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althaiareads · 3 days ago

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I gotta be honest with you, I've been procrastinating reading this chapter because I am in denial of this wonderful story nearing its end. But the curiosity was just too much. I am way too excited about them officially being a couple and being all lovey-dovey with each other. Oh, and how the hell are we getting out of that time loop???

“It kept appearing in my pocket,” he explains. “I didn’t want to lose it.”

WAAAAAIIIT, what if that's part of the solution? The rings. It is sort of symbolic. She won't be able to make it out alone; she needs him, thus the ring. That's so smart.

An actual tear rolls down her face, and then she snaps her head back to stare at empty air again. “Usual,” she says, but it’s not a question this time.

Oh, this is bad, bad, I hate this. It gave me the chills. The universe is catching up with the time loop shenanigans.

“You would be bored in five minutes.” The knowing smile in his voice is really annoying. “You’re not so bad the way you are, you know.” // “I don’t care. I’m still here, and so are you. I’ve watched you do great things with and without your powers, time after time, and you’re gonna continue doing that over and over again.” He smiles at you in that way of his, soft and sure. “We’ll be okay.”

THEY ARE SO CUTE! Don't you love it when people know each other on such a deep level that they know how to soothe each other's insecurities before they even manifest?

They've come so far, and I just want to cry a little bit. He trusts her and her abilities so much. I want to cry.

Funny, you think, how the timing of your intervention seems to completely derail his day. Last time, he said he was visiting his aunt.

I am so happy to see Peter, howeveeer, there's something weird going on with him, so if he's not aware of the loop, why are his plans changing? Like, baby, you're supposed to be consistent, but then again, he's under weird multiverse magic effects, so idk.

Was rereading it from my notes to Tumblr and I am an idiot, lmao. Still, what is Peter doing? Why are we lying to these poor people?

“There are versions of us outside the loop—obviously, we don’t just stop existing on July fifth. But because of the time loop, we can’t access them. Our consciousness can’t move on from this day, if you will.”

That is so smart, dude. It ties so well with everything everyone's ever said, and I am kind of disappointed in myself for not realising it earlier. Every time she uses her powers she's basically creating another reality. Another branch in the timeline, like that TVA thing from Loki. So every loop continues, it doesn't just disintegrate, but they stay.

Your wrist tingles. “So the only way to stop it for good is for me to be on the outside. I need to be the external source of the equation.”

Wait, no, this is too risky. So after everything she just has to DIE?!?!??!!? AND WHAT IF THAT WORKS AND THEY FORGET????? WHAT IF WE SET THEM BACK??? Idc, I'm kinda with Bucky on this one, let everyone die, the reality crumble, at least they get to be happy and together.

“No, Sam. Why don’t I ever get to be selfish?” He shakes his head, his eyes welling up. “Why is it that every time I get a little bit of good in my life, the world’s about to end?”

LET HIM BE HAPPY WITH HER, HE DESERVES IT!!!! THEY BOTH DO.

This was so heartbreaking.

If it doesn’t work, Bucky’s going to stay stuck in the loop forever.

Oh, the stakes are really high with this one. I am so excited in a really masochistic way. Because if Bucky stays stuck in the loop how would she even know. Even if she does make it out of the loop alive who's to say she won't forget everything that has happened? I AM ACTUALLY SHAKING.

You sit up a little to look at him straight, one hand pressed to his chest. “James Buchanan Barnes, you are more than worthy of all the good things in the universe to happen to you. I’m only sorry it took me that long to tell you.”

They love each other so much, I-

It’s the last thing you see before you put his gun against your temple and pull the trigger.

WHY WOULD YOU DO IT IN FRONT OF HIM!?!!?!? Miss girlie said "you've died in my arms way too many times, it's time to even the playing field".

Okay, I am so excited to keep reading, I don't even know what to expect, and I am so anxious about it. They don't know if it's going to work, and there's only one shot. Couldn't we have gone with a less definitive solution? You said we could shout at you? WELL I AM SHOUTING!!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE KILLED HERSELF I FRONT OF HIM?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN BUCKY'S BREAKING DOWN BECAUSE HE NEVER GETS TO BE HAPPY??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE'S GOING TO FORGET ABOUT THE LOOP???? I AM THIS 🤏 CLOSE TO A MENTAL BREAKDOWN.

time after time [11]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 9.8k

chapter warnings: time travel 101 (until your head hurts); suicidal ideation within a time loop; a dash of smut 💚 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: it's like 3am and i've definitely missed some typos and/or descriptors but i really wanted to post this one. we've almost made it folks!!

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

eleven: tomorrow we live

You weren’t well after the battle.

You’d kept yourself out of sight for the most part, evading Strange and the other Masters while kicking alien ass and trying to save as many of your people as you could. You managed, right up until Tony’s snap.

You’d never known him that well, hadn’t particularly liked him much from what you were told, but Pepper Potts had invited you to Morgan’s third birthday party along with Natasha and you’d seen the way that little girl’s eyes lit up when she looked at her dad, and the way he looked back at her. It had made you ache.

Now, you saw him make the decision to end all of this, far ahead in the distance, and all you could do was scream. Because you’d seen what kind of toll it took on a person, and you knew what it meant for his child.

You tried to reset it, but your powers were weak and you were tired and too far away. You only made it back a few seconds and had to watch him snap again. Then, your knees gave way and the world turned black.

You had a strange dream. You were standing in a twilight realm with nothing but a shallow body of water surrounding you. It was quiet, the air impossibly still, and when you moved, the water didn’t make a sound.

"Still not good enough, I see."

Kaecilius looked the same as he did in your nightmares, a stern face and purple-rimmed eyes.

"You’re not here," you whispered. "You’re dead."

"For now," he agreed.

Your hands balled into fists by your sides. "I’m not afraid of you."

Your voice only shook a little bit.

