over your head.

This phone number is only a few hours old, how the fuck did he get it already?

The notification banner and you were in a staredown. You had to know what the message was, but you were absolutely terrified at the same time. Your thumbs hover, occasionally twitching over the screen, until you pull the trigger and swipe up.

Us. Hailee...

Driving to your apartment, you broke nearly every single traffic law that there is. The entire time you tried calling Hailee’s phone back to back, just repeating the same mantra; please pick up. Please, please pick up. She never did.

“Hailee!!” You run through your apartment door, not having to mess with it for long as it was already unlocked. You had a feeling it would be. “Answer me!” You yell, breathlessly. The apartment is eerily dark and quiet.

Coming to a halt in the main living space, you whipped your head around looking for clues and try to listen for any signs of distress. But it was so difficult to hear anything over your own breathing and pulse drumming in your ears.

You knew where you had to go, the last picture of your friends dress laid out on your bedspread was the roadmap. The bedroom door was just barely closed over, a creepy orange glow lining it and trying to escape from underneath. Each step closer that you took, felt as if a large spider made entirely of ice was crawling down your spine.

Pushing the door open slightly with just a fingernail, you peered into the room. You knew this is exactly where this person wanted you. For what? There’s only one way to find out.

There didn’t seem to be anyone in the room, so you took a few small steps in. The glow was more prominent now, giving the room an uncanny romantic ambiance with numerous amount of white candles lit all along the dressers, night tables, and bookshelves.

Taking a broad step forward, your attention is now focused on the bed. Hailee's dress is no longer laid out like it had been in the picture. Instead, there are flower petals sprinkled across your comforter. The intriguing curiosity drew you even more into the room without you even realizing. Picking up one of the petals, you rub it between your fingers, feeling it's supple and delicate smoothness as you examine it more closely. In that moment you recognize it- the familiarity of it's dark appeal. They're black dahlia petals.

Some of the petals congregated in one particular area on the bed, revealing an elegant, black gift box about the size of a large book. Your lips part slightly as you pick up the box, captivated by it's alluring magnetism. Taking off the lid, your brows furrow slightly in confusion. It's a chain. A long, thick slip chain that looks like a necklace but almost long enough to be a leash.

As your finger smoothes over the cold indentations of the chain, you hear a creak come from the floor behind you. In a startled jump, you drop the box- a slight ringing sound deafens the scene even more from the chain hitting the floor. But that's not your concern. Because as you turn around, you see him.

Within arms reach, you are confronted with the person that's been behind all of this. He's even taller up close, broader. Dressed in all black attire, this time swapping the black hoodie for a black t-shirt and black leather jacket. And without the hood, you're able to see the elongated white face from earlier.

It's a Ghostface mask.

He stands as still as a statue, watching you intently, waiting. Your eyes persist in looking him over as your chest rises and falls deeply. When your gaze meets his face once again, his head creepily tilts ever so slightly to one side.

"What's the matter?" He speaks, his voice deep and low, "you look like you've seen a ghost," the tone almost mocking.

Squinting your eyes, you look at him again. And this time you really look at him. His body frame, the clothes, the familiarity of his voice. Your eyes widen at the realization.

"Bucky?" you gape, completely stupefied. Taking the first fearless step in what feels like months, you wrap your arms around him. He returns the sentiment and you feel safe, for the first time in what feels like forever. It suddenly dawns on you that he's not actually on a mission. And probably never was.

"What- What is this?" You ask, looking up at him, slightly pushing the mask up to reveal his stubbled chin and promiscuous grin.

"There’s just something so dark and exhilarating about an unknown man behind a mask that stalks and is obsessed with you. The anonymity of it..." He repeats back the words you said to him a few months ago watching the Scream movie.

The memory of you how you told him about this kink of yours curls around your mind. That this entire time, you were never in any kind of serious danger, he just brought it to life. Weeks and months of preparation went into this, here, tonight. You should have known all along that Bucky would never have been so nonchalant about you in any type of significant situation. You're safe. You always were and always will be.

The tiny icy footprints that had trailed up your spine were long gone, now replaced with a burning and tantalizing desire. You've missed him, thinking he was away while you were dealing with this on your own. But now he's here, fulfilling your deepest desires.

