#now that feb is over I'm like

[mothric]

you ever get a beam of morbid curiosity and search something on ao3 just to see if it exists? well imagine my shock and surprise to find out that in the 25 years the smash bros franchise has existed, it appears nobody in the universe has sexualized the master hand even once. are the freaks of the world ok???

[prettyboyedgetoy]

.

[queenerdloser]

so based on past yearly data, it sounds like some of the schools i applied to will probably start doing responses as early as next week, which means i'm about to become like the most stressed anxious lap dog of a person who has ever existed when it comes to checking my email

[foreverxdaydreaming]

replying to all your messages after a long bout of shit mental health, knowing damn well you're like a torn bag of chips being held together by a flimsy clip at best

if no not one me, i think know clippy got me 📎

[ateezscupid]

─── FEB FILTH FEST: Cry For Me - CORRUPTION ♡

SUMMARY / An average night with your boyfriends, except this time it's more raw, more intense, the first time you fall into subspace.

warnings ✩ SMUT, DOM/SUB dynamics, soft dom!mingi, switch!wooyoung, sub!fem reader, poly relationship, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, petnames (tiny, love), praise and degradation, choking, slight voice kink, reader falls deep into subspace

word count ✩ 2,68k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @shinebyeoli @dawn-iscozy @xh01bri @mallielovssyou @clxssy1997 @soreberry @nopension @kitten4sannie @faeriehwas @lustfxq @ashistrashhhhhh @hwallazia @aurorasjoongie@seonghwaswifeuuu

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST / FEB FILTH FEST

"You're doing so well," Mingi ran his fingers across your chest, occasionally pinching your nipples. His voice was low, a gentle rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You lay on top of him, barely able to hear him due to Wooyoung's head between your legs, his tongue playing with your clit in a way that made your toes curl. The room was dimly lit, only the glow from the laptop screen casting a soft blue light across the sheets. The faint scent of vanilla candles filled the air, mixing with the musky aroma of sex.

Your breath grew ragged as the sensations built up inside of you. You felt the beginnings of something new, a feeling of floating, as if you were slowly detaching from the world. The pain and pleasure intertwined, creating a pattern of sensations that washed over you like waves of warmth.

"Woo…" you croak, your thighs trembling around his head. "P-Please," you beg, not even knowing what you're asking for. The intensity was like nothing you've ever experienced before, your body hovering on the brink of a precipice you didn't even know existed.

Mingi's eyes, filled with a fierce tenderness, met yours. He read the desperation in them, understanding the depth of your need. With a nod, he gently squeezed your hips, urging Wooyoung to increase his pace. The world around you narrowed to the sensation of his tongue, the pressure building until it felt like you were going to shatter.

"Focus, tiny." Mingi whispers in your ear, the endearment a stark contrast to the firm grip he now had on your hips, guiding you. You felt the mattress shift as he repositioned himself beneath you, his erection pressing against your ass. Your eyes glazed over with arousal, unable to resist the siren call of his voice. Wooyoung's tongue grew more insistent, each stroke of it pushing you closer to the edge.

"I-I'm gonna c-come--" you whimper, leaning your head back on Mingi's shoulder. His arms tighten around you, holding you close, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady cocktail of lust and love.

Wooyoung's eyes dart up to meet yours, a silent question in them. You nod frantically, giving him the green light. His grip on your thighs tightens, his tongue flicking faster, more demanding. The orgasm hits you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs and sending your vision swirling with stars. You scream, a raw, primal sound that echoes through the quiet apartment.

Wooyoung pulled away and replaced his tongue with his fingers, sliding them in and out of you as the aftershocks of your climax rippled through your body. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt your eyes roll back into your head. Your muscles clenched around his digits, and a strangled noise of pleasure escaped your throat.

"I-I can't-" you try to protest, but the words are barely out of your mouth when Mingi leans in to whisper, "You can, baby. Trust us." His voice is a velvet promise that wraps around you, giving you the strength to endure the overwhelming sensations.

You throw your arm over your face, your thighs closing only for Wooyoung to open them back up. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, his expression one of pure, focused determination. He slathers your clit with his saliva, and then starts to suck on it, gently at first, and then with more pressure, as if trying to coax more pleasure out of your trembling body. Your cries become more frequent, each one more desperate than the last.

Tears started to fall down your cheeks from pure pleasure. Mingi's hand caressed your side, his thumb stroking your hip in a gentle, reassuring pattern. He could feel the tremors in your body as Wooyoung brought you closer to a second orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your breathless whimpers and the wet noises of Wooyoung's ministrations.

"Cmon," Wooyoung murmured, looking at you with a mix of passion and determination. He added a third finger, stretching you even further, while his thumb found your clit again. The dual sensation was too much, and you felt your body start to shake uncontrollably. The pressure grew, a tight coil in your belly.

"F-Fuck!" you cry out, the pleasure becoming too much to handle. Your nails dig into the sheets, clutching at the fabric as if it's the only thing anchoring you to reality. Your vision swims, and you feel your body start to drift away, leaving you floating in a sea of sensation.

"Good girl." Mingi's voice was a low rumble, his grip on your hips unyielding as Wooyoung's relentless attention sent you spiraling towards another peak. You could feel your orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that seemed to expand with every heartbeat. The room spun around you, the only anchors being the strong arms that held you down and the mouth that worshiped you.

You collapsed on top of Mingi, Wooyoung crawling up to kiss you as the last of your orgasm ebbed away. Your legs were jelly, unable to support your own weight. You felt boneless and utterly spent, your chest rising and falling with the effort of each breath.

"Tiny, you okay?" Mingi's voice was a gentle murmur against the roar in your ears. You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, and felt his arms wrap around you protectively. The world was a haze of sensation, colors bleeding into one another as you descended into a place where pleasure and pain were one.

"Y/N?" Wooyoung's concerned voice broke through the fog of pleasure. You nodded feebly, unable to find the words to express the intensity of what you were feeling. Your eyes were unfocused, and your body was a mass of sensations, each more profound than the last.

"Jesus, she's in subspace." Mingi's voice was filled with awe and concern, his eyes never leaving yours as he felt the change in your body. You had gone limp in his arms, a soft whine escaping your lips as the last vestiges of your climax washed over you. The room grew quieter, the only sounds the harsh panting of your breath and the thud of your heart echoing in your ears.

You lazily reached around, tugging at Wooyoung's sweatpants, needing more of him, needing to feel him inside you. He must've sensed your desperation because he pulled away just long enough to shed his clothes, his erection springing free. The sight of him, all hard lines and sinew, made your mouth water, your body aching to be filled.

"N-Need…it…" you whimper, your hand shaking as it reaches for Wooyoung's cock. The words are barely coherent, lost in the haze of pleasure that's taken over your body. You're in subspace, a place of pure sensation and need, where the boundaries between reality and ecstasy are blurred.

"Be careful." Mingi's warning was a gentle nudge, his hand steadying your wrist as Wooyoung positioned himself at your entrance. You could feel the warmth of his cock pressing against you, a promise of more pleasure to come. His eyes searched yours, seeking confirmation, and you gave it to him with a nod that was more a twitch of your chin than a conscious movement.

Wooyoung pushed himself inside, filling you completely, and you let out a long, drawn-out moan that seemed to come from the very depths of your soul. The feeling of fullness was almost too much to bear, but it was exactly what you needed. As he began to move, you felt your body respond almost on instinct, hips rolling back to meet each of his slow, deliberate thrusts.

"Good girl," Mingi murmured in your ear, his voice thick with arousal. "You're doing so well, letting us use your tight little cunt like this." His words were both praise and degradation, a heady mix that sent your mind spinning even further into subspace.

Wooyoung's thrusts grew stronger, more demanding, and you felt your body respond in kind, your muscles clenching around him as if trying to pull him deeper. "Look at you," he groaned, his voice low and raspy with desire. "You're such a slut for us, aren't you?" His words were a brand on your soul, claiming you as theirs.

You could only whimper in response. Mingi wrapped his hand around your neck and lifted your face, his gaze piercing through the haze of pleasure. "Say it," he demanded, his voice a dark velvet whisper. "Tell us how much you love being our little slut." The words were a hot brand, but you were beyond the point of caring about the sting.

"…l-love it," you breathed, the words slipping out like a confession. "I-I love being…y-yours." Your voice was barely a whisper, lost in the symphony of pleasure that consumed you. The admission was like a key, unlocking something primal within you, something that reveled in the feeling of complete and utter submission.

Mingi's grip tightened on your neck, his thumb pressing gently against your pulse point as he watched the play of emotions across your face. You were lost in subspace, a place where the lines between agony and ecstasy were erased, leaving only the purest form of pleasure. Your eyes were glazed, your breaths coming in short, erratic bursts as Wooyoung's cock claimed you with every thrust.

More tears started falling down your cheeks, but they weren’t from pain—they were from the overwhelming rush of pleasure and submission. You were adrift in a sea of sensation, the world around you nothing but a distant memory as you floated in a haze of bliss. Each thrust from Wooyoung sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, the feeling so intense it was almost painful.

"You feel so good," Wooyoung grunted, his hips pistoning into you with increasing force. His grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers leaving bruises in their wake, but you didn't care. In subspace, pain was just another facet of pleasure, a note in the symphony that played through your body. Each thrust sent you spiraling deeper into the abyss, each gasp and moan a testament to your submission.

He slowed down for a moment to pull you down a bit, pushing your knees to your chest and sliding in even deeper. The new angle made you gasp, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. But in subspace, that pain was a sweet, delicious agony that you craved. The room spun around you, the only anchor being the two men who held you in their thrall.

Mingi kept your hair out of your face, his grip firm but gentle, as Wooyoung's pace grew more demanding. The friction of his cock against your g-spot was unbearable, a constant reminder of your vulnerability, of your complete surrender. Your breaths hitched and your eyes rolled back as he hit that perfect spot over and over, your body jolting with each impact. The pain was a beautiful crescendo, layering over the pleasure until you weren't sure where one began and the other ended.

" 'm gonna…c-come…" you whimper, your voice barely audible through the haze of subspace. The sensation of Wooyoung's cock filling you up, the pressure of Mingi's hand on your neck, the sound of your skin slapping against theirs—it all combined into an overwhelming symphony of pleasure that had you teetering on the brink of another mind-shattering orgasm.

Mingi's grip tightened, a silent command for you to hold on, and you nodded, desperately trying to cling to the last shreds of coherence as Wooyoung's pace grew frantic. The world around you was nothing but a blur of colors and sensations, each more intense than the last. You could feel yourself starting to fall, your body no longer your own as the pleasure claimed you completely.

