#Metal Slitting Machine

[totheblood]

i still hear you. (prologue)

PAIRING: post tlou2!ellie williams x reader

SUMMARY: ellie stumbles upon your self-run town after her life is destroyed, except there's more to this town then what meets the eye. and it seems like there is more to you too.

WARNINGS: 18+ mentions of death, grief, related subjects; cursing, mentions of drinking/drugs, mentions of s*x

A/N: i've been working on this one for a while... i hope you enjoy! please send asks, reblog, and reply to this post <;3

WORD COUNT: 3k

"i still hear you laughing, but only for a minute"

Spring couldn’t come fast enough for Ellie. 

The cold still nipped at the exposed skin on her hands, ghosting the phantom limbs of the two fingers she was now missing. Everything was cold. The tip of her nose, her ears, and most importantly her heart. As she wandered aimlessly, unsure of where to go, she knew there was one place she couldn’t go: home. 

Jackson was no longer a place for her. Joel was gone, Tommy thought she was weak, and Dina…Well, Dina wanted nothing to do with her. Dina had a lot she could blame Ellie for before Ellie left, but she never did. She stayed. And now, on top of all of that, Ellie had left one of the few people in her life who cared enough about her to stay. Spring could come tomorrow but it would forever be winter inside her. 

She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she was going west. She couldn’t handle the harsh winters of the East Coast, and Wyoming stopped feeling like home before she left for Seattle. She thought about staying on the farm and living out whatever short life she was going to have there, but staying in that home painted with memories of “what ifs” would drive her crazy. 

So she packed enough supplies to last her a few months if she hunted her food and headed to the West Coast. The first few days were silent, she only encountered a few infected and found shelter in abandoned buildings. She lived off of expired food she found in vending machines in old universities and occasionally sang herself to sleep. 

On her tenth day, she found a car that lasted her about 2 days. Once it broke down, she just kept walking. Over abandoned highways and thick forests, she just kept walking. On day 17, she reached California and stumbled upon an eerily similar set of walls. It looked just like the gates at Jackson, except these were concrete and better built. They were much higher, and the gates almost looked… automatic. 

Ellie was hesitant. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she definitely wasn’t looking for another hometown to destroy. She approached the large walls cautiously, with her hands up and slowly. As she walked closer she was screaming, “I come in peace,” over and over again. She was almost 50 feet near the gate when she heard a girl's voice shout, “Don’t come any closer.”

She stopped in her tracks as the automatic gates began to open. Ellie expected an army of people with guns blazing, just how it was when she first arrived at Jackson, but when the gates opened there just stood you, grounded in all your glory, and a gun aimed right at her face. She wanted to laugh, but that just seemed sexist. 

Instead, you pressed forward, unwavering, with your gun aimed right at her. She didn’t step backward, or even breathe, she just stood there until you were close enough to her to make out all the freckles on her face and the slit in her eyebrow. 

“Who are you?” you spat at her.

“Ellie,” she breathed out, her hands faltering a bit. 

With your hand firmly wrapped around the cold metal of the gun, you inched forward again, pulling back the slide, a metallic click echoing in the silence. The gun was loaded, and you were letting Ellie know that you weren’t afraid to shoot. Her hands stiffened again. 

“What are you doing here?” Your tone was tough and the look on your face was enough to send Ellie running for the hills, but it also made her want to crack a smile. Your nose scrunched up as you spoke, and your lips were somehow not chapped in this weather. But Ellie didn’t smile, she was sure if she did you would put one right between her eyes. That much she was sure of.

“I-” Ellie hadn’t thought this far. What was she doing here? “I’m just looking for a place to stay.” 

Your eyebrows creased as you gave her a once over, looking for any sign she was trouble. It was in your nature to search for danger, but she wasn’t raising any red flags. Except the fact that she made it here alone and unscathed, and was missing two fingers. 

“What happened to your hand?” you asked, tipping the gun slightly to her hand. A pained expression crossed her face, it was almost like she forgot that two of her fingers were quite literally bitten off, but that fight was somewhere shoved deep inside her mind. It wasn’t something she wanted to remember.

“Lost them in a fight,” she replied simply, there was no point in telling the full story. It’s not like you had the time. 

“You can’t stay here if you’re going to be trouble,” finally you put the gun down, resting your hands on your hips, giving her a firm look. Ellie would hand it to you, you were absolutely scary. In her mind, she knew she could take you, but she also wasn’t so sure of that.  

“I’m,” she sighed, lowering her hands slowly, “I’m done with that. I won’t be trouble,” and for the first time in Ellie’s life, she meant that. She was ready to start over. She knew the fighter in her would always be there, itching to come out but she had been fighting her whole life. It was time to give up. She had already lost everything. Or so she thought. 

Your face softened slightly before firming up again, your empathy peeking through like it always did. You looked her over again, sighing, as you signaled for someone at the gate to come. A man with short blonde hair trotted over, a leash in his hand. He looked kind as he offered a smile to Ellie.

“Old girl here is just gonna check to make sure you’re not infected,” he smiled, dropping the leash. Ellie’s heart rate picked up again as she watched the German Shepherd approach her slowly, sniffing around her as it circled her. You stood behind the blonde guy with your arms crossed across your chest. The dog found nothing and returned to the man, sitting down next to him, “Looks like you’re all clear!”

“Welcome to Mono City,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes as you turned back towards the gate, walking in that direction. You were halfway there when you realized Ellie wasn’t moving. Turning on your heel again you stared at her, hand on your hip again. You had an attitude, Ellie thought, cute. “You coming or what?”

The small town sat on a large lake, glistening as the sun's rays bounced off the surface. Buildings were built close together, trees without leaves scattered on the walkway, and about a hundred people out on the street as she trailed behind you, earning dirty looks from half of them. Ellie scowled back. Ellie smiled when you introduced yourself to her, telling her your name and a few key details about yourself. She learned you served as some sort of mayor here, keeping everything in order, and that you were the person that people came to. She would be lying if she said that didn’t intimidate her. But all Ellie did was give you her name again and tell you that she was from Jackson, anything else she said would fall short. 

“How are you with your hands?” you asked, voice flat and simple. Ellie choked on her words, stuttering a response. 

“I’m, well,” she coughed, “I’m just okay with them now, since,” she shrugged gesturing to what she now called her ‘bad hand’, “you know.”

A wave of guilt crossed your face as you composed yourself, somehow already forgetting your previous interaction. You shook your head solemnly, cursing quietly under your breath as you stopped. 

“Shit,” you turned to her, eyes squeezed shut, “sorry, I’m so used to asking the same questions, I didn’t even think.”

“It’s fine don’t worry about it,” she gave a tight-lipped smile. Now, with the illumination of the buildings, she could see your whole face. You were pretty, that she was sure of, but it was a more down-to-earth pretty. A type of pretty that you had to take in. You had scars around your face, and a pretty big scar down the side of your neck. It almost looked like the one Ellie had on her arm. But still, scars and all, you were just nice to look at. 

“Well, just for that reason we probably won’t have you be on guard duty,” you stated, eyes flicking around her face, “do you have any other strengths?”

“Uhm,” Ellie had to think for a minute. She had never really been asked anything like this before. What were her strengths? Did she have any at all? She used to be good at guitar, but now she couldn’t play, and that probably wouldn’t be useful at all to anyone here. She was good at art still, something she couldn’t take for granted anymore. It was all she had. The scratched-out drawings of Dina, JJ, Jesse, and Joel were stuffed deep into her bag.

“I’m good at art,” she shrugged, “and writing, maybe.”

“Okay,” you smiled, showing off your teeth, making her warm a bit, “that we can work with. Maybe you can teach at the school.”

“You have a school here?” Ellie gawked. Jackson had a school but it was small and had maybe two or three teachers. 

“Yeah,” you turned to keep walking, making Ellie stumble behind you to keep up, “we have three. An elementary, middle, and high school.”

“Wow,” Ellie was in awe, “It’s not like a military school or anything?” 

“No,” you answered quickly, your voice tight, “It’s not like any of that shit. We don’t fuck with FEDRA here.”

Ellie would be lying if she said that wasn’t music to her ears.

“It’s just like a normal school except we teach a lot more practical things. Things we can use like, cooking, science, and English. Like reading or writing. Since you’re new you will probably start with the elementary school. We also have little extracurriculars and we’ve wanted to introduce art but haven’t been able to find anyone yet.”

“Oh, cool,” was all Ellie said as you both stumbled on what looked like a residential street. There were rows of houses, all that looked the same. There was a road, with cars parked on them and driveways with gates. Most of the houses looked about two stories tall, some had toys lying in the front yards and a few animals were roaming about, small cats and dogs. The porches had furniture on them, little couches and chairs, and as she walked she noticed some people outside with mugs in their hands as if they were drinking their morning coffee. The town looked like something she saw out of a movie, only something she could dream about. Her eyes were wide in awe as you rambled on about something but Ellie was honestly too entranced in everything. Here, in the middle of nowhere was a whole town of people living their lives, as if nothing had ever happened to them. 

“Ellie?” you stopped in your tracks, crossing your arms over your chest. There was your attitude again, “are you even listening?”

“Y-yeah, I am. It’s just-”

“A lot, I know,” you sighed, “but you gotta listen, there are a lot of rules here. Rules that make this place function and if you don’t follow them, you could easily be kicked out.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, genuinely meaning it, “I’m listening, promise.”

“It’s fine,” you gave her a fake smile, turning to push open a gate to a nice house, “This will be your place.”

“Uhm,” Ellie stopped, not entering the front yard, “what do you mean ‘my place’? This is far too big for me.”

“This is the only size our houses come in,” you replied matter-of-factly, “you can just say thank you.”

Ellie blinked as she looked up at the blue house, that looked like it was built yesterday. It had a wrap-around porch and two white columns right by the entrance. The door was a giant white door with a gold handle. This was nicer than any house she’s ever been in, and way too big for one girl.  

“Thank you,” Ellie replied, still awe-struck, “this is just so nice.”

“You’re welcome,” you smiled, fishing around in your bag for something. You pulled out a pair of keys, and handed them to her, “Here’s your house keys. You don’t get a car quite yet, that’s something you have to work your way up to, but there is a bike in the garage. Spring is around the corner so it will get warmer and you should have your car by next winter so don’t worry too much. My house is right across the block, but I’m usually in the City Center if you need me.”

She wrapped her right hand around the keys, tightening them in her palm. She watched as you searched through your bag again and pulled out a little device. 

“This is your walkie,” you took a deep breath, “Try to find me before using it. It’s usually only used for emergencies so just be mindful of that. I’ll be by tomorrow to take you to work, so you have time to get settled in today. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ellie smiled, her voice sounding a little bit breathless.

That night Ellie settled into her new home. Well, she tried to settle into her new home but kept shifting around in every seat and couch, like she couldn’t find something to get comfortable on. She examined every part of the house, picking the smallest room for herself and shoving her backpack in the closet. She took a bath for the first time in months, washing all the dirt and grime off of her. Left in the shower was a bar of soap that looked like it had been handmade and unused. It smelled so good she almost took a bite, but instead chose to use it how it was meant to be used.

As the sun began to set she stepped outside, watching the activity on the block and smiling to herself. Everything just seemed so normal, but with the state of this world this town was certainly abnormal. From her window she could see you in your front yard, feeding a pack of cats that slipped through your white picket fence. She smiled to herself as she watched one rub against your leg, and your gentle hand coming down to pet it. She continued to watch as kids passed your house, waving to you and running back to their homes. 

The next few days were uneventful. Ellie found herself getting used to teaching young kids, always laughing when they asked about her missing fingers. It was out of her comfort zone, but she was around JJ enough to know what kids liked. Her voice always got so high-pitched when she spoke to them, and they liked being chased around the room. On her fifth day of working, a kid ran in screaming, “Miss Ellie! Miss Ellie!” with a chicken scratch drawing of his family. He was so proud that all Ellie could say was “Good job, bud!” and ruffle his hair. He left with the biggest smile on his face.

But now, Ellie found herself at the city’s most popular bar, with the other teachers who wanted to congratulate her on her first week. Della, who invited Ellie out in the first place, made a toast to her, clinking her glass with Ellie’s and taking a long swig of her drink. Ellie took a sip of hers too and fuck, this shit was strong. 

She felt human again, laughing with people her age in a bar and old music playing. She was almost having a good time until a song came on that reminded her of Joel. It was like her whole demeanor changed and everyone could tell. She excused herself from the group finding a small corner to sit on and finish the rest of her drink, hoping maybe it would make her forget everything. But then, the bell at the front door rang making Ellie look up to see who had entered. 

There you were in all your glory, tight shirt on and hair completely loose. It almost looked as if you were wearing makeup. Ellie must’ve been staring too long because she blinked and you were standing in front of her. 

“See you got yourself a drink,” you laughed, voice making Ellie’s cheeks turn pink. She was… really drunk.

“Yeah, I could get you one too,” she slurred a bit, goofy smile spread across her face. She watched as something odd crossed your face and now she was worried she said something wrong, “I just mean, like.. you know… I mean like as a thank you.”

“Right,” you sighed.

“For my mansion, you know,” she shrugged and you giggled. You giggled and it went straight to her head. What was she doing?

“You haven’t been paid yet,” you smiled back at her, now moving to sit down, “and it’s okay, I don’t drink unless it’s a special occasion.”

“What? Meeting me is not special enough,” she teased, knocking her shoulder with yours. Her eyes scanned your face, your smile reaching your eyes as you giggled again. Her stomach sank again. She wasn’t so sure if this was just the alcohol anymore, she felt like she was 12 and crushing on Riley again. 

“No, it’s special,” you reassured, “Maybe, I’ll drink when you decide to stay.”

“Who said I’m not staying?” she questioned sitting up.

“Some people don’t,” you shrugged, smile fading. Ellie’s brain wanted to make it better, make you laugh again, or shit do anything to put the smile back on your face. 

“Well, I’m gonna,” she said gently, so only you could hear her, “I need to get my paycheck.”

You laughed and Ellie breathed a sigh of relief, laughing with you. 

“I’ll get that to you,” you smiled, “and we don’t use paychecks.”

“What’re you gonna pay me with?” she smirked, “I know some other ways you can pay me.” Then the same look from earlier crossed your face and she cursed quietly to herself, muttering an apology. 

“No, no,” you said, like you were about to let her down gently, “I just try not to get… involved with anyone since…” your voice trailed off.

“Since?” Ellie questioned, but as you opened your mouth to speak the group from earlier made their way over, noticing your arrival and screaming your name. She watched as you got up, hugged everyone and started chatting with them, leaving her with her drink and too many questions. 

There was one thing that scared her though. She knew you needed someone who could stay, and the only thing she was good at was leaving.

[vincentbriggs]

Do you need a sewing machine to start making shirts and vests? Is hand sewing an option worth considering, or should I invest in a machine, in your opinion?

That's really a matter of personal preference!