"Of course not," Kaecilius replied. "Fear would be useful." He lifted his arms. "Look around. What do you see?"

"Nothing," you said. "It’s empty."

"Is it, now?"

You watched the shaking reflections at your feet. A dull greenish glimmer surrounded your mirror image, like something was shining at you from behind. When you turned to look over your shoulder, there was nothing.

"Untethered," Kaecilius said quietly.

"What?"

"That’s the price for freedom." He tilted his chin to look at you, and there was that familiar tug in your chest. "Tell me, was it worth it?"

"I lost everything once. I’m not doing it again."

"Oh, but you will."

You couldn’t tell if it was meant as a promise or a warning. Before you could say anything else, the world around you began to flicker at its edges and faded into true nothingness, once and for all.

When you woke up in the med wing, they told you Steve had gone.

"Gone?" you asked, confused. "Gone where?"

"Back," they said, but that was impossible. He was a man out of time, always had been, but he wasn’t supposed to get lost. He had found his place, right here, with his friends, with his family, now that everyone was finally back. He was supposed to be there as you all rebuilt the world.

After Nat, you hadn’t expected to lose him, too, when you’d already lost so many people, and so your body didn’t know how to react. You were stuck in shock and grief in a frozen universe for hours before sleep finally dragged you back down and the world resumed, as it always did.

Continuing, despite.

If this was victory, you didn’t want any part in it.

* * * * *

You’re so warm.

You blink into consciousness deliciously slowly, the midday sun tickling your nose. A steady heartbeat thrums right underneath your ear. You cannot remember the last time you slept this comfortably.

Bucky gently squeezes your side, his right hand continuing to trace invisible lines on the back of your neck. "Hey."

"Hi."

How strange to think that you might just be allowed to kiss him now. How adrenaline spiking.

So you do.

You’re still sprawled on top of Bucky, and nothing has ever felt as right as brushing your lips against his and having him hum into your mouth in response. Again. Again. Why couldn’t the rest of the loop have been just like this?

"We should probably get up," he says finally.

"Are you kidding? I’m never getting up from this couch again." You snuggle closer to him, your nose pressing against his neck. "Tell me something I don't know."

His soft laugh shakes your entire body. "There's several books I could fill with stuff you don't know about."

"Well, I'm starting to run out of things to read, anyway."

Bucky’s fingers keep wandering, brushing your ear, your cheek, careful, soothing touches. As if he’s not quite certain, yet, that you’re not just going to vanish between his hands.

"You were never afraid of me," he says quietly.

You keep playing with the collar of his shirt, the fabric softened with wear. "Why would I have been afraid of you?"

"Even when we first met, when I was awful to you—"

"You weren't awful—"

"No, I was. And you didn't care. At first I thought it was because of your powers, but …" He lets out a sigh. "It's been a very long time since a complete stranger's treated me like a normal guy."

You prop up your chin on his chest. "You are a normal guy."

There's protest in his eyes, but he doesn't voice it. "It was nice," he says instead, "to get to just be myself."

"Ah. So your true self is a complaining asshole."

A playful grin twinkles in his eyes. "Don't pretend like you've hated all of our fights."

You roll your eyes and kiss him again. "I much prefer this."

"Good," Bucky says into your mouth, his voice lower than usual. "Me too."

"Glad we’re agreed for once."

He smiles against your lips, deepening the kiss. You trace the ghost of his dimples underneath his stubbled cheeks, slipping your hands into his hair as he rolls you both over, his weight pressing down on you, your mind finally, blissfully shutting up. You could stay forever in this moment.

"Really? On the couch? Don’t you people have rooms? You know, with doors you could lock?"

"Busted," you stage-whisper.

Bucky’s pupils are huge as he stares down at you, lips red, his hair perfectly mussed. The sight makes you stupidly happy.

Sam clears his throat exaggeratedly, and when your gaze turns to him, he has a shit-eating grin on his face. "Nice to see the two of you … getting along."

"Shut up, Sam," you both say at the same time.

"Seriously though, this," he gestures vaguely at both of you with his spoon, "is good, and it's about damn time, but get a room."

"Don’t you have a speech to write?" Bucky says roughly.

"Get lost, Barnes," Sam replies.

Bucky's smile flickers as he catches your lips with his one more time before sitting up, pulling you with him. His fingers interlock with yours easily, like he's been doing it for ages, his thumb circling the back of your hand.

Something in your chest aches when he pulls away from you, half-expecting the world to fall away and for you to wake up alone in your bed again; but nothing happens. Still, you don't want him to stop touching you, and not just for reality's sake.

"Did you want something?" Bucky asks, talking to Sam while keeping his attention on you.

"Lunch. How do you guys feel about Italian?"

"God, no," Bucky says.

"Literally anything else, please," you say.

"Alright, subtle," Sam snorts. "What, then?"

Bucky raises his eyebrows at you. "I can make lunch," he suggests.

"Jesus Christ," Sam replies.

"Italian sounds great, actually," you add.

"Hey," Bucky says, frowning at you.

"I don't want flames erupting from the oven again."

"That was one time and also not my fault."

One time that he remembers, at least. "Then whose was it, the cat's?"

Alpine, who’s just entered the couch table, meows in protest.

"I can cook," Bucky says.

"Anyone can cook," you reply sweetly. "Doesn't mean everyone should."

"Bold statement from someone who burns coffee for a living."

"If I don’t get another suggestion in the next ten seconds, you can both starve," Sam interrupts.

You think about any options you’ve not grown completely sick of yet. "How about Korean?"

"Thank you," he says, going back to his laptop. The conversation stalls for a while as you try to ignore Bucky’s sideward glances. Finally, Sam looks back at the two of you again, his eyebrow raised. "So when exactly did that happen?"

You exchange a quick look.

"Now, come on, Sam," Bucky says with a smirk. "It’s not like it came overnight."