"S-Shit--" Wooyoung's breath hitched as he felt your muscles tighten around him, a clear sign of your climax. His own orgasm was close, the tension in his body coiling tighter and tighter with each stroke. The room was a symphony of sounds—your desperate whimpers, the slap of skin on skin, the harsh exhales of the two men who owned every inch of you. "Fuck, I'm gonna come so hard inside of you."

The words barely registered in your subspace haze, but your body responded with an even deeper clench, as if eager to milk every drop from him. The world was a kaleidoscope of sensation, each thrust a burst of color in the abyss of pleasure. Your thoughts were scattered, reduced to fragmented whispers of need and desire.

"Gonna milk him dry like a good 'lil cumdump?" Mingi's voice was a dark whisper in your ear, his fingers playing with the sensitive skin of your neck as your body tightened around Wooyoung's cock. The word "cumdump" sent a bolt of arousal through you, and you nodded, eager to fulfill your role.

Wooyoung cursed, halting his thrusts for a moment as his own climax hit, the force of it making his whole body spasm. You felt his cock pulse inside you, filling you up with warmth, and it was like a switch had been flipped.Another orgasm crashed over you, more intense than any you've ever felt. It was like your entire being was a live wire, electrified with pleasure. Your muscles clenched around him, milking him for every drop of his release, just as Mingi had said. The sensation was so overwhelming you couldn't hold back the scream that tore from your throat, echoing through the quiet apartment.

"Are you okay?" Wooyoung's voice was soft, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and satisfaction as he watched you try to catch your breath. You nodded, the word "yes" lost in the symphony of sensation still reverberating through your body.

"Do you wanna take a break, love?" Mingi's voice was a soothing balm, his eyes filled with a gentle concern that was almost foreign in the haze of pleasure that still clouded your vision. You nodded, unable to form coherent words as your body trembled from the aftermath of your orgasms.

Wooyoung carefully pulled out of you, his cock glistening with your juices. He leaned in to kiss you softly, his own breath still ragged. "I'll get your bath ready," he murmured against your lips, his hand stroking your cheek before moving to gently wipe away the tears that still stained your face.

As Wooyoung disappeared into the bathroom, Mingi held you tight, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you came down from the high of subspace. The room felt too quiet, the absence of Wooyoung's body against yours leaving you feeling slightly empty. But Mingi's embrace was warm and comforting, his touch a gentle reminder that you weren't alone in this.

"What…" you mumble, your voice still lost to the depths of your subspace haze. "What…happened?"

Mingi's smile was soft and full of pride. "You fell into subspace, baby. It's a good thing, a sign that you trust us completely." He kissed the top of your head, his arms holding you in a firm, reassuring embrace. "It's kinda like a trance."

"It…was…amazing," you murmured, still lost in the afterglow. The world slowly started to come back into focus, the sounds of Wooyoung running the bath water a comforting background noise.

Mingi chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath you. "It certainly was." He stroked your back, his touch feather-light. "But it's also intense, and you need to come back to us completely before we go any further." His eyes searched yours, ensuring you were okay with the gentle dominance in his tone. You nodded, feeling safe and loved in his care.

As the aftershocks of your climaxes subsided, Mingi brought you to the bathroom and sat you inside the tub. Wooyoung knelt beside the tub, a warm, damp washcloth in hand. He gently wiped away the remaining tears from your face and cleaned you up with tender strokes, his eyes never leaving yours. The warmth of his gaze made you feel cherished, a stark contrast to the raw, intense pleasure you'd just experienced.

[kashverse]

a career day where parents come into class! Papakuna being all gruffy but baby has the proudest and biggest smile for his effort

those parent-child PE competitions for the class for the fastest duo! Papakuna would def win

making babykuna’s first science project!

Just to name a few ideas and it’s okay if you can’t or don’t!

this request dates back to feb 9th…i'm sorry for not finishing it earlier but i hope you like it <3 ☆ kunafamily lore masterlist

career day at babykuna’s school is a battlefield.

parents in stiff suits, freshly pressed uniforms, and worn-out scrubs stand in the front of the classroom, each presenting their careers to a group of tiny, fidgeting children who only care about snack time. but none command the attention of the room like ryomen sukuna. the moment he enters—six foot plus, towering, expensive watch glinting in the light like a status symbol—the energy shifts. the kids stare in awe. the parents look over with thinly veiled concern. the teacher, an older woman with soft eyes and a cardigan covered in embroidered apples, visibly hesitates before greeting him.

sukuna, of course, revels in it.

he takes a seat in one of the impossibly tiny classroom chairs, arms resting on his knees, eyes trained on the front of the room where babykuna stands proudly, ready to present her "photo-seen-thesis" project. "alright, class, today i will explain how the earth drinks the sunlight!" babykuna announces, voice clear and unwavering. "this is important because we need the sun to live, but too much sun can make you crispy like toast."

sukuna nods solemnly, as if he is learning this for the first time. she gestures to her carefully drawn diagram, a piece of poster paper covered in various labubu drawings. one is violently yellow to represent the sun, another is painted green with visible streaks of other colors from where she went outside the lines. "this is the sun." she points to the blindingly yellow labubu. "it looks scary but don’t worry. it only makes you blind if you look at it too long."

sukuna hums in agreement, his expression one of deep concentration. "makes sense. can’t argue with that."

"exactly!" babykuna continues, completely serious. "and these are the leaves. they eat the sun and then they breathe out the air we need. so really, trees are like… big air factories. that’s why we have to take care of them."

there is a brief pause. one of the kids at the front blinks. "so if i eat a leaf, will i breathe better?"

the teacher chokes on air.

"no, stupid," another kid interjects, "you have to eat a lot of them."

babykuna closes her eyes and inhales deeply through her nose. she learned patience from you. she is practicing it now. sukuna, meanwhile, is fighting for his life not to laugh.

the presentation eventually ends, and the teacher thanks babykuna for her "insightful and creative take on plant science" before calling for a short break.

sukuna is thoroughly entertained.

"that was real fuckin’ impressive, princess," he tells babykuna, crouching beside her desk. "i learned a lot."

"thank you, papa," she says, beaming. "did you like my labubus?" he eyes the yellow one. "not gonna lie, this guy looks kinda cursed."

babykuna pouts. "he’s the sun! he’s supposed to be bright!"

"he’s a biohazard," sukuna mutters, amused.

but the real highlight of the day comes after the presentations, during the PE showcase. the teacher, bless her soul, announces that parents are encouraged to participate in a duo race with their kids. "oh, we’re winnin’ this," sukuna mutters, rolling up his sleeves. "we are?!" babykuna gasps, eyes shining with excitement.

"hell yeah. you think i spent all those years runnin’ between takin’ care of you and your mom for nothin’?" he smirks, crouching down. "get on."

babykuna does not hesitate. she scrambles onto his shoulders, gripping his hair for balance, practically vibrating with anticipation as they line up at the starting line. parents are stretching, adjusting their shoes, mentally preparing themselves. sukuna just smirks.

the whistle blows.

it is an immediate massacre.

sukuna takes off like a fucking racehorse, years of fatherhood training kicking in as he sprints down the track. babykuna screeches like a banshee, the sheer volume of her battle cry sending every other parent into fight-or-flight mode.

one poor dad panics and stumbles out of the way. a mom gasps and grabs her child, moving before they can be trampled. the teacher watches in abject horror.

they do not stop. they do not slow. they cross the finish line in record time, babykuna throwing her fists into the air, grinning so hard her face might split.

"WE WIN!" she shrieks. "PAPA IS KING! KING OF THE CLASSROOM!"

sukuna, slightly winded but infinitely smug, nods in approval. “damn right we are.”

[5sospenguinqueen]

Lullabies | Max Verstappen x Singer! Reader

Summary: Six months ago, Max walked out of your life after a conversation about your future. When you find out he' ended up in a's dating Kelly - who has a child - you work through your emotions in the best way you know how; revenge music.

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Miscommunication. End of a relationship. Max doesn’t look great in this.

Female reader with various faceclaims. Takes place in 2021 but timelines have been completely altered. Olivia Rodrigo songs.

Main Masterlist

next.

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Feb

YourUserName just posted

liked by georgerussell63, bestfriend and others

YourUserName 'and i fantasise about a time you're a little fucking sorry'

12,326 comments

user1 mother is in the studio, ya’ll. i'm smelling a new album

user2 did their breakup destroy my soul? yes. do i believe the revenge album will heal my soul? absolutely

user3 the working titles are so unhinged and I’m here for it

→ user4 hit you with a car is so real

→ user5 love that she called him evil whilst also saying that she wants him to drive off a cliff. we respect it

francisca.cgomes i’m SO ready for this. sure you can’t give me a little preview?

→ YourUserName stop trying to get me fired

user6 sis disappears from social media for 6 months only to come back serving cunt

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

2 months before

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May

redbullracing just posted

liked by YourUserName, maxverstappen1 and others

redbullracing ANOTHER VICTORY FOR MAX VERSTAPPEN 🏆 #AustrianGP tagged: maxverstappen1, kellypiquet

7,445 comments

user7 omg omg omg y/n liked. this is not a drill

user8 was that last photo really necessary? she’s just a wag, she’s not actually part of red bull

user9 not y/n liking 🥺 he broke her heart but she’s still supportive of his career

user10 that should’ve been Y/N

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

June

YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, victoriaverstappen and others

YourUserName 'you’re just a stranger i know everything about'

10,102 comments

user11 not max liking despite not even following

victoriaverstappen so talented

liked by maxverstappen1

→ YourUserName thank you, vic x

→ user12 not the former SILs interacting on main

alex_albon what's that sound? oh, it's just my tears

→ YourUserName doofus

→ lilymhe can confirm

user12 and now my heart is breaking all over again. i miss the two of them so bad

kellypiquet just posted

liked by landonorris, redbullracing and others

kellypiquet summer break with my favourites 🤍 tagged: maxverstappen1

4,387 comments

user13 so pretty

user14 anyone notice max hasn’t been commenting since y/n became active again on socials

→ user15 delusional

→ user16 clearly they're fine if she's posting vacay pics with him

→ user17 except these are clearly old pics because max had stubble at the gp like two days ago so...

