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#tws
ratedfleur · 2 days
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like it better when you’re quiet.
shin junghwan x fem reader genre ౨ৎ explicit
🎀: just a little drabble for a request! i completely forgot who requested for this but i hope you enjoy! 🩷
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meeting up with shinyu in secret meant that you two could be caught at any moment, meaning that you could be taken away from him no matter the circumstances.
it was risky and yet you and shinyu knew that you both still wanted to meet each other in secret despite knowing the consequences.
shinyu liked the thrill of meeting up with you in the hybe building, booking recording rooms just to hook up with you before going your separate ways.
“quiet down, sweets. don’t want us to get caught, yeah?” shinyu muttered against your skin as he kept mouthing kisses on your neck, making you mewl when he nips your skin as a warning to quiet down.
shaking your head, shinyu smiles as he pulled away from your neck, “good girl.” he says with a heart-shaking smile that makes your heart swoon as he hurries to slip your shirt off of you before doing the same with himself.
you both quickly take your bottoms off, letting them pool at your ankles before shinyu has you facing the desk as he stood behind you, hand busy jerking himself off to his full hardness before he sinks deep into your cunt, he doesn’t even let a few seconds pass before he immediately thrusts into your cunt, pounding away as he grunts out your name.
meanwhile you’re trying to silence yourself from moaning out loud by covering your mouth, shutting your eyes closed as shinyu fucks into your cunt even harder and faster.
sure, the recording rooms were soundproof but you two had to play safe and attempt to quietly fuck each other.
shinyu’s thrusts are relentless and full of power as he thrusted hardly into your cunt, his hands were gripping your waist tightly as he pulled you towards him as he moved closer towards you, lips latched on your shoulder to silence himself from moaning way too loud.
you whimper when shinyu presses you hardly against the table, making your skin dig against the wood as shinyu mindlessly thrusted into your cunt, lost in the feeling of your warmth around his cock.
“hngg, junghwan-ah.. ahh you’re gonna make me cum!” you gasped out before feeling shinyu’s hand wrap around your neck warmly, barely putting any pressure on it, just enough to pull you up and press your back against his front which makes it easier to whisper into your ear, “that’s good, sweets. that’s exactly what i want you to do.” he coos, smile appearing on his face when you mewl and clench hardly around his length as he thrusted into you.
your whines and whimpers start to gradually get louder, just as loud as how skin slapped against each other constantly as shinyu hurriedly chased yours and his orgasm before his time is up at the recording room.
you accidentally let out a loud gasp when shinyu directly hits your spot before he started to cum into you, still hurriedly thrusting in your cunt as he now chased for your orgasm. it doesn’t take long before you walls start to pulse around his cock, cumming around his length as shinyu rested his forehead against your shoulder, panting as you milked yourself dry.
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© RATEDFLEUR — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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patrick-stewart · 7 months
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Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER (2014)
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notafunkiller · 4 months
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Bucky Barnes is the best super soldier
How it was subtly emphasized in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier:
He always holds back
With the Flag Smashers and even with John Walker. We could see the difference in the last 3 episodes. Sebastian Stan did an incredible job making it clear in a subtle way.
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I want to mention that famous "Stay there" scene, and how it was visible Bucky was not punching as hard as he can in the fight with John.)
This is the thing about Bucky, he isn't after the kill, he just does his part. He doesn't try to show off his skills or that he is a good guy. He doesn't try to play the victim role, either. In the scene where Zemo fake-activates the Winter Soldier in Madripoor, he just makes a point. He's obviously not even trying hard.
If he wanted those in the club dead, they would be. But his self control was wow. Sebastian acted so well, his exes said everything.
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*And to be honest, even when he was TWS, he could have killed everyone, but he didn't. He could have killed all of the Avengers in Civil War is they were his mission, but they weren't. This is how Natasha survived when she met him, too. It depended on what kind of mission he had (if he wasn't allowed to be seen, then the witnesses would die too, but otherwise? He didn't bother).
2. His skills
People tend to forget how smart and good at making strategies Bucky is. He's been fighting (even though he hates fighting and never wanted to be in the army) for years before he was even captured by Hydra. And this is the reason why government still want him, after all. They can use his strategies as a leader (*cough* Thunderbolts *cough*).
In the last episodes of TFATWS, we could see how he outsmarted everyone. Karli was so terrified of him.
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3. Karli Morgenthau
And talking about Karli, the phone call was interesting:
She asked him if he's not tired of fighting for the wrong side, and then told him she's fighting for something bigger than herself.
"And with all the bodies you've collected, have you ever been able to say the same?"
The first thing I wanna point out is how everyone talks about the deaths Bucky caused when he was controlled by Hydra, but everyone ignores the fact that all the Avengers killed far more, but since we consider them the good side, we just don't care.
Clint, Tony, Steve, Wanda etc. They all cause(d) far more deaths than "two dozen" (known assassinations - to quote Natasha), and neither was controlled. The double standards are something else, especially for Clint. (One of the reasons why Tony was on the other side in CW was because of his guilt, after all.)
The second point is how Bucky's answer says a lot more than we might realize at first:
"You don't think I ever fought for something bigger than myself? That's all I ever tried to do, and I failed twice."
Even as TWS, Bucky had to be convinced he is on the right side, that what they do is to save the world, to give "the world the freedom it deserves".
Even brainwashed and put to sleep all the time, he had to be lied to. Bucky as TWS was a victim too. He is not a victim only because he didn't have memories or control, but also because they lied to him and used him as a toy. That milk scene is so loud. (And I am gonna talk about it in a different post). He had no rights, no choices. He was used to being tortured.
[And I wish they explored it more. We deserved and deserve a WS film - maybe with him in Romania getting back his memories, writing in his journal etc.]
"You think your cause justifies all this death, but in the end, the nightmares won't go away. You're gonna remember all the ones you killed. Trust me. Don't do this. Don't go down this path."