Looking up, Bucky's Pacific blue eyes are already gazing down into yours, a built up and unsatisfied hunger prominent. Moving up onto your tiptoes and grabbing him behind the neck, you bring down his head and capture his lips.

Your mouth parted his, gliding and massaging his tongue with your own. A low growl reverberated from within his throat with approval, and promise to make everything up to you tenfold. Bucky's intoxicating cypress scent fills your nostrils as your inhaled deeply, pressing your breasts up into his chest. Taking off the leather gloves and shrugging his jacket onto the floor, his hands started to wildly wander around your body, giving light squeezes on your hips before settling and interlacing gingerly in your hair.

That didn't last long, though. There was a sudden and hard tug from where Bucky held your hair, enough to pull the two of you apart. The aggressiveness of the gesture was unexpected, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't fucking love it. His eyes linger on your already swollen lips, now wearing a pursed, provocative grin. His hand releases the tight grip he had on your loose curls, watching the relief from the sting flash across your eyes. Bucky has always been tender, gentle and using your body as a place of worship-but tonight is different.

Grabbing the hem of your sweater, he maneuvers it up and off to join his growing pile of discarded clothes. Dropping to his knees with a loud thud, he undoes the button and zipper of your jeans, pulling them down and weaving his tongue along the freshly exposed skin. Hissing through your teeth, your hips instinctively press forward. He lets out a dark laugh, before grabbing the chain you dropped before. Standing back up, he takes your hand, "Come," he says, leading you towards the cornered edge of the mattress.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, his muscular body causes it to sink slightly. His free hand, still holding the chain, grips his own thigh before giving it a light pat, "Sit," he commanded, again keeping that firm edge in his voice that you weren't used to. You enthusiastically follow his orders, sitting delicately facing outward in just your matching ivory lace bra and panties. It's hard not to notice how you just fit. And how much you secretly love his significantly large frame pressed against your much more petite body in comparison to his.

The soft tip of his nose runs along the outside of your neck, his large hands coasting along your shoulders, down your arms, sides, before settling on your thighs. The calluses on his hands leaving a sensational trail of tingles and heat to disperse under your skin.

"Look," his head nods forward once to get your attention, and now you see the reason why he sat you here. In the corner of the bedroom, just a few feet away, is a full length standing mirror angled perfectly to reflect everything.

You see yourself, already flushed with arousal and breathing heavily as you make eye contact with Bucky in the mirror. His devious smile pins you in place as you watch his hands pry open your legs, entrancingly over his. They willingly spread open wide for him, your restless hips now squirming, aching for more. His fingertips trace small circles on your inner thigh.

"I want you to see your face as you fall apart, " he taunted, his voice sultry in your ear, still holding your gaze in the mirror. His middle finger skims across your already embarrassingly dampened panties, causing your back to press against his rigid chest.

There was a vague rattling sound, followed by Bucky placing the large opening of the looped chain over your head and around your neck, “Bucky, what are you doing-” you watch curiously in the mirror. Part of the chain dangles between your breasts, which he wraps around his hand once and slowly starts to pull, causing the loop around your neck to compress.

It’s a choker.

Your eyes go wide, nervousness rippling through you as you grasp his intentions, “Bucky, I don’t know-”

“Do you really think you have a choice?” he barked, pulling the Ghostface mask down back onto his face. Talking to you through the mirror, “I won’t hurt you. Trust me,” he whispers, breaking character for a moment to assure you’re safe.

You nod in response, your reflection visibly eases in the mirror as the necklace slackens around your throat. He lets the chain lax too, for now.

Large hands are back to kneading your thighs, a lone finger brushing between your legs when gravitating along the inside. It’s not long until the sensation has you starting to wriggle once again.

Cupping your sex, his hand gently moves up and down, keeping a firm, yet delicate and delicious pressure. Your greedy hips tilt forward, wanting more from his right hand, while the coolness of his left continues to lazily stroke over your skin. But when that icy touch quickly grabs and tears your underwear off in one jolt, you gasp at the tiny bite the ripping cloth left behind.

Now you’re left wide and exposed- to yourself, to Bucky, to the reflections of yourselves staring intensely, watching every movement. The warmth of his hand is back, leisurely gliding two fingers between your already achingly wet pussy. Swallowing hard, your breath hitches as you can not only feel, but see, yourself start to lose composure.