→ user18 plus he always used to comment and this time he's not even liked the post

→ user19 not to add fuel to the fire but they were also spotted arguing after his podium

YourUserName posted a new story

Baby Fever Angst Series

Tag List (I tried to include all those who asked. Sorry if you only wanted to be tagged in Part 2 to Daniel and not the other drivers, it got a bit confusing haha)

@lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @callsignwidow @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: eye for an eye (series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

mob!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, smut, p n v, unprotected sex, table sex, light fingering, hair pulling, begging, past wounds, physical violence, angst, wound description, threats, some fluff, protective bucky, bucky barnes had issues, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: hi!! i spent all of jan doing my 50k word challenge on the daughter of rotsál first draft, but i thought i'd take these first few days of feb to update this fic! i also released a smutty/fluffy oneshot called sweatpea you should check out! my birthday and uni is coming up soon so i'm gonna try squeeze in some more work on the daughter of rotsál draft before that and maybe one more update / another one-shot but i'll see how i go! anyway, enjoy this is a spicy one! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love permanent taglist: @globetrotter28

main masterlist | series masterlist

The shipment warehouse was a vast, hollowed-out space. Shadows stretched long beneath the dim, hanging bulbs. The scent of aged wood, alcohol, and rust lingered in the air, the faint remnants of the whiskey that passed through here on its way to buyers. Though mostly empty, clusters of wooden crates were stacked against the far walls, some sealed, others pried open to reveal their glass cargo, bottles of dark amber liquid reflecting the weak light. Scattered metal production tables dotted the floor, their surfaces scratched and stained from years of work. These were the stations where workers packed the shipments, but now, the tables sat abandoned, save for one.

At the centre of the warehouse, in front of one of the tables, three men sat bound to chairs. Rope bit into their flesh, tight enough that their fingers were already turning an ugly shade of blue. The table before them had been repurposed for something far crueller than packaging liquor. A collection of weapons lay across its surface—blades, hammers, pliers, each one arranged with careful deliberation. 

By the main entrance, Steve and Sam stood guard, their figures solid and unmoving, you eyed them cautiously as you passed through the threshold. They didn’t quite meet your eye, and you wondered if they could hear the deafening pulse that roared in your ears. The cold night air filtered in through the open doors behind them, a scattering of ash decorating the stone floor.

Bucky entered beside you, his steps slow and deliberate. But you could feel the unspoken tension rolling off him in waves. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, his shoulders squared rigidly, his jaw tight. The walk over from the Sootline had been silent, even if you could practically feel the heat of rage radiating off him. He didn’t seem eager to talk to you, even if his gaze would occasionally flicker to you to make sure you still followed along behind him. Maybe he feared he would find judgment in your eyes because he never held them for long.

“Bucky—” You called out softly, but the gangster shied away from your touch, the fabric of his sleeve slipping through your fingers. 

He strode forward, each step heavy, his boots striking against the stone with a slow, deliberate rhythm that sent a shiver down your spine. The sound echoed through the warehouse, filling it like a countdown ticking. You knew him. You had to remind yourself of that. You knew this man—the sharp edges of his cruelty, the weight of his fury, the way violence coiled beneath his skin like a second nature. You knew him intimately; you had felt the warmth of his breath, the roughness of his hands, and the steel of his will.

And yet, in this moment, he felt distant. Unreachable.

Even if he was angry, even if he had been cold and dismissive, his rage was not aimed at you. This was because of you. Because of what happened. The thought should have been comforting, a reassurance that you were not in his path and that his wrath had a different target. And yet, the knowledge did little to ease the weight pressing against your bruised ribs; it didn’t stop the breath from hitching in your throat as you took in the scene before you.

You were safe. You knew that.

But safety did nothing to silence the unease creeping through your veins.

The Iron Rats reacted the moment Bucky neared them. Two of them shrank back, their chairs creaking as they futilely tried to recoil from him. Their eyes darted between Bucky and the weapons on the table, their breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. One of them had already begun to tremble, his lips forming silent prayers, his body betraying him as he shook against the restraints.

But the third man—the one at the end—was different. He didn’t cower, didn’t flinch. He simply stared ahead, eyes hollow, his expression unreadable. It was as if he had already accepted whatever was coming and made peace with the inevitable. 

“Barnes.” You snapped louder this time, voice clipped. The gangster paused his movements, not even turning to look back as he raised his hand, silencing you with a raise of his index finger.

“I was considerin’ if the bird needed to see this.” He finally broke his silence, voice low with a dangerous edge. “But I think she needs’a understand, don’t ya think?” 

His hand struck forward, grasping one of the cowering men’s chins, forcing his head to look in your direction. You could tell his grip was bruising, even from a distance, the skin around his thumb growing white at the pressure. “She needs’a understand what happens to dirty fuckin’ rats that come crawling into my territory.”

Bucky released the man with a sharp shove, and the Iron Rat nearly sobbed in relief, his chair rocking back violently from the force. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Bucky barely spared him a glance. Instead, he dragged his fingers down the front of his suit jacket in one broad stroke as if ridding himself of the filth he had just touched. 

Then, without looking, he reached for the table, his fingers curling around the worn handle of a butcher’s knife. The blade was thick and heavy, meant to cleave through bone as quickly as meat. As he lifted it, it scraped against the metal tabletop, the sound sharp and grating—final.

Bucky turned to you, his fingers curling around the handle, weighing it in his grip like an executioner deliberating his next stroke. His gaze pinned you in place.

“Left or right, doll?”

The question landed like a punch to the gut.

“What?” You stammered back in response.

“Left or right?” His voice was eerily steady, too casual for the brutality hanging in the air. It was as if he were asking you to pick a wine for dinner, not deciding which limb would be lost. Your throat tightened. The Iron Rats were barely breathing, one whimpering, his chair creaking under his tremors.

You forced your voice to work. “Barnes, don’t you think we’ve caused enough damage?”

You knew you'd made a mistake the second the words left your lips.

Bucky’s head snapped towards you, his jaw ticking, something dark and dangerous flickering behind his eyes. The shift in him was immediate, electric. He abandoned the bound man without hesitation, closing the space between you in a few sharp strides. Your pulse stuttered.

He was on you in seconds, looming, his presence suffocating. You turned your head instinctively as his breath fanned hot across your cheek, but there was no escaping him.

“No.”

The single word was like a hammer shattering stone.

“We ‘aven’t caused nearly enough damage after what they did.” His voice, low and venomous, left no room for argument. His free hand clenched at his side, fingers twitching with barely contained rage. “You think I’m gonna let these filthy fuckin’ rats walk away after puttin’ their hands on you? Huh? After hurtin’ you right under my fuckin’ nose?”

Your breath caught, your ribs tightening under the weight of his fury. He leant in, close enough that his lips nearly brushed your ear. His words were a vow, a sentence carved in stone when he spoke next. “You’re under my protection. Mine. You’re mine. So fuckin’ choose, doll. Left or right?”

Your stomach twisted. The Iron Rats were silent, frozen, waiting for your answer as if it were their final prayer. You swallowed.

“…Right.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth curled, but there was no warmth in it. It was a razor-sharp thing, all teeth and no kindness. His eyes gleamed with something feverish, something manic.

“Good girl,” he purred. The praise was smooth, almost sweet, but his grip on the knife tightened, knuckles whitening around the handle. And then he turned. The Iron Rat barely had time to process what was happening before Bucky moved.

The butcher’s knife came down in a single, brutal arc.

A sickening crack filled the warehouse as steel met flesh and bone, followed by a scream so raw, so agonised, it turned your stomach. The man convulsed against his restraints, his bound arms jerking wildly, but there was nowhere to go.

Blood splattered across the metal tabletop, dark and glistening. It pooled. Dripped and painted the concrete floor beneath him. His severed hand tumbled to the ground with a dull thud, fingers twitching uselessly in the growing puddle of red.

Bucky barely spared the carnage a glance. “You touched her,” he said coldly, voice devoid of sympathy. 

“So I took your fuckin’ hand.” He tilted his head, considering the sobbing, writhing man before him. “Consider it generous that I ain’t takin’ both.”

The Iron Rat howled, his body convulsing. Tears streamed down his face, his cries dissolving into choked, incoherent pleas for mercy. Bucky wasn’t listening. He wiped the blade clean against his sleeve, smearing crimson across the dark fabric like a war trophy. Then, slowly, he turned to the second man, pointing the stained blade at him.

“Your turn.”

The second Iron Rat thrashed in his chair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. His eyes, wild with terror, darted between Bucky and the ruined stump of the first man. Blood still poured from the wound, pooling beneath the chair, seeping into the cracks of the warehouse floor. The stench of it—sharp, metallic, raw—hung thick in the air.

“Please,” he sobbed. “Please, I—I didn’t even—”

Bucky slammed a heavy hand down on his shoulder, silencing him with a violent jolt. The Iron Rat flinched, chest heaving, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face. Bucky turned to you again, the knife glinting under the dim warehouse lights.

“Left or right?”

Your fingers curled into your palms, nails digging deep enough to leave crescent moons in your skin, but the sting barely registered. Your mind screamed at you, an urgent, panicked voice clawing at the edges of your thoughts. Stop this. Say something. Tell him it’s enough.

But you didn’t.

Because you knew the truth now, Bucky wouldn’t listen. Any sense of cold calculation had snapped within him, as if his father himself had possessed his body. His blood was up, his fury ran red-hot and unchecked. Reason was a foreign concept to him in this moments, swallowed whole by vengeance and violence.

Your breath felt thin as you watched him, as you remembered what was left of Varlan Crey. The Rat King, so smug, so untouchable, had been brought to his knees. Felled not by magic or blades, but by the sheer, unrelenting wrath of Bucky Barnes. He had survived, maybe by the hand of a small mercy. Or maybe just dumb luck. Because you had seen it—the flicker of real, unguarded fear in Crey’s eyes. The raw understanding that, for the first time, he had stood at the very edge of death and only barely stepped back in time.

You swallowed, throat dry as dust. “Left.”

A shuddering breath left the Iron Rat, some final, pitiful sound before—

Bucky moved.

The blade came down hard.

The crack of severed bone and the wet, visceral tear of flesh split through the warehouse. The man’s scream ripped through the air, raw and broken, his body jerking violently against the chair. Blood sprayed across the table, warm and thick, dripping onto the floor. His severed hand landed with a sickening slap, fingers twitching before they went still.

Bucky tightened his grip on the man’s shoulders, keeping him from toppling the chair over as he convulsed in agony. He wiped the blade again, slow and deliberate, his gaze flicking to the last Iron Rat—the one who hadn’t made a sound.

The man met Bucky’s eyes with an eerie, empty calm.

No trembling. No pleading. Just quiet resignation.

A slight, bitter smile played at the edges of his lips as he tilted his head, gesturing to his left hand, which was secured against the arm of the chair. A soldier offering himself to the executioner.

Bucky exhaled sharply, amused. “Good choice.”

And then he brought the knife down.

The man grunted as the blade severed flesh and bone in one clean stroke, but he didn’t scream. His body twitched, stiffening against the pain, but he bit it down. His severed hand dropped onto the table this time, fingers curling inward, as if gripping something unseen. Blood seeped from the wound, a slow, steady stream.

Bucky studied him for a moment, almost impressed.

Then, satisfied, he tossed the knife onto the table with a dull clang. The first two Iron Rats were still crying, writhing, staring at their stumps like they could somehow undo what had been done. The third just slumped in his chair, pale and shaking, but silent.