Despite being on opposite sides, Bucky still said this to Karli, trying to help her, to make her see the big picture, sharing how he felt and feels.
He is on "the right side". He is a hero, and Bucky being thanked by that man for saving everyone's life was touching.
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4. Baron Zemo
You can see how smart, strong, and rational Bucky is when he decides to break Zemo out of jail (his plan was amazing too), risking so much (his relationship with Wakanda people and his own freedom) to get his help for the mess. He puts the cause above his own (huge) trauma. And this makes that moment in Madripoor even more disgusting (he is treated as an object, as a toy):
Zemo: Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum. And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.
The way he keeps his composure, reacts and manages the situation... absolutely incredible!
This conversation also says a lot:
Zemo: The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path.
Bucky: Maybe you're wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.
Zemo: Touché. But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?
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Bucky positions himself below Steve, who's considered a good hero, a good person... like no other. But Steve never had to go through what Bucky did: from being kidnapped like that, to being tested on, to falling off the train, to being tortured, and used, and brainwashed for decades, and put to sleep when he was not needed and having n "keepers".
Also, interesting how all Steve wanted was to fight (for a good cause, but still)... and fighting still means violence, meanwhile Bucky never wanted to fight, not even before becoming TWS, in the army (and yet he is still great at fighting. And he is deadly, even when he holds back.). All he wanted was peace.
Despite not getting the "perfect serum", despite being brainwashed, put to sleep, and forced to fight for decades, he is still himself. He never gave in to the dark side for real. He fought in his own way. The first thing he did when he woke up was to choke the Hydra guy with a whole new arm!
Bucky is so underrated: from his intelligence and fighting skills, to how human he is. Being flawed, keeping his sassiness and charm from the 40s, but getting more mature and carrying his past on his shoulders... he's so relatable and real. And every day, he shows Zemo he is wrong.
The show he makes in his final scene with Zemo is absolutely fantastic. He doesn't just prove the point he isn't defined by the serum and Hydra (AND not even by Steve, thanks to Sam. His speech made him realize the important thing about himself: that he decides who he is, not others - even those who know him before becoming TWS- "And this might be a surprise, but it doesn't matter what Steve thought. You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." parallel to "Steve believed in you. He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield, that is… that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing. [...] So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me."), but also that he is superior.
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When Zemo tells him that he decided to let him alive (probably so he can kill Karli) and basically calls him a killing machine: "programmed to kill", Bucky plays the role, lets Zemo talk him into killing Karli, and then Bucky watches him waiting for his own death.
[Also, Bucky's line: Imagine my relief is hilarious.]
The acting was incredible: the shock on Zemo's face and the amusement and somehow relief on Bucky's after he pulls the trigger and lets the bullets fall... He proved him he's THE standard of the super soldier. Because despite everything he went through, he is the best.
Zemo telling him to cross his name off felt like a fresh start (+ telling Nakajima the truth).
5. John Walker
John, on the other hand, is lucky Bucky is an understanding person. He gets what is like... the pressure, the environment, the loss, and even tries to help.
Bucky: Don't go down that road. Believe me, it doesn't end well.
John: I'm not like you!
Of course he is not like Bucky, because Bucky has control. He is not killing to get revenge in a cynical way.
"That serum doesn't exactly have a great track record."
John kept judging Bucky every time they spoke, somehow placing himself above this "broken" man.
"This is all really easy for you, isn't it? All that serum runnin' through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"
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This is so wrong on every single level, especially because Bucky didn't choose to take the serum, and he always had his friends' back. He's loyal and ready to sacrifice himself.
The "funny" part about this is John ending up taking the last super soldier serum vial. All the judgement, the disgust, the patronizing tone, just to do that. Plus, of course, to kill someone with the shield.
(John proves Zemo's point about super soldiers, and Bucky does the opposite.)
And what is it easy for Bucky anyway?
He's under government conditions (so CACW coded), he has a vibranium arm that I bet the government would try to take after he dies (HOPEFULLY WHEN HE'S 200 YEARS OLD IN HIS BED, as Sebastian wants too) if he isn't in Wakanda, he is haunted by nightmares (which also can mean he is still Hydra's TWS in another universe as we found out from Strange), and he has to learn how to live for real. He's smart, charismatic, has values and principles, and he's incredible.
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We need to see his version of TWS going after everyone Hydra helped. TWS is him, a part of him, and doing that on his terms, having control over it would help him heal.
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greenmantle · 6 months
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CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER (2014) dir. Anthony & Joe Russo
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lunarbuck · 10 months
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Dumb Bunny (dark!winter soldier xf!reader)
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a dark little red riding hood retelling
pairing: dark!winter soldier x f! reader (any race)
wc: 3.3k
summary: The Wolf sees you walking through the forest on your way to your grandmother's house, and he just can't help himself.
warnings: dark fic, knives, oral (f receiving), smut (p in v), pet names [bunny], degradation, primal play, predator/prey, fear, crying
a/n: this is my entry for @boxofbonesfic's fairytale writing challenge :) I hope you guys enjoy!
beta'd by the amazing @sgt-seabass <3
my masterlist
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The sight of your home village warms your heart. You’ve been away for so long and missed so much. It’s good to be back. You pull the hood of your cape up to keep the sun off your face and venture into the heart of the village. 
After gathering some sweets and a few loaves of bread, you bid farewell to the friendly faces you pass. As lovely as the village is, you can’t shake the feeling that something is just slightly… wrong.
The edge of the forest calls to you, the familiar sound of songbirds lulling you in. You’ve traveled this path hundreds of times; you know it with your eyes closed, even after all this time. Beautifully bright flowers bloom just off the beaten path. You gaze at them but don’t stop to pick any. Grandmother is expecting you. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her, you feel guilty you haven’t visited sooner.