"You sure about that?" you grin.

"Ew," Sam says. "Whatever that just was, ew. I’m retracting my question. I’m going to make a call."

"Say hi to Sarah!" you call after him.

He makes a crude gesture with his spoon that makes you laugh.

"What was that about my cooking?" Bucky says.

"We’ll work on it," you grin. "We might need another fifty Fridays or so, but one day I’m sure you’ll—" You yelp when he abruptly pulls you into his lap.

"I’ll what?" he asks, and his breath brushes over your lips.

You swallow. "Get there eventually."

"Anyone ever tell you you’re awfully bossy?"

"You did." You lean closer again, lowering your voice. "I think you like it."

He doesn’t respond verbally to that.

Without breaking the kiss, you reach for his left hand and pull it around yourself, shivering pleasantly at the cool touch against your skin. He hesitates briefly before letting his metal fingers curl around your waist, grasping you tighter.

Finally, with a groan, he gently pushes you away.

"I hate to say it," he says, sounding almost wrecked, "but Sam might be onto something."

"You okay?"

He laughs breathlessly, a distinct blush spreading on his cheeks. "Give me a moment."

Alpine chooses that exact moment to claim her spot on the couch once again, meowing at both of you disapprovingly. You can’t help but grin, pulling her onto your lap as you move back onto the couch, careful to keep touching Bucky in at least some way or other.

"Dialing it back, Sarge. Understood."

"Don’t," he hisses.

You tilt your head in delight. "I’m learning so much about you."

He pokes your side and you snort.

For a couple of minutes, you scratch Alpine’s chin and play with her paws, leaning against Bucky’s vibranium arm. She seems perfectly content with all of it, not even extending her claws.

"How do you feel about coffee?" you ask when you feel Bucky relax behind you again.

"Why not," he replies.

"Perfect. One sec." You raise your voice. "Do you want something from Starbucks?"

"Something iced!" Sam shouts back from the other room. "Is the kitchen safe again now?"

"Shut up!" you both reply.

Bucky’s picked up on the fact that he shouldn’t let go of you so the universe doesn’t reset again, or he simply doesn’t want to. You can’t bring yourself to mind either way.

You’re almost delirious with happiness when you’re back in the elevator and he pulls you against him again. You’re still in your pyjamas, probably spattered with blood, and you couldn’t have given less of a shit.

There’s something solid peeking out from underneath Bucky’s shirt, and you frown. "What’s that?"

He hesitates for a moment before pulling on the chain of his dog tags.

It’s your ring.

The ring you used to wear on your pinkie. The one you thought had vanished many loops ago on the floor of your bathroom, threaded through the metal chain to rest above his heart.

"It kept appearing in my pocket," he explains. "I didn’t want to lose it."

You press your lips against his again, a soft, silent thank you. "Keep it," you say.

Something catches your eye like a glint of impossibility, a strange trick of holographic lighting: a tiny spec of green. Before you can take a closer look, however, the elevator pings and you have to step outside into the lobby.

You raise your free hand and look at the rings you’re still wearing out of habit. They’re all pitch black.

"You okay?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah," you mumble. "Yeah, never mind. It was just the light."

It’s busy outside, the midday sun frying the concrete. You don’t talk as you make your way through the crowd, sticking as closely together as possible. At a red light, you manage to steal another kiss and Bucky looks at you like you’ve hung the moon.

"They’re out of iced tea at this time," you tell him, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your lower back. "But if we get Sam a cold brew, I think we should be …"

Your voice trails off when you look around the store. Apart from the two people behind the counter, it’s completely empty. A shiver runs down your spine.

"Something’s wrong," you say.

Bucky tenses, grasping your hand more tightly and putting himself in front of you. The coffee grinder howls, the sound echoing in the empty building.

Slowly, you step up to the counter.

"Hi, welcome to Starbucks." Lucy looks past you like she’s talking to someone invisible standing right between you two. After a pause, she nods and taps at the register. "And will that be for here or to go?"

"Luce?" you say carefully.

"Alright," she smiles. Her colorful make-up is running down the side of her face like red-white-and-blue tears. "It’ll be right over there. Oh, careful about that spill, we’re working on it. Hi, welcome to Starbucks."

"Whole place looks deserted," Bucky tells you.

"Sorry, what was that?" Lucy says.

"It’s like we’re not here," you say quietly.

"It’s not just her," he says. "Look."

Over at the pick-up counter, there’s a pile of spilled cups on the floor. The second barista behind the bar doesn’t notice any of them. He keeps shoving them down by placing new cups in the same spot. Perfectly rehearsed and executed each time, except he’s performing for nobody.

"Like they’re stuck in their script," Bucky says.

"This is bad," you say, "this is really, really bad."

"Hey." He tugs you closer, his eyes locking with yours. "It’s probably just another glitch."

"No, Strange warned me something like this would happen at some point."

Reality folding in on itself.

You bite your cheek so hard it hurts. "The loop is at breaking point. We’re running out of time."

"But that’s good news, right? We’re getting closer to it being over."

"No, it’s not." Your voice is wavering. "I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do."

"Ask for a frappuccino and I will fucking murder you," Lucy says.

You turn towards her again.

"I swear," she continues, fixing her hair with perfectly mechanical movements, "if I see another child today, I’m gonna quit."

"That bad?" you ask quietly.

Her gaze focuses and she turns to stare right at you with clear, empty eyes. "Please kill me."

There’s not a hint of her usual dryness in her voice. You instinctively retreat, bumping into Bucky as you do. The steamer howls, the only noise in the sudden silence.

Lucy keeps looking at you, not keeping up with her own lines. Like she’s waiting for you, or something else.

Please kill me.

You shake your head, sick to your stomach. "I can’t."

An actual tear rolls down her face, and then she snaps her head back to stare at empty air again. "Usual," she says, but it’s not a question this time.