Do you need a machine? Absolutely not! Every garment ever made before the 1840's was sewn by hand, and a lot of them after that too. I've sewn many garments completely by hand, including the early 18th century tiddy-out-violinist shirt, these bright orange breeches, and this green waistcoat.

Is it nice to have a machine? I think so, but again, individual opinions vary!

One of the costumers I follow sews everything 100% by hand because she finds it meditative and isn't interested in using a machine at all. Some people hate hand sewing and prefer to do everything by machine, with maybe a bit of hand finishing if they absolutely can't avoid it.

I do about a 50/50 split overall, maybe skewing a bit more towards hand sewing. I like to do pants, shirts, and nightgowns mostly by machine with some hand finishing, but for jackets and waistcoats I usually do considerably more hand sewing than machine, because I like 18th century tailoring techniques and think they give a nicer looking result. I do most of my buttonholes by hand, or I do them by machine first and then cover them in hand stitching.

Most people who sew do at least some of it by machine, but again, I don't know which way you prefer to work, so I'd suggest trying out both to see how you feel abut them.

For hand sewing, I suspect a lot of people hate it because they're using shitty needles and/or shitty thread, and perhaps haven't found good resources for hand sewing techniques.

Here's a post of hand sewing advice that I found quite helpful a decade ago. Use good needles because the eyes of the cheap ones have jagged edges and will ruin your thread! Use nice thread because the wrong kind will be twisty and tangly and will fray more!

Thimbles are good and useful, and typically they go on the middle finger of your dominant hand, and you use them to push the needle. I prefer metal thimbles and dislike using leather ones, but some people prefer the leather ones, or rubber ones.

The metal ones come in sizes, and I don't know how to find out your size aside from trying them on in person, but I know I'm a size 11.

One very important thing is that if you're hand sewing a garment, look for hand sewing specific instructions on how to do the construction techniques you're going for. A lot of the time when someone nowadays is trying to figure out how to hand sew a thing they'll just try and copy the machine sewn version, and a lot of the time that's inefficient and more difficult and the result looks worse, because machines and hands work very differently!

This is something I'm going to briefly discuss in the outro to the very long shirt video I'm working on, because it's so very common, and I've done it too! On several of my earlier hand sewn shirts I didn't know to turn the edge in on the front slit and do a little narrow hem, so I instead sewed on a facing for the front slit and cut and turned it, just like I'd seen on machine sewn shirts. This made it about 3x more time consuming, and the result was much bulkier and looked worse.

I've got so many more things to say about sewing but it's almost bedtime and I don't want to make this post too long.

For machine sewing, again there's a lot of personal choice. Some people like newer machines, some people like vintage or antique ones. I'm one of the ones who prefers solid metal vintage machines. I grew up using an old cast iron Singer, and the newer domestic machines just feel so plasticy and insubstantial to me. I'm used to ones that just do straight stitch and can also go backwards, but some people are perfectly happy with ones that can't even backstitch.

I do think that for a beginner the vintage machines are a better deal, because if you're patient and look around for a while you can snag one for really cheap at a thrift store, yard sale, facebook marketplace, etc. Also they're mostly metal and therefore harder to break.

I recently got a Pfaff (from I think the 1960's?) at an estate sale for 25 bucks. The zig zag mechanism is stuck and needs fixing, but I cleaned & oiled it up and it works just fine for regular straight stitching.

There are SO MANY online resources for how to clean, oil, and fix vintage sewing machines, especially the more popular brands, and a lot of the time cleaning & oiling is all they need. Read the manual and get an oil bottle with a nice long pointy thing so you can reach all the parts, and get some compressed air to whoosh out the fuzz. If it's old and hasn't been used in years, turn the hand wheel and observe every single place where metal rubs against metal, and Make It Greasy There.

(If you don't have the manual, you can often find those online too. I even found the service manual for my new-old Pfaff! I have the original users manual, but this one's for the people doing repairs.)

Oh this post is getting much too long! If you don't know yet if you like machine sewing, try seeing if you can use one without owning it, perhaps at a sewing class or in a makerspace. I know some libraries can loan out machines. A sewing class would probably be a good idea actually, if there are any available where you live!

Much like how you'll have a bad time hand sewing if you've got shitty supplies and no proper instructions on good techniques, you'll have a bad time machine sewing if it's not oiled well and if the tension is uneven.

There are so so very many things to learn about sewing and I hope I'm not making it sound too overwhelming, because I promise it's not if you take it one step at a time!

Also, when someone who's been sewing for a long time says "You may think you can ignore (piece of sewing advice), but actually that's bad and you will regret it", they're usually right. Oh, how I regret not learning to use a thimble years earlier than I did...

Sorry this post is so long, I hope it's helpful!

Basically, there's no one best way to sew anything, and you should try different stuff and see what works best for you, because everyone has different preferences.

[diejager]

psst! hi! are you willing to do a scenario where (civilian or soldier (your pick)) reader tries to run away and hide from yan!Ghost/konig

Failed Escape

Pairing: Yan!König x reader & Yan!Ghost x reader

Cw: smut, DUB-CON/NON-CON, spanking, fingering, kidnapping, training/mind break??, isolation, tell me if I missed any. Cw: 0.9k

König

Yan!König was meticulous in the location of your home, it was well-thought out and planned months prior to your taking. It’s a secluded cottage in the Austrian alps, between two imposingly beautiful mountains covered in green flora and cute wildflowers. A few fawns and deers would skip around your grounds, grazing on the fires and hydrated grass of your garden. It’s miles away from civilization, unpaved roads marking the way to the closest highway and other cottages within a mile or two.  

Yan!König who doesn’t bother to install extreme measures to your home because you’re housebroken, trained into loving you house and fearing to run. It doesn’t matter if you’re a normal civilian or a trained specialist, his sheer size made it impossible to run or defend against. But if you did try to run, ignoring all the blaring, red flags that bellowed in your mind about stepping outside the white-fenced walls, you’d wish you could outrun him. 

Yan!König’s ruthless in his punishment. If he caught you before you crossed the fence, he’d be more lenient with you. He would strip you down to your panties and lay you on his lap, hand striking your ass. He’d coo when you cried, his warm thumb rubbing soothing circles over your red cheeks, fingers dipping into your leaky cunt, his large digits hitting your spongy wall while you squirmed, his elbow digging into your back to hold you down. 

“Look at how wet you are, Maus, you like this don’t you? You like being spanked, ja?” 

If he caught you outside, your short legs failing to outrun him, König would be meaner, cruel even with his punishment. He has you tied and blindfolded in the cold and humid basement, bringing his gloved hand down on your naked slit. His slaps left your cunt slick and swollen, and you a crying and overwhelmed while he bullied his hard cock into you, fucking the anger and frustrations away. 

“It hurts, Maus? This is your punishment, take it!” 

Yan!König will have to spend additional time training you, utilising the wide arrange of tools in his well-equipped basement to help him train you. From different types of whips to metal and padded hand-cuffs, and from various sizes of dildos that fit the pre-programmed machine to a manual of torturous knots and binds to hold a person. König has all and everything to ensure that you’d be reeducated in ways of living and manners. 

Yan!König doesn’t do this because he enjoyed it - perhaps a lie with the sadistic glint in his eyes - he does it because he needed you to understand how much he cared about you, how much your life with him was a blessing and how much you could be happy with him. If only your training stuck.

Ghost

Yan!Ghost wouldn’t let you catch a glance of the world outside the four walls of your prison. He has locks drilled into the front and back door, some could be unlocked by a key and others by numbered and lettered combinations. He had every wind bolted shut with the occasional sliding windows for fresh air if you needed it, but they were all too small to squeeze through and too high for you to reach with anything but on the tips of your toes.

Yan!Ghost didn’t buy a house in some remote area of the British Isle, he found a rustic house in a calm and safe neighbourhood in Manchester, a pretty two-story home with a basement and newly-painted white fences around the house. Most neighbours were quiet and kept to themselves, it was another thing he made sure of before turning this place into a safehouse for both of you. He kept the house’s layout, but reworked the basement, building a third bedroom with a small kitchenette, a hotel-like living room and an even smaller bathroom fitting a single person at a time. 

Yan!Ghost who stopped you before you can reach the door, his bone-breaking hold on your wrist, wrenching you away from the hallway before throwing you onto the couch. He was fuming, face red with rage and narrowed eyes, his tall, imposing figure seemingly bigger and damning as he loomed over you with clenched fists. He might’ve been cruel and demeaning, possessive in an erratic and sporadic way, but he’d never lift a hand against you. Simon wouldn’t stoop as low as his father did to control his life. Granted, he used degradation and intimidation, but never physical violence.

“What ‘ave I told you, love?”

Yan!Ghost would force you back into the basement, imposing all the rules and regulations he had when he first took you, his words became the law and his hands the chains. He might let you have a few freedoms in your prison, but he would always be watching, either from the numerous cameras he installed in in the basement and around the house to keep and eye on you at all times, or from his seat beside you, an arm around your waist and his face buried under your head. 

Yan!Ghost suffered just as much as you were in these moments, having to subjugate both of you to this torture he played in the early days. Listening to you cry and bemoan your life before meeting him made his heart chip away while he shushed your pains, cradling you as he carded his fingers through your locks. Watching you flinch and stuttered when he approached you, his trembling hands inches from your shaking figure, red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks staring back at him while he tried coaxing you back into his hands to sooth your cries. It hurts how much you tried to escape his love and care, he was the perfect lover: gentle and patient.

“Why can’t you love me? Aren’t I enough?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs

[knot-headed]

kinktober - #4

cock warming w/ bucky barnes x top!male reader kinktober masterlist

His hands rest atop his thighs, curled into fists as he waits for your permission. When your hand cups the side of his face he melts into it, tilting to meet your palm and he’s already feeling calmer, body growing lax as you lean down to kiss into his hair. Two fingers rest under his chin, and you encourage his head to move up slightly so you can kiss him on the lips - a slow, relaxed thing that has Bucky chasing after you as you pull away. You sit back, hands planted on the arms of your chair as you widen your legs. “Whenever you’re ready sweetheart.”

Bucky nods, shifting onto his knees (he’s thankful for the pillow you’d placed between your feet in preparation) to reach for your belt, undoing it and pulling it through the loops to place it at your side before reaching for the zipper. He undoes it easily, this part well practised, and reaches in, drawing out your half hard cock. He gives it a few pumps, working you up to full hardness all the while you comb your hand through his hair, muttering praises every so often, not that Bucky can really hear them anymore, not with the way he’s focusing on your cock.

Everything had gotten too much - the sleepless nights, the nightmares that followed him through to the day, the unfamiliarity of it all, how even now he still feels out of place. He had come to you, a frown deeply settled in the lines of his face, unable to communicate what exactly was wrong, just that he wanted to not think for a while. Your suggestion had him agreeing quickly, knees sinking to the ground like a magnet being pulled to metal.

He leans in, pulling his hands away to take you in his mouth, the weight on his tongue instantly comforting - how you were completely around him, stroking him like a beloved pet, letting him take what he needed from you.

Your breath deepens the first few seconds, Bucky looking up at you with doe eyes as he bobs up and down until you’re in his throat, forcing him to breathe through his nose. His heart flutters at the way you smile down at him so genuine, your murmured “Good boy,” making him double his efforts until he feels tears building at the corners of his eyes and he can hear the wet sounds his mouth is making.

When your hand stops in his hair he stops, glassy, confused eyes meeting yours as you stare down at him. “This isn’t about me Buck, don’t push yourself.” He takes a moment before nodding, focusing on slowing down, only moving when he wants, tongue occasionally lapping at your slit when precum oozes out, your taste familiar, relaxing. His eyes slowly begin to droop as your fingers card through his hair again, thoughts melting away as your nails scratch against his scalp.

He hums deeply at your pleasured sigh, the hollowing of his cheeks stopping until he’s suckling at you, head falling against your inner thigh. You keep your voice low, calm, the rich timbre flowing through his veins. “That’s it, stay there as long as you want.” 

By the time you’re reaching over him to pull your keyboard to the edge of your desk he’s barely listening, floating in a peaceful nothing. It’s a struggle to type with only one hand, but previous attempts to remove your hand have been met with a whine echoing in the back of Bucky’s throat, so you settle back, idly typing away while like a well oiled machine your hand runs through his hair.

[a-killer-obsession]

Q8 🦾

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I initially misunderstood what should be done.

{ A few words about you as an author. YOU ARE FUCKING WONDERFUL. I've often thought about such a thing as a collab. The arts' collab is cool, and I've had experience with it, so it's already become kind of boring. And I came up with the idea, why not make a writers' collab =∆ The thing would obviously be in demand, but it needs an approach and many, many nuances. I don't know why I'm saying this at all, because the idea is a bit damp, but I probably want to listen to someone else's opinion on this score.}

That was on me for forgetting to put it in the instructions, I've never done a request event before so I didn't event think of it. Thanks for sending the ask in, I really wanted to write this one, it got a bit intense but I hope you enjoy it 💕

Franky's Toy Room

Prompt: Quiet

Additional Tags: afab reader, she/her pronouns, forniphilic gag, impact play, fucking machine, shibari, rope suspension, butt plug, forced orgasm, vibrator, squirting, breeding bench, pre-ts franky, blow job, deep throating, praise kink, use of sir, touch of degradation, fingering, p in v sex, creampie, aftercare

WC: 2.3k

Event Masterlist

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

“Shhh baby, you're gonna wake the whole ship,” Franky tsk'd as you moaned around your gag, tongue fighting against the small silicone cock inside your mouth that was attached to it. Your body was held by soft royal blue ropes, your forearms bound together behind your back, your torso held up by a strong harness that suspended you from the ceiling, keeping your top half horizontal while your bottom half rested on your knees. The position you were in was essentially doggy style, but with the carefully tied harness supporting you instead of your arms, while a fucking machine Franky had made himself pounded into you from behind with a metalic groan and the wet squelch of silicone in your wet, abused hole. You'd already cum too many times to count, your ass red from the leather paddle he'd used earlier, accented by the large blue rhinestone at the end of the shiny silver plug in your asshole. The black leather padding of the bench underneath you was already soaked with a large puddle of your earlier releases, pooling underneath you and at your knees, dripping to the wooden floor below. He held a bright pink vibrator against your slit, your eyes rolling as you whined around the gag.

“Come on babe, give me another,” Franky hummed. You shook your head, eyes watering, relying entirely on the ropes to keep you upright as your legs turned to jelly, the vibrator against your oversensitive clit making you scream around the gag as you felt your coil somehow pulling taut again. You were sure this time you'd pass out. “Aw don't be like that, you're doing so super, I know you can cum again”

The speed of the fucking machine was increased, as was the intensity of the vibrator, and you went entirely silent as you came too hard to make sound, the air pulled from you as you shook uncontrollably and squirted again, barely anything coming out of you at this point from the sheer amount of fluids you'd already expelled. Franky's large hand supported you under your belly as your legs shook, not turning off the machine or removing the vibrator till your body went limp, hanging uselessly by the ropes. You barely registered the large dildo being removed from your gaping pussy, or the gag being removed from your mouth.