Bucky pulls the two fingers away, holding them up just to your mouth, "wet them for me," he instructs, his voice silk like satin. Taking the two fingers into your mouth, your tongue swirled rapidly around the digits, savoring the salty-sweetness of your arousal. Slowly pulling them back out, you see them shine with your saliva.

Something comes over you in that moment, call it gluttonous, but you pool some extra moisture into your mouth and spit onto the fingers. Just for good measure.

There's a murmured hum of approval in your ear as he spreads your folds, teasing your increasingly sensitive clit between his two fingers. And getting Bucky's praise will only enhance the entire night. Your legs quiver at the deliberate sluggish pace, letting out shaky breaths as the overwhelming throbbing demands more attention.

Finally, the pads of those fingers start to rub your bundle of nerves in unhurried circles. Gripping onto his thigh to steady yourself, your nails clutching his jeans, a whine escapes as your hips try to buck against his hand.

That dark laugh is in your ear again, "good girls don't come until I tell them too," Bucky breathes, overly indulging in how you respond to his touch. It feels like torture, in the best possible way. The combination of his words and caress... you have never felt this good. This wanted.

Your head falls back slightly against his shoulder in small disappointment, whimpering, knowing that he's going to make you beg. And you're getting desperate enough to do so.

The leisurely pace of his fingers picks up, causing your back to arch away from his chest as you start panting. Each swipe building pleasure, layer on top of agonizing layer. Finding yourself in the mirror again, you unapologetically watch as your body vigorously writhes against his hand, your moans spilling from your mouth more and more.

"How badly do you want to come, princess?" The Ghost breathed, his chest rising and falling heavily now, trying to fight off his own desire, evident from the hard protrusion you keep rolling your hips against.

"S-so bad... Please! Please," you pleaded, not caring how desperate it sounds. Adding some additional pressure, your hips stutter. Your breathing practically stops as your moans transform into one long, drawn out strangled whine as you come apart, "O-ooh...oh my god. Oh god!"

Not even fully coming down from the repeated waves, you hear, "God's not here," growled into your ear. In one sudden movement, Bucky stands up with you in his arms before tossing you onto the bed, "just me.” the low rumble emits from his chest. Ripping off the mask, he kneels on the bed and uses his left arm to support his weight. Using those same damned two fingers, he plunges them into your drenched pussy, siphoning a sound from your throat that’s unrecognizable.

“Again,” Bucky breathes, his eyes glazed over with a new kind of wickedness as they lock into yours, “Come for me again. I fucking love all the sounds you make,” With his palm face up, his fingers start pumping you from the inside, running over your g-spot in a come here motion.

Since there was no remission from your last orgasm, the tightness in your belly never fully went away. Watching Bucky, seeing him in the tight black t-shirt while his bicep flexes from working you, his slightly furrowed brow and his lips slightly parted in determination, you could feel it building up once again.

Feeling your walls contract around him, he grinned. He changes his hand motions to going in a frantic up and down movement, and if you know, you know. Your rasped whimpers became silent as you forgot how to breathe and your vision blurred. The build up came on so fast and so strong, the only sound in the room was your ever increasing wetness.

Your mouth dropped open into a silent O, not able to think not a single coherent thought, "Thaaat's it..." Bucky coaxed, "I want you to gush all over my fucking hand," and with his words, your body quivers as you completely shatter with a loud cry. "Goood girl. God, what a good fucking girl," he soothes. You winced slightly as he pulled out his fingers, collapsing back more into the bed as you try to rein in remembering how to breathe. Bucky sits back on his knees, and almost entirely up to his elbow is glistening with how hard you just came.

With a flat tongue, he presses it to his palm, and licks all the way up to the tip of his middle finger, "Perfect," Bucky hums in satisfaction to himself. Your throat goes dry at the sight, being the cherry on top of all the mouth breathing you've been doing. Am I fucking dreaming?

Pushing his jeans down to his knees, his thick, flushed cock rebounds out of his boxers. Bucky grabs you by the hips, pulling you down the bed before flipping you over onto all fours. Each of his hands grabs a fistfull of your ass, before slapping one side. You moan at the bite of the smack, feeling delusional from needing him inside you so badly. He rubs the reddened cheek before dropping a teeth grazed kiss on the sensitive skin.