As you walk, you hear footsteps crunch through the fallen leaves. You turn around, the hem of your cape fluttering with the movement. Behind you, you see a tall mountain of a man. Cloaked in black, the man stalks toward you. You’ve heard whisperings of him in town, the Wolf, they call him. 
“Excuse me, miss,” he coos, voice deep and gravelly. “Where are you headed? A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t be alone in these woods,” he whispers. “There is danger around every corner.” 
You know what people say about the Wolf, the things he’s rumored to have done. That he’s a killer, that he roams the woods hunting unsuspecting victims. He’s ruthless, coldblooded and animal-like in his violence. You’re sure the rumors are true as you gaze up at his bright eyes. Fear flashes through your mind as you stare at him. His eyes are a stark, beautiful blue. His hair, dark and inky, frames his face, though most of it is covered by a black mask. 
“I’m visiting my grandmother’s house,” you tell him, smiling politely. You’ve always been taught to be kind to strangers, and this stranger, in particular, the way he’s looking at you, seems to scream danger. You don’t want to risk slighting him.
“Ah,” the Wolf replies, raising his eyebrows. “And what might you have there in your basket?” You move the cloth, showing the Wolf your various sweets and loaves of bread. You imagine he is licking his lips behind his mask. Images of his lips on you, of him kissing you deeply, of him tasting you, flash through your mind, and you quickly shut your eyes. You try to shake off the heat that’s settled in your belly. You shouldn’t think that way about a stranger.
“Well, I must be going. Grandmother is expecting me.” You nod to the Wolf and cover your basket, returning to the path you’d been following. Each breath feels tight in your chest.
“What a shame,” he calls. “The birds are singing so sweetly.” Your steps slow as you allow yourself to listen to the songs that float through the air, but you continue on. You can always listen to the birds as you walk.
“Ah, but the flowers are so beautiful this time of year. Wouldn’t your grandmother enjoy a bouquet?” The Wolf asks, again halting your walking. You glance at the flowers off the path, practically preening for you in the sunlight. Grandmother has always loved the wildflowers; maybe you could spare a few moments to gather a small bouquet. 
“I suppose…” You glance back at the Wolf, finding that he has continued to follow you down the path. He’s so close now that if you breathed deeply, your back would touch his chest. Your heart stutters with fear. How did he move so quickly without you hearing? How did you not feel him approach?
“You don’t want to miss out on all the beauty,” he whispers, leaning down beside your ear. With two long fingers, the Wolf tugs your hood off your head, letting the breeze flutter against your neck. He breathes deeply, and your knees wobble as you feel the heat the Wolf emanates. Something sharp trails down your neck, a stinging pain following close behind, and your eyes widen.
Not even a breath later, he’s gone. You shudder at his sudden absence and quickly dart your eyes around, looking for the Wolf, but he’s disappeared into the shadows. 
You try to calm your nerves, focusing instead on the flowers glittering just a few paces away. You kneel down, gathering your skirts to prevent them from getting dirty. The flowers are soft against your fingertips as you pick the perfect ones. All the while, the Wolf’s beautiful blue eyes burn in your mind.
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The Wolf
Poor, poor grandmother, I think to myself as I drag the woman out of her woodland home and into the glade. She’ll wake up eventually, but not before I do what I want. Not before I take care of her sweet, beautiful little granddaughter. 
I go back into the house and take in the empty space. Photos of my little bunny are everywhere, school photos and memories of vacations. She looks so delectable in her too-small bikini, her bright smile practically blinding me. 
Next, I climb the stairs, finding myself in the room I had just dragged her grandmother from. The four-poster bed takes up most of the room, fabric hanging from the top of the frame like a canopy. I grin at the thought of taking my bunny here, her tears staining the blanket. Her screams filling the air. I feel myself hardening in my pants, and I adjust my cock.
When I saw her walking through town, my mouth watered. She looked so beautiful in her red cloak, the sun warming her skin. She looked good enough to fucking eat. I followed her from a distance, but once she entered the forest, I couldn’t hold back any longer. The smell of her when I got close… I could barely hold myself back. I wanted to grab her right then and there. I wanted to fuck her into the dirt. But good things come to those who wait. 
I am not a patient man, and I always get what I want. Always.
So, I lay down on the bed, the canopy concealing me well enough, and wait. 
And wait, and wait.
Until I hear the door creak open. 
“Grandmother?” My bunny calls. I can practically hear the smile on her lips. I grin beneath my mask, fingers itching to touch her. To mark her. I hear her footsteps as she wanders into the house. My heartbeat speeds up, ready for the hunt. 
“Grandmother?” She calls again, this time even closer. I see her shadow as she comes up the stairs, and a moment later, she pushes open the bedroom door. “Oh, Grandmother, are you ill?” Through the canopy, I see her set down a vase of flowers, the ones she picked in the woods, and her basket, full of sweets.  
Her fingers gently curl around the canopy’s fabric and tug it aside. Her eyes widen, and her lips part on a scream, but I’m already moving. I lunge, grab her, and push her down onto the mattress. My hand presses over her mouth, absorbing her scream.
“So fucking beautiful when you scream, bunny,” I growl, dipping my head into the crook of her neck. I breathe her in, the sweet scent of fear mixing with the floral scent of her perfume.
My bunny writhes and struggles against me, but it’s no use. I’m bigger than her, stronger than her. She’ll never escape me. She heaves her breath behind my hand, so I take it off of her, not minding if she screams. No one will hear her anyways. 
“What– what are you doing?” She whimpers, tears streaking down her face.
I don’t answer. Instead, I straddle her hips, pinning her to the bed. I run my hands along her torso and up to her breasts. She fits perfectly in my hands, and I flick my eyes to hers, watching her reaction. I can see the way she struggles with herself. The way she wants to give in to me, but something holds her back. 
“Oh, bunny,” I whisper, my hands coming up to curl around her neck. “What a beautiful neck you have.” I squeeze her neck lightly, giving her just a taste of what I want, and I see the way her pupils dilate. Her hips jolt up into mine, and I grin beneath my mask.