“I think I should take an eye next, for even lookin’ at you. What’d you think, doll?” Exhaustion lay heavy in your bones as your eyes fluttered shut briefly. Bucky was upon you again, his gaze softer now, the fury still burning beneath the surface but tempered. He reached for you, his bloodied fingers grazing your arm in a touch that was meant to be comforting. “Eye for an eye, after all.”

“I don’t…” You stammered but leant into his touch by default. Steve and Sam had adverted their eyes, their expressions unreadable as they pressed their lips into a line. 

“I’ll choose for ya, how’s that sound, doll?” He rubbed a bloodied thumb across your cheek. You looked up at him through your lashes, hoping something in your eyes could pull him away. But his eyes settled on the faded split in your lip, and his gaze hardened. “They have to pay.”

Bucky stalked off towards the array of weapons displayed along the table once more. The knife he chose gleamed under the dim light, and Bucky tested the edge against his thumb. A single bead of red welled up but he paid it no mind. His attention was elsewhere—on the trembling man before him, the one still staring at his bleeding stump, breath hitching in raw, animalistic terror.

“Please,” the Iron Rat sobbed, voice wet, desperate. “Please, Barnes, I can’t—I—”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders like the weight of their begging was nothing more than an inconvenience. His hand was steady, practiced, as he tapped the knife tip against the man’s chin, tilting his face up.

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask for pleas,” he murmured, voice eerily even. “Left or right?”

The man shuddered violently. He turned slightly, eyes flicking to you as though you could save him as if you had any say. You swallowed, your tongue thick and useless, pinned in place by the weight of Bucky’s presence and the inevitability of what came next.

When no answer came, Bucky clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Left it is.” The knife sank into the man’s left eye in a swift, brutal motion. A high and raw shriek tore through the room, sending a shudder through your bones.

You flinched, but only slightly. The movement barely registered.

You had seen Bucky covered in blood before, had seen him like this before—violent, efficient, merciless. Yet you had also seen him in moments far removed from this carnage.

You had watched him bleed and had pressed your hands to his wounds to keep him from slipping away. You had felt his warmth seeping between your fingers, his breath shallow but steady as he let you take care of him. He had trusted you then, let you see him vulnerable when he could have just as easily pushed you away.

He had defended you against the Rat King, standing between you and the man who had wanted to carve you apart. If it hadn’t been for him, would you have been at the mercy of the Iron Rats? Tied to a chair like the three men before you? There had been no hesitation in him then, just like there was none now. And it was all for you.

The thought made your stomach tighten, but not in fear. Not entirely.

Bucky wiped the knife clean on the Iron Rat’s pant leg, a simple, thoughtless movement, and turned to the last man. The final Iron Rat had been silent the entire time, watching the carnage with eerie detachment. Even now, as the scent of blood thickened the air and his fallen comrades moaned and sobbed, his expression barely shifted. He only blinked, slow and deliberate, as Bucky approached.

“Ya know what I’m gonna ask,” Bucky said, voice quieter this time.

A pause.

Then, a small sigh.

“Right,” the man murmured, resigned.

Something flickered in Bucky’s expression—curiosity, maybe. Approval. He didn’t make him wait. The blade sank deep, and though the Iron Rat tensed, his breath hitching sharply, he made no sound. Blood welled, thick and dark, spilling down his cheek, but he simply slumped against the restraints, his ruined eye weeping crimson.

Bucky lingered, staring at him, head tilted slightly. Considering. Perhaps even disappointed.

Bucky only clicked his tongue before turning back to you. The shift was subtle but immediate. The hardness in his expression softened, his eyes no longer carrying the cold fury he had wielded so effortlessly moments before. His hand, still warm despite the blood smeared across his fingers, reached for you, grazing your waist.

“See, doll?” he murmured. “Now they know.”

Your breath caught.

You should have felt horror. Revulsion. But instead, as you looked at him—his jaw speckled with blood, his chest rising and falling evenly, the fire still smouldering behind his eyes—you felt something else entirely. Something that made your fingers twitch, something that made your chest tighten.

Maybe, just maybe, this was more than just lust.

You weren’t sure whether that should’ve terrified you.

But at that moment, staring up at him, your heart still pounding, you weren’t sure you cared.

—

Bucky quickly issued his orders: everyone was to leave but you. Sam and Steve moved without hesitation, grabbing a bloodied, barely conscious Iron Rat by the scruff of their necks and dragging them towards the exit. The metallic scent of blood lingered in the cold warehouse air, thick and rich, settling into your lungs with each breath.

Bucky didn’t watch them leave.

He stood with his back turned, broad shoulders taut, tension coiling through his body like a predator still primed for the kill. His suit jacket lay discarded on the blood-splattered table. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled to his elbows, the fabric marred with streaks of red. His hands—still wet with it—hung at his sides, fingers twitching slightly as if the violence hadn’t yet left his system.

You hesitated before moving, carefully stepping past the grotesque remnants of severed hands littering the floor. You focused on him instead, on the way his body seemed stretched too tight like he was waiting for another enemy to appear from the shadows.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, smoothing a hand over his forearm. The muscles beneath your fingers were rigid but warm, his pulse steady despite the chaos he’d unleashed.

“You showed them your hand,” you murmured, your voice soft and testing. “What will you do now?”

Your fingers traced a slow path up his arm, featherlight over the muscle, following the curve of his shoulder. When he didn’t pull away, you grew bolder, stepping around him until you stood before him. His face was speckled with blood; the scarlet splattered across his jaw and streaked along the bridge of his nose. His blue eyes, cold and unreadable just moments ago, stirred—just barely—as they settled on you.

“They needed to be taught a lesson,” he said simply, his voice still edged with the lingering embers of rage. A repetition of the words he’d spoken before.

You sighed through your nose, your hands splaying across his chest. His shirt was warm beneath your touch, the steady rise and fall of his breath grounding you. You pressed yourself flush against him, seeking—what? Comfort? Reassurance? An answer you weren’t sure you wanted?

“Yes,” you conceded, your voice quieter now, steadier. “But you’ve shown ‘em your hand.” 

Your fingers curled slightly into the fabric, gripping him, holding him there with you. “You’ve told ‘em another woman is close to you—other than your sister. One that commands enough of your attention for you to do this.”

His eyes flickered with amusement. “Ya scared, doll?”

“No.” The answer was immediate, instinctive—but the certainty of it wavered, even in your own mind. Was that really the truth? “I just want to understand why you’d expose a weakness like that.”

He snorted softly, his bloodstained hands coiling around your waist, holding you there. His grip was firm and possessive but not forceful. There was no threat in his touch, only something else, something deeper, something that made your stomach twist.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to hope. Maybe he would finally say something—something real. Something sweet. He always left you with vague declarations of ownership and lust.

Because he cared, he had to—right? No man would do what he had done tonight if he didn’t care. No man would make a spectacle of his violence, an open display of his wrath for the sake of a woman if she meant nothing? He had carved his rage into flesh and blood for you and left a message in the ruined bodies of those men. You mattered to him.

Didn’t you?

But when he finally spoke, his words weren’t what you wanted.

“You have your worth, spirit-raiser.”

A flicker of disappointment bloomed in your gut. You could have pulled away. Should have, maybe. But you didn’t because you needed something from him: reassurance, protection. Proof that he would stand between you and whatever enemies would inevitably come for you now that he had placed you in the centre of this war.

Perhaps tonight had been proof enough.

Conflict and confusion pressed heavily in your chest, warring with the heat between you.

Fuck Becca’s warnings.

There was something here, wasn’t there?

Your hand slid up, fingers ghosting over the rough stubble of his jaw. You cradled his face, pulling him closer. His breath was warm, tinged with the faint scent of whiskey and blood, and for a moment, you hesitated—just a moment—before pressing your lips to his.

Bucky responded instantly, like a man starved, his eager hands gripping your waist with a bruising intensity as if grounding himself in your presence. A sharp wince pricked at your ribs, but the hunger in his kiss quickly drowned it out. His lips moved against yours with fervour, rough and consuming, parting only to let his tongue sweep into your mouth, claiming and demanding. You melted into him, your body yielding beneath his, heat pooling low in your stomach as his touch ignited something primal in you.

He moved with purpose, guiding you backwards. His hands were restless, roaming up your spine, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your blouse, searching, craving skin. The cool air kissed your exposed flesh as he fumbled with your buttons, the urgency in his touch making his movements clumsy. You gasped into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss as your own hands wandered lower, gliding down the firm planes of his chest. The taut muscle beneath his white collared shirt flexed beneath your palms, solid and unyielding.

His breath hitched slightly as you dragged your nails over the crisp fabric, feeling the faint thrum of his heartbeat beneath. You felt the shudder in his body as your fingers found the buttons of his vest, slipping them free with deliberate ease. Bucky’s hands found your breasts, moulding the soft flesh through your brassiere with a rough, needy grip, his thumbs sweeping over the peaks in slow, teasing circles. Your head tipped back, a breathy sigh escaping your lips as heat coursed through you.

The vest was discarded in a swift motion, tossed aside without care, and before you could fully react, Bucky’s strong hands lifted you effortlessly, hoisting you onto the cold metal of the production table. The chill of it sent a shiver through your body. Still, the heat between you and him was overwhelming, obliterating any thought. His body pressed between your legs, the hard line of him nestling against you through the fabric of your skirts.

His mouth devoured yours again, possessive and unrelenting, his teeth catching your bottom lip in a sharp, fleeting bite before his tongue soothed the sting. You whimpered quietly into his mouth. Clinging to him, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to earn a low groan from deep within his chest. His thumb grazed over your nipple, teasing through the lace, and your breath hitched.

The world beyond this moment ceased to exist. There was only Bucky—his touch, his breath, his desire pressed into your skin like a brand. And you welcomed it. Welcomed him.

You could already feel the hard length of him, pressing insistently against your inner thigh through the layers of fabric. His heat was unmistakable, searing even through the barrier of clothing, and a shiver rolled through you. The anticipation was unbearable. You reached for his belt, fingers nimble and eager—

But Bucky chuckled, low and deep, knocking your hands away with an easy flick of his wrist. His pupils were blown wide, dark pools of hunger that drank you in as you leant back on your elbows, your body sprawled out before him. His lips were swollen, slick with the mingled taste of you both, his breath warm against your skin. Your chest heaved, one breast exposed where he had tugged it free from your brassiere, the cool air sending a shiver through you.

“Greedy, ain’t ya?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, but his touch was anything but teasing. His hand slid beneath the heavy fabric of your skirt, fingers dragging up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You barely had time to process the sensation before he grabbed the delicate waistband of your tap pants and tore them down your legs, the lace rasping against your skin as he wrenched them past your ankles and boots.