Useless.

You rip your hand out of Bucky’s, and the world around you vanishes in a stream of multicolor as he shouts your name.

* * *

"You talk to her," Sam says, his voice muffled through the door.

There’s a murmur too low for you to understand from where you’re hiding underneath your blanket, pressing the palms of your hands to the sockets of your eyes. The band around your wrist is whirring wildly.

One day.

You’d gotten less than a single day, a single morning of everything working out, of finally thinking that maybe things wouldn’t always be this bad. Of feeling something like hope.

It’d been foolish.

You’re still stuck on Friday, and reality is still crumbling around you, or fading away, or maybe melting into another one; you don’t even know anymore. You’re so sick of this.

You can hear the crunch of your lock being reduced to pieces, and then slow, soft steps into your room. With a soft click, the door closes again. You stay under your blanket.

"Y/N," Bucky says softly.

"I can’t."

He lets out a breath, and your mattress dips. Gently, he pulls the blanket off your head.

Geez, you hate the way he looks at you. Like you’re about to break, and he’s just waiting patiently to pick up each piece and mend them together again.

What the hell have you done to deserve to be looked at like that?

"Hi," he says, and your vision blurs.

You want to kiss him again. You want to wrap yourself around him and protect him from whatever bullshit this day decides to throw at you next.

"Everything is falling apart," you whisper. "It’s gonna keep happening until we find a way out. I’m nowhere closer to knowing what I’m supposed to do, and so we keep circling around, making everything worse. And what if—" You cut yourself off, pressing a hand to your mouth.

"What if what?"

What if it’s just you?

These past few weeks, it’s been a quiet thought, pushed to the very back of your mind with everything else going on. You know that you’ll make it out, which is some relief, but what if it’s just you?

Strange never said anything about Bucky, and you’re still beating yourself up over not asking.

What if this, all of this, will have been for nothing?

No, you can’t think like that.

You put one hand on Bucky’s chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath your palm, soft and steady. He’s still breathing, and that’s all that counts for now.

You’ve made it this far, right?

"I’m just so scared," you whisper. It’s the truth, after all.

"Me too," he says quietly. Both of his hands cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. "But we’re getting so close. I know it. We just need to keep going. You need to keep going."

A wet laugh bubbles up your throat. "You’re putting a lot of faith into someone who’s not been able to use her powers at all in months at this point."

"Is that what you’re worried about?"

Is it? Truth be told, you’ve gotten so used to the absence of time magic running through your veins. There’s an empty space at your core where you used to be able to feel it, tucked safely away, a reassuring connection to the flow of time itself.

Ever since your visit to the Sanctum, you’ve become very aware that you’re missing that link now. There’s a void inside you that’s been growing whilst you were looking away, a black hole that tastes like regret and loneliness.

All those years, and still …

"My powers were never something I wanted to have, and they’re … I used to feel like an anomaly. Like a mistake. But now …" You swallow a sob. "Everything is going wrong, and now they’ve been gone for so long, and I feel like a part of me is just missing."

It’s such a selfish thing to care about, but Bucky’s been nothing but honest with you, and you owe him as much.

"And so I keep wondering, what if I can never get them back? Or I do, just to stop the loop, but the price to end all of this is giving them up? I mean, what am I going to do then?"

What a waste of time.

You’re so tired, and weary, and sick of having to lean on other people. You should be able to do this, of all things, on your own.

Even when you couldn’t properly control your powers, at least they were yours and yours alone. There was a certain merit in being the only one of your kind, too; no one knew how to control you.

And yet, looking back, it all seems like wasted time you could’ve spent doing good, learning to understand them more intricately, to use them for more important things than getting out of awkward conversations and keeping yourself safe.

Without them gone, would you ever have honestly stopped trying to avoid situations that left you cut open and vulnerable, just as you are right now?

Untethered.

"Hey," Bucky says again and you blink back into the moment. "Didn’t you tell me that the Winter Soldier doesn’t define me? Well, your powers don’t define you."

"But I don’t want to lose them," you say quietly.

Despite the chaos they’re brought. Despite all your mistakes and shortcomings, despite the loop, despite everything that would never have happened without you having these powers in the first place. Because you’re just starting to accept them for what they really are: a gift, and a curse.

It doesn’t have to be one or the other.

"You’ll get them back," Bucky says. Sometimes, you do wonder where he gets his relentless confidence in you from.

"You don’t know that," you say quietly.

He huffs. "You hate clichés. Stop thinking you’re doomed to live in one. That’s not like you."

"Then what is?"

He presses his forehead to yours, and your eyes flutter closed. "You fight."

You can’t help but laugh. "I’m not a fighter."

"Didn’t say you were. I said you fight. You don’t give up so easily."

"Maybe I should. Might save me a lot of racing thoughts."

"You would be bored in five minutes." The knowing smile in his voice is really annoying. "You’re not so bad the way you are, you know."

"I’m not that great, either, though."

"Look at me?"

You do, his hand gently tipping your chin. He’s always so gentle with you.

"Powers or not, doesn’t matter. You’re still you. I wouldn’t want you to be anything else. It’s more than I … it’s more than enough."

His heart is pounding underneath your palm, and there are too many emotions written across his face to make sense of them all, but you feel them. Heartbreakingly so.

"It shouldn’t be," you say. "It’s killed you. Multiple times."

"I don’t care. I’m still here, and so are you. I’ve watched you do great things with and without your powers, time after time, and you’re gonna continue doing that over and over again." He smiles at you in that way of his, soft and sure. "We’ll be okay."

You love him. The thought rushes through you without a shadow of a doubt, a knowledge so certain it might as well be written across your forehead. You love Bucky Barnes with every fiber of your heart.

The problem is, he’s right. You hate clichés.

And so you’re afraid that in the grand scheme of things, love alone won’t be enough.