“Breathe, babe,” Franky cooed, loosening the ropes holding you gradually till you were a puddle of flesh resting in a puddle of cum on the leather bench. “Catch your breath sweetheart, we ain't done, you haven't even taken me yet”

You whined but didn't protest with a safeword as he easily picked you up and transferred you to a breeding bench, the padded leather supporting your weak torso on the higher section and your knees bent again on the lower sections either side, sore but thankfully no longer having to support any weight. Your arms were still bound behind you but it didn't matter, you were so dazed and fucked out that the whole Grandline could've come in and taken turns with you and you wouldn't have even noticed.

“So pretty,” Franky wiggled the plug in your ass, making you whine. He tutted in response, walking to your front and stretching your mouth open with a finger hooked in each cheek. “What did I say about making noise?” He tsk'd, “do I have to put the gag back in?”

“No sir,” you replied weakly, slightly slurred by the fingers in your mouth, doing your best to make half-lidded eye contact as you spoke, lest you be punished.

“Such a pretty mouth though,” he pressed his thumb down on your tongue, forcing your mouth wide open, the pad of his thumb swiping over the wet muscle. “Mmm, think I'll use it a little as well before I fuck your pretty pussy.” He pulled down his speedos and let them pool at his ankles, his thick cock springing from them, erect and red with need, as he stepped out of the fabric and kicked it away. He let his unbuttoned shirt fall from his shoulders as he pumped himself a few times.

“Open up doll,” he ordered, and you opened your mouth obediently for him as he stood at the front of the bench, lolling your tongue invitingly. He tapped the fat head of his dick against your tongue, smearing it with his precum that tasted artificial, a little like cola. It always made you wonder whether his cum was real or whether his testicles had needed to be rebuilt as well. You knew from the faint stitch lines down either side of his shaft that at least that his cock wasn't entirely natural. But hey, if you gotta replace your dick, may as well make it a monster. Franky was a big man anyway, his cock was proportional to the rest of him.

He grabbed your ponytail and pulled it hard, raising your head a little as he slipped his cock inside your mouth, the corners of your mouth stinging from the stretch. He wasted no time in making you gag, he knew you could take it. He loved the way your eyes watered as you looked up at him, his tip hitting the back of your throat and sliding down with every deep thrust he made, groaning as he pulled on your hair, his other hand supporting your chin so the pull wasn't too harsh.

“You're doing super, baby,” he purred, “just a little more of this, just wanna get warmed up before I fuck that tight little pussy of yours.” You whined around his cock, the vibrations making his eyes roll behind the sunglasses. “Good girl, doing such a good job babe. Fuck you're gonna make me bust down that whore throat of yours”

You knew him finishing in your mouth wouldn't save your pussy from further abuse, Franky could go as long as his cola reserves could, you usually gave out long before he did. Regardless, you wanted more of that strangely sweet, probably artificial cum, so you hollowed your throat and sucked hard, running your tongue against the underside of his cock the way you knew he liked.

“Fuck, [y/n]!” He shouted suddenly, groaning as ropes of sweet cum slid down your throat, his hips stuttering as he emptied inside your mouth, the last spurts spilling out over your tongue and face as he pulled out. “Bad girl,” he tsk'd, giving your face a playful slap, but you could tell as you licked your lips that you weren't really in trouble.

“Now who's loud?” You teased, earning a hard smack on the ass that made you yelp. Franky bent down so his face was at your eye level.

“Next sound and the gag goes back on,” he threatened, making you shiver. Your body was worn out but the way he spoke in that deep, dominant tone made your pussy throb with need, “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” you replied, licking a little more cum from your face as it dripped down your cheek.

“Good girl,” he gave your face a light slap, before holding your chin, thumb running over your drool coated lips, “can you take me one more time?”

“Yes sir,” you wriggled a little in your restraints, pussy clenching around nothing as you anticipated how good it'd feel to have him fill you, “please sir”

“There's my good greedy girl,” he smiled, letting you suck on his thumb for a moment before pulling it out with a pop. He moved to the back of the bench, cock still solid as a rock, pulling you by your thighs so your ass was right at the end of the bench. The bench itself was taller than average, he'd made it himself to be adjustable, usually set to this height which was the most comfortable for him to fuck in a standing position, usually for fucking you or Robin. She usually joined him in on teasing you, but she was feeling unwell tonight, so the cyborg had you to himself, deep in the hold of the Thousand Sunny, in what he called his ‘Toy Room’.

Franky stuck two impossibly thick fingers inside you, the width of them combined bigger than his cock, stretching you wide. The large dildo he'd been using earlier was close to his size, making sure you were good and stretched to take him, but he loved to stretch you wider with his fingers for a moment so he could watch your pussy gape and admire your pretty pink walls before he painted them white.

He slid inside you easily, burying himself to the hilt, and you bit down on your bottom lip to stifle your moan as your pussy stretched around him. He loved to watch where his cock was buried in you, the membrane that lined the entrance of your hole catching on his thick cock with every slow pull, like your pussy refused to let go of him. It drove him wild to watch the way his cock got shiny with your slick, a creamy ring forming at this base and catching in his curly blue pubes as you came again, less intense this time, lacking the energy to squirt anymore. He praised you anyway as your pussy fluttered around him, impressed you'd managed to cum again at all without him even needing to use his special trick yet.

“Good girl, [y/n],” he praised, making you clench around him as you muffled your moans against the bench, “I'm gonna let you make sound, but only if you can cum one more time with me when I tell you too. Can you do that baby? Cum for me one more time and let me hear you scream?”

“Y-yes ssi-r,” you stuttered, struggling to not cry out as his cock began to vibrate inside you, a fun little feature he'd added while he was augmenting it. It never failed to build you back up again, no matter how fucked out you were, so he always saved it for last. It was a bit of a Pavlov effect because of it, your orgasm building quickly under the promise that it'd be the last one and you'd be able to rest soon. One day he was going to figure out that connection and it was gonna bite you in the ass, you were sure Robin knew but she wasn't a snitch. He could tell you were close as your hands balled into tight fists behind your back and your face dug into the leather below you, breathing hard while your pussy fluttered around him.

“There's my good girl, I knew you could do it,” he groaned, fucking you mercilessly as he chased his own high, pulling slightly on the plug in your ass. “Let me hear you scream baby, and I'll give you this fat load”

Your whole body shook and you saw white as you clamped down around him, letting out a scream that would probably sound pained to anyone hearing jt without context. You would have woken the whole ship if not for the fact that Franky had secretly sound proofed this room, not that you knew that. You didn't have the capacity to worry about waking anyone right now anyway as your orgasm made you tremble, Franky bruising your hips with how hard he held you as he pounded into you one last time and roared, filling you with so much sticky cum that it overflowed and dripped onto the breeding bench, pouring out like a unclogged drain as he pulled out and you made a disappointed little whine. You practically squealed as he removed the rhinestoned plug from your ass, appreciating the way your ass gaped and throbbed around nothing.

“Good girl,” he cooed, running his hand up your back, over the ropes and to your hair, scratching your scalp pleasantly as he came to stand in front of you, his cock softening as he bent down to kiss you tenderly. He quickly set about untying the ropes that bound you, your whole body laying limb like a piece of wet laundry draped over the bench the second your arms were released.

“Good girl [y/n], you did so well,” he cooed, carefully pulling you upright by your armpits, before lifting you bridal style to sit in a comfortable armchair, a prepared towel already laid on it to catch any fluids. He sat you in a way where you were slouched slightly to put less pressure on your sore rump, and he slowly lifted your legs to rest over the arms of the chair so he could carefully wipe you clean, examining you for any injury before bringing your legs back together. He kissed you on the forehead and quickly redressed himself before getting you a glass of cool water. He held it to your mouth and tilted it for you a little at a time so you could drink, your arms aching from being bound. Once he was satisfied you'd drunk enough water, he set about examining every part of your body methodically, massaging sore areas with his large hands and rubbing muscle soothing balm into them. You were half asleep before he lifted you up and sat himself in the chair, draping you on your belly over his lap and the arms of the chair so he could check your backside. Satisfied that you were entirely taken care of, he helped you into a silk dressing down and held you carefully in his lap, cooing gentle praises and rubbing your back softly. Sex with Franky was always a marathon, but you also relished the soft moments afterwards, and you knew that once you inevitably fell asleep he would carry you carefully to his bed, tuck you in, and wrap himself around you protectively.

[gaysindistress]

Связи (n.) connections - two

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

pairings: mob!bucky x reader

Summary: “Did you think you could hide from us? That’s adorable, little one. There’s no where on this planet where you could hide from the Shostakov Bratva and even if you did manage to evade us, the Barnes Bratva would find you. Your связи, your connections, will always come back to haunt you, Y/N.”

Warnings: Cursing, guns

Word count: 2.6k

part one | series masterlist

taglist: @unaxv @identity2212

“Don’t even think about it,” the hand squeezes my arm as I try to look up to confirm what I know to be true.  “Walk.”

“Let go of me,” I mumble and try to pull my arm away but it’s useless. He has an iron grip and I know there will be bruises by the morning from how hard he is grabbing me. 

Good. it’ll give me a reason to slit his throat. I find myself thinking and a horror fills me at my own thoughts. Not even five minutes in my father’s presence and I’m already slipping back into that way of thinking. 

“You think you’ll survive if I did that?” my captor grumbles, jerking me along towards the edge of the room. “Look around, Oksana. How many of your father’s men do you see? Hm? How about my men?” 

On cue, the crowd erupts in a frenzy of cheers and chants when we reach the edge of the room and he pulls me fully into the shadows. I let out a groan of pain as my back hits a wall and the heavy sound of hands slamming next to my head catches me off guard. A looming figure cages me against the cold stone and blocks my view from the party…the fucking party that’s started in honor of my sister’s death. 

“Tell me what you see,” the figure demands and my eyes are straining to make out any features. 

“All I see is a fucking dick head who grabbed me and threw me against a wall.”

A chuckle. 

A familiar chuckle. 

James Barnes is the figure that all but dragged me to this hallway and slammed me against the wall. The Pakhan of the Barnes Bratva is the one who’s leaning over me and demanding things from me like I’m one of his side pieces. Bucky, the man my sister loved more than her own family and probably died protecting, found me in a matter of minutes and fear floods my veins as the realization hits me. 

He takes notice of my sudden silence and smirks, “What do you see now?”

“A. Dick. Head.”

His smirk never fades but grows and he yanks me away and down the hall with both of my hands in one of his massive ones. During our little “detour” the party has turned into something from the movies and my father’s men have come to line the hallway walls instead of the main room. Protecting their sweet Pakhan as if he isn’t a Soviet breed killing machine. 

They bow their heads and avert their eyes when we walk past and I wish just one of them would look at me instead of acting like a coward. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that they know who I am from the way they do everything to avoid making eye contact. They most certainly know who Bucky is and it ignites my infernal hatred for him and my father again. 

At the end of the hall is a set of black metal doors; a contrast against the red decor and white marble of the house but a menacing sight no less. An older man I don’t recognize nods to Bucky before he opens the doors and steps aside to let us in. I throw a pitiful look in his direction but he’s closing the doors and disappearing into the hall. Another set of doors halts us but this time it’s opened when Bucky types in a code into a small keypad off to the side. 

And what awaits us is my worst nightmare. 

My father is sitting in a disgustingly large and overwhelming red chair at the back of the room with my mother and remaining sister sitting on the matching couch. Yelena is staring up at the ceiling with her arms crossed while Melina is reading a book as if this isn’t the world's worst family reunion. 

“Ах, моя милая Оксана! Я так рада, что ты смогла приехать. Мы скучали по тебе,” Alexei says with his fake smile that never reaches his eyes. 

Ah my sweet Oksana! I’m so glad you could make it. We’ve missed you.

I say nothing. I can’t. It’s sludge in my stomach and molten lava in my tongue. 

“Приходите. Садись. Давай догоним.”

Come. Sit. Let us catch up. 

Bucky hauls me towards them when I don’t move on my own and I stumble, falling into him. He catches me with a grunt and stumbles backwards himself before shoving me to the couch. Yelena makes no attempt to acknowledge me and Melina raises an eyebrow at the bounce of the couch but nothing else. 

Typical. 

“My darling Oksana,” Alexei starts and my voice finds itself again. 

“That’s not my name,” I blurt out and now all eyes are on me. “Not anymore. I go by Y/N now.”

“Y/N,” he says as he draws out the letters. “The name your mother called you. I remember how you got it, don’t you, Melina?”

She sighs and nods. 

“Alexei,” Bucky says harshly from where he’s been leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a scowl on his face. 

“I know, I know,” my father grumbles and pins me with a sudden serious stare. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“I imagine it’s because Nat…” I stop. I can’t say it. 

“Yes, sweet Natasha is dead but not to worry, Y/N. Your life isn’t in danger or at least it won’t be soon.”

I narrow my eyes at him, confused and his next words so nothing to clear it up. 

“Antonia has decided that she needs to enact revenge and has been making our lives difficult as of late. She’s already made an attempt on Yelena and well as you can probably guess, made a successful one on Natasha’s. I fear that the unseen protection I once offered you isn’t enough anymore and we both know that your agent Danvers will do nothing if it means she can get close to Antonia or me for that matter.”

“Antonia as in Dreykov’s daughter?” 

“Who the fuck else would it be?” Bucky snaps and we exchange a nasty glare. 

Alexei huffs but continues, “But being the amazing father and businessman that I am, I was able to broker a peace treaty so to speak.”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably and I study the way he’s drumming his fingers on his arm although he’s trying to hide it. 

“What kind of treaty?” I ask while still watching Bucky. 

“A beneficial one.”

I roll my eyes and give my father a blank stare, “for you. It’s always only beneficial for you.”

“Would you rather me let you die?”

“You haven’t had an issue doing just that for the last ten years.”

His eyes harden and he leans forward as he speaks to me, “I didn’t know where you went. I only found you three years ago.”

I lean forward too, “I wish you hadn’t.”

Melina finally speaks up and says my name in a way only a mother could. 

We both return to semi comfortable positions and stare at each other. 

“You’re marrying Bucky,” Yelena casually states. Her eyes have closed but she’s still leaning her back back against the couch with her blonde waves hanging over the back. 

“What?” Is all I can think to say. I look to my father and then to Bucky for anything. Denial, confirmation, laughter, fucking anything at all but I’m met with blank stares and the severe anxiety building in my stomach. 

“We need the numbers and resources. Antonia isn’t…”

The words sound fuzzy and I know I’m missing important information. 

“…Natasha was the first choice and I think we all can agree that Yelena is not an option so that leaves you, my youngest daughter and out last hope.”

“No.”

The word slipped so easily from my lips I didn’t even realize it was me who said it. 

Bucky makes a noise that I assume is meant to be a chuckle but being the devil reincarnated means he never does such a thing and it’s a strangled sound instead. 