She breathes heavily, lips parting into a perfect, soft ‘o’. “And what perfect lips you have.” I move one hand up, running my thumb across her beautiful mouth. I lean down close, cupping her jaw. 
I want to taste her, I want to rip this fucking mask off my face and taste my little bunny, but I can’t. Not yet. I need to be patient. I sit up, slipping a knife out of my belt and flicking it open. Her eyes widen at the glinting blade.
“Please,” she whispers, tears brimming in her eyes again. “Please don’t hurt me.” I grin.
“My poor, stupid, little bunny. The more you beg me not to, the more I want to hurt you.” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and I stifle a moan. I don’t know how I’ve lived so long without her, how I’m going to go on living if I don’t have her by my side.
“What did you do to my grandmother?” She asks, voice wavering.
“You don’t want to know, bunny.” Her tears stream down her cheeks, and she hiccups as she sobs. She’s fucking perfect. I take in the sight of her blood-red cloak stark against the white sheets. I run the knife along the side of her face, not cutting or scratching her but letting her feel the sharp edge. 
I slide off the bed, dragging the knife down the center of her sternum between her breasts and down her torso. I see the thoughts running through her pretty little head. I know she wants to run. I hope she does. I step back and watch her fingers twitch before she darts off the bed. Her red cape flutters behind her as she saints down the stairs. I give her a head start before giving chase. My little bunny is more perfect than she could ever know.
After taking a steadying breath, I take off after my bunny. She left the front door open, and I catch sight of the hem of her cape as she dives behind a tree. She ran pretty far, I’ll give her that, but she won’t escape me. Never.
My feet pound on the ground as I chase her, adrenaline coursing through my veins. She keeps running, doing her best to hide as she goes deeper into the forest, but she’s not fast enough. I catch up quickly, making sure she knows just how close I am. Whenever she hears my boots snap a twig, she yelps, tripping over her feet. As we get further away from the house, she loses steam. I grin as she stumbles, constantly looking back to see me hunting her. 
Bunny’s cape gets caught on a branch, and she falls, landing hard in the dirt. She tries to crawl away, but she knows it’s no use. I stalk toward her, loving the way she shakes with each breath, and sink to the ground by her head.
I grip her by her hair, lifting her face out of the dirt, and lean down. “You lose, bunny.” She gasps as I bring out my knife, holding it near her cheek as I turn her. Even though she ran and wants to think she’s afraid of me, I know what she wants. I can fucking smell it on her. Can taste it in the air. 
“Please,” she whispers, fingers digging into the leaves on the ground. Her thighs rub together beneath her skirts, and my mouth waters. I know she won’t run this time, not when she’s so close to getting what she wants.
I remove my mask, tugging it from my face with my other hand. Her lips part as her eyes search my features. I move between her legs, running a hand along one of her legs. I push up her skirt, exposing her soft skin. With my knife, I run the tip along her leg, up and up, until I reach her panties. She can’t hide how needy she is. My bunny writhes in the dirt, begging me to touch her with her big beautiful eyes. I slide my knife beneath the waistband of her panties, slicing the fabric. I cut a matching slit near her other leg, tugging the material away. She shivers as the cool air hits her cunt.
“What a pretty pussy you have, bunny,” I growl, lowering my face to the crux of her thighs. She watches me with lust-filled eyes, nodding like the dumb little bunny she is. I bite her inner thigh, leaving an imprint of my teeth on her skin.
“What beautiful eyes you have,” she tells me, a small smile on her lips. 
“The better to see you with, bunny.” I run my nose along her pussy, and she bites back a moan. My tongue laves along her clit, and I hear her breath hitch. 
“What–” she gasps when I press a finger inside her tight cunt. “What a perfect mouth you have.” I groan against her pussy, devouring her like my last meal. 
“The better to eat you with,” I mutter into her pussy. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. She tastes so fucking sweet, practically dripping against my lips. I knew my bunny would be perfect, but she’s better than I ever could have dreamed. 
“Please, please,” she whimpers, begging for her release. I curl my finger inside of her, looking for the spot that makes her squirm, and brush my teeth over her sensitive clit. My little bunny is so responsive for me, writhing around in the dirt. 
“So fucking sweet, bunny, my own little treat.” Her whimpers get higher pitched, and I know she’s close. I’m practically humping the dirt, I’m so hard, but all I can think about is how good my bunny is being and how fucking perfect she’s going to feel wrapped around my cock. 
I work her right up to the edge, and when she’s gripping my hair so hard she’s about to pull it out, she breaks. She comes all over my tongue and finger, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I crawl up over her, my tongue running over my lips, gathering her taste. “What a good bunny,” I whisper, taking in the sight of her blissed-out expression. She wants more, though, I can tell. 
Her eyes roam over my face, her hands tracing over my features. Her lips part, but she can’t seem to find the words. “Tell me what you want, bunny.” My finger circles her sensitive clit; she jolts. 
She shudders but doesn’t speak. “Come on, bunny. I know you’re afraid. I know that you don’t want to admit it. You want my cock? Is that it, bunny? You want me to fuck you here in the dirt?” Her eyebrows pinch together, and fear flashes in her eyes. She knows I’m dangerous; she knows I am unpredictable.
“You wanna be my dirty bunny?” I ask her, nipping at the soft skin of her neck. “You’re my dumb fucking bunny, you know that? You’re gonna let me fuck you into the dirt, and you’re gonna love every second of it, isn’t that right?”
“Oh my god,” she moans, hips bucking against my fingers. “Please.”
“I need to hear you say it, bunny.” I bite her shoulder hard enough to draw blood, and she gasps. “Tell me that you’re my dumb little bunny. Tell me what you want me to do.”
I see the way she hesitates, the way her mind runs through all the reasons she should fight me, but then I see the shift. I see the moment lust takes over, and she succumbs to her primal desires.