The discarded scrap of fabric landed somewhere on the warehouse floor, forgotten. His hands were already on you again, possessive, insatiable. You let out a low groan, head falling back as he trailed a digit through your wet slit, humming in delight as he found you already dripping with desire. “Don’t need an arousal potion for this, do we?”

You ignored his quip, instead wrapping your legs around his waist. He chuckled at you, rewarding your eagerness by pressing one of his digits into your cunt. You clenched around him with a whimper, hips rocking as you internally begged for more friction. 

“Let me hear your noises, doll.” Bucky commanded, his spare hand trailing up your thigh. You whined softly, bucking your hips once more in a silent plea. The gangster smirked down at you, pressing a second digit into you as you squirmed beneath him. 

“Please, Bucky.” You mewled, pulling him closer with the legs hooked around his back. He obliged, slowly pumping his fingers in and out. You could hear the squelching of your wetness, your body shuddering with impatience at the leisurely pace. 

“You want more?” He purred, teasing you with a quick flick of your clit with his thumb. You clenched around him involuntarily, a breathy gasp leaving your mouth as pleasure rocked up your spine, a new wave of electricity flooding your gut. 

You pushed yourself up, hands grasping his broad shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle beneath his shirt as you pulled your bodies flush. The heat of him seeped into you, intoxicating, overwhelming. Your mouth found the column of his throat, breath hitching as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his exposed skin. His pulse thrummed beneath your lips, quick and heavy, and you traced it with your tongue, savouring the salt of his skin.

Bucky let out a sharp exhale as you dragged your mouth along his adam’s apple, teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh before sucking a bruise into his neck. His grip on your thigh tightened, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, but you didn’t care. You wanted them. You wanted him to brand himself into your skin the way he had branded himself into your mind.

“Please,” you breathed against his ear, voice hushed, desperate. Your tongue flicked along the shell, teasing, before you nipped at his earlobe, letting your teeth catch just enough to make him groan. “I need you inside me.”

The words sent a shudder through him, a growl vibrating deep in his chest. “Turn around, bend over the table. Now.”

Your head tilted, temple resting against the firm plane of his shoulder as you gazed up at him, your breath uneven. His fingers twitched inside you, a steady rhythm still building, each pump igniting a slow, unbearable heat in your core. A sharp gasp left your lips as pleasure twisted through you, your body tensing in response.

“My ribs—” you managed to gasp, wincing as the dull ache reminded you of your bruises.

Bucky stilled for a moment, a flicker of something soft crossing his face, a rare moment of tenderness blooming between the two of you. His breath was warm against your cheek as he considered your words, his free hand smoothing over your hip as though grounding you.

“You’ll be fine,” he murmured, low and reassuring, though the husk of his voice betrayed his restraint. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

Gentle. A rare promise from a man like him.

Then, just as quickly as he had stilled, he withdrew. A wet heat lingered in the absence of his fingers, and you shuddered, your walls clenching around nothing. A soft whimper escaped before you could stop it, your body betraying the ache of emptiness. You unhooked your legs from around his waist, knees wobbling as you moved, turning yourself around atop the table.

The cold metal kissed your stomach as you laid your front flat against it, one breast still bare from where he had pulled the fabric away. A shuddering breath left you, anticipation thick in your veins as you braced yourself against the surface, your hips lining up with the edge.

Behind you, you heard the sharp metallic clink of his belt buckle, followed by the slow rasp of leather sliding free. The head of his cock pressed against your slick opening, teasing but not quite entering. You whined into the table as his large hands stroked up the back of your thighs, gripping the flesh. 

“So wet,” he muttered. His voice was thick with hunger as he pushed your skirts up, bunching the fabric around your waist, leaving you utterly exposed to him. His hands trailed down, calloused palms smoothing over the curve of your ass before he spread you open, admiring the slick evidence of your need. “So good for me, huh, doll?”

A desperate whimper left you, your body shivering under his touch. You pressed your folded forearms beneath your chest, arching your back in an attempt to save your bruised ribs from the unforgiving metal table.

Then, at last, he pressed into you.

A gasp tore from your throat, your body instinctively tensing as he stretched you open. The intrusion was thick and slow, overwhelming at first, your cunt clenching down against the pressure of him. Your teeth sank into the flesh of your thumb, muffling the choked moan that threatened to spill free. Bucky cursed under his breath, withdrawing just enough before easing back in, working you open with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Ya like this, don’t ya?” His voice was low and strained, his grip tightening on your hips as he pinned you in place. The firm drag of him inside you sent sparks of heat flooding through your veins. “Like me claimin’ you? Like knowin’ I’d fuckin’ tear through them bastards just to keep ya safe?”

A broken moan left you, your body trembling against the metal. Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms as he set a steady rhythm, each thrust pressing you further against the table. The slick, filthy sounds of your bodies moving together filled the empty warehouse, the echo of skin meeting skin mixing with your ragged breaths.

Bucky groaned, his hands wrapping around your hips as he rocked into you harder, deeper, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. Your mind swam, the bruising grip of his fingers the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Tell me, doll.” His voice was rough, a demand wrapped in silk and sin. His hips snapped forward, driving into you so deep it left you gasping. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“Please—” The word came out in a small, needy sob, your voice trembling as pleasure coiled tight in your belly.

Bucky growled, a deep, guttural sound. One of his hands abandoned your waist, sliding up the length of your back before tangling in your hair. His fingers twisted into the strands, yanking your head back with a sharp tug. A strangled moan burst from your lips, your back arching instinctively. Your nails scraped against the metal table, searching for purchase as he fucked into you harder, faster.

The steady, brutal rhythm of his hips grew relentless. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure up your spine. A filthy symphony of desperate moans, ragged breathing, and the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into you echoed. Bucky groaned, the sound low and primal as he chased his release. His grip on your hip was vice-like, anchoring you in place as he pounded into you without mercy. You could only hope Sam and Steve weren’t lingering nearby to hear the sinful chorus of your pleasure.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as your body tensed, pleasure spiking hot and fast through your veins. Your legs trembled beneath you, knees nearly buckling as your orgasm coiled, threatening to snap.

Then he tugged your hair again, the sting mingling with the pleasure in a dizzying rush, and you came undone.

Your cunt clenched around his cock, a strangled moan ripping from your lips as your body spasmed beneath him. Stars burst behind your eyelids, pleasure flooding through you in rolling waves. Wetness dripped down your inner thighs, evidence of your release slicking his length as he fucked you through the aftershocks.

Bucky let out a deep, shuddering moan, his hips stuttering as he followed you into bliss. His grip on you tightened, his cock pulsing as he spilt inside you, filling you with hot, thick ropes of cum. He kept thrusting, his movements growing erratic, chasing the last remnants of pleasure as he wrung out every drop of ecstasy.

His fingers slowly uncurled from your hair, his grip loosening as the tension drained from his body. You collapsed against the table, breathless and spent. You lay motionless beneath him, allowing him to use you as he rode out the final waves of his release, his heavy breaths mingling with yours.

Gods, you were going to need to take an anti-pregnancy potion after this.

PART EIGHT

[deerspherestudios]

LATE FEB ANNOUNCEMENTS! 💖

Mushroom Oasis is now one year old! 🎉

And belated Happy Birthday to the skrunkly himself, Mychael! 🎂

His birthday was on the 15th this month, but I didn't have the time to draw something for it so I'm posting these two celebrations in one go! Clean version without the shadows + dev rambles under the cut:

I'd just like to say thank you thank you thank you!! as always to the community of this small silly game I'm making. I genuinely didn't think it would grow the amount it did. Like, it blows my mind to even consider it having a fandom?? ;;v;; It feels like it grew so much in one year and for that I'm eternally grateful <3!!

All of the fanart, fanfics, messages and questions and comments, and even donations!!? just blows me away every single time. Seriously, I wouldn't enjoy making the game as much as I do if not for you all giving me encouragement along the way and being excited for the game ;v;

((I feel like I oughta give a personal thank you to donators as well, you have no idea how much it's helped support me throughout the months during my studies. Thank you <3 Even a dollar means a lot!))

I won't ramble too much but for those who's reading here's an update for the game! Day 3 script is already done, but of course I'll be refining it some more over the course of coding it into Ren'py. I can't wait for March to begin as I'll have much more spare time to manage the blog and continue development on the game! In between irl matters of course, haha!

Anyways, that's all for now. Take care, fireflies! ❤️🍄

[mostlysignssomeportents]

We bullied HP into a minor act of disenshittification

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me TORONTO TOMORROW (Feb 23) at Another Story Books, and in NYC on WEDNESDAY (26 Feb) with JOHN HODGMAN. More tour dates here.

Here in the darkest days of the enshittocene, enshittification is low quality and plentiful, but even in this target-rich environment, one company stands out as pioneering champions of enshittification: HP.

Every page in the enshittification playbook was printed in farcically expensive HP ink, and if you try to run a copy off for yourself, the printer will stop five times and force you to print a "calibration page" that is solid color from top to bottom, consuming about $10 worth of ink. Don't like it? Die mad.

HP drips with contempt for its customers. They make printer-scanners that won't scan unless all four ink cartridges are installed and haven't reached their best-before dates. They make printers that won't print black and white if your $50 magenta cartridge is low. They sell you printers with special half-full cartridges that need to be replaced pretty much as soon as the printer has run off its mandatory "calibration" pages. The full-serving ink you buy to replace those special demitasse cartridges is also booby-trapped – HP reports them as empty when they're still 20% full.

HP tricks customers into signing up for irrevocable subscriptions where you have to pay every month, whether or not you print, and if you exceed your subscription cap, the printer refuses to work, no matter how much ink is left. Now, about those HP ink subscriptions. When the company launched them, they offered a pot-sweetener meant to tempt in the wary: a one-price "lifetime subscription" that would let you print 15 pages every month, for so long as you owned the printer. But a couple years later, all those "free ink for life" customers got an email telling them that they were being migrated to a monthly payment plan, and if they didn't like it, they could eat shit and throw away their printers:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/06/horrible-products/#inkwars

HP pioneered the use of copyright law to prevent third parties from refilling ink cartridges or making their own compatible cartridges. Section 1201 of Bill Clinton's Digital Millennium Copyright Act makes it a felony to distribute a "circumvention device" to bypass access controls on a copyrighted work. By designing its cartridges do undertake a little cryptographic handshake with the printer to verify their "authenticity," HP ensures that anyone who markets a bypass device to let you choose which ink you use in your own damn printer is a felon, liable to five years in prison and a $500 fine under DMCA 1201.