“Y/N,” Alexei warns, “Antonia has made threats against our lives already. I’ve done what I can to protect you and let you live your life. I cannot do that anymore so i have no other choice but to do this. You have no other choice but to do this and if you can’t find it in your heart to do it for us then think of Natasha. Her death will not be in vain.”

“I think you missed explaining the part where a marriage will keep me any safer than leaving me the fuck alone.”

“He can offer you more protection than I can.”

“Stop this,” I tell Bucky and he only glares at me. “Stop this. We can find another way.”

“Уже сделано.”

It’s already done.

“Так ты говоришь, что ты бессилен,” I sneer back and smile when Bucky flinches ever so slightly. 

So you're saying that you're powerless.

The older man who had opened the door for us comes in with a large white envelope and hands it to Bucky. The Barnes Pakhan takes it with a roll of his eyes and takes out a packet of papers. Melina has finally stopped reading and Yelena is still pretending to sleep as my fate is being sealed. A pen scratches on paper and then the packet is dangling in front of my face with Bucky’s name messily scrolled next to a blank spot where I can only assume mine is meant to go. 

“I’m not signing that,” I tell Bucky and he only stares blankly at me. 

“Y/N,” Melina tries but I cut her off with a triate about how this is illegal and stupid and seflish and no one can make me do this. During my efforts to get someone to change their mind and call this all off, Bucky signs my name for me before tossing the packet to Alexei. 

“Did you just forge my signature?”

“No,” he deadpans and watches my parents sign the witness section of the marriage license. 

“Yes you did! I saw you!”

“But did you?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that? I literally just watched you sign my name on a legal document. That makes it void,” I snap at him and I swear I see the anger start to roll in. 

Bucky takes a deep breath, “And who here is going to back you up? Alexei? Melina? Yelena?”

When I don’t answer, he mutters something in Russian under his breath and tells my father that we will be leaving immediately. A man I hadn’t seen before comes up behind me and pulls me off of the couch by my arm causing me to swing at him. My fist lands with a satisfying crack on his cheek and he tumbles backwards, cradling his face as blood leaks from between his fingers. He curses under his breath and I spin around at the familiar voice. 

It was the voice of one of the man who kidnapped me that night. 

That’s when it hits me; Bucky and this man had been the ones to kidnap Yelena and me. 

“YOU,” I hiss and grab him by the face with one hand while the other pulls the small gun tucked into his waist. Pressing it against his temple, we stare at each other and after a few agonizing moments pass, the man looks down with defeat. 

“You were there,” I whisper to him, “Why?”

He looks over my shoulder at Bucky and that’s when I remember Bucky was there too. Still gripping the first man, I turn the gun to his boss and the entire room takes in a sharp breath. 

“Why?” I ask him knowing that’ll I never get an answer. His expression is a frozen image of boredom and based on what little information I have gotten in the last few minutes, it’s not likely that he’ll decide that this question deserves a response. 

“Let him go and give him his gun back,” is all Bucky says before snatching up the packet and stalking towards the door. My hand slips and the man quickly grabs his gun before dragging me along with him. 

Alexei moves to stand and Melina stops him by holding out her hand. She mutters something to him in Russian and he rolls his shoulders in response, no doubt having been told to act like a Pakhan and not a loving father. Yelena has lifted her head and is staring daggers at me but she still doesn’t say anything to me. The little girl in me begs to call out for my older sister and craves the comfort that her hug once brought me but all hope of that relationship is dashed with the murderous look she’s giving me. 

Once again my family has left me for dead without a good reason. 

Sam, as I heard Bucky call him, dabs a black handkerchief on his cheek as he inspects the small cut in the car’s tiny visor mirror. He keeps muttering under his breath and occasionally Bucky throws in a sarcastic comment to which Sam threatens to hurt in him some way. 

“Please tell me why you couldn’t have just walked up to her and played nice,” Sam says after he’s finished fussing over the truly minimal cut on his cheekbone.

Bucky looks at me in the rearview mirror, “Does she look like someone who plays nice?”

“I’m literally right here.”

Sam glances over his shoulder, “Oh I’m well aware that you’re right there. I can feel you plotting my demise.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be thinking of the most creative way to kill you if you didn’t kidnap.”

“I didn’t kidnap you. That was Bucky.”

The man in question gives his partner the most offended look possible, “Wow. Remind me to never trust you with anything ever again.”

“Don’t act you wouldn’t give me up just as quickly,” Sam mumbles as he settles into his seat. 

“I wouldn’t and that’s why I’m Pakhan.”

“Oh you want to play that way? Okay, okay,” he perks up and leans over towards Bucky. “We had a plan walking into that fake ass funeral and it didn’t involve either of us getting punched or you getting married. Want to explain how your plan to get in and get out epically failed, Pakhan?”

Bucky’s jaw clentches and his hands grip the steering wheel tighter, “Look, let me walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?”

“If it involves telling me how you managed to royally fuck this entire thing then yes but otherwise, no.”

“I didn't...do anything. That’s on Alexei. I almost had him…”

Sam lets out a loud and dramatic sigh, “You did not almost have him. He was never going to agree to your terms and you know it.”

“Someone want to fill me in?” I pipe up and both men say no loudly at the same time. I raise my eyebrows in surprise and again they both sigh before Bucky starts talking. 

“Alexei is an idiot.” 

“You’re not wrong,” I mumble and I swear I see him smirk. 

“He got lazy with cleaning up the mess Dreykov made and now he’s too weak and stupid to handle the consequences. He’s more concerned about his reputation than he is actually running his bratva and he somehow managed to rope me into his bullshit.”

“What does that say about you?”

“You’re the daughter who escaped, how do you think it looks that you’re also part of this?”

I don’t answer. I’m well aware of how stupid and naive this whole situation makes me look. I did escape whether or not thanks to Bucky kidnapping me all of those years ago, but I escaped and yet I still wound up being entangled in my father’s mess. I was free but now I’m both legally and morally bound to Bucky. 

The rest of the car ride is silent. Only when we pull up in front of Carol’s apartment building do I say something. 

“What the fuck is going on?”

[buckyarchives]

Metal Arms and Short Skirts | Bucky Barnes [2.]

summary: waltzing in as the new head of the Avenger's medical division, impressing everyone, and... scaring Bucky with your incredibly short skirts. while bucky's having a hard time looking at his arm as anything other than a deadly weapon, you're more than happy to help him.

words: 4.3K

warnings; creepy men (+bucky fending them off) slight body dysphoria on buckys end

author note : HI I KNOW THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE UP LIKE & DAYS AGO... aib came out and ive been hyperfixaed on that and my brother got frostbite so wump wump was at the hospital on chrimis. i have mixed feelings on this chapter, but i hope you enjoy. and im still taking request.

READ ON AO3 | masterlist

Bucky wasn't going to pretend to be completely oblivious and say he wasn't finding every and any excuse to visit you. Whether it be a tear in his muscle or the sound of the metal whizzing sounding off, something bucky would have ignored with absolutely no thought. Bucky maintained a comfortable distance between you two, physically and emotionally, staying at arm's length. But something about today seemed to be different. 

Bucky shifted nervously in his seat, he watched your stride around your lab. You finally got your own area after 2 weeks of staying at the compound. It almost put Tony's lab to shame, it was huge and decked out with technology far too advanced for bucky to even understand. 

Today, You wore a black bustier that seemed to shape your form, thick and sturdy paneling sewn into the shirt, if that is what you can even call it. The neck hung low, low enough to leave very little to the imagination. Bucky practically had to tear his eyes away from your neckline when he first walked into the lab.

Bucky's excuse today was a deep cut on the side of Bucky's flesh bicep. Coming back from a quick and easy mission, but Clint needed to watch his arrows since one slit past bucky’s arm on the way to the actual enemy behind him. Bucky had a sneaky guess it was on purpose. 

You gathered the plaster and made your way back to bucky, footsteps echoing as you walked. A sigh escaped your lips, but bucky only caught a small smile. “You know, bucky. You can't come in here every time you have a small cut.”

“Isn't that what you're being paid for?” bucky snarked back, watching your hands as they gently grabbed at his lower arm. Your touch was always so delicate, like you were going to break him rather than heal. 

“Ha, ha.” you mocked. “I could have been making some ground-breaking discovery or invention before you walked in.”

Bucky's eyebrow quirked up eagerly. “Were you?”

A closed-mouthed hum escaped your lips. Your all too perfect pedicured hand wrapped the white bandage around bucky's arm, he was just watching your face as you worked. Couldn’t– wouldn't tear his eyes away. 

“Not really, just researching some stuff about scarring and skin stuff,” you spoke, dumbing it down for bucky. 

During bucky's visit, he’d always ask about everything, trying to catch up with the technology of the 21st century, or maybe just to hear your voice. He didn't understand half the things you spoke about, though he never mentioned it, but you figured it out soon enough and started to simplify it the best you could.

“Scarring?”

“Helen has some idea about how to better rid of scars.” your hand smoothed against his bicep as you finished, and your touch sent a good burn through him. Giving him a warm smile like you always did when you finished.

Bucky's eyes glanced down to his left shoulder for a moment, the ugly scarring that single-handedly destroyed most of his bodily confidence. The permanent mark of what Hydra did to him as they chopped it off and made him part machine. Bucky scoffed to cover up the obvious self-depreciation in his voice, “need a test subject?”

You flinched at his words, surprised, being taken aback by his response. Only then when you looked him up and down, settling on his clothes shoulder, your face fell and a sympathetic look flashed. It was covered by his tanktop but you knew what was under there, you'd seen the photos, you'd seen him. 

You sat back down on your little rolly stool. “I'm surprised you’d suggest that, based on your history, I'd expect you to not be so keen on being poked and prodded.”

Memories flashed Hydra's methods at tearing his humanity, mind, and body apart, all those experiments. But they quickly subdued, how could bucky think of something so cruel when you stat right in front of him, which in bucky's opinion, is perfection. 

“I think I'd be okay with it if it was you.” bucky said quietly, honestly– a confession even. 

A fond smile rose to your face, one you quickly bit back. Narrow eyes met him when you tilted your head slightly, shying away. “Good to know you trust me.”

“Always.”

“But–” you sighed, “I'm going to have to decline, Bucky. For now, you'll have to live with what your shoulder looks like. Sorry.”

Bucky dramatically groaned, trying to mask the obvious pain and disappointment he actually felt. “You're killing me, doll.”

Your ears warmed at the nickname. Averting your eyes for a moment from shyness. You knew bucky despised the scarring that painted his left shoulder, the one that connected the man to metal. You could only lend him some comfort in the situation, no amount of medical technology right now could completely ease his worries.

“Bucky?”

His head perked up, a hum escaped his lips as he put all his attention on you.

“You wanna see something really cool?” you smirked.

Bucky noticed the slight smirk tugging at your lips, he could only react by biting back a smile of his own. “Sure, doll.”

You leaned down to the hem of your right pant leg, slowly hiking up the baggy jeans that hung low on your waist. Slowly revealing a large and messy scar on your kneecap, nothing as bad as bucky's many scars that littered his body. But something definitely bad happened for you to have that, even fully healed now.

“When I was a kid, I used to skate a lot.” you started, bucky's eyes bouched back up to your face. “I got on a gravel road and fell down and my knee landed right on a huge sharp rock and just logged itself right into my knee.”

You laughed looking back on the memory. “Hurt like hell for 14-year-old me and I had to get so many stitched, it was the worst.” a cheeky smile grew as you spoke through a laugh. “Especially for my dream of becoming a knee model.”

Bucky laughed with you as you dropped your pant leg, sitting back up to look at bucky. Bucky didn't say anything and hung his head low when a silence grew in the lab, only the sound of lab tech whizzing in the background. Bucky mostly just wanted to bask at this moment with you, letting himself enjoy the light-hearted nature of your conversations. The way you and he feel warm inside, lighter than ever.

You smacked your lips as you rose from your seat. Bucky's eyes begrudgingly followed you, “you have to learn to love every part of yourself, despite the bad memories. Because it makes you…”

Stopping in your place, turning to him as your eyes traveled up and down his body, the gesture weirdly didn’t make bucky cringe and crawl into himself the way most gazes did. 

“... you.” you smiled again and bucky felt dizzy. “And I think you're pretty cool.”

You turned away to continue whatever you were doing. Bucky muttered your statement under his breath, loud enough for him to hear it again but quiet enough so you wouldn't.

Bucky rose from his place on the workbench, after many visits he practically claimed this spot. As it sat right in the middle of your lab. Despite everything inside of him wanting to stay near you and soak up your presence. He headed for the door.

“Thanks, doc,” Bucky called out.

“Anytime, bucky. I'll be here when you come in with another excuse to see me,” you spoke coyly. Bucky's eyes widened and warmth crept up to his face. 

He sputters for words to save his pride, stumbling over his poor excuse of an explanation. “Maybe I just wanna see your cool outfits.” bucky's face scrunched up, cringing at his own pathetic words. He wondered what the 40s version of himself would say now, probably something sly and confident that’d knock you off your feet.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Barnes.”

“Bucky.” he corrected, again. But maybe it was just an excuse to linger longer at your door.

You smiled at him and repeated, “bucky.”

“You're going on a date with her.” 

Bucky's eyes widened, his head snapping towards Natasha. “I’m what?”

A frustrated groan leaves Natasha's lips as she shifts in her uncomfy office seat. Half of the Avengers team sat in an office going over a mission coming up, but - like most things - it turned into them talking about anything but that, and successfully annoying the hell out of Steve. 

“I set you up on a date with her.” Natasha spoke, referring to you. “I cannot keep watching you get beat up during missions just so you can see her, so you're going on a date.”

Bucky was dumbfounded, to say the least, lost for words as he stared at the woman in front of him. “Why would I go on a date with her?”

Over the past week or two, Bucky began to deny his fondness towards you when you interrupted a meeting to talk to Tony, or popped into the common rooms to talk about new tech, or how you practically strutted through the compound like you own the place. 

or when you slowly build up bucky’s confidence without either or you realizing it. 

Always in short skirts, or colorful and dramatic tops, and in heels or boots that echo loudly throughout the halls. Bucky denies the way his eyes drag along your figure, always lingering on your face longer than he needs to, the way if you look close enough, Bucky's eyes light up a little when you enter the room. Bucky denies it, but he can't fake it.

And Natasha clocked that quickly. 

“the way you look at her tells me you want to,” Natasha spoke coyly. She always read bucky better than anyone else in the room— similar background and all. a defeated groan comes from bucky in return, followed by a slightly pouted lip. Natasha gives him a friendly slap on the shoulder

A scoff was heard from the other side of the table. “Is the cyborg cable of feelings?” Tony snarked, his head down looking at a sheet of paper. Chewing slightly at a pen. 

“Ha. ha. Very funny.” Bucky mocked. “How do you even know she wants to go on a date with me? I can’t imagine she agreed to this?”

self-consciousness slowly crept up bucky's spine, he can’t face rejection if he denies, denies, and denies.