“I’m your dumb little bunny,” she whispers. I slide two fingers into her pussy, scissoring my fingers to stretch her. “And–” she sucks in a breath. “And I want– need you to fuck me.”
“Such a good bunny.” I settle back between her legs and pump my fingers, working her up again. I use my other hand to take off my belt. When my pants are down far enough, I palm my cock, moaning. She watches me with hooded, lust-drunk eyes, and I smirk. My dumb little bunny looks so pretty taking my fingers, but she’ll look even better taking my cock.
I take a long look at her pretty face before I grip her hips and turn her over. Hooking my hands underneath her, I position her with her ass high and her head in the dirt. This is how she was meant to be; she was fucking born for this. 
I line my cock up with her perfect pussy and tease her clit, loving how she jolts each time. My little bunny has never looked better with her skirt shoved up on her waist and her face pressed against the earth.
“What a perfect bunny for me,” I tell her, spanking her ass. I press my cock into her, groaning as she squeezes me. She’s so fucking tight, so perfect, like she was made for me. Made for this. I slide in, loving how she stretches around my dick. Her face screws up the deeper I get, but I don’t give her time to adjust. 
I set a brutal, deep pace, and electricity shoots up my spine. The sounds she’s making, the way her fingers dig into the dirt, are nearly too much for me to handle. The smell of sex and earth floods my nose, and I feel it flood my bloodstream. 
She moans and whimpers with each thrust, pressing back with each thrust, egging me on. My little bunny wants me just as much as I want her. I lean down, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and haul her torso up so she’s kneeling, arching against me. I run my tongue along the spot I’d cut earlier when I’d first spoken to her, tasting the sweet tang of her blood.
My little bunny has tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face. Her eyes are screwed shut as she takes my dick.
“Such a good little bunny,” I groan into her ear. “You were fucking made for this. You were fucking born to be my dumb bunny, to take my cock.” Her cunt flutters around my dick, and my hips stutter.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants like a prayer. I drop a hand to her clit and circle it in a way that makes her throw her head back, and bite the cut on her neck. The combination of sensations throws her over the edge, and she convulses on my cock.
I press her back into the dirt and pound into her, slamming into her over and over again. I come on a moan, both of us collapsing. “Good bunny,” I whisper. “Such a good little bunny.”
She falls asleep, drained from the way I used her body, and I grin at the sight. She should know better than to fall asleep next to a predator like me. I brush the dirt from my pants, tucking my cock away, and pick her up. I carry her back to her grandmother’s house and lay her on the four-poster bed. 
Next, I retrieve poor old grandmother. She’s still asleep. The drug I gave her will wear off soon. I place her on the couch in the front room. I’ll let my bunny find her when she comes to. I return to the bedroom and stare at my beautiful little bunny. 
I don’t clean her up; I don’t even put her dress back. She looks perfect, dirty, and used against the bone-white sheets.
Just the way I like her.
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Everything tags: @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @emi11ie @paulasocean @silverfire475 @lovingchoices14 @nekoannie-chan @late-to-the-party-81 @chibijusstuff @midnightramyeoncravings @wickidlady @buckyb-stan @adoreyouusugar @sebastianstanisagod
All Bucky tags: @peaches1958 @prettylittlepluviophile @writerwrites @w0nderw0mansw0rld @hawsx3 @meetmeatyourworst @harrysthiccthighss @goldylions @late-to-the-party-81 @luxeavenger @cloudyfeelin @searchf0rtheskyline @keliiiiiiii @urmom4130 @Aussiegurl1234
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superherocaps · 6 months
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Sebastian Stan as Bucky Barnes
Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)
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nerd-most-likely · 7 months
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So we're taking this as a win considering I used to suck at drawing men.
Instagram    |     TikTok
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pearzies · 16 days
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⠀⠀ ⠀. ᨯ ⃞✧ㅤ ✦ 🖥️ㅤ 01 自 2ㅤ ⬚͒ ͟ ♬
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heich0e · 7 months
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THE WITCH'S SONG - part one knight!osamu/witch!reader tags: fem!reader, royalty!au, supernatural!au, witchcraft, enemies to lovers, mentions of violence/illness/death, persecution and oppression, tw blood, please read the tags on each chapter as updated and minors do not interact. crossposted to ao3 MASTERLIST
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The night air is sweet. 
It’s still early summer, where the days are warm and bright before giving way to cool evenings, and the smell spring unfurled with its budding leaves continues to linger long after the sun sets. The aroma is fresh and green, not yet turned to the heady fragrance of singed grass and warmed earth which will slowly seep in as the days grow longer and the sun ever-brighter overhead.
There’s something captivating about this time of year; not quite the lush, blooming spring, nor the scorching, unforgiving summer, but a deliriously pleasant in-between that keeps the best of both.
On a tall hill, overlooking the rocky coast and a quiet village in the distance, sits a small stone cottage. Ivy crawls along the rows of uneven bricks that give the home its shape, having long settled and slanted in the time since it was built, each vine curling in long stems around four-pane windows and up towards the thatched roof. 
In front of the house sits a garden, full of every plant anyone could possibly desire to find in the given climate; vegetables, fruits and unusual herbs abound. The rich earth that surrounds the cottage is fertile and generous—with a careful hand to till and tend it, there’s little it can't sprout. The gardens are still not quite at their peak for the season, the plants low to the ground but flourishing as they patiently wait for a few more sun-filled days to truly blossom into their prime. 
Along the western side of the property, nearest to the towering forest’s edge, sits a greenhouse connected to a shabby little shed that greatly resembles the cottage in its quaint, unassuming construction. It’s there, in the dead of this cool summer night, that you—the owner of the cottage—toil.
Your fingers hold a glass vial over a small open flame atop the work station with a set of silver pincers. Your keen, well-trained eyes watch attentively as the fire licks up along the edges of the glass, heating the contents within. A breeze, northeasterly with a faint taste of salt air that creeps in with the nearby waves, whisks through the room and a shiver accompanies it in turn. 