There's a coolness between your legs, and you realize that it's your juices sliding down your thighs. Not needing any preparation, you feel the tip of Bucky's fat cock lining up to slide into your tight little slit. He rubs the head up and down, lubricating just enough to push himself in. As he started to sink into you, it took every bit of will you had not to collapse as you felt his slight struggle to get in.

"Fuck, you're tight," he sighs. But truth be told, he's just that big. As if he had a direct roadmap, he slides in effortlessly right to the hilt, poking the sweetest spot of all making you choke out a sob, "You can take it, can't you angel?" He breathes huskily, amusement draped around the words as he dragged his cock back maliciously slow, letting you feel the ridge of each vein, every delectable centimeter of his length.

You feel your eyes roll closed, enjoying the all consuming sensation. With one quick thrust all at once, Bucky simultaneously yanks on the chain of the forgotten choker forcing your eyes open with a loud cry to find him glaring at you in the mirror, "Look at me when I'm fucking you," he reprimanded, in a subdued yet stern voice.

He started to move in a merciless rhythm, keeping the chain taut in one of the hands that clenched your hips. Each thrust delivered not only a delectable deep nudge against your cervix, but a small slap of his balls to your achingly sensitive clit. The combination of internal and external stimulation has you singing your own personal explicit cry, almost on the verge of tears with the intensity.

It's almost cruel the way that he fucks you, like he's dismantling you piece by piece, mentally, physically, emotionally. Never have you been treated like such a prize possession and a cheap whore at the same time. Your walls flutter around his cock, swallowing him needing moremoremore. You're body's accepted that this pussy is Bucky's. It's meant for him. It was made for him.

In the reflection you can see Bucky wet his lips, his eyes darting between yours and your ass bouncing off of his snapping hips. He continues to murmur soft, filthy praises as he fucks another orgasm from you. The choker tensed as you came, making the edges of your vision blurry- your walls clenching so tightly, causing each stroke to become more intense than the next. After you completely shattered, the chain went slack once again.

Manhandling you one last time, Bucky lays back flat on the bed and positions you to straddle him. You shake your head in an almost delirious state, "I-I can't. Buck, I-" you whisper, thoroughly cock drunk, "I can't," you pleaded.

"Yes you can, angel," his hands glide over your sweat coated thighs, a lecherous expression on his face. You nod ever so slightly, because even as spent and exhausted as you feel, you want to see him come apart. You want to look down into his eyes as joins you in the fucked out bliss.

You grab the base of his cock, using it to align yourself before sliding back down on top of him. Bucky's eyes widen, watching intensely as your bodies joined one another. All the air releases out of his lungs at the sight of your greedy pussy sucking him all the way in- deeper, your thighs already trembling. His hands clench your hips as your they start to grind back and forth.

His ab muscles flex under your nail piercing grasp- that pressure once again starting to build. He's just so deep, you're still just so wet from coming 3 times in a row, and now his wide tip is nestled so perfectly against your cervix that each motion of your body feels like you're going to spontaneously combust and die. But there's no way that heaven could be better than this. Those painfully beautiful sapphire blue eyes filled with an rapacious hunger that only you can fulfill.

You're mouth opens in attempt to say his name like a prayer, or something as equally dirty, but all that comes out is a sputter of shuddered gasps. Bucky's unapologetically loud moans grow more frequent, turning into their own long, drawn out beautiful melody, "fuck," he whispers, "that's so good."

Leaning down, chest to chest, you capture his lips in yours- swallowing those gorgeous sounds. Bucky takes this opportunity to thrust his hips up, massaging your inner walls as you push back against him. The loud smacking of flesh borderline drown out the sounds of both your orgasms, but you could feel the vibration from deep within Bucky's throat through the kiss. Rope after rope, you could feel his warmth emptying inside of you.

The strokes became laguid as he maintained the kiss- Bucky's hands cupping your face gently, which was such a dichotomy compared to the way he fucked you tonight. You finally pull your lips apart, collapsing fully on top of his body. Laying in silence, all you can hear is each other's ragged breathing and the drumming of his heart in your ear against his chest.

"I am... never getting rid of that fucking mask," Bucky chuckles lightly.

"Just so you know," you prop your chin up on your palm, "there's 5 other movies in the franchise."

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist.

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saintsenara · 1 month ago

Note

Top five most kinky Harry Potter characters vs top ten least kinky Harry Potter characters, go.