You lean in to hug him again and his arms envelop you perfectly, like this was where you were supposed to be all along. You bury your nose in his neck and inhale deeply, and you’ve never wanted to freeze a moment in time more than you do right then.

"I want to kiss you so bad right now." A whisper against his skin, another teardrop on his shirt.

His hand comes up to your neck again, pulling you back.

The look in his eyes is devastating, and you wonder how it’s taken you so long to recognize the longing in it. He lets you see it so clearly now, but it’s been there for a long, long time, in flashes and stolen moments, barely concealed behind a veneer of indifference. You’re sure he can see it mirrored in your own gaze right now; you’re almost bursting with it.

You nudge your nose against his, once, twice, and he shivers.

"We need to stop," he whispers, even though he sounds like stopping is the very last thing he wants to do. You can relate. There’s a hair’s breadth between your lips and it takes every single ounce of self-control you have not to close that distance.

The memory of how he kisses you is still too fresh in your mind. The way he perfectly molds into you, the way he holds you like you’re something precious, even now. Like he’s got all the time in the world.

Except you don’t.

There’s still so much you haven’t figured out, and no telling how many loops you have left before reality collapses entirely.

Reluctantly, you pull away from him once again, wrapping your arms around yourself instead. No matter what you do, it always seems one step forwards and two steps back with you and Bucky.

"Okay," you say quietly, letting out one long breath and then nodding. "What’s the plan?"

The corners of Bucky’s eyes crinkle with a grin.

* * *

"What do you want with Redwing?" Sam asks skeptically.

"Repair it." Bucky leans against the kitchen counter. His hair is still damp from his shower, and your eyes keep getting drawn to a single curl that’s hanging into his face.

Sam scoffs and continues his typing. "If it were that easy, I’d have fixed them already. One’s sensors got fried in that explosion, and the bullet that hit Two splintered into about five million tiny pieces."

"Sorry about that," you say.

"You didn’t shoot at him." He pauses, narrowing his eyes at you. "Tell me you didn’t shoot at him."

"I did not shoot at Redwing." You didn’t reset it happening, either, but you feel like now might not be the time to fess up.

"It’s going to take forever to patch them both up again, and I’ve not had that kind of time lately," Sam says, tilting his head at his laptop as a case in point. You feel awful.

"Let me take a look," Bucky presses.

"No offence, man, but you’re not exactly MacGyver," Sam grimaces. "And it’s not like there’s spare parts just lying around the place."

"Redwing’s Stark tech, right?" you ask thoughtfully.

"Wakandan. But the hardware’s still similar enough."

"I have an idea," you say, checking the time. "Either of you guys hungry yet?"

"I don’t know about this," Sam says about forty minutes and one time loop explanation later, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "How old did you say you are?"

"He’s a great kid," you tell him. "He’s a candidate for MIT."

Peter blinks. "I didn’t say—anyway, I, uhm. I used to intern at Stark Industries, so sure, I could take a look at it."

"Did you now," Sam says dryly.

"Yup. Just one summer though. Before the …" He swallows. "I was gone."

Something softens a little in Sam’s expression. "Same here, kiddo."

"Yeah, I know. I mean, I heard, I wasn’t there." Peter clears his throat, tucking his hands into his armpits. "So where’s the bird?"

"Why are you trying to fix your archnemesis?" you say, catching up with Bucky.

"It’s not my—" He cuts himself off, rolling his eyes when you grin. "I’d like an audio recording of the crowd when Sam gives his speech."

"Why?"

He hesitates. "It’s probably not even about the loop. It’s just …"

That frown you can recognize. That inkling suspicion, that 'it’s probably nothing, but I’d like confirmation'. It usually means he’s onto something.

"A clue?"

"Sure. Maybe. A clue."

"Okay then." You slip your pinkie into his.

"What," he chuckles, squeezing back, "no criticizing my plans?"

"I am nothing if not out of ideas," you sigh. "And who knows, maybe it’ll help."

You don’t usually go into Tony Stark’s old workroom. Most of the interesting stuff got packed up before the move to Avengers Campus, leaving a sterile looking, well-lit room with a large work bench and a single old rolling chair that Peter plops onto.

The Redwings are a rather sorry sight, laid out in their cases with all the extra pieces collected in small plastic bags. All of you watch as Peter cracks his knuckles before he carefully unscrews the busted top of Redwing One’s casing. Sam is hovering over his shoulder like he’s about to grade his efforts.

Waiting’s the worst part. At your request, FRIDAY puts on a 70s playlist that makes Sam tap his foot while he questions whether Peter’s declared his major yet—"no, uhm, they want us to do that at the end of our first year and I’ve not been admitted yet, so"—and his most recent eye appointment—"my vision’s 20/20, sir"—until they both finally let out a deep breath.

"Getting the spare parts won’t be the problem," Peter says, swiveling around in his chair. "I have that sorta stuff at home, it’s just a question of replacing the nanosensors and soldering the PCB."

"Sure," you say, understanding most of those words individually.

"The problem is, it’ll take me a couple of hours. There’s no way for me to get it done until, what, 2 p.m.? If we rush, dust could get into the circuit and it’ll all be a worse mess than it is right now."

"Told you," Sam says.

"What about the other one?" Bucky asks.

Peter grimaces. "That one’s gonna need a proper cleaning, ideally with ultrasonic equipment to get all the particles out. Sorry, Sarge."

Bucky just nods, then leaves the room without another word.

"I got it," Sam tells you when you start after him. "Put that lid back on and step away, MIT."

Peter holds up both of his hands, eyes flicking towards you. "Can’t break it if the loop resets, right?"

"You’re good," you confirm, still looking at the door.

His shoulders lose some of their tension as he leans back in his chair, clearly still impressed with everything going on. "So, how does it work?"

Your laugh comes out a little shrill. "I wish I could tell you."