A soft sigh slips through your parted lips and your eyes, previously fixed on the tincture held over the flame, lift towards the door. 
You aren’t startled when you see him standing there, though you barely contain the sound of annoyance that threatens to leave you; the momentary glance is the only acknowledgement you make to his (notably unwelcome) appearance as his figure darkens your doorway. You return your gaze to the solution you’re in the midst of preparing—a careful balance of valerian, mugwort, and poppy heads for a woman in the nearby village who has been unable to sleep restfully since the untimely death of her husband.
“Good evenin’,” he says to you once he realizes that you will not be the first to speak. He punctuates the greeting with a light clearing of his throat.
“Is it?” you reply, removing the slender vial from the flame and swirling its contents. You closely examine the colour and viscosity of the liquid, returning it to the heat for a few moments more after some consideration. 
“Sorry to show up unannounced,” the young man’s own tone is rather tight and clipped as he speaks the words–obviously equally unhappy with the turn of events that had led him to your cottage this evening, though resolute to maintain some level of decorum. 
“And yet,”—you finally look up at him, meeting his gaze with a firm and unwavering stare that you have up until this point denied him—“here you are.” 
Finally satisfied with the tincture, you set about pressing a stopper into the tube. You reach over and pluck up a burning taper from the candleholder resting nearby on your worktop, tipping it forward over the still blisteringly-hot glass to seal the cork. A rivulet of molten wax runs from the candlestick in a slow drizzle, and you carefully turn the thin vial to coat the border where glass and cork marry evenly. A piece of blue ribbon is then carefully wound around the warm wax before it has fully hardened, sealing the small vessel shut. 
The man watches silently as you slip the vial into a velvet pouch, tying the strings together tightly to draw it closed, and then you tuck the pouch safely away in the pocket of your flowing skirt—out of sight from where your visitor stands in the doorway to the greenhouse. Your eyes scan over the bench for a moment before you extinguish the oil burner you’d been using, turning the small knob at the base until the flame shrinks down to nothingness. 
“I wouldn’t’ve come if it weren’t important,” the young man’s tone has softened slightly into something closer to a mumble, weary from his journey and seemingly in grave need of something he could only seek from you. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, with grim shadows under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that doesn’t suit him.
“Now that I do believe,” you remark, almost drolly, picking up your oil lamp and crossing the room towards where he stands. He stiffens a little as you approach, as though bracing himself against a threat, but you merely slip soundlessly past him, stepping out into the dark night. 
Behind you, the man sighs.
He follows.
The two of you cross the yard, a few paces separating you throughout the silent trek, with the lamp you hold in hand the only light to lead the way. You tread carefully through the well-tended garden, careful but familiar motions deciding where each foot falls, and you sense without turning that he’s following your path as you move towards the stone cottage on the other side of the property—ensuring his own steps follow your footprints precisely. There are candles burning inside your cottage up ahead, their warm glow visible through the windows, and smoke curls steadily from the chimney and into the brisk night air. The smoke is perfumed with herbs, and the scent only grows stronger the nearer you get to your home.
You wonder if he notices.
“That’s far enough.”
You pause in your stride as you reach the stout stone wall that circles your cottage in a knee-high ring, resting with your feet together at the place where a gate might be were there any need for it. Behind you, the man falters to his own stop, surprised by your sudden halt and your sharp words.
“I need yer help,” he sounds confused, and frustrated—impatience creeping into his tone again. There’s a sharpness to it, like he’s forced each word out from between clenched teeth. You don’t look back to verify your suspicion. 
Another cold wind blows from the direction of the sea, and the budding leaves of the garden’s plants around you rustle as it passes, whispering amongst themselves as they spectate your exchange.
“I care very little for what you need, Miya Osamu,”—you glance at him over your shoulder, and see the way the distant light from your windows dances in his eyes—“and it will be a cold day in hell before I help a royal knight.”
The garden seems to still in the wake of your low-spoken words, the breeze dying out like the temporary peace ahead of a storm’s rage.
Before you, Osamu’s eyes have hardened. The lines of his sharp jaw set underneath his skin.
“Ya know me.”
“I know of you,” you correct him flatly. “Fortunately, our paths have never crossed.”
Until now.
Osamu’s nostrils flare, then he swallows.
“How?” he asks, his voice low and deceptively even.
“One of the king’s most trusted knights tearing through the outskirts of the kingdom in search of a healer is news powerful enough to reach even my ears, Miya.” Your lamplight dims slightly as you hold it aloft in your hand, the flame beneath the glass slowly shrinking. The oil is burning low. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you got desperate and I got unlucky.”
He flinches, his lashes fluttering slightly like he’s fighting back a more violent reaction. Like he’s accepting a blow he could easily return but chooses not to. The knight's gaze casts down to his feet as his fingers curl into fists at his sides.
“My brother's ill,” he says quietly, his voice heavy with an anxiety that rolls off of him in waves. “My twin.”
“Atsumu,” you specify, since he did not. His gaze snaps up to meet yours, and there’s a spark of something new behind it. Something more volatile. He looks angry that you’ve taken it upon yourself to speak his brother’s name.
“I know what you are,” he says slowly, wielding his next words like a blade and aiming to kill.
“Oh?” You tilt your head to the side in a show of guilelessness. 
“Yer a witch,” he continues, overlooking your feigned ignorance. 
“There are no witches in this kingdom,” you reply. “The crown you’ve sworn your life to saw to that.”
“Our king h—“
“Your king,” you interrupt him. The unexpected interjection seems to shock him, and his shoulders square indignantly.
“Yer also a subject of this kingdom,” he counters, and your distaste is made perfectly evident in your responding sneer. 
“I’m governed by no monarch, and certainly by no man.”