Natasha went to speak but Tony Stark does what he does best and interrupts her. With a hefty laugh coming up from his chest, he dropped the pen and papers down on the table. Leaning forward to face bucky. “Are you kidding me? You’re like a wet dream to her, always injured and part robot. Hits all of her boxes''

“I'm surprised she hasn’t mounted yo-”

“Okay Tony, I think that's enough talking.” Steve interrupted before he could finish his sentence. Tony’s comment earned a choked laugh from both Natasha and Sam.

“Anyways.” Natasha continued. “I know because she already agreed to it. Everything is already set up.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, hoping his hair covers his growing red ears. Steve spoke up, “Just give it a chance buck. You might enjoy it.” oh steve, hopeful as ever.

“I’m sure you'll enjoy it, it’s very much your style,” Natasha spoke, her infamous smirk growing on her face. 

“That scares me.” 

*****

Turns out Natasha was right, it is very much Bucky's style. Natasha had planned (with the help of Steve, because of-fucking-course) a date at a fancy, old-style diner, and every Saturday night they clear the floor and play some old music for some swing dancing. Just bucky’s style, he knows this was Steve’s idea. more than sure after years of watching plenty of girls swoon over Bucky with just one twirl and one short dance, Steve would think this is right up his alley. And it was.

Now Bucky stands outside a busy and bustling diner, upbeat 40s music echoing to the streets. Flowers in hand and a nice black collared shirt under a vintage jacket (it was from the museum and Steve name-dropped at least 12 times to get it back), waiting patiently for you to arrive. Bucky fiddled with his hands a little, his eyes kept darting to his watch— is he too early? When are you arriving? Bucky’s now convinced you wouldn’t show up. Because who would honestly want to go on a date with h–

“James!” a cheery voice broke through his very self-deprecating thoughts. Bucky turned around and swore his heart stopped beating, just for it to speed up even faster when his sights landed on you.

You wore the same boots that caught Wanda's eyes in the common room that quiet day. His eyes followed up your legs, past your thighs as he saw the dress you wore. It was stripped and sparkly, bucky would see the shine from down the street. It felt like you wore the entire rainbow and more as every stripe was painted differently. It was sleeveless and high-necked. And of course, very short.

An excited smile greeted him as you waved your hand. Your pace sped up as Bucky met you, he wondered how you didn't trip in those high heels constantly.

 “Hi,” Bucky said, wanting to hit himself for how awkward he sounded. 

“Sorry for being late, I didn't mean to make you wait.” you stood before him, and he noticed your makeup. You painted your lips with a darker shade than usual and you had little shiny gems glued around your eyes. 

“Don’t worry about it, I just got here too,” Bucky spoke softly, bringing the flowers up to you. “For you.”

Your eyes instantly lit up at the sight, taking the bouquet from him “thank you! you didn't need to get these for me, James.”

 Bucky's heart fluttered slightly at the name, it was rare for people to use his first name nowadays. You brought the flowers to your nose, smelling them with a blissful look on your face. Laughing to yourself.

“What's so funny?” the super-soldier asked.

“Oh no, it’s nothing.” you looked back down at the flower. “I don’t think anyone has ever gotten me flowers before.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, “really?”

“Mhmm.” you rocked back and forth on your heels, “thank you for being the first.”

You smiled warmly up at Bucky as you did so often, but the aura of everything made it so much more this time.

“Let's head in?” Bucky cocked his head towards the diner. 

Nodding, “yes, please.” you threaded along, catching Bucky off guard when you swiftly grabbed ahold of his hand. Your fingers wrapped around his flesh hand, the warmth made Bucky feel funny in his stomach. Yeah, Bucky might have a crush on you.

You lead him into the diner, confident in your walk like usual. Your eyes spotted an empty seat and the both of you settled yourselves in a booth. You make quick eye contact and Bucky's mouth gaped like he's going to say something but is stopped when the waiter comes up. The waiter looks like she blends in with the scenery, with pinned-up hair and a bright red lip. She asks for your order and you both get water, and a milkshake. 

“I can imagine why Natasha picked this place out of everything,” you say, eyes off into the distance, Bucky follows your gaze and sees the dance floor of people together with large smiles. “Though, I don't know how to dance.”

Bucky's lip quirks up slightly, “I can teach you.”

“Perfect, let’s go then.” your smile widely, and your already getting up, standing next to bucky's seat and holding a hand out. Bucky’s surprised by your sudden willingness but despite the nervousness in his stomach - he takes your hand. 

Bucky may have been nervous standing outside the diner. May have been nervous as he greeted and met you outside. May have been nervous as you led him inside and watched you from across the table. But once he stepped out onto the swing floor, the soft sound of 40s music playing in the background. The sweet-talking James Buchanan – that seemed to flirt with every girl that met him – came back from the dead, and he had his arm around your waist in no time.

You noticed the sudden confidence and glint in his eyes suddenly, reaching up to grab his neck. Bucky held you at your waist, then he noticed the gold chain hung around your hips. His fingers grazed over them for a moment before they rested at the smallest part of your waist.

Your wide eyes met his and bucky swore for a moment, he couldn't breathe. “How was the mission?”

A groan escaped Bucky's mouth, playfully he rolled his eyes. Trying to sound annoyed, but his smile said otherwise. “Oh god, I don't wanna talk about work.”

Bucky’s hands stayed planted on your waist. You smiled as you continued to sway together along to the soft jazz in the background. You tugged nervously at your lip, “you know, I was getting worried when I heard you guys weren’t getting back on time.”

“You worry about me?” Bucky was stunned, an unfamiliar warmth shot through him as you averted your gaze. He took one hand to pull at your chin, so you were looking at him. Your mouth gaped open for a moment and your brain studdered before you just shrugged in response, a slight nod.

The familiar sound of the music speeding up, the upbeat sound of Harry James filled Bucky’s ears and for a moment Bucky was in the 40s again with a girl in his arms ready to be shipped out to war. A sentimental smile grew on his face.

“You ready to learn how to dance.” Bucky beamed down at you and before you could even respond, Bucky pushed your body away from him abruptly. Just to grab your hand before you could fall, twirling you around and back close to his chest. 

It all happened so fast and you yelped once your back hit his chest. His arm wrapped across your body and held your hand. You breathed and smiled widely. “I might step on your toes.

“I can handle it, doll.”

******

A few songs later and a couple of toes crushed, followed by a slew of apologies from you. You and Bucky ended up breathing heavily and slightly sweaty from dancing. Bucky swung you around like you weighed nothing - which to him - you probably did. Lots of music ranging from the 40s to 60s played throughout the diner, to which Bucky snarks at the fact he didn’t recognize the songs, always followed by light laughter.

The dancing came to a slow, but you two remained on the floor still. It was getting late and you hadn’t even eaten yet and most couples and groups of friends had gone back to their seats. You swayed comfortably in Bucky's arms still, your head laid on his chest listening to the soft beat of his heartbeat. 

Bucky Barnes is a more than qualified trained assassin with heightened senses. He's very aware of his surroundings at all times, so when he notices the man peering at your thighs and ass, his eyes narrow toward the man. A glimpse of the winter soldier showed, but the creep didn't seem to pay any attention to Bucky's gaze.

Every so politely, Bucky attempted to tug at your dress without it seeming like he was trying to grope you. Also, swiftly and smoothly twirling you around so the man's gaze would be fixed on bucky's broad shoulders. Effectively protecting you from perverted stares as his body towards over you.

You noticed the way Bucky's body stiffened when he spun you, looking up at him once again. “You okay?”

Bucky nodded and gave you a reassuring squeeze around your waist. “Let’s head back? I'm hungry.”

You agreed quickly and grabbed Bucky's hand, pulling him off the dance floor and guiding him back to the table where your two drinks sat warm now. You slid into the booth with a large exhale, sitting across from Bucky. The waiter decked out in 40s apparel and took your orders, your food coming in no time. It was a poor excuse for dinner per se, only ordering fries and cheese curds to simply snack on. 

“You make a good dance partner.” Bucky mutters, mouth muffled with fries. 

“Chew.” 

Buckys recoils in embarrassment and covers his mouth, face tinted red from dancing. He swallows and lowers his hand. “sorry.”

“Thank you.” you sigh, pushing your food away from you. “You did most of the work, but I'd like to keep practicing.”

Bucky stopped, and looked at you as you stared intently into him. Bucky flustered mix. 

“Are you gonna keep blushing or accept my offer on a second date.” you shoot back and Bucky feels the air leave his lungs. His ears are definitely burning red.

“I'm not bushing? What are you talking about? This is me worn out from all the dancing.`` Bucky plays dumb, throwing a fry into the basket between the two of you. Slowly pulling out his billfold from his jeans.

Your eyes roll dramatically, as a scoff escapes your lips. “Yeah, okay. Super soldier.” 

Bucky narrows his eye’s toward you, a grin plastered on his face. “I'd love to go on a second date.”

You bite back a grin. “Ready?” you asked, bucky puts down the money to pay and nodded. Bucky gives you a boyish smile that you'd only recognized from old war photos. It warms you to the core, leaving you flustered. He grabs at your hand as you let him drag you out of the diner, a secure arm around your waist.

The light breeze of new york hit both of you, your hands instantly going up to your arms to warm yourself. Bucky notices all too quickly and instantly wraps his jacket around you. 

“Oh, thank you. Are you cold?” you ask, seemingly genuinely worried.

“Doll.” he stares down at you, and bucky speaks like the answer is obvious, which– it kinda is. “I hiked through Siberia in less.” 

“Whatever.” you scoff and roll your eyes, tugging the jacket closer around your body. the corners of your mouth slowly creeping up.

The faint scent of bucky comes off of it, sandalwood and pine mostly. You're used to the smell when he's not coming into your lab sweaty or bloody from missions and workouts. A comfortable silence falls between the two of you, filtered out by the busy city around you.

“So… I’ll see you tomorrow?” you speak awkwardly, unsure of where to go from here.

“Yep, tomorrow.” Bucky strings on the word, are also awkward. 

You could cut the tension with a knife.

“Or…” your voice raises a few octaves as you turn on your heels to face him, barely a foot between the two of you.  

Bucky's eyebrow quirks up, “Or?” 

“Or you could come back to my very, very nice and cozy apartment that isn't full of agents and superhumans.”

You flashed your best and greatest grin toward Bucky, and the way you were looking at him made Bucky want to crumble beneath his knees. You shouldn't have this effect on him, his heart tugged towards you in a weird, mysterious way that Bucky wasn't familiar with yet. He wasn't going to lie and say it didn’t stress him out a tiny bit.

Bucky let out a heavy, pained exhale and stepped a little closer to you. “Not tonight, doll. sorry.”

“It's okay.” your face dropped slightly, but then you looked up at him and a flash of something came across your feature and soon a smirk was replaced. “Then let me have this.”

“What–?”

Bucky was cut off by your warm hands cupping his face and lips as he received the most gentle kiss he's ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Initial shock ran through his body at the suddenness, and just as he accepted the feeling and went to melt into the kiss— you pulled away. Bucky felt so cold without you against him, he hated feeling cold.

“Wait, no.” he eagerly grabbed your face to pull you back in. Bucky didn't care if he sounded needy, because he did need this. noticing a glimpse of your more than satisfied grin before he shut his eyes and let himself feel your touch.

It was like you were meant for bucky, the perfect puzzle piece as your lips molded against each other. Slow and passionate, his hand ghosted above your waist before he pulled you full against his body. If it wasn't for your wedged heels, Bucky wasn't sure if you'd even reach his lips with the way you stood on your toes. 

Pulling away, Bucky felt dizzy, like he was drunk off of you. He swears he saw stars in your eyes, the street lights reflecting off your irises. Soft laughter came from you, you bowed your head as bucky stared at you. Practically mesmerized. 

To you, Bucky looked like he was in some sort of shock. Which wouldn’t be too far from the truth, which scared you slightly.

“Everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” you asked innocently, a pang of worry laced your tone.

Bucky frantically shook his head, “no, no– god no. just not used to that.”

“That?” 

“I mean.” Bucky thought for a moment, collecting his mind. “Being kissed. I've always been the one to initiate.”

You smiled sweetly, seeing hints of a flustered, young boyish version of Bucky. One that he, and everyone else swore was long gone. You had always thought otherwise, and tonight proves you right.

“I hope it wasn’t too jarring for you.” you nervously chuckled. 

“It was perfect.”

_

tag list;@matchat3a @sebsgirl71479 @heavenswrld @ivywasmaroon

[astrum99]

Fighting against V1 felt like motion – unstoppable, ungovernable, uncontrollable. Sensations tore out of the consistent static that stained millennia with silence.

With isolation, sitting still on the throne of hell. As ordered.

And the shattering of it was nothing short of spectacular.

This machine, small and agile. A magnificent creature manufactured in the image of mankind –soulless and lifeless. (He thought it was lifeless, he thinks he might be wrong – like many times before). It moved with mastery across mountains of squirming, writhing flesh. Ever moving, ever fighting. Hell is its stage, and it proudly presents itself with grace, elegance, and perfect violence. It delivered what was sought with pure, instinctual, exceptional savagery.

It drew blood from him. And along with blood, ecstasy.

There’s poetry to it. Sinful, sacrilegious poetry.

To be etched by this thing so easily. Bullets hot and scorching, piercing through armour until they burn and burrow deep under his skin. To be trading blows. Bow low to evade another swing before the release of twin swords slicing through the scene. To leap into flight only to be grappled and slammed back into the ground. Pinned, dazed, tethered. It demanded submission.

He should feel fury, yet that had faded long ago.

Crimson looked rosy under the cathedral lights. The iron on his lips tasted like metal.

When its whiplash wrapped around his wrist again, it felt like a snare. The pull of the welcoming mirage of closeness. Perhaps salvation if he dared to entertain.

Hatred, anger, violence. Love, passion, devotion. Both burn bright until all-consuming. And in the heat of the moment, he recognized the blurring of the lines.

He thought of them. Untethered angel and machine. So wildly contradictory and identical all the same. Two sides of the Mobius strip – seemingly separate, until their paths merge seamlessly into one. Intimately intertwined, indistinguishable from one to the next.

To push each other into the slit between life and death. Until the fine sparks from clashing metal ignited the flicker of flames into ferocious roaring. Until nothing mattered except here, now, them. Until the light from the fire painted their shadows into one.

The universe could not tell where one began and the other ended.

[lipglossanon]

I know we've gotten that good stuck fic with subby stepbro!Leon, but I need to know the reactions he and stepbro!Leon would react if you were stuck in the washing machine

Like, it's literally impossible to get stuck in there, but I for some reason need to know 😭

And reminder to take care of yourself love!!! (is it okay I call you that?)

The cat pic! ASDSFDL 🤭

And seriously I love stuckage but why is the washing machine the trope 😭 but I’ll try my best friend, reader will be magically stuck in there somehow haha 🫡

Aww thank you 🥹 I’m doing that now! Taking it easy and trying to stay offline a little more, writing whatever I feel like and posting what I want haha. And it’s perfectly fine to call me that! I’m chill 🥶 😝 (18+ under the cut pls and thx 🙏)

Stepbro Leon:

Hears some weird noise as he’s walking into the kitchen and so follows it til he comes to the laundry room. And sees you, lower half dangling over the washing machine

“What the hell are you doing?”