"There was an episode of Star Trek TNG where they got stuck in a collision loop." He plays around with the screwdriver he’s still holding, his hands surprisingly quick. "Have you tried sending yourself messages as well?"

"Kind of," you say, thinking of Bucky’s writing on your arm and the tally marks on your legs.

"So cool."

"I don’t know about that," you reply. "It’s been weeks, and I still don’t understand how this loop is working. Especially now that there’s two of us who are aware it’s happening. Does that mean it’s still just one reality on repeat?"

Peter shrugs. "I dunno, I don’t know much about it, but in my experience, reality’s just what people remember. Who says there’s much more to it?"

"Right," you say. "It’s just us two getting looped. Your reality is mostly fine, it just happens over and over. But if you don’t realize that it does, it’s not actually a loop."

"I mean, maybe, maybe."

Maybe.

You can’t just separate one from the other. There’s that thing called the first law of thermodynamics.

"You know much about thermodynamics, Peter?"

"The, uh, basics, I guess? Perpetual motion is impossible, energy consumed by a system must be resupplied by an external source, everything is balance, that sorta stuff?"

Magic, as a whole, is always a balancing act.

You massage your stinging temples. "Top of your class, were you?"

Something flickers across his face before he smiles. "Nah. I’m more of an applied physics guy."

Once all of this is over, maybe you could introduce him to Bruce. He might enjoy the pop culture references as well.

Before you can suggest as much, Peter takes a look at his phone and curses under his breath. "Shoot, I’m sorry, I gotta go, I got a—photography club."

"Sure, don’t worry about it," you say. The symbols around your wrist tingle again, and you distractedly trace them with your thumb.

Funny, you think, how the timing of your intervention seems to completely derail his day. Last time, he said he was visiting his aunt.

* * *

Here’s the thing: When you’re able to travel through time, looking at the past becomes surprisingly emotionally taxing. Remembering what could have been, what might have been, what should have been in another, better universe is, you suppose, hard on everyone.

For someone with the ability to theoretically do something about all these what ifs, it’s ulcer inducing.

These are the kind of things, therefore, you force yourself to suppress most of the time. Ironically, it’s mostly the sort of moments that, at the time, you want to freeze and preserve forever. Looking back, they’re the ones that hurt the most.

Sometimes, though, you can’t help it. Some routines, some rituals that were established during happier times demand to be maintained, even if you’re the only one who remembers them anymore. Even if there’s other, more pressing things to do, secrets to work out, realities to stabilize.

Your hands know this rhythm.

You’ve let FRIDAY put on some music from one of Sam’s favorite playlists again, and you watch him nod along as he’s typing away on his laptop with a faraway focus. You smile as you wash your hands again, preheat the oven, grease your pan.

It takes him a little while to consciously notice what you’re doing. "Really?" he says. "It’s in the fricking nineties today and you’re baking?"

"We have a functioning AC," you reply. "I thought we should celebrate that."

"The planet is dying."

Be that it were only the planet.

"I’m making turtle pie," you say. "And cinnamon rolls."

That seems to placate him for the time being, because he moves to the living room area without further complaint.

You grimace in concentration as you transfer your pie crust to the pan for prebaking. You’ve never been particularly skilled at pies, but you’ve been living by the motto "trying counts for something" in all other aspects of life lately.

"You’re hovering again, Barnes," you say without turning.

"You’re baking." The surprise in his voice makes you smile.

"I am," you say. "Notice how there aren’t any flames erupting around me."

"Yet," Bucky says, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "I didn’t know you could bake."

"You never asked." You dust your hands off the excess flour. "It’s easier to think when I have something else to focus on, you know?"

"Can I help?"

You’re tempted to make another dig at his baking skills, but the way he looks at you makes you reconsider. "Can you knead with that arm?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

"I won’t be blamed if you malfunction. Are you dishwasher safe?"

"Give me that." He frowns slightly, looking at the ingredients you’ve started to measure out into your mixing bowl. "I thought you’re making pie?"

"I am. Well, and these."

"Ambitious." He swoops a finger through the mixture to try.

"Lots of thoughts require ambitious projects to procrastinate with."

He nods, and you fall into a sort of companionable silence you’ve not felt with him in a while. Sometimes, your arms brush as you work, and it sends a warm shiver up your entire arm.

You want to interlock your fingers again, pull him towards you, see if you can taste a hint of cinnamon on his lips.

"During the Blip …" you start, immediately unsure whether you want to share this particular story or not.

You watch Bucky’s hands, continuing to slowly and methodically fold the flour into the dough.

"Nat wasn’t allowed in the kitchen at all. She was so much worse than you." You laugh when he elbows you. "But there’s this stress-relief in baking, you know? In doing something with your hands, and by the end of it, you’ve got something you can give to others."

"I get that," he says, scraping at a particularly sticky piece of dough.

You nod and measure out your sugar. "Steve had a lot of late nights, especially those first couple of years, and there was only so much to do at all when you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with everyone blaming you for half the globe being gone."

"How was he?" There’s a careful fondness in Bucky’s voice that he usually hides. It makes you think about your answer.

"Lost, I think," you say, even though it seems lacking. Steve’s out-of-timeliness had always been very different to Bucky’s. You used to think he’d managed to rearrange himself over the years, to reorient himself in this new reality.

You didn’t realize he’d used an old compass before it was too late.

"I mean, everyone was," you add, even though you don’t really know why you’re defending him.

"Were you?"

"Desperately," you huff. "Turns out, though, when the world around you is upside down, it’s really nice to have some fixed points to look forward to."

"Like what?"

"Bath towels. Or making cinnamon rolls on someone’s birthday."

Bucky stops kneading, calculating in his head. "Is it—"

"Yup."

He curses under his breath.

"Yup." You sigh and grab the mixing bowl again. "Hand me the butter?"

"You need to add a pinch of nutmeg. And … cardamom, I think."