Personally I think Voldemort is probably into roleplay.

thank you very much for the ask, anon. what an important question.

the top five ten kinky legends in the series are obviously:

1. harry potter, who hears mcgonagall say the word "wood" and immediately thinks he's going to be caned. 2. peeves. he's the ultimate switch: filch's dom - in public, no less! - but the bloody baron's sub. 3. parvati patil, since she canonically fancies a horse and isn't shy about letting people know it. 4. percy weasley. he spends most of chamber of secrets fucking in public places and clearly gets off on the thrill of being caught, and then in prisoner of azkaban it's revealed that he and penelope also have a findom dynamic to their relationship. 5. rodolphus lestrange. let's be real, he invented the cuck chair. 6. nagini, who makes dozens of people watch - for fucking hours, presumably, given how long it takes snakes to finish a meal - as she eats charity burbage. 7. barty crouch jr. - he involves the entire government in his daddy kink, leaves several people dead while doing it, and doesn't even get to enjoy the newly-resurrected voldemort whacking on a double-breasted suit and saying he's proud of him. 8. dobby, who would make such a good sadist dom if he did the basic fucking work of understanding that you have to ask other people's permission before you try to break their bones with cursed bludgers. 9. petunia. idk i just get a vibe from her. 10. horace slughorn, who canonically ejaculates in a room full of people.

and the ten vanilla heroes? well, they're obviously:

1. hermione granger. she canonically doesn't enjoy anything too out of the ordinary - she likes candles and things being as expected and receiving lots of eye contact from her hot husband, and i love that for her. 2. nearly headless nick, who's clearly excluded from the headless hunt because they know he wouldn't enjoy the fact that they're swingers. 3. albus dumbledore. not because i think his tastes don't align with the kinkier side of life, but because he's unwilling to live a little and try out a bit of exploratory fun. although this is understandable, given what aberforth's into... 4. crookshanks, who famously disapproves of any form of rowdiness and who hates canonical voyeur peter pettigrew. 5. dolores umbridge, due to her canonical revulsion for monster-fucking. 6. borgin, who wants no part in either lucius or draco malfoy's attempts to dominate him. 7. james and lily potter. they absolutely fuck - obviously - but i think the reason they fuck so well is because they stick to the fucking they're good at. 8. cornelius fudge, because if he was into kink then he'd enjoy scrimgeour negging him in front of the prime minister more than he canonically does. 9. sirius black, which i accept is a controversial one, but his repeated failure to take the hint in order of the phoenix that both snape and kreacher want him to tie them up and call them a little bitch means it's the only viable conclusion... 10. draco malfoy, as a natural reaction to being made to observe his father's flagrant humiliation kink while the dark lord lives in their house.

and when it comes to lord voldemort himself? well, the thing we have to remember is that deviance thrives on the subversion of expectations.

which is to say, the idea that voldemort would be into things like blood-play and leather gimp masks and humiliating his partners? stale. flavourless. tired. uninspiring.

the idea that he's got a praise kink, wants to be showered with presents and gently caressed, and gets off on being told how worthy of love he is? objectively correct.

#asks answered

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morlock-holmes · 9 days ago

Text

Towards a Unified Theory of Conspiracy Crank Politics

I've been thinking a lot about what seems to drive the person I will call, for lack of a better term, the conspiracy crank world-view, and particularly, my feelings about the great crank realignment.

A lot of people have said, "It seems like 30 years ago conspiracy weirdos were pretty bipartisan people, but now they all seem to be Trump loyalists."

My belief is that it's not that the conspiracy cranks became more right-wing; rather, it's that the Republicans have largely stopped being a right-wing party and are instead now a conspiracy crank party.

So, I've said this before, and I'm not well enough read in the history of conspiracy thinking to bring up old examples, but as a kid I subscribed to Skeptical Enquirer, and I remember quickly coming to two conclusions:

The reason a lot of the alien conspiracy X Files stuff is so interesting in fiction is that talented fiction writers have used it as a jumping off point to make an interesting story; the primary conspiracy literature is often very poorly written, not very inventive, and frequently openly bigoted, which leads into my second discovery,

A lot of times there is only one degree of seperation between "Big pharma and modern living has severed our spiritual connection to our earth mother Gaia" and "The Jews run the world with the aim of keeping the white race enslaved". Like, the far right conspiracy people were often really willing to ally with and break bread with the far left conspiracy people, and vice versa, in fact much more so then the more grounded parts of the left and right.