Your voice echoes weirdly since it’s coming out of the machine itself, “I got stuck, help pull me out.”

You just hear him snicker to himself and then feel him press up against your body.

“You’ve gotta say it, this is too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“What the hell are you talking about, get me out of here!” You try to kick your legs but it’s too awkward.

His voice goes falsetto, “Please help me stepbro, I’m stuck.”

“Fuck off,” you snap at him, feeling frustrated, “if you won’t help me go find someone else, asshole.”

He clicks his tongue, “That’s no way to ask nicely.”

“Please, big brother,” your voice drones sardonically, sounding even dryer with the metallic echo, “I need your help.”

He sighs, “You’re no fun, seriously. But…”

He doesn’t say anything but you feel him tugging your shorts down your legs, “Maybe this might help you out.”

His fingers slide under the band of your panties and start to softly circle your clit. You whine and clamp your legs shut but it only makes him laugh and tease your slit, fingers dipping into your hole.

“Fuck, you’re already wet,” he groans, slipping two fingers into your pussy easily finding the spongy spot along the front of your cunt to rub against.

You moan as he slides his fingers out and you feel the hot tip of his cock pressing into your hole in their place. Both of you groan as he sinks his dick into your pussy, quickly pulling out to slowly fuck back into your fluttering walls.

“Slutty fucking pussy,” his big hands wrap around your hips as he snaps his hips into your ass, “so fucking good.”

“Leon,” you mewl, crying out when his slick covered fingers find your clit again and start to slowly circle the sensitive bud.

“Yeah, cum on my cock and I’ll help you out, little sis,” he laughs.

It feels like he keeps you on the cusp of orgasm for forever, every time your cunt clamps around his dick he eases off from teasing your clit until you’re whining and gasping, pleading with him to cum.

“Ready to get all filled up, baby sis? Want big brother to cream your hot fucking cunt? Yeah y’do,” he grunts, hips thrusting into your squelching hole as he rubs your clit in harsh circles.

“Please, wanna cum, please big brother, please,” you gasp out, a low keening whine spilling out of your mouth to echo around you as Leon rubs across your clit just right, making your orgasm overtake your body.

Leon curses under his breath as your body shakes and tightens up around his cock until it feels like he’s fucking into a vice grip. A few more thrusts and he’s burying himself deep into your spasming walls, cock spurting hot cum into your pussy as it milks him. Once he’s soft enough, he pulls out with a low hiss, quickly snapping your panties and shorts over your ass so nothing drips out of you. He reaches around your shoulders and maneuvers your arms and shoulders until you’re stumbling back into his chest.

He slaps your ass as he heads out of the room, smirking at you, “Next time just say you want fucked, don’t gotta get stuck for me.”

Subby stepbro:

Is already actually looking around the house trying to find you. So imagine his surprise to see your ass hanging out of the washing machine as soon as he goes into the laundry room.

“Uhh, do you need help?”

You laugh but it sounds strained, “Yes, I’ve been trying to get out of here for longer than I’d like to admit.”

He bites his lip as he actually looks at you. You’re only wearing skimpy panties and a baggy shirt (makes sense to him that you’d be doing laundry then). But he can see the outline of your fat pussy lips and it’s making him stupid. Walking up to you, his hand skates up your thighs until his thumbs are spreading open your pussy until your underwear barely cover your hole.

“Leon,” your shaky voice makes him groan.

“Let me just—“ he stops talking to dip down and lick your cunt through the thin panties.

“Leon!” You gasp out, “fuck, this is so, ngh!”

He’s yanking your panties off, mouth going right back to licking into your cunt. Moaning, he licks and mouths along your pussy lips, sucking them into his mouth as he moves up to your clit. He sucks the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth, running his tongue over the hood before flicking across your clit. You can hear clothes shuffling and then Leon’s pulling away only to push the fat head of his cock into your soaked hole. You squeal as he buries his thick cock into your pussy, feeling overly stretched out and full.

“Fuck, just needed to feel your pussy, big sis,” he grunts, rocking his hips deeper into you, “so sexy, bent over with your hot little cunt just there for me to take, fuck.”

He groans and starts a quick and hard tempo, humping against your ass as his cock bullies into your pussy over and over. You’re only able to whine and moan as your stuck taking Leon’s fat cock deep into your cunt. His hand slips to the front of your hips and he teases across your slippery clit.

“Big sis,” he pants, drooling against your back as he thrusts harder, “gonna cum in you, god, want you to cum all over my cock so I can creampie your pretty pussy.”

“God, yes,” you gasp, “right there, keep fucking me like that—‘m gonna cum.”

Leon whines and bites your shirt as his cock knocks against your cervix and rubs across your g-spot. He hammers against the spongy spot in your cunt until your toes are curling as you cum hard around his dick, walls spasming and milking him rhythmically.

“Feel s’good,” he moans, thrusting so hard to bury his cock deep into your pussy it shifts the washing machine dislodging you.

He only grabs your upper body and presses you down as he rails your pussy, finally pressing tight against your body as he spurts hot ropes of sticky cum all in your stuffed hole.

He pulls out with a groan, quickly pulls his sweats up, and grabs you up in a bridal carry.

“Gotta get you to a bed,” he murmurs as he presses a sloppy kiss against your cheek, “need you so bad.”

[acapelladitty]

Riddler/Reader: Applied Physics

Summary - Restrained against the wall and unable to escape, you find yourself playing willful victim to the Riddler's latest machine.

This commission from the lovely @doctorvondooms, was deliciously fun to write and I'm thrilled to share it. Also available on A03

Pinned into place opposite his work desk, the restraints which wrapped around your thighs to keep them spread and pinned against the wall were surprisingly comfortable; the thick bands of padded metal allowing your weight to rest atop them effortlessly without digging into your skin too deeply.

Your wrists suspended overhead, his ropework is as inescapable as ever as your arms hang uselessly from a hook in the wall, bound into a tight, praying gesture. The nylon rope, a lurid green which had you biting your tongue from making a cheeky comment, wound around your arms in a pretty pattern to keep them together as you glance up at them with an appreciative hum.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Edward's smug voice catches you unaware and your eyes flick to his position as he moves to stand before you, filling the space between your prone frame and his work desk. "A perfectly crafted machine, designed to be a custom fit to reward and punish wanton little whores who insist on interrupting important work time."

Unapologetic as a nervous smile tugs at your lips, you can barely make out the metallic mechanism which sits beneath your spread legs due to the thick, dark silicone of the cock which is pointing directly at your throbbing cunt; the heft of it commanding your attention as your back arches off the wall.

"While you enjoy your little ride, I will be completing some very intricate mechanical designs which a man of my brilliant stature finds necessary to produce from time to time."

His body inches towards you, the soft crack of a lid alerting you to the bottle of lubricant which sits in his hands as he pours a little out and bends, presumably to coat his machine for an easier entry.

As he stands, you push forward from the wall - as far as the restraints would allow - to capture his lips in a filthy kiss. He tastes of coffee and, despite his clear surprise, he allows the kiss to continue for a long moment, his blunt teeth nipping at your lower lip until he pulls away.

"Whore." He accuses but there's no anger in his gaze and a very prominent bulge in his grease-stained slacks as he pushes his thinning hair back with the green goggles which are never too far from his head. "Regardless, everything appears to be in order."

Retaking his seated position at the desk, his fingers press on the small remote which sits off to the side of papers he plans to focus on.

Immediately a faint whirring comes from the machine beneath you and your breath hitches in anticipation; wetness pooling against your slit as you sit, fully exposed and revelling in the shame of the arousal which curls within your gut.

The tip of the silicone threatens your hole and you exhale deeply as your body relaxes to accept it. The material feels wonderfully cool against your heated skin as it pushes within you at a snail pace, allowing you to acclimatise to the punishing girth inch by teasing inch. Your teeth grit against the inhumane stretch as a mewl of discomfort breaks free of your lips.

Hearing the noise, Edward glances up from his papers, the small pencil in his hand pausing its frantic scribble.

"Ah, ah, ah." He tuts, disappointment colouring his tone as he wipes the graphite from his fingers to his off-white tanktop. "Surely your fragile little body isn't ready to give up already? We've barely even started."

Determined to not give an inch, you bite back the hiss which builds in your throat as the almost unbearable thickness stops its progression and begins to pull free, the friction against your walls sparking a deep pleasure which makes you clench your fingers together in their bound position.

The lube he has applied to the length did its job well as it allows the machine to set a steady pace which was in equal parts torturously slow and wickedly intense as it forces you to feel every movement. Your exposed tits jiggle slightly as your body shakes in place, a phantom ache in your nipples making you wish that Edward's fingers or teeth were in the fray, pinching them with his usual viciousness.

Edward gaze having returned to his work, you watch as his finger almost absent-mindedly trails along the desk to tap at the small button on the remote control.

The effect is instant as the silicon dildo picks up pace, now moving in a relentlessly smooth motion as it pistons in and out of your greedy hole. There's something deliciously shameful about your position, legs spread and unable to close in such as way that nothing is hidden from easy viewing, including your clit as it throbs with anticipation - awaiting a stimulation which wasn't on the cards.

Pleasure builds steadily as each stroke brushes your most sensitive spots with an almost cruel precision, the machine needing to take no pause for breath or to regain stamina. It's stunning in its ferocity, in the lack of human warmth or care which it affords you as you sit like a piece of meat, total victim to the whims of the man who is visibly pretending to keep his attention on his work while stealing glances every few moments to watch you writhe in place.

Another button press and something guttural snaps free of your lips as the machine picks up pace. It's brutal and unforgiving in a way that makes it difficult for your breath to regulate as freshly stimulated nerves alight across your punished cunt. Your fingers scramble against their restraints but it provides no relief as your first orgasm creeps up without mercy.

Riding the wave of pleasure, noises that exist in the space between moans and stuttered pleas for help fill the space around you as your head slams back against the wall, the onslaught of relentless overstimulation quickly growing unbearable.

Unseen due to your eyes being squeezed shut in desperation, Edward watches your torment with a predatory expression; his gaze sharp and his features twisted into open hunger. One hand taps away at the remote control which keeps his machine whirring away at a punishing pace while the other hand appears suspiciously absent but no less busy as it seems to have disappeared below his work desk.

The quiet of the room is long abandoned. Your broken grunts for mercy pairing sweetly with the soft huffs and growls of pleasure that slip free of Edward's lips as he watches you suffer at the hands of the machine that he so kindly deigned to provide for you. It was a casual symphony that would be ongoing for many, many minutes to come. To last until Edward was satisfied with his observations and the relentless pleasure-turned-torture had long since fried your mind into the foolish mush that he often claimed it to be.

[hannahssimblr]

“Is that everything? Any petrol or diesel?”

“No... Actually, do you’ve something for bug bites?”

“Like, that insect repellent stuff or some kind of topical cream?”

“The repellent, please.”

“I think we have it,” the woman at the till goes to the shelves behind her while I lean across to watch as she rummages through rows of suncream and painkillers. 

“It’s the midges,” I say conversationally, “They eat me alive, see I think I’ve really delicious blood.”

“They’re annoying alright,” she scans a bottle of Jungle Formula and packs it into a plastic bag along with all of the junk food I’ve just bought. “That it?”

I scan the shelves quickly, “oh, actually, can I have a box of those too?”

She glances over her shoulder, “Condoms?”

“Yeah, please.”

She eyes me up, “Are you seventeen?”

“Yep.”

“I’m not sure you are.”

“Do I have a right to buy them?”

“I have a right to refuse if I don’t think that you’re the age of consent.”

“Respectfully I’m going to get them from somewhere whether you refuse or not,” she narrows her eyes to slits but I give her a big smile so that she can’t be angry, “Or if you want I’ll just not use protection and it’ll be your fault my life is ruined.”

“Do you have ID?”

“Why would I have ID? I’m seventeen.”

She snatches and tosses a box across the counter at me, “Fine, there you go, because I know well that you’d stand here all day and hold up the queue just by the look of you, you cheeky bollox. That’ll be Twenty three thirty altogether.”

“Yeah, no issue,” I slot my dad’s credit card into the machine and stab in his digits. I see her watching it, a weighted, black metal platinum visa, and it’s definitely obvious that it isn’t mine, but she doesn’t know my circumstances, and anyway I know that my dad would have given me money if I had felt like talking to him today, but I didn’t. Borrowing from his wallet is the same thing. 

I glance at the shopkeeper one last time before leaving, “What are the chances you’d score me a pack of cigarettes?”

“Get lost.”

I’m checking my text messages on the way out of the shop, so I don’t see the man walking in the opposite direction. We bump shoulders in the doorway and I mutter an apology before looking up and realising who I have just collided with. 

His nostrils flare as he looks me up and down, and as I stand and look cooly back at him I wonder if he gets off, like genuinely gets off on the idea of how threatening he thinks he is. 

“You’re a friend of Clóda?” He says.

“Yeah, and you are?”

“Her father.”

“Oh right, yeah. I guess I never made the connection.” I thought you were just some weirdo glaring over at us in the Boat Club, is what I want to add but I’m not sure I’m feeling entirely suicidal today. 

He stares me down until I feel my skin prickle, and when his eyes find my bag of shopping, including the Durex box pressing label-out through the translucent plastic his face turns a ferocious shade of puce. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“And who are your parents?”

“Christopher and Colette, who are yours?”

“None of your business,” He splutters, “Are you one of those young fellas who hangs about in the caravan parks?”

“So what if I was?”

“Well my daughter is a hard worker, she’s busy at her job and I’d rather she wasn’t being distracted or having any of her time wasted.”

“Yeah, fine.”

“So if you wouldn’t mind steering clear of the Boat Club when she’s working, I’d rather you not hanging about and causing complaints from the customers.”

“Oh the customers complain about me, do they?”

He wrinkles his nose, “We prefer to uphold a certain standard at the club.”

My skin prickles, “So basically you don’t want anyone who looks like they stay in the caravan parks hanging around and making it look cheap.”

“That’s not an unreasonable request, especially since you don’t exactly dine with us, do you?”

I’m walking away already, “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

“I’m glad you understand.”

“Yep.”

On the shortcut through a holiday park I furiously kick a stone out of my way. Then a piece of rubbish. Then I spot a ceramic flower pot by the entrance to the communal showers and I kick that too, knocking it to the side and splitting it in two, and the soil spills out and the plant slumps to the tarmac. It looks pathetic so I kick it again. 

Suddenly a tennis ball comes from nowhere and whacks me in the back with a thunk. I whirl around, “Hey!”

“Hey yourself!” Kelly grabs another ball and flings it at me, and I duck as it wallops into the wall behind me. I grab and fling it back, “What’s your problem, Kelly?”

“What’s my problem?” She shrieks as she dodges it, “What’s your problem?”