Osamu’s hands are still held in tightly-clenched fists at his side, the lines of his body as clear an indicator as any to his palpable anger. “You’d admit to treason before a knight?” 
“You’ve already accused me of witchcraft,” you spit, your teeth gnashing together as you force the words out. “What’s another crime to be burned for?”
You know all too well the end that awaits a woman accused of such a crime.
It’s the fate your mother met before your very eyes, after all.
Seconds stretch between you in the garden—sticky, and uncomfortable, and polluted with the animosity you feel for each other. It takes root in distrust and blossoms into something ugly, like a weed.
Osamu takes a breath, letting his head hang forward. His shoulders slump.
 “An old man two towns west from here told me a young woman in this cottage once cured his ailing wife in her final hours, and she lived a decade more. That she was brought back from the brink of death thanks to the woman’s care.” He looks up at you again, and his stare is insistent. Beseeching.
You know the man he speaks of, and his gentle, lovely wife. It was half a century ago now since you’d first met them, and you’ve heard the old man has gone a bit senile in his old age. You doubt he meant you any harm in his revelation, regardless of the trouble it’s come to cause.
“I’m nothing but a humble herbalist.” Your hand sweeps out in gesture to your garden, but the man before you is unmoved.
“Who’s been a young woman for fifty years.”
Even the distant sea seems to have stilled as the tension intensifies between you, the waves falling silent to make room for the hostility that spreads with every passing moment.
Osamu swallows. “They say witches have powerful healin’ abilities. That you can make potions that’ll revive a man half-dead.”
“It’s folklore,” you reply dismissively.
“It’s fact,” Osamu snaps. "I know it is."
“And what else do you claim to know of these so-called witches?” you deride, and you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to quickly trace you.
He squares his shoulders, then he meets your gaze. “They say ya maintain yer beauty and youth by devourin’ the hearts of good men.”
“Is that so?” you muse, though you seek no sincere elaboration. You look to your left, east towards the sea, and then sweep your gaze across the expanse of your garden to the right. You meet his dark eyes again after surveying your surroundings. “Well, I see no good men nearby, so I believe you should be safe.”
In the dim light, you swear you see something throb at the corner of his tense jaw.
“There’s not a healer in the royal court who’s been able to cure my brother,” Osamu’s voice breaks, taking a step towards you. “I’ve come here unarmed, and mean no harm to ya.”
Your upper lip curls at the lie and his proximity, baring your teeth.
No man has ever once approached a witch with pure intentions.
The seek only their beauty, their power, or their beating, bloody hearts.
Your mother’s screams ring suddenly through your ears, piercing and agonized. The memory makes gooseflesh raise along your skin. Makes the back of your tongue taste sour. You squeeze your eyes shut as though to quell it, but this only seems to trap the sound in the recesses on your brain. They grow louder, and harder to forget. 
You see your mother on a wooden stage constructed in the town square before a crowd of horrified spectators, the gnarled boards underfoot already stained in scarlet.
The white linen shift they’d forced her to wear, and the way the thin material flowed away from her frame in the breeze.
The glittering hilt of the jewelled knife that carved out her heart, with the sigil of the king etched into its blade.
The crackling flames that consumed her as she wailed.
A witch can live without her heart, you see, so long as it’s kept close to her. Your mother wasn’t spared a second of the misery of being burned alive. She was granted no mercy in the final terrifying moments of her life.
You open your eyes and the dark sky above you seems to hang closer overhead, as though it’s more suffocatingly near than it was before. The garden around you suddenly feels colder.
Osamu’s eyes widen, like he feels it too.
Your dying lamp burns out.
“Leave this place,” you say to him, low and warning. Your voice rings clear in the unearthly still night. “And if you value your life, never come back here again.”
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kimdohoons · 2 months
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SHINYU for Weverse Magazine
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graveroom · 2 months
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⓸͙͙𞥇 ♥︎  ᷒ ᷭ I'm not gonna go out today
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I gonna sit right here
and wish the world away
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dindjiarin · 11 months
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My favorite edit probably ever. I literally don't know how many times I've watched it.
Not mine. It's from bellamyswh0re on tiktok. (I saved this like 2 years ago).
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oldblog-ileft · 1 year
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Sweet Big Dragon <3
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Dating Malleus Draconia headcanons
gender neutral!reader, smitten!malleus, lot of fluff, hints of unhealthy relationships (it's resolved), reader is implied to be yuu but it's never explicitly stated
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Malleus Draconia, who doesn't get "crushes"
~ malleus loves you
~ that's all there is to say about it, there was never a crush phase for him in his endearment towards you, he fell in love and there was absolutely no pre-stage to it
~ his affection just doesn't really work that way, it feels more akin to an obsession, but a healthy sort of one
Malleus Draconia, who easily sees you as a member of his little family
~ not much about malleus' family is talked about in canon aside from his grandmother, but it's nice to imagine that he views his retainers as his family since they're so often together and look out for one another
~ you, as his partner, are invited into that family
~ frankly, as much as he loves spending one-on-one alone time with you, he also loves seeing you around lilia, silver, and sebek
~ it gives him a soft sort of feeling in his chest seeing you with his family and holding affection for them
Malleus Draconia, who is a lot goofier than the rumors spreading around NRC give him credit for
~ although he doesn't seem it, malleus likes to be silly
~ he may not understand many modern jokes but running, dancing, pranking, playing?