And I think that's because the conspiracy theorists have a kind of common mindset with certain shared features, regardless of the specifics of their conspiracy.

These are things that I have noticed as commonalities, and they aren't limited to conspiracy cranks; in fact, probably the vast majority of people have these habits of thought to some extent. My argument is that they are often abnormally strong in conspiracy believers.

Belief in a just world. A lot of fringe types have a really strong belief that the world is fundamentally just, and that in the ordinary course of things bad things do not happen to good people. Bad things only happen because a personified force arranged for the bad thing to happen. The example I've used before is slipping and falling off a ladder. Many of us would attribute such a thing to pure chance; some people will take it as evidence that a witch or a demon has cursed them.

An extreme difficulty with feeling out of control. It is hard for them to accept that in some circumstances they may not have control. Things which make them feel like they are no longer in control are very often interpreted as hostilities against them.

A severe difficulty in actually putting themselves in another person's shoes. Often, the conspiracy minded person is incredibly judgemental about others, and particularly, they really, really struggle with the idea that something might be easy for them, but difficult for someone else, or difficult for them, but necessary to help someone else.

Like I said, we all have these habits to some extent, I just think they are often magnified in the conspiracy crank.

As an example of what I mean by these thought patters, I am in the middle of a podcast reviewing a crank movie about how germs don't cause diseases. And apparently, in this movie, they first have a heroic interview with a restaurant owner who not only never required his patrons to wear masks, he actually banned any mask wearing on the premises.

Which is followed immediately by a scene of a person getting kicked out of a store for not masking, and talking about how it's incredibly shocking that what should be a matter of personal conscience is being enforced by the government.

And there's just no sense that there is any hypocrisy or tension here.

What I mean is, a principled libertarian might say, "Each individual business can require masks, or require you to take masks off, or have no policy, according to their individual decision, and we should allow them to make those decisions and abide by them."

Another principled position might be that we have extremely compelling evidence for the pandemic, and maybe certain kinds of policies should be temporarily enacted to slow the spread, even though they infringe on what would be, in ordinary times, important liberties, because they serve to protect the collective greater good.

Either of these positions sort of takes it for granted that a choice that I, personally, might not fully agree with might still be important to other people.

But the crank mindset says, "I don't want to wear a mask. So forcing people to wear a mask is an imposition on important freedoms. But since I'm already comfortable without a mask, forcing people to take their masks off isn't any kind of imposition on anybody's freedom, that's ridiculous."

You can see what I'm talking about most clearly in certain right-wing Christians. I've seen Christians say that freedom is exactly the same as following God's will, and that disobedience to God is a form of bondage and slavery.

These habits of mind are not, themselves, partisan; the can be applied to any cause, right-wing or left-wing. I might just have easily brought up "Free speech doesn't mean tolerating hate speech."

But I would argue that the reverse is not true, that you can build a political party that caters primarily to people with these habits of mind.

These people tend to flock to politicians who simultaneously promise a strong government which they can borrow to reassert their sense of control in the world, but the actual specific politics of that government are squishy and malleable.

The government has to be strong and able to domineer others because the conspiracy crank understands that they are in opposition to some large portion of the population, and so the government has to be strong enough to say, for example, "We will make sure that no private business will kick you out for wearing a mask."

When the world feels out of control, the government will lend you the tools to reassert your control over the world around you.

But the actual political goals of the government have to be extremely vague and malleable, so that they can move quickly to maintain the illusion that good people don't ever really disagree about this stuff.

A government which is coherently committed to a libertarian project might well say, "Sorry, those businesses have every right to decide who they cater to."

You have to be a weathervane, once a majority of cranks decide that vaccines and mask mandates are bad, you have to swivel and take that position in order to maintain a sort of illusion that whatever freedoms your crank audience wants in the moment are inherently sensible and that no sane person could disagree.

My argument is that Trump has turned the Republicans into the crank party, the party that signals to cranks that it will have their backs, whereas thirty years ago, the parties were still committed enough to coherent political goals that neither one could make that promise, and so cranks had to be politically idiosyncratic.

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