“What is it with you and your brother throwing tennis balls at me, huh? What did I do now?”

She hurls another, “What are you doing here?”

“Ugh! Walking!”

“Well stay out of my caravan park. Go the long way around.”

“Your caravan park? Kelly, if this is about the frog in your hair-”

“The frog? Fuck your frog,” she lets out a tiny squeal as she jumps out of the path of the ball I’ve flung back, “and fuck you, by the way.”

“Fuck me? Fuck you Kelly, I’m not in the mood for this shit.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Suck my dick!” She spins on her heel and stalks away and I watch her for a minute, bewildered, until she disappears between a couple of mobile homes and then, when she’s fully gone and I am alone with the broken flower pot again, I pick up my overturned bag of goodies and shake my head. 

“Little weirdo.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[illarian-rambling]

3, 4, and 12 for Mashal and Astra

I answered three here, but yeah four and twelve!

How would they describe each other if asked? Physically? In personality?

Mashal describing Astra: "She's beautiful. Maybe not beautiful like a painting, but beautiful like a piece of street art that you know you'll never see the equal of again. She has long curly hair, the color of spilled ink. Her skin is a teakwood brown, with patches across her mouth and right eye the color of fresh snow. Likewise, one eyebrow and one lock of hair in the middle of her forehead are ivory white. Her eyes remind me of the color of a bluejay, probably because they're so bright and always moving. The right one is a bit paler and grayer than the left. Usually, she wears colorful makeup. She always has a smile or a scowl or a frown; she isn't coy with her feelings. Her stature is short and curvy. I could go on. As a person, she's loud about everything. She's loud about what she loves and hates, loud when she tinkers, loud when she tells stories to make me laugh. There's just so much spirit to her. Even if that, uh, gets us in trouble sometimes. No, I won't pretend she can't be a little much on occasion. But it's all done out of good intentions, and better too much than not enough, right? She's the greatest mage I know; not just for her skill, but for her compassion, her intensity.... Oh gods, I've been talking for too long, haven't I?"

Astra describing Mashal: "Well, it ain't exactly on the outside what matters, cause that ain't him, but I reckon an overview can't hurt none. He's damn tall. Taller than ya think, and broad too. A machine built for war. His platin' is bronze, and he usually keeps it at a pretty shine, only a little rust 'round the joints. Underneath, his chassis is steel, with runes and hydraulics beneath that. Now, he's had two faces in his time; the first that visionless bitch Vermir made, the second I got from a friend a' mine. Vermir's face was shoddy work - just two glass discs for eyes and a slit mouth. His new face is much perdier. It's got a nose and cheekbones and all the bell n' whistles. The eyelids, eyebrows, and corners a' the mouth even move! He usually wears some sorta head scarf on account a' I think he's embarrassed 'bout not havin' any hair. His clothes are pretty baggy too - metal joints snag somethin' fierce on tight fabric. He's always tryin' to hide all that shiny bronze, even though he takes such good care of it. Mashal hides lotsa things. Not exactly the sort you'd expect to do that, huh? He hides how much magic frightens 'im, how much being in this improper form hurts, hides how deep his hate runs. The one thing he never hides though, is how much he cares. If you mean somethin' to Mashal, he'll let ya know. He's an honest man and he trusts freely - maybe to freely. I mean, he trusts me and that one helluva gamble. Gods, he's a good man, though. The best. The best man I've ever known."

Do they have any affection for each other? How do they show it?

Mashal cared for Astra first as the person who saved his life and offered to help him fix it, then as the woman he fell secretly in love with. He has a deep affection towards her. Maybe some of that is just the fact that she was the only person who really talked to him when he woke up, but what love blooms separate from its particular circumstances, even if those are more normal ones? He shows his affection by listening to her stories, helping her with magic, and generally spending time with her. Very much a quality time guy.

Astra cared for Mashal at first due to nothing but basic human dignity. She found him on the side of the road half-dead; of course, she was going to help him. Later, as they spent time on the road and bonded over stories, he became her first real friend in the whole of her adult life. Astra was a very lonely person for a long time. Mashal broke her out of that, and she will forever love him for it, even if she hasn't realized the true direction of that love yet. Her shows of affection are very much gift-based. A new set of hand embroidered clothes, a movable face after she noticed he didn't like his old one, an awesome sword arm. Gifts are Astra's love language.

Thanks for the asks! These two are the only proper couple I've ever written, so I kinda gotta gush over them being cute <3

[pillowbo]

The morning sun peaks over the hills as I mosey to the barn, whistling as I adjust the rim of my cowboy hat. You look up at the rectangle of light that spills in as I throw open the door.

"Good mornin', Bessy!" I sway the empty bucket at my side, still sipping my coffee with the other. I shoulder my bag, setting the bucket down to pull the thick strap over my back.

"Good morning, Sir!" you pipe, shivering in your stall from more than just a lack of clothes.

"Are you ready for your milkin'?"

I grin when you give a tentative nod. The hay crunches as you shuffle onto your feet, only to bend over the stall door. Assuming your position.

One would think you are fit to be packed in a large house with others lined up in stanchions, hooked to a milking machine that would pump you dry...but not my Bessy.

No cold machine will grip your udders like my steely hands can. You mewl as I pinch a teet, twisting and rolling the bud between calloused fingers.

"My little cow..."

I'm surprised at the shock of arousal thundering through my own chest on the way down, shooting down to my core, as if my body were a mirror to yours.

I suck air through my teeth and shudder, pulling away, then I pinch the other udder. "Do you know what this does to me?" I'm surprised you can hear me through your cries, as you shake your head.

I give a wan smile, though I'm very happy with your sounds. "Of course not. My Bessy, your duty is not to think. You're blanked out, my good little cow. I know your true purpose. It's certainly not to think," I laugh softly, then take both udders in each hand.

Your body shivers as I massage them, thumbing the soft pads and stiff peaks, in tune with your lower half that begins a steady rock against the cool wood of the stall.

My core begins to throb, warmth spreading downward at the sight of your rhythmic motions. I wonder, not for the first time, how it must feel for you.

One of these days I will milk these beautiful teets for all they are worth. Unfortunately, dear, they're not quite where they need to be to lactate, but the way they're shaping up, you look like you're fixing to soon.

"These wonderful little buds are so sensitive, aren't they?" I muse with a chuckle. "I bet I could make you come from these alone."

Your cries shake as they progressively grow louder, and gentle sways turn to desperate thrusts after several minutes of this treatment, the wood creaking with your effort to push yourself over.

I flush as the fog of lust comes over me. I'm close enough to tickle your ear. "Are you ready to be pumped?" I say softly. The pump I am referring to is in the bag that I've brought.

I grin and let out a breathy laugh as you nod dumbly through your thrusts. I grip your hips with both hands to try to still you, but I know it's no use; you're about as excited to be milked as I am to do it.

I get to work with nimble fingers. The top of my bag pulls open with a loud zip from the fat metal zipper, the rough fabric holding tools and equipment.

One of those tools, made just for you my dear little cow, is a clear, silicone pump; I find it convenient that the soft, ribbed insides and the warmth of the tube produce higher-quality milk than any cold machine.

Though I do like to give you the old-fashioned treatment, I am a modern farmer!

You mewl high in your throat in response, as though you've been borderline pavloved by this thing. I chuckle lovingly. "You love your pump, don't you Bessy?"

"Please!" you cry.

My eyes narrow into slits. "Hey now, you're not supposed to talk back, little cow." I allow a wave of irritation to roll over me before taking a cooling breath.

Another tool that I carry with me is about to come in handy, the crop that I use to tame bad little cows. "You need to be whipped into shape, little Bessy?"

You shake your head vigorously, though you know as those round eyes lock onto the crop that you are in for a whipping. "Get your ass out here," I growl, then remind you, "Ten whips for every word you utter."

You bite your lip as a whimper escapes, and you reluctantly exit the stall that rises past your waist, the only barrier between us.

"This hurts me more to punish my little cow more than it hurts her," I say, "Turn around."

The chain around your throat clinks as you shift around to expose the sweet ass that, unfortunately, needs to be punished. A gush of warmth fills my briefs as my cunt begins to throb with my heartbeat, pupils blown in desire.

The corners of my lips rise in a sadistic grin. "Bend over, little cow," I croon, my voice low in my throat. You bend over the stall door, and I place a hand over your backside, running a thumb over one cheek as I take a greedy handful.

I swat the cheek with my hand, then take another moment to fondle the soft flesh that bounces from my grip. I take a slow breath, my hooded eyes falling on the crop that I swat lightly, methodically in my hand.

Without warning the crop whips swiftly down onto your cheeks.

"You. Don't. Speak. Unless. You. Are. Told." I say firmly, but calmly, between smacks. My gut flutters with those pangs of arousal as I laugh at your cries, at how your cheeks bounce and wave, redden under my touch.

I grab your hair and force you to face me after ten whips with my crop. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," you say quietly, the flush of your cheeks matching your backside.

I chuckle, letting loose of the grip on your roots to ruffle your steadily growing hair. "There we go, that's a good cow." I pad your cheek. "Glad we got that all settled."

You sniffle, tears streaking down your face.

I'm not much concerned.

"Why don't you come on up and try that again? Straighten up now, dear. Stop your crying. Your old farmer needs to get on with work," I say, licking my lips.

You take your licks like a good cow and you take your place behind your stall, and I once again grip the silicone stroker in my hand. We resume as we were.

I swallow as another gush of warmth dampens my briefs, painfully empty in my pants. I throb at the sight of your hard cock that pokes through the glory hole of the stall.

I drilled it there myself. It's the most ingenious decision, I think, as my brain turns to mush between my ears. I can't wait any longer, and neither can you.

I pull out the lube, labeled Fuck Sauce, hastily unscrewing the bottle that looks a bit like Elmer's glue into the squishy, and now very wet, tube.

"This is warming lube. You'll feel it in a minute. Tastes like cinnamon, too!" I approach you tentatively and hold it out for you to touch and smell. Your eyes go round as your finger squelches inside of the tube.

You sniff your finger, and then your tongue darts out to lick.

You blink wide-eyed, then take your whole finger into your mouth. My eyes flutter at the sight. You really have no clue what you do to me, my precious cow.

I choke back a moan. "You like that?" I say evenly.

"Mhmm!" you practically moo. "Oho!" you leap at my hand that cups your backside, getting intimately close. I rub soothing circles around the heated skin, my breath on the nape of your neck.

While you're distracted, I push the bucket over the stall door with my foot, positioning it so it sits below the glory hole. You gasp and your voice catches high in your throat as the stroker comes down around your hard cock.

"Yeah, that feel good Bessy?"

You pant as you're swallowed whole and it stills around you. A low moan escapes your throat when I pump it once, then still, then again. Your whole body shivers in reaction to the devastatingly slow pace.

I keep this teasing pace for maybe a solid few minutes before you're flushed and practically scrambling at the stall, biting your lip hard to keep yourself from begging.

"Can you feel the heat yet?" I laugh.

You nod.

Of course, you do. If I were less tasteful, I might make a crack about preparing your body for the grill. I put your Grade A meat to much better use, I think.

Lewd, wet squelching fills the barn as the toy sucks you into its warm mouth. You tighten your grip on the door as finally I get those delicious moans that spill shamelessly from your mouth.

I tighten my own grip around the toy, pumping you in deep, steady strokes. My other hand slides upward, encouraging you to thrust deeper with rhythmic circles on the small of your back.

You almost speak, but your words turn to mindless gibberish. Your tits squeeze closer together as your arms pull in on themselves and you bow forward.

Getting overstimulated. The hand at your back slides down, expertly spreading your cheeks to finger your hole just a bit. You gasp as the air is knocked from your lungs and you thrust hard forward.

"Give me your milk, little cow. Don't hold back. You're doing so good for me Bessy. Come for Sir now."

My hand squeezes and pumps fast, my thumb rubbing the head of your cock with each pass. You thrust once, twice, then your hips still. You throw your head back, skin flushing hot as your whole body trembles.

You let out a scream as ropes of milky white come paint my hand and fall into the bucket below.

"Good cow, good, good Bessy," I whisper. Pumping at the same pace. It must feel like a hot iron, I speculate, grinning while my own arousal simmers under my skin.

You back away from the glory hole, and you exit the stroker with a pop. I chuckle. "You're a good cow. This is more than enough milk for my morning coffee."

I take the bucket and uncap the top of my insulated mug, pouring the come into the mug before taking a sip. "Cinnamon is complementary to the taste of your milk, little cow."

I wipe the froth from my lip. You stare at me, round-eyed and innocent as ever. I sigh contently, then drink the mug almost all the way down.

However, a devious little thought enters my mind just then. I sip the rest into my mouth but I don't swallow it. Instead, I come over to you, grab the sides of your face, and mother-bird the come latte into your mouth.

You choke in surprise but you drink it down. I grin, more than satisfied you got a taste of your hard effort. I sigh again, this time a bit forlorn.

"Well, I guess it's time for me to mosey on out of here and start my d-ay-hey!" I'm interrupted, as you pull me into your stall. "What in tarnation?!"

You shut me up with a real, passionate kiss. I get out a questioning sound before you hastily undo my trousers, the belt coming undone and the zipper loosening my pants as you pull them off of me.

I don't even fight this. We both know that I need it. After all of these years of milking, the old farmer has only experienced such pleasures vicariously.

"You sure are forwa-ahh-hah!" I shudder as you take the tender skin under my earlobe into your mouth and suck. I still and go silent as you palm me through my briefs, so damp they glide on your hand with slick.

My skin catches fire when your fingers begin to move against me.

"Yes, yes, yes," I whisper as I rut uncontrolled into your hand, fingers making me spiral fast toward orgasm. I squeeze my eyes shut. I press into your body, my breath stilling as I concentrate, chasing that high.

It stops.

I gasp and pull out of your hold with an annoyed look. "Hey, wha-oh." You push me onto my knees, then pull them up so that I'm positioned back to the hay-riddled floor, losing my hat in the process.

I really can't complain about what happens next. I flush further as you make quick work of rolling down my briefs, wet and exposed to the cool air.

It's a contrast to your lips, hot kisses between my thighs. "Oh mother of fuck," I moan, deep and low. You drag broad, flat licks up my cunt, and I am wheezing, scrambling at the ground.

My hands find a place tangled in your hair as you go to town. "I don't know what went through your little, ngh, cow hea-ah-ead to do thi-ahh!"

My voice pitches up as you bob your head up and down on that sensitive bud, focusing on it as you suckle and lick at the nerves ablaze in that hot mouth.

I don't know whether to pull your head down or push you away, too much and not enough at the same time. You mercilessly grip my hips and suck hard.

Filling my vision with white. I scream and thrash as I topple harshly over the edge. You don't stop. You hold my thighs open and you keep going at the same pace as if my whole body isn't an inferno.

I'm too weak to push you away, though, as I try to wrestle out of your grasp with the effort of a bucking bronco. You make me come until I see stars.