You stare at him in surprise.

"That’s ma’s recipe. I used to beg for these when I was a kid. I’ve not had them in ninety years or somethin’."

A warm feeling spreads in your stomach. "About time, then."

Usually, you’d get to skip over this part; the waiting. It’s your least favorite, when you’re stuck in between tasks, your crust in the oven, the other dough still proofing. You’ve never been very good at waiting.

You start scrubbing the counters furiously, your thoughts returning with a vengeance as soon as there’s a lull in your blessed distraction plan. The loop on your wrist is particularly itchy again today.

"Talk to me."

With a frustrated groan, you drop your sponge. "I keep thinking about physics. Like, maybe there’s some sort of equation or quantum experiment that’ll help us out."

Past and present and future all folded into each other and wrapped into one.

But how does any of that make sense with what you’re experiencing?

Humans can only be in one state at one particular time.

"You reckon we’re gonna be spacetime experts before the universe implodes?" Bucky remarks.

"They should just hand us our doctorates right now."

"James Barnes, PhD. My ma’d lose her mind."

"Eh, not as impressive as a racecar driver in the family if you ask me." You turn on the hot water tap to let the bowls soak and yelp when you’re pulled back against his chest.

"That so?"

"Hmm." Your heart is beating wildly as Bucky interlaces your fingers. "I’m still not convinced you should be allowed to drive with that flimsy piece of paper you call a license."

He rests his chin on your shoulder. "That’s pretty hurtful, doll. I’ve never had any complaints about my driving."

"Maybe everyone else you drove had a danger fetish."

You should probably turn off the water again. For the environment. But Bucky’s laugh fans across your cheek before he inhales, deeply, and you are so sick of pulling away from him.

"God, it’s so unfair," he whispers, leaving a trail of goosebumps running down your neck.

"What is?"

"You."

The oven timer starts beeping and you want to smash it with a baseball bat. Reluctantly, Bucky releases you from his hold to retrieve the pie crust while you prevent the imminent flooding of your kitchen sink.

It’s not even noon yet, you remind yourself. You’ve been over this. You don’t know how many semi-stable loops there are left, and you can’t afford to waste another one of them.

No matter how much you want to.

There’s a tense sort of silence between you as you finish up the pie and let Bucky revise your cinnamon roll ingredients.

"You know," you tell him, wiping another bowl clean, "Steve’s tried to recreate these for years."

Bucky crosses out another measurement. "That’s what you get for stealing a family recipe."

It’s started to smell heavenly in here; like dish soap and warm cookies. By the time the rolls are finally ready to bake, you’re sweaty and excited, and Sam’s checked in on the status of the goods twice. The air’s turned giddy with sugar and anticipation, the silence shifting into something more comfortable, almost peaceful.

How lovely to know a day like this can have pockets of lightness, you think; even if they’re fleeting.

Bucky’s hair has started to stick up in the back a little as you move around each other in a routine so easy it feels choreographed. Whenever you look at him, he’s already watching you, and it makes your heart jump every time.

"Hold on, you have a little …"

With a small grin, you reach out to wipe away the trace of glaze on his cheek. He catches your wrist, his eyes darkening.

You don’t breathe.

He pulls your hand closer to his mouth, licking the icing off your thumb without breaking eye contact. Fire rushes down your spine.

"Now who’s not playing fair?" you whisper.

"Fuck fair," he says. It comes out like a plea.

You despise yourself for shaking your head. "It’s too early."

You’ve agreed. There’s too much left to sort through. You’ve not even been to the astral plane today.

"Feels late to me," Bucky says, keeping hold of your hand. "Couple weeks late, at least."

Every part of you aches to close the distance between you, reality be damned. So what if it all unravels? No one but the two of you would remember, anyway.

It’s just you and Bucky, in the end, and doesn’t that count for something? You’ve already lost so much time getting stuck in this single day, time you can’t ever get back, because unlike everyone else, you can’t just go back to the beginning.

Not as long as you’re in the loop.

And just like that, with a sudden, crashing sense of clarity, you know how to finish this.

* * *

"Space and time and reality are related," you explain, drawing a bunch of overlapping circles and labeling them. "That’s what Strange said, that’s what Wong said. Even Peter."

In my experience, reality’s just what people remember.

"Dimension’s all a question of perspective. Right now, for Bucky and me, time is experienced as a loop, but for Sam here, it isn’t. Because he is physically in a different space than we are."

"No, I’m not."

"Yes, you are. This here," you hold up your arm, letting the green runes shimmer in the sunlight, "is breaking down the barriers between dimensions. If reality was stuck in a loop for everyone else, everyone else would remember, but they don’t. It’s just us. It’s just our reality."

"I’m getting a headache," Sam groans into his pie.

"Your timeline is normal," you tell him, drawing an arrow pointing to the left. "July fourth today. July third before that. No detours or anomalies. Your day always goes the way it’s supposed to. It just happens to intersect with our loop." You draw an infinity symbol cutting through the line, then point at its center "We meet right here, at this junction, and then your reality continues the way it’s supposed to and ours resets."

"I thought I’m the one that’s getting reset."

"So did I, at first. But we’re the ones continually jumping back to when Friday begins, over and over, with our memories intact. All of this," you trace over the infinity symbol multiple times, "is one linear timeline that’s weeks long, but been compressed to a single day."

"So then, if my reality continues …" Sam starts. "That means, for every single time you’ve been through the loop, there was a different version of me that just went on from there?"

"Exactly," you say, relieved. "Infinite versions in infinite universes."

"Sometimes I miss the simplicity of a good government conspiracy," he mumbles, grabbing another cinnamon roll.

Bucky frowns. "What does that mean for us?"

"There are versions of us outside the loop—obviously, we don’t just stop existing on July fifth. But because of the time loop, we can’t access them. Our consciousness can’t move on from this day, if you will."