~ he understands those just fine and would love to partake in them
~ he likes picking you up and spinning you around if it's something you're comfortable with
~ he just wants to make you laugh
~ he likes when the mood around you two turns goofy and you can dance around Ramshackle or Diasomnia with no real care to a rhythm, just laughing freely and having fun
~ you make him feel safe, allowing him to feel vulnerable but so happy in the process
Malleus Draconia, who likes to be babied but only by you
~ please call him cute, please call him adorable, please call him a silly shnookums
~ the last one will confuse him a bit but he's getting there, give him a minute
~ he likes when you give him sweet pet names, both cutie couple ones or renditions of his own name
~ sweet malmal <3
~ however, he only likes to let himself be this vulnerable with you and maybe someone like lilia
~ should anyone else attempt to call him adorable, he's taking it as them mocking him
~ also, please scratch the underside of his chin, his tail will absolutely appear and start thumping and that same cute, satisfied smile whenever he's talking to you will appear on his face
Malleus Draconia, who is definitely a master of all love languages
~ he's a dragon fae, he definitely has a hoard and one of his favorite things to do is find ways to gift you things of said hoard because to him it's his way of saying "you're mine and i trust you, what's mine is yours"
~ he's also a smooth talker, i don't need to elaborate on that because we all know and think about his smooth pretty voice
~ he's typically not super touchy, but he also doesn't mind it
~ that means hold him please, he's shy <3
~ he can spend hours just existing in the same space as you, doing your own things but still being aware of the others presence
~ and of course, malleus does anything he can to help you should you ever request it
~ he's still a little finicky on doing it without your request first because he worries more that he'd end up spoiling something for you by accident since he's so used to not being involved
~ just reassure him you're always happy to have him around pls
Malleus Draconia, who can be quite the cuddlebug when a certain mood hits
~ most often when he's pouty because he didn't get invited to something, malleus likes to just pick you up from whatever you're doing, find the nearest place to lay down, and lay you over his chest
~ he likes to hold you, and he likes the physical feeling of you relying on him with your head on his chest
~ but he also likes just laying his head in your lap on your thighs
~ please play with his hair and run your fingers over his horns when he's there, it makes him melt into putty
~ fun fact: if you tease at his ears when he's laying in your lap, they twitch!
~ malleus purrs and that is not debatable
Malleus Draconia, who adores every part of you
~ i'm sorry, were you expecting anything different?
~ malleus doesn't love in bits and pieces, you get it all or you get none
~ his love is like a blanket, it's meant to cover the whole of you, not just a part of you
~ like a blanket it keeps you warm, but if it's too thick or wrapped too tightly, it can get uncomfortable and suffocating
Malleus Draconia, who cares so much about every little thing you have to say
~ there will never come a day where malleus will not hear you say something and not consider it like a word from sort of god
~ there is no such thing as "he probably doesn't care" in your relationship
~ he values your opinions so much
~ he's always open to any criticisms and worries you may have, even about your own relationship, because ultimately, all he wants is to make you as happy as you make him
~ if you find something is upsetting, malleus will do everything he can to right it
~ if you tell him his love can be smothering, he may feel a bit disappointed but ultimately he still changes it for you because he knows he can still love you, he just needs some moderation
~ really, he just adores and cherishes you so much he wants you to feel happiest, safest, and most comfortable while with him
Malleus Draconia, who views you as one of the most beautiful treasures to ever enter his life
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(masterlist)
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Video
I accidentally discovered that this song and this scene work together perfectly and it brings me so much joy
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lunarbuck · 9 months
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Vampire!bucky x innocent! Reader smutttt
Orrr
Winter solider!bucky x innocent!reader
Ooh winter soldier is always gonna win in my book, especially with an innocent reader 🖤❤️‍🔥
Some NSFW thoughts… (thank you @flordeamatista for the daydreams)
pairing: winter soldier x innocent!female reader (any race)
wc: 540
warnings: innocent/inexperienced reader, fingering, mirror kink, praise, pet name [princess]
my masterlist | my requests are open
The Soldier knew from the moment he saw you that he wanted you. That soft look in your eyes, the way you shied away from every touch. He didn’t have to ask to know that you were inexperienced, innocent to the wants and needs of a man like him.
He knows exactly what he wants, knows how he’d touch you, feel you taste you. And the day he finally gets his hands on you, you know you’ll never be the same again.
The Soldier makes you tell him what you want, tells you to use your big girl words, tell him just what you want him to do.
--
“Come on, princess. I see how bad you want me, how needy you’re getting. You need me to show you? Need me to show you just how good I can make you feel?”
He walks you over to your full-length mirror and stands you in front of it. He runs his metal fingers over your skin, making you shiver, and you stare at the trail of goosebumps he leaves.
"Do you not know what you want, princess? Do you need me to show you what you need?" You nod, in a trance-like state, just the way he wants you.
You watch as he tugs your panties down your legs, letting them pool by your feet. He taps the inside of your thighs and you step your feet apart, showing him your pussy.
The Soldier runs his metal fingers down your tummy and teases your clit, his other hand gripping your hip. He looks so much bigger, looming over your shoulder to watch the mirror. He slides his fingers across your clit and circles your entrance but he doesn't press inside.
"You feel how sensitive you are?" He whispers in your ear. "Your legs are shaking already, so responsive for me, princess." You grip his wrists, holding on as best you can, silently begging him for more. Your mind spins, your chest heaves.
"Please, please," you whimper.
"You don't even know what you're begging for," he teases. " You need me to teach you." He slides a finger inside of your pussy, your wetness lubricating the metal. Your eyes flutter shut, but he slaps your inner thigh. "Eyes open, princess. Pay attention."
His thumb teases your clit as he pumps his finger inside of you, knocking the spot that makes your vision blur. He bites on your shoulder, leaving imprints of his teeth, and your legs turn to jelly.
The Soldier slides another finger into your pussy and you squirm at the stretch, but he talks you through it. "You're doing so good for me, princess. Taking my fingers so beautifully." He pumps his fingers faster, stroking your clit in tandem, and you clench around his fingers.
You whimper, unable to form the words to tell him you're close, but he can tell. The Soldier knows you better than you know yourself.
"Come all over my fingers, princess, show me how much you need me." You fall apart at his words, turning into a puddle in his arms. He holds you to himself, and you feel his cock press against your back.
"My turn," he whispers, staring darkly at your used body in the mirror.
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