Of course, nature finds a way. Hardware hackers have come up with some insanely cool bypass devices for HP printer cartridges, like these paper-thin, flexible, adhesive-backed circuit boards that wrap around third party cartridges, intercepting communications between the printer and a salvaged HP security chip:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/30/life-finds-a-way/#ink-stained-wretches

But HP fights back, and they fight dirty. For example, they periodically push out "security updates" for their printers that break compatibility with third party cartridges. To prevent HP customers from discovering and blocking these fake security updates, HP designs them to lie dormant for months after installation, until everyone has clicked "OK," and then all those Manchurian Printers wake up and betray their owners by refusing to use their ink:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

All of this has allowed HP to monotonically raise – and raise – and raise – the price of printer ink to the point where it is now the most expensive fluid a civilian can purchase without a permit. Printer ink now runs over $10,000/gallon, meaning that you print out your grocery lists with colored water that costs more than the semen of a Kentucky Derby winner.

HP is truly the poster child for enshittification, and also, patient zero in the enshittification pandemic:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/18/ink-stained-wretches/#hache-pe

HP's enshittificatory impulses run wild. They hunt relentlessly for ways to make things worse for their customers in order to make things better for themselves. Last week, they came up with a humdinger, even by their own standards. They announced that people who called their customer service line would be subject to mandatory 15-minute waits, even if there was a rep who was free to talk with them:

https://www.theregister.com/2025/02/20/hp_deliberately_adds_15_minutes/

During this mandatory 15-minute wait, customers would be bombarded with a recorded voice demanding that they solve their problems by consulting HP's website and its awful chatbots. In a competitive market, businesses can contain their customer service costs by making better products. In a monopolistic market like the printer racket, companies can deliberately introduce maddening antifeatures to their products, and then fob off the customers who reach such a peak of frustrated rage that they resort to calling a customer support number on chatbot that will use its spicy autocomplete to hallucinate nonexistent drivers and imaginary troubleshooting steps.

When I saw this, I thought, whelp, that's HP all right. Shameless.

But they're not entirely shameless. Within a day of Paul Kunert breaking the story in The Register, HP had reversed its policy, citing "feedback" (a corporate euphemism that means "fury"):

https://www.theregister.com/2025/02/21/hp_ditches_15_minute_wait_time_call_centers/

This is a rare win for the forces of disenhittification and it deserves recognition. It turns out that in these Mangionean times, companies can actually be bullied into comporting themselves with marginally less sleaze and cruelty. It's especially noteworthy that this took place in the UK, where Prime Minister Kier Starmer has invited tech companies to pick Britons' pockets without fear of consequence, by firing the top competition regulator and replacing him with the former head of Amazon UK:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/22/autocrats-of-trade/#dingo-babysitter

Even in these degraded times, we can get these fuckers. When Sonos enshittifies its smart speakers, we can get its CEO fired:

https://www.theverge.com/2025/1/13/24342179/sonos-ceo-patrick-spence-resignation-reason-app

When Unity sticks its hand in the pockets of every game dev in the world, we can get its entire executive team shitcanned:

https://venturebeat.com/games/john-riccitiello-steps-down-as-ceo-of-unity-after-pricing-battle/

It doesn't always work. Enshittifiers rack up some Ws, and make bank even as they immiserate 500 million users (looking at you, Steve Huffman – the people have long memories):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2023_Reddit_API_controversy

But if we can bully the psychotic monsters who populate HP's Executive Row out of their enshittificatory plans, then it's worth trying it every time.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/22/ink-spattered-pitchforks/#racehorse-semen

[sizeofyoursoul]

After the publication of The Queen of the Damned, I requested of my editor that she not give me anymore comments. I resolved to hand in the manuscripts when they were finished. And asked that she accept them as they were. She was very reluctant, feeling that her input had value, but she agreed to my wishes. I asked this due to my highly critical relationship with my work and my intense evolutionary work on every sentence in the work, my feeling for the rhythm of the phrase and the unfolding of the plot and the character development. I felt that I could not bring to perfection what I saw unless I did it alone. In other words, what I had to offer had to be offered in isolation. So all novels published after The Queen of the Damned were written by me in this pure fashion, my editor thereafter functioning as my mentor and guardian.

Edit 9-14-17 -- I fear this gives the wrong impression of my relationship with my editor; her detailed responses to my novels are very important to me, very constructive, and always right on. And there are still times, indeed, often, when she speaks up on a certain line, or a certain character, or a certain moment, asking pertinent questions, asking for more to illuminate, etc. I respect her insights mightily. I respect her responses mightily. ---- And over the years, I've been less threatened my detailed criticism. --- I still believe in the solo voice with all my soul, and when a reader tells me that she loves a certain paragraph or a certain chapter, I must know that I am indeed the sole author of that paragraph, that chapter. But I have become more secure, more able to handle my editor's insights and requests. --- What I have always rebelled against is the popular presumption that all fiction books have to be edited, --- the idea that fiction authors really are eternal adolescents, and, unlike painters or poets, they can't bring their work to perfection without a parental figure at a publishing house going over the work with a blue pencil. I've heard people actually voice this view, that fiction must be subjected to editing by some one else in order to reach its full potential. I have always questioned this. And always will. The publishing house does always have the option to reject a book if they feel it isn't good enough. (

EDIT - Feb. 18, 2019. I came back here this morning because I stumbled on a blog post where some one referred to this post and said it went "viral" in 2018. I was not aware of that. --- Allow me to add this: discussions of editing are confusing because the words involved simply are not precise. Every book published by my publisher, or any New York publisher, is thoroughly copy edited before it goes to the printer. No exceptions. And the copy editor is the final proof reader who catches a multitude of inconsistencies large and small, words that don't mean what the author might think they mean, unintentional repetitions, mistakes in chronology, plain goofs like a blond suddenly described as having black hair, possible dropped words, or sentences that for some reason don't make sense, inconsistent use of capital letters, and a lot of other things I can't now recall. None of my remarks on editors have ever referred to the almighty copy editor. I repeat: every book is copy edited. No exceptions. When I get the copy edited manuscript back, I not only go over ever single correction or query made by the copy editor, I read every single word of the book myself to catch the small mistakes which only I can catch. ---- When I speak of editors, as I have above, I'm speaking of creative editors --- In my case, this means the editor who accepted my first novel for the publishing house, and who has been my mentor, guardian angel, and friend ever since. And she does always respond to my novels with profoundly insightful comments. And she will indeed speak up if she thinks a character or a scene doesn't work as it should. -- My editor and I have one of the longest editor-author relationships in publishing today. We've been together over 40 years. --- I think we're a perfect match. But each such relationship is unique because each author is unique. I found exactly what I needed in my editor. And I count myself as blessed. I hope every aspiring author has good luck in this regard, and I firmly believe that getting to know the editor, becoming relaxed with the editor, and being able to explain one's feelings to the editor are all for the good. Thank you, guys, for all your marvelous comments below.

Anne Rice's thoughts on editors, twice revised for clarity, from her Facebook page.

[daretolovemyrambling]

the Medarda Clan

(picture above is from the arcane artbook, it's concept art for Mel, Kino, Ambessa and Kino's unnamed father. Mel's father isn't named or shown anywhere yet)

I don't think Arcane necessarily retconned this, so I wanted to talk about the Medarda Clan in the League of Legends Universe.

Mel Medarda, while banished from Noxus, likely still retained a high status because a part of the Medarda family also resides in Piltover.

It makes sense that Medarda family members don't just reside in Noxus. Ambessa says herself that she send Mel to Piltover in order to oversee their family's interests. And would it really be called "Medarda House" by Piltover residents if only Mel is in it? Mel would have also been only about 23 when she enters Piltover and 26 when she was a councelor in season 1 act 1 (here is a timeline I made for arcane: x) it's insane, even for her, to establish a well respected house in such a short time in Piltover.

In Legends of Runeterra (a Riot card game that explores the world of Runeterra in more detail), there is a card named Jae Medarda.

His description reads: "Heir apparent to Piltover's prestigious Clan Medarda, Jae preferred hunting ancient artifacts over managing the family business... much to his father's chagrin."

There also some other Medarda family members that we know of; on the League website you can find a map named "Medarda Heirloom", it shows trading routes the Medarda's use. It's a pretty old map though, I think it's from 2016 so I wouldn't really say this very relevant.

On the map you can find a letter by a Medarda Merchant named Jago writen to his nephew, Salob, who seems at risk of being banished.

I tried my best to make out every word:

Nephew Salob,

As much as I am forced to admire your frankly staggering & baffling level of self-belief in the face of numerous failures, failures that would have punctured the ego of the staunchest Zaunite braggart. I would like to confirm, in writing, that control of the Medarda Clan's commerical portfolio and access to the clan trade map. Which you have long coveted, shall not be granted to you - not now - not in time - nor never.

I suggest you take on a profession more befitting your natural talents - perhaps as a chem-lamp lighter - and be grateful to your aunt, my dear wife, that your ties with the clan are not severed completly.

This will be the end of the matter.

Sincerly,

Jago Medarda

The Medarda family seems to love exiling children that don't fit into the family.

I think Jago is now kind of retconned if Arcane is the new canon, or he's at the very least not the head of the clan and has married into the family. Sun Gates are what made a lot of the families in Piltover rich 200 years ago, it's not mentioned in arcane but we do see them in some arcane maps.

In Arcane Ambessa mentions that she fought battles from the Bloodcliffs to the Dalamor Plains. The Black Rose mentions that she might have had an affair while travelling through Basilich, at least fake-Kino claims that this is the area he heard rumors about Ambessa's affair in. I marked all these places with a red dot on the Runeterra map. Basilich is a Port City, if the affair really did happen here, Mel's father could be from any place in Runeterra.

I'm hoping they will expand on the Medarda family in the future, the Ambessa book will likely have some interesting lore about them in it. It comes out in Feb 2025.

From the Synopsis we already know that there will be a cousin of Ambessa that is named Ta’Fik. I'm guessing he knows that Ambessa had an affair and has bad blood with the Black Rose.

Ambessa Medarda: Warrior, general, mother. She is a woman to be feared, and the Medardas are unrivaled in their pursuit of glory. She has led conquests and armies. She has slain legendary beasts. She has made grave sacrifices in her ascent up the ranks. And for this she was rewarded: She entered the realm of death and was granted a vision of herself upon the throne of the vast Noxian empire. But before she can lead her empire, she must become head of her own clan. Yet the title is contested by her cousin and former confidante, Ta’Fik. He knows the bloody sins of Ambessa’s past. And he knows he cannot allow her to rise. They will fight a war for the very soul of the Medardas. But the war won’t be fought on battlefields alone. Ambessa’s daughter, Mel, can deftly break through the walls around anyone’s heart, and she’ll put her talents to use for her mother. Yet despite Mel’s strength, Ambessa sees only a child who lacks her killer instincts. Mel knows she can be the leader Ambessa wants her to be, if only she gives her time. With her family betraying her, enemies closing in on all sides, and unseen forces moving in the shadows, every day proves more dangerous than the last. But Ambessa will not bow. She will burn the world down to claim her place in it.