I pant heavily, truly unable to come anymore when you scoop me up. I'm weightless, and yet I'm barely able to move enough to roll over onto the patch of hay that is your bedding.

You snuggle down beside me, pulling the blanket over us both. I get out a weak protest, something about tending to the farm. "Shh," you say, wrapping an arm around my stomach.

The morning light dims to black. Maybe it's the high, maybe it's just a silly thought all things considered, that makes me chuckle before I pass out; I never imagined the cow would milk the farmer.

[thecameronchronicles]

Hellbent

TW: Degrading Language. HEAVY SMUT. Spanking. Choking. ROUGH sex.

SUMMARY: Trevor proves once and for all that you belong to him after his recent bout of jealousy.

WORD COUNT: 1700

*Requested*

Hellbent

It was all part of the job. A detail he never seemed to mind prior to now. Of all the afternoons you'd left with your uniform consisting of minimalist fabric leaving little to the imagination, he would always part with a swift kiss until you'd return the same way. But tonight he had decided to go and see you. And ever since, he hasn't spoken a word to you. Not offered a sideways glance or even a scoff. But it was still enough to know that you'd made him upset. 

"I have to be nice to everyone for tips, Trevor..." You spoke his name with annoyance as you stood in silence within the elevator leading from the garage and into your shared apartment. 

"It isn't like we have some nest egg stored somewhere." But to your words, he just kept staring forward. You couldn't tell if this was out of anger because his jaw wasn't clenched as it had been in prior instances. And the gloss of coming tears made it clear it wasn't from sadness. This was something else, something darker…

"Can you at least tell me why you're giving me the silent treatment before committing to it?" But instead of offering you this, he pushed himself off of the wall of the elevator and towards the apartment with keys shuffling in his hand. It was almost as if you weren't even there. 

"Really?" You groaned as he would just lean beside the door, playing with the keys as you removed your own set from your jacket hung over your arm and moved to the door. Your own annoyance made you fumble between the metal pieces wrapped together before he was suddenly behind you, your motions stilled. One arm outstretched to the frame of the door as the other came to your hip. The short skirt, a part of your waitress uniform, teased by his fingers, as his breath came to your ear. 

"The second that door opens, you aren't my girlfriend-" Your heart twisted as he suddenly pushed you forward, silencing you with his hand now against your clothed clit. 

"You're a whore. A slut...a dirty girl who likes getting attention from anybody but her boyfriend...So the minute that door opens, you'll be treated that way. Do you understand me?" 

"Trevor-" His hand came around your throat. 

"Interrupt me again and I swear to God-Just nod." He steadied his anger behind you as his grip lessened and the key was set within its designated slit before that lock signaled for him to begin whatever it was he had planned. 

You weren't even able to shut the door before you were turned to face him, angered kisses, almost passionless, now in attack against your gasp before you were taken to the pinball machine across the room. 

"You're gonna go back to work tomorrow marked up looking like you've been through hell, so the next guy who tries to look at my girl this way will know she's fucking a devil who will do whatever is necessary to keep her-" His words made you as breathless as his kisses as he pulled your hair back until your head came to a rest at his shoulder, his second hand rising slowly to your neck, making it a point to stop at your hip and breasts to tease, before making that grip. 

"I know they like to sneak a peek at you when you're taking their order-" He suddenly turned you to face him, pulling down the white tank making up the top part of your uniform, until your cleavage was exposed to him. But this wasn't enough. He would stretch it until both of your breasts were almost supported by it now at rest as more of a corset, and his fingers pulled your breasts free. 

"So they're gonna see how you don't need their attention. Not when you've got all mine..." He began to suck on your skin while playing with your breast. If he was at the left side of your neck, sucking and biting, his hand would be set on the rival breast with kneading and pinching and vice versa. This continued until he was satisfied with the marks left behind, the beginning of bruises and the small lines drawn with his teeth, leaving you red and heaving beneath him. 

"And your ass-" He turned you back into the machine forcing it to chime to this sudden motion, before you felt him raise that skirt once more. This time, to wind a hand to your ass. 

"That's if anyone manages to get close enough..." He now lowered to his knees, bending you over the glass coating the mechanics of the collectible you had been forced to trust for support, before his breath teased the backs of your thighs. 

"And this..." He bit into your skin, sucking hard and quick to leave a hickey on your ass and another on your lower thigh. "That's if you're stupid enough to let anyone." 

"Trevor..." He rose up once more, this time, the sound of his belt and jeans forced downward having pulled a premature grip around the edges of the machine. The sudden force of his dick rushing within you, making you moan in unison. 

"Everyone wants to look at you...but mine is the only cock that gets to come inside you, right?" Before you could answer, he was against your ear, hand wrapped as tight as possible, as he commanded a response, "RIGHT?!" 

"Yes!" You spoke quickly, not wanting to give him any reason to be angry, all while you nodded to add to this agreement. But he would only pull your hair tighter. 

"This ass...these tits?" 

"Yours!" You belted. 

"Those moans? How about YOUR cum, huh? That mine too?" 

"Yes! Fuck!" 

"Then give it to me. If it's mine and I want it, let me have it. Now." He demanded, his fingers at your clit as you were overwhelmed with the sensation of an early orgasm teasing that elastic band deep within your core, threatening to break. 

"I said give it to me, don't be a bitch and keep it for yourself...come on-" 

"Trevvvoorr!" You shook, the sudden rush of not only an orgasm, but a squirt, having made him grin with pride. 

"You think any of them can make you do that? Huh?" 

"No..." You groaned, the effects of your release still holding you in a vice as you were turned to him. 

"Show me you're fucking mine. Get on your knees." You obliged, relieved you would be left untouched for long enough to recover. 

"They all want you like this you know...breathless...eager...looking up at them with eyes like that..." He lowered to you enough to kiss your lips, pulling away with your bottom lip between his teeth and biting it hard enough to leave it swollen. 

"But no matter how close their fantasies get to this...only I get you like this...right?" 

"Yes." 

"Then show me. Show me I have no reason to be jealous no matter how they look at you...how they talk about you...how they think about fucking you...fucking show me-" You took him with your hand, twisting his base as you tried to tske him slowly in your mouth, his flexed hips making you gag and retreat. 

"I said you weren't my girlfriend. You don't get to take your time. I wanna feel how fucking sorry you are. So suck me off like the whore they think you are...the whore I get..." You narrowed your eyes to accept this challenge, taking him with denied limitations. 

Every stroke made to the back of your throat was a gag repressed and each tear down your cheek was a trophy of your endurance. You continued this, your body at war with its natural urgency, until you were taken back to his lips, a single kiss teased but left unquelled as he took your hand to his cock while his remained in your hair. 

"Stroke it!" He commanded as he walked you both to the couch, a short distance from the machine, but still too far for your trembling legs. 

"Trevor-" 

"Whores don't beg. Bitches do. And you don't wanna be a bitch, do you?" You shook your head as he nodded. 

"Then keep fucking stroking...tighter!" He charged as he sat on the couch, pulling you over him and sinking you down onto his cock. Nails to your ass, he tore the skirt from your hips and the remainder of your uniform into a crumpled pile, before taking you into a lift and grind against his cock. 

"Clench!" He demanded as you obeyed, your inner walls doing so in a mix of intentional and unintentional spasms as he growled against your chest. 

"Beg for it...say my name and beg for me to come in this tight little pussy-" He slapped your ass, not an ounce of kindness found on him, as he quickened himself inside of you even further. If not for the grip in your hair, you would have lost balance from your equilibrium too affected by the overstimulation. 

"Again! Louder! I want the neighbors to hear you. I want the mailman to hear you. I want God to hear you." He chuckled. "Not that any of them could help you..." 

"Trevor! Please...pl-please come!" 

"Yeah? Like this? You want it like this?" 

"Yes! Fuck!" 

"Who's making you come baby? Tell me who feels this fucking good!" 

"Trevor!" 

"Who?" 

"TREVOR!" You belted in finality, your second orgasm silencing your pleas as he rooted you onto him as he found his own, all motions stilled but that if your shared erratic breathing. 

"Now...get into bed-" You looked towards the shower. 

"Uh uh...you're going in there tomorrow. Not a hair put in place or drop of makeup to cover up you let me do to you. I want all of them to see what you let me do...how good you take it.. how good you give it...So no shower. I want them to see me on you…smell me on you…feel me if they are stupid enough to try…" He slapped your ass and left you on the couch heaving, watching him slip away into what you were denied, leaving your heart a million miles a minute from the chaotic session of lust offered from your boyfriend.

@hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @my-baexht-ls @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae

[callistosforest]

I've been calling my girlfriend princess a lot recently and calling myself/her calling me her knight, and honestly, it's making me realize how invigorating that'd be.

I would tower over her, standing as tall as a redwood when compared to a measly oak. She'd be scared to make eye contact but still attempt to look up and confirm that the woman watching her every move is still a person and not an empty shell of armor. So she would stare, looking longingly into the slits of my helmet, just trying to look past the blackened shadow and see any confirmations that I'm actually alive. Then, right as she'd be giving up, sulking her head down in defeat and accepting she might not ever figure what lies beyond the metal plates, she'd see a glint as my eyes dart to hers. That glint would be all she would need to start seeing the light reflecting off my eyes and the lines of my face. What was once an abyss that hid a woman as helpless as her, the figurehead to a doomed country, is now a clear picture of the equally helpless woman trying her best to fulfill the duty of protecting.

But... it's not just protection. It was never just protection or the fulfillment of some worthless task. It's about as a knight, as someone who was taken away by the state to be trained as a child to protect the monarchy, putting all my faith into something I know doesn't matter because if I don't then that means I was taken away from my home, my parents, my everything for nothing. So she stares upon a woman who lost everything that mattered but gained an empire of nothing. She locks eyes with me as I trace her every movement, and she sees deep within me my will to protect her. Though that will to protect doesn't come from a decree from the king, it comes from knowing that it won't be a warlord or a bandit that makes her repent for the misdeeds of the kingdom, it will come from the one who's entire life was built around watching her every move.

Though I'd would never, could never hurt her. She's just someone who was clueless about the machinations of people who held more power than her or anyone else. So my love burns brighter than the fires of hell because I know that the day she removes my helmet and stares at the woman underneath, she'll see just how hard she needs to try to do better than those around her did. I only hope that the woman wrapped in the finest silks, who eats the finest meals, lives the best life, can still love a woman who's as rusted as the armor she uses to hide herself.

[melancholic-hues]

you’ve never felt fear (but i have, and i do)

posted on AO3

kafblade week 2024: prompt - wounds / touch / rescue

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - graphic depictions of violence

category - f/m ; gen

pairings - blade/kafka

tags - kafblade week 2024 ; hurt/comfort ; needles ; i promise the warning isn’t that severe

word count - 906 words

-

content warning: needles and blood

He raises hell upon the facility they are sent to.

The alarms blare in the background, flashing red, red like the rest of his vision. The thick metal door glitches out of existence, courtesy of Silver Wolf’s handiwork, and Sam punches through the lever at the edge of the door connected to the rest of the facility and disables the place entirely. Blade slits the throat of the guards and some of the “medical professionals,” leaving them not entirely dead but near it. They deserve to feel agony as death slowly approaches.

They’d hurt Kafka.

After losing communication with her, like Elio predicted in the script, Silver Wolf had done everything in her power to get Sam and Blade into the facility to rescue her. This was all part of the script, Blade had told himself then. The script has an eighty-one percent chance of accuracy, and they almost went off-track if it wasn't for Silver Wolf rushing her entire process.

Now, though, they are back. And they will bring the entire facility to the ground with them.

Kafka is in the center of the room, machines surrounding her with seemingly hundreds of tubes inserted into her arms, her legs, her neck. Her arms and legs are almost entirely bare, her expensive shirt and pants ripped just at the shoulders and hips, respectively. She is unconscious, head down and magenta hair loose, cascading down her shoulder like elegant waterfalls. Even when sleeping and hurt, she looks so ethereal.

Blade cuts through the staff around them, going for fatal stops but never slicing his blade deep enough for an instant kill, and before he knows it, he arrives at the machines.

He does not take into account the carnage around him. All he sees is Kafka, injured and her body used in disgusting, unconsented ways, and the rage in him burns all the more. He does not fight the mara as it overcomes him.

More people flood into the room, guns drawn. He can feel the bullets pierce his flesh, graze his skin, tear his muscles, break his bones. All of the pain is dulled by the mara.

Sam, now next to him, works on getting Kafka out of her current condition. Blade is thankful for the automaton’s presence; he does not think he can safely remove all of those needles and chemicals in her body. Instead, he focuses on one thing: revenge.

He lets himself take damage, uncaring of his body’s protests, and brings them down one by one. Screams and the sound of bodies and weapons alike crumpling to the floor fill the room. Blade full on intends to make them regret ever, ever touching her. She is so much more than someone to be experimented on like an insect.

He pulls his sword out of the flesh of a soldier. Around him are the corpses of the staff, the aftermath of his hazy fury. His bandages and clothes are darkened with crimson blood, and he feels the wet sticking to his skin underneath. How much time has passed?

Kafka has always said his fights are a pleasure to watch. He does not agree; a woman like her is so much better than a mere weapon like him. Why Kafka spends time around him, knowing his hands are stained and his mind is fragmented, he does not understand. However, he is not sure if he will survive if Kafka leaves.

That is the last of them. He backs away from the body, blankly surveying the room. Bodies and guns strewn over the white tiled floors, some of them now splattered with blood.

“Bladie.”

He whips around on his heel, his breaths heavy and his eyes wild, and sees her. She is free of the machines, with Sam carrying her, but at what cost? She’s bleeding everywhere.

He is torn.

How can he let something like this happen?

As soon as the thought enters his mind, he mentally slaps it away. Kafka is not a damsel in distress from a children’s tale; she is more than capable to wreck the same, if not more, chaos upon demand. Yet, to see her reduced to something so fragile and small, he feels something he does not quite know what.

Kafka turns her head to look at him and winces. He does not start toward her; the mara is still in him. Burning. He wants to, though. He wants to be the one carrying Kafka. He wants to be by her side as she recovers.

These are dangerous thoughts.

“Listen,” Kafka whispers, voice filled with pain. His entire body stills as the familiar wave of calm and nothingness washes over him. “It’s okay. I’m here, and — ” she coughs, and Blade rushes over.

Sam gently passes Kafka over to him. “Do be careful. She is alright, but she is very injured right now. Recovery, however, will take approximately three to four weeks. This is because of a range of factors: possible abuse she might’ve endured — ”

“Sam,” Kafka interrupts.

The automaton does not continue.

Kafka stares into Blade’s eyes, hypnotizing magenta meeting red. With a shaking hand, she cups Blade’s cheek. Her hand is too cold. “I am not dying. Besides, I’m not scared. You shouldn’t be either. Don’t be scared.” Her honeyed voice is impossibly small.

“Kafka,” he says. His voice does not shake, and his eyes do not burn. “Let’s go home.”

Kafka nods, giving him a watery smile.