Thus, Friday ad nauseum. And because the universe isn’t built to sustain all of this excess energy in just one single point, reality’s started to fracture; trying to relieve some of the added pressure through cracks and TAGs and inconsistencies.

"Then how do we get out?" Bucky asks.

You rub the empty spot on your pinkie. "That’s the part you’re not gonna like. As long as I’m stuck in the loop, my powers have to keep it upright. They’re tied up in it, that’s why I can’t use them. It’s perpetual motion in a closed system."

"So?"

Your wrist tingles. "So the only way to stop it for good is for me to be on the outside. I need to be the external source of the equation."

"How are you gonna do that?" Sam asks.

All the color drains from Bucky’s face. "No."

"You know I’m right," you say softly.

"No," Bucky repeats.

"I’m not liking this," Sam says, looking between the two of you.

"There’s no guarantee it works."

"It’s the only thing we’ve not tried." You look at Sam with a feeble smile. "I have to die."

"What?"

"I’m not watching you die," Bucky says loudly. His hands are balled into fists so tight they’re shaking. "There has to be something else we can try."

"And what would that be?"

"I don’t know! Maybe we need to go back to the astral plane, try something else."

"It’s not enough. It’s a liminal space."

"It has to be enough!"

"Bucky—"

"I’m not losing you!"

With a single slam, the couch table breaks straight down the middle. Bucky’s breaths are heavy, every muscle tense. A cursory glance would tell you his walls are all the way back up, but his eyes … his eyes tell a different story.

"We’re running out of time," you say gently. "If we do nothing, we’ll inevitably lose. And then we’re all fucked. We don’t know what a disintegrating reality is gonna do to the multiverse at large."

"To be honest, I don’t really give a shit."

Sam reaches out a hand. "Buck …"

"No, Sam. Why don’t I ever get to be selfish?" He shakes his head, his eyes welling up. "Why is it that every time I get a little bit of good in my life, the world’s about to end?"

"It’s going to work," you tell him.

Again, he shakes his head. "You can’t know that."

"No, but I do." You bite the inside of your cheek, hard. "I know because Strange told me I make it out of the loop. I’m the one who tells him how to find me. I can’t do that if I’m dead. It’s going to work."

For a while, Bucky just stares at you, shoulders drooping.

"When were you gonna tell me?" he asks quietly.

You shrug helplessly. "It never seemed like the right time."

"We’re stuck in a goddamn loop, and it never seemed like the right time?"

"Be angry with me all you want, but it doesn’t change the facts. We’ve been going around in circles, because that’s the very nature of this timeline. I need my powers back to set things straight." He refuses to catch your eye. "The only way for me to break the loop is not to be in it."

"How are you even going to know you have to do that if you don’t remember anything about today?"

Your mouth opens, then closes again. It’s a very good question, one you don’t know how to answer. How do you finish something you won’t know you’ve started?

"Plus, the loop’s still there and bound to you, right?" Sam cuts in, nodding at your wrist. "Regardless of perception. Who’s to say it’s not gonna implode if you can’t remember it?"

You let out a long sigh. "Because it’ll have to be bound to Bucky instead of me."

"Then just do that," Bucky argues. "I can handle it."

"I know that," you say. "But I still need my powers back."

"There’s another problem, too," Sam says frowning at the whiteboard. "Say it all works out like you’re saying and you get out of the loop while Bucky’s still inside. That means you have one shot. And if it doesn’t work …"

Yeah. You’ve seen it, too. It’s the biggest risk of your plan, and there’s no safety net that you can put up.

If it doesn’t work, Bucky’s going to stay stuck in the loop forever.

* * *

On the day you’re gonna die, you wake up on the couch in the living room area, alone. A deserted cup of coffee sits on the couch table. Everything is quiet.

You sit up slowly, stretching your aching limbs. Sam must’ve already left for Madison Square Garden, because the shield is no longer propped up against the counter. It gives you a nice window of time.

You bring your cup to the sink and finish the washing-up, carefully setting everything on the rack to dry. You wipe the counters. You check the fridge. You write a post-it for Bucky, just for the hell of it.

Right when you’re about to leave, there’s a meowing at your feet. Alpine stares at you with her wide, solemn eyes, like she means to impart long forgotten wisdoms on you.

More likely, she wants a treat.

"Hi, hellcat," you say fondly and she accepts a couple of scratches under her chin. "You seen your dad?"

She purrs for a bit, then bumps her head against your legs and occupies herself with the leftover tuna in her bowl. You sigh, deciding to leave her to it before she decides you need to be reacquainted with her claws.

"Bye, kitty," you whisper.

Her tail twitches.

You’re not surprised to find Bucky on the roof, looking out over Manhattan with an unreadable look on his face. It’s another perfectly sunny day, cloudless cerulean skies and too many degrees to be wearing a leather jacket.

He doesn’t turn when you step up next to him, and it makes your heart ache a little.

Look at me.

"Are you angry with me?"

He lets out a bone-deep sigh. "No."

"Could’ve fooled me."

It’s been a couple of days since you realized what you’re going to have to do, and to say the bubble has burst would be an understatement. There’s been more arguing; more negotiating; both of you clearly seeing where the other one is coming from and yet unwilling to accept it without a fight.

In the end, it’s made no difference. No matter which way you twist it, you need to stop this loop. And he’s not been able to come up with any other ideas towards that goal, either.

"I’m worried," Bucky says quietly.

You reach out for him, intertwining your pinkie with his metal one. "I’m not going to leave you in the loop. I promise."

He shakes his head. "I don’t give a shit about what happens to me."

"Well, I do."

"I’m worried about you." He tucks his chin into his chest. "That’s a helluva lot of pressure you’re putting yourself under, and you won’t even remember where it came from."

"You forget I thrive under pressure." You cast a sidewards glance at him. "Besides, I’ve got you on