[sharpedgedfool]

TDSO Update: Its been over four years since Ive been workin away at this comic, its been well overdue some updated graphics haha. I've also put the comic up on Comicfury too, so mobile users can actually read it now (sorry guys!)

Some updates on the next Issue, I've got at least ten more character sheets to get done first, but the script and pencil thumbnails are ready to go. I'm hoping to get a chunk of stuff done over Dec/Jan and hopefully I'll have enough pages ready to go by Feb.

Apologies for the wait, I'll probably be pretty quiet while I'm working on this, but I've got six issues planned so we're officially halfway through! Glad folks liked the Eclipse reveal, I hope what else I've got planned is just as exciting!

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Mame is fielding one of my favorite shows, what is the world coming to?

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

(This was gonna be ready yesterday and then I realized I'd missed 2. Sigh. I'm doing well.)

Feb 2025 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

ThamePo (Fri YT) ep 10 of 12 - SHUT UP. I love them more than anything. I love how nervous and hesitant Thame was the next morning. Def the younger boy who bagged the experienced older dude. This show makes me go “aww” a lot. I do hate this part of the plot though. Because I loathe parasocial fandoms with every fiber of my being and this is why.

The Boy Next World (Sun IQIYI) ep 6 of 10 - The plot has gone wildly off the rails, like into Days of Our Lives waffle iron territory. It is utterly absurd. But I'm still watching it.

The Heart Killers (Weds Gaga) ep 12 end - I love Style so much. The perfect Brat but he is playing Petruchio not the shrew! Ironic and very kinky twist on the original. I also love how most BLs are like “we’re gonna separate them for 2-5 years in the final ep” and Kant & Style were all “fuck that noise.” 

Summary

Jojo directs this action romcom about assassin brothers (Khao & Joong) meets tattoo artist ex-booster (First) and very flirty mechanic (Dunk) conmen. I dithered over how to rate this. It felt like an 8 show wearing a 9’s britches. There were dropped threads, forgotten characters, and unfinished plot lines even with a particularly long run time. And, for me, it doesn’t have significant rewatch potential. But it was fun (when one applies no expectations or logic) and I enjoyed the wildly unhinged relationships and, weirdly, music. I mean nobody claimed that we needed Taming of the Shrew only with gay Thai hitman, but we really needed it. And no one asked for Petruchio as the gayest brat ever to strut his perfect skin and copped-top across our screen, and yet we loved him for it. Sure it didn’t make sense, was utterly absurd, but it was terribly earnest and sexy about it. IN the end this goes hand-in-hand with all these other absurd crime pieces we’ve been getting since KP, and frankly I like this one the best from Thailand so far. 9/10 but I’m slightly uncomfortable with that decision.

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 16 of 24 - It’s cute. They were cute. I enjoyed it. But I am still mostly just looking forward to the next couple.

Sangmin Dinneaw (Sun iQIYI) ep 7-8 end - I forgot to watch this one for over a week, goes to show how engaged I am. Anygay, ep 7 amnesia trope is ago. A lot the ep was fuss in hospitals so I went ahead and watched the finale as well. It was fine.

Conclusion

Given its charmingly simple premise and a solid lead pair, this could’ve been quite an tidy little BL, but it went all weird and slapstick and overtly sexual (and I enjoy high heat). It was a little bit like YYY meets modern Thai BL but mixed with early Japanese pinks. All very strange. I ended up being half bored half annoyed half confused half embarrassed. And if that’s too many halves for you, now you know how I felt. 5/10 

Flirt Milk (Sat YT) ep 4 or 10 - Umm plot? Where are you?

Ossan‘s Love Thailand (Mon YouTube) ep 6 of 12 - Workplace harassment, form of... Thai BL. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

When it Rains it Pours (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - Is the live-in boyfriend meant to be perceived as a psychopath or just a controlling monster? I love how blunt Sei was with him. Such and honest little bean. Ah, controlling monster.  Well, I really hope they can resolve this in the final episode. Despite all of the pain I’m enjoying it, it's being true to itself.

This is JBL doing its thing and toeing the Tokyo in April party line. I don't know why anyone would expect anything different. Go watch Eternal Yesterday and drink me later. This is what Japan DOES with BL at least half the time. The more JBL we get, the more of this kind of show we get with it. It's a numbers game - just add bruises.

Heart Stain (Korea Weds IQIYI) eps 3-4 of 8 - I have to admit that the only reason I even tolerate love triangles as a trope is because of K-dramas. But I still don’t like it. That said, I do like all of the honesty and conflict that's built into this story and frankly dealt with because of the trope. And I love how massive Woohyeon is so baby girl. The lap sitting was extremely cute. The teacher finding them lap sitting was also cute. And the handhold drag afterwards was cutest. The whole scene was adorable. 

FC Soldout (Korea Thurs iQIYI) eps 5-6 of 8 - Tiny idiots. Every. Single. One. (@heretherebedork you must be loving these boys.) Give me a sec to talk to a character: Captain. Sweetcheeks. You know there are better ways to exhaust your adorable boy-toy late at night than forcing him to do physical labor, right? Or, at least, not that kind of physical labor.

Eternal Butler (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 9 of 12 - Oooo. emotional Ever 4. Poor baby. I did want to see him kick ass. Hopefully that’s the beginning of next week’s episode. 

Impression of Youth (Taiwan Weds Viki) eps 6 of 9 - Very little happened in this episode. Lots of flashbacks. And stuff we’ve already seen.

Fight for Love (Vietnam YT) ep 2 - Ooo 2 timing? Coils within coils, tongues within tongues, my goodness these boys are getting around. It’s all very messy gay drama llama ding dong but... comedy. It’s a new one on me. But sooner that than Thailand’s Only Friends version.

Exclusive Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 1-2 of 12 - Shy aspiring singer inherits funeral business. Nice to have something more from Taiwan to watch. But this is extremely odd, and somewhat extreme behavior, given the premise. That is a lot of personnel and sunglasses just for one guitar-playing influencer. Even if I agree that he shouldn’t be allowed to play. Surreal that it’s a mafia funeral business, although I suppose it makes sense. It’s not creepy, but the creep-factor is high with this show. It's also v thirsty already. I kind of like the sides, but they seem to be in a different BL. So far, mostly whiplash but I'm not mad about it.

Checkered Shirt (Korea YT) ep 2 of 8 - It remains awkward and cute, but a little boring for a short. 

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 19 of 20 - Today in: how to tell your suicidal stepbro you wanna d**k him out. 

It's airing but......

Gelboys (Thai Weds iQIYI) ep 1 of 7 - I’m immediately terrified by the fact that he’s carrying a guitar around. It’s slow with that dirty gritty high school authenticity thing from OG Love Sick. Which is not my favorite style of any show, let alone BL. I always get Kids PTSD. I think I’m gonna give this show a pass. It’s just too far out of my wheelhouse. I don’t have patience for this right now.

The Last Time (Thai WeTV) trailer - from 2024, not sure about this one, looks dark. Since it's also difficult for me to get hold of I am giving it a pass until I know about the ending.

Speaking of which...

In Case You Missed it

I Will Turn Back Time (China Gaga) 6 eps - Spies report it does not end well. Stepbrothers trope = yeah! but all other messaging = boo. I'm not gonna bother.

End of year wraps are here!

2024 Trend Report

MY BEST & WORST BLs of 2024

Best Kisses (and sex scenes) of 2024

BL's 2024 Quirky Awards

2024 Awards - Quick Picks

Next Week Looks Like This:

2/21 Bali Hai (Thailand ????) no MDL listing, only rumors, unsure on deets.

2/27 Secret Relationships (Korea iQIYI) - Stars Wei's Kim Jun Seo. Adapted by Cradle Studio (Kakao). About clever and resourceful Daon who has worked hard to overcome being poor. His cheap ways annoy his coworker, Sunghyeon but after “an incident” with his parents, Daon grows closer to him. But Daon also has feelings for his former tutor. This has the signs of a classic Kdrama all over it: Office setting, love triangle, lead suffering for his self-actualization. I’m optimistic about a longer treatment.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Got nothing. Frankly you're lucky this came in a somewhat timely manner, with any screen caps at all. It's chaos 'round these parts.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

[ateezscupid]

─── FEB FILTH FEST: Swim - ROUGH ♡

SUMMARY / Your husband comes home angry, so you let him take it out on you.

warnings ✩ SMUT, DOM/SUB dynamics, established relationship (you're married with kids), hard!dom seonghwa, fem!reader, sub!reader, light masochism & sadism, degradation, daddy kink, choking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, reader is left with bruises, SAFEWORDS!!

word count ✩ 2,64k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @tangerineastronaut @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @bbdeongi @dawn-iscozy @xh01bri @mallielovssyou @clxssy1997 @soreberry @nopension @kitten4sannie @faeriehwas @kitten4sannie

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST / FEB FILTH FEST

The door slammed shut with a bang, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet house. You paused, your hand hovering over the half-folded laundry. The vibration of the slam traveled through the wooden floorboards and up your spine, setting your nerves on edge. You knew that tone.

"Hwa? Is that you?" you put the laundry into the basket in front of you and carry it out of the bedroom, the scent of fresh fabric softener a stark contrast to the tension in the air.

"Mhm." he answered dryly, slamming his bag on the ground. You could see his shoulders tense from the kitchen doorway. The light from the setting sun cast an orange glow over him, highlighting his furrowed brow and clenched fists.

"Oh," you sit the basket on the ground and push it toward the wall, walking over and running a hand along his chest. "What happened, baby?"

He sighs, his body language speaking volumes. "It was a bad day at work. The boss was on my back, deadlines everywhere. I couldn't catch a break."

"I'm sorry." you caress his cheek, feeling the stubble scrape against your palm. His eyes, usually a soft brown, were now cold and distant. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "No, talking about it won't change a thing." His jaw was set in a firm line, his voice laced with frustration. You knew this wasn't just about work. It was about feeling powerless, about the weight of the world pressing down on him. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist, hoping to offer some comfort, but he remained stiff.

"Well," you sigh. "Is there anything else you think could help?"

He turns to face you, his eyes searching your own. For a moment, you hold your breath, waiting for his response. His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and his grip tightens. "I just need to let it out," he says, his voice low and gruff. You can see the storm clouds gathering in his gaze, and you know what he means.

You tilt your head. "Yeah?" you pull at the buttons on his shirt. "How do you want to do that?"

His eyes drop to your neck, his gaze intense. "I want to take it out on you."

You bite your lip. This wasn't new, but it still made your heart race. "You can,"

He smirked and gently ran his fingers through your hair, tilting your face up to meet his. "But you have to be a good girl and do exactly as I say, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a mix of fear and excitement. This was the dynamic you'd agreed to, the one that gave him relief and you a sense of purpose. It had started out as a way to ease his stress, but over time, it had grown into something more, a part of your lives you kept hidden from the outside world.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Take your shirt off." His voice was firm but not harsh, and you obeyed, letting the fabric fall to the floor. His eyes roved over your body, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as his gaze grew hungry. You knew he wasn't seeing you as his wife anymore, but as a canvas for his anger and frustration.

You stepped closer, pressing yourself against him. His hands slid down your back, and his fingers dug into your skin, the pain sending a thrill through your body. You liked this side of him, liked the way he took control when he needed to. You craved it, even though you knew it wasn't healthy.

"Wait-" you squeak out. "The bed. We should go to the bedroom." You didn't want the neighbors to hear, and the last thing you needed was your kids walking in on this scene.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. You both knew the routine by heart. The living room was off-limits, the bedroom was the only place where this part of your relationship unfolded. He took your hand, leading you down the hallway, his grip tight enough to leave an imprint.

He walked into the bedroom and threw you onto the bed, kicking the door closed behind him. The mattress bounced under your weight, and you landed with a gasp. He towered over you, his eyes dark with the need to dominate. You felt the heat between your legs, the anticipation building. This was what he needed, what you both needed.

Without a word, he started to unbuckle his belt. The sound was like a gun cocking in the quiet room, and your heart hammered in your chest. You lay there, your eyes locked on his, as he slid the leather through the loops. The belt came free with a snap, and he held it up, the metal gleaming in the soft light.

"You remember what I said before?" His voice was a low growl, the kind that made your knees tremble. You nodded, your eyes never leaving the belt. "Then what did I say."

"You said I should do exactly as you tell me." You whispered, your voice shaking slightly.

He nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. "Good girl." He approached the bed, the belt swinging from his hand. "Take off the rest of your clothes."

You complied, your hands shaking as you unzipped your jeans and slid them off, along with your panties. He watched with a mix of anger and desire, his eyes raking over your naked body. The cool air of the room made your skin pebble with goosebumps, but the heat of his gaze kept you warm. You felt exposed and vulnerable, but also incredibly turned on.

He steps closer angrily, his breathing heavy, and you can see the rage in his eyes, but also the arousal. He's looking at you like he wants to devour you whole. You lie there, trembling slightly, your eyes on the belt. You know it's going to sting, but you also know that the pain will bring him the release he craves, and with it, the peace that follows.

He grabs you by the neck and lifts you off the bed, his grip tight but not choking. You stand before him, naked and trembling, as he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of your body. His hand slides down your throat to your chest, squeezing a breast, his thumb circling your hardened nipple. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed.

"The prettiest little whore," he murmured, his voice a mix of anger and desire. He threw you back onto the bed, the mattress squeaking in protest. You bounced and landed with a gasp, your body ready for his wrath.

"Spread your legs," he commands, and you obey, feeling the coldness of the sheets against your thighs. He climbs onto the bed, straddling you, the belt now lying on the bedside table. His weight pins you down, and you can feel his erection pressing against your stomach. He runs his hand down your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His touch is rough, but it doesn't scare you. You know he won't go too far.

He reaches between your legs, his fingers sliding through your wetness. You moan, arching your back. His eyes narrow, and he smirks. "So eager," he says, his voice thick with lust. He withdraws his hand and brings it up to his mouth, tasting you. The sight sends a bolt of arousal straight to your core.

"H-Hwa, just-" he immediately pressed his hand against your neck, his other slapping you across the cheek.

"What's my name?" he growled, his hand tightening around your throat. The pressure was just enough to cut off your breath, but not enough to make you pass out. You knew the rules, knew the power dynamics at play. You swallowed hard.

"Daddy," you whispered, your voice hoarse. It was the trigger word, the one that flipped the switch in him from your husband to the dominant figure you both needed in these moments. His eyes darkened further, his hand moving from your neck to squeeze your breast, his thumb pinching the nipple until you gasped.

Suddenly, he flipped you over and grabbed your arms, pinning them to your back. You felt the mattress shift beneath you as he straddled your hips, the weight of him pressing down on you. You could feel your heart racing, the anticipation making you wetter. He brought his hand down in a sharp crack across your ass, and you yelped, your body jolting. The pain was immediate, a searing heat that radiated from the point of impact.

"My bitch," he pushes his boxers down. "Treating you like a fucking cumdump and yet you're soaking wet for it," His coarse words sting but the pain is quickly overshadowed by the thrill of his touch as he enters you, hard and fast, without any preamble. You bite the pillow to muffle your cries, your body adjusting to the sudden intrusion. Each thrust is a punishment for your earlier transgression, each one driving the tension deeper into your soul.

He grabs a handful of your hair and pushes your face into the pillow, keeping your hips raised. His thrusts are punishing, his anger and frustration manifesting in the power behind each stroke. You can feel him taking his anger out on you, using your body as an outlet for the rage that's been festering inside him all day. And despite the pain, you find yourself craving more, needing the release that only comes with his dominance.

His hand connected with your ass once again, the sound echoing in the room. You moaned into the pillow, the sting mixing with the pleasure of his rough penetration. Each slap sent waves of heat through your body, heightening your arousal.

"Fucking bitch," he muttered, his hair sticking to his sweat covered forehead. "God, your pussy feels so good. Fits me just perfectly." His words were a mix of anger and lust, and they only served to make you wetter. You pushed back against him, meeting his punishing strokes with your own desperation.

He reached down and slapped your ass again, the sound ringing through the room. You gasped, the pain a sweet symphony that only served to fuel your desire. His grip tightened in your hair, and he pulled your head back, forcing you to look at him. "You like that, don't you?" His eyes searched yours, looking for the truth. You nodded, unable to form words around the pillow.

"When I ask you something, answer me." he growled. He let go of your hair and grabbed your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your eyes water. "Do you like it when Daddy punishes you?"

"Y-Yes-!" you gasp, your voice muffled by the pillow. The pressure on your neck sends a fresh wave of arousal through your body, and you push back against him, your ass meeting his thighs with a smack. He grunts in approval, his strokes becoming more erratic, more intense. You can feel him losing control, his movements growing sloppier as his anger turns to passion.

"Yeah, baby. You're such a fucking whore," he chuckles, groaning after. "Letting me take your pretty little pussy like this. Like you're made just for me to use." He slaps your ass again, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing in the room. You moan louder, your body begging for more.

He slams into you harder, the sound of his hips smacking against your skin filling the space between your cries. The pain is a sweet release for both of you, a dance of dominance and submission that you've both come to crave. You feel his cock stretching you, filling you completely, the friction of each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your core.

He lifted your head by the neck once again, forcing you to look at him as he thrust into you. "You're going to take all of it, aren't you?" His voice was strained, the veins in his neck standing out as he neared his climax. You nodded, your eyes glazed over with desire. The pain in your ass from the belt and the pressure on your throat melded with the fullness inside you, creating a symphony of sensations that had you on the edge.

"You're going to come with me, baby, okay?" His voice was a mix of a question and a command. You nodded again, your eyes pleading. He reached around and began to rub your clit, the pressure building. You could feel his orgasm approaching, his grip on your neck tightening.

With a final slap to your ass, he releases your throat. You gulp in air, the oxygen rushing to your head. "Now," he grunts, his hand moving faster. You can feel yourself climbing towards the edge, your muscles tensing. He slaps your ass once more, the sting pushing you over. You scream into the pillow, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you.

"Yeah, let it out, bitch." His voice was a harsh whisper, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. His hand on your neck tightened, his other hand still rubbing your clit in a relentless rhythm. You felt his cock swell inside you, the head of it hitting your g-spot with each punishing thrust. The pressure grew unbearable, your orgasm building like a volcano ready to erupt.

"D-Daddy, I'm-" You gasped out, your body tightening around him.

"Come for Daddy," he growled, his hips slamming into yours. "Come now."

You felt your orgasm crest, your pussy clenching around his thick cock. A scream tore from your throat, muffled by the pillow. Your body arched off the bed, your toes curling as waves of pleasure washed over you. His hand squeezed your neck, and you felt his cock pulse inside you, hot cum filling you up. He grunted, his muscles tensing as he emptied himself into you, the warmth of his release mixing with the sticky wetness of your own climax.

"Yeah…" he panted, grabbing a handful of your hair with his other hand still rubbing small circles over your clit.

"V-Vanilla…" you whispered your safe word, the word that signaled the end of the scene. It was the only time you ever used it, when it was all too much, when the pain overwhelmed the pleasure. His movements stopped abruptly, his body tensing for a moment before he rolled off of you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of distress.

"It's okay, you're okay." he pushes your hair out of your face, his eyes softening from their earlier ferocity. You take deep breaths, feeling your body slowly come down from the intense high. The sting in your neck and ass starts to fade, leaving behind a warm glow of satisfaction. You roll over onto your side, curling up into a ball.

"Jesus, I bruised you." he mumbled. You glanced at the bruises on your skin and giggle slightly. It's part of the deal. You liked the marks, the evidence of his power over you. "You okay?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

You nod, still panting. "Yeah. That was… intense," you murmur, your voice still shaky. You felt a mix of relief and exhaustion wash over you. The anger that had been brewing inside him was now gone, replaced by a gentle tenderness as he brushed your hair out of your face and kissed your forehead.

"I'll start your bath," he said softly, getting off the bed and walking towards the en suite bathroom. You watched his naked form as he disappeared into the steam, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floorboards. The sound of running water filled the room, the scent of your favorite lavender bath salts soon mingling with the sweat and sex in the air.

[illusioncanthurtme]

hey omg you left an ask on my page AGES ago saying you shipped ginocchio too. recently i went INSANE over the art you posted on insta in like feb of 2023. like i genuinely couldnt stop looking at it.

and oh my god i was looking at my blog and recognises your name and i just wanted to say i love your art so so much (esp your ginocchio art) and i just wanted to say that your pinocchio and gingy art means the ENTIRE WORLD to me 🫶

Sgdhfjfj you probably saw me in your notifs because i was recently like "oh yeah, that one person who I sent that ask to... the one about Pinocchio and gingy, I wonder if they ever saw it" so I went looking at your blog and!! You did!! :D

I'm really happy you like my drawings!! Here's a couple gingocchio (ginocchio? Idk) doodles i did a LONG time ago. Maybe in may? Not sure, but I never shared anywhere. They've just been sitting in my sketchbook. They're pretty smudged by now, but here you go:

No pairing comes close to living up to the phrase "the sillies" like these two!!!!!!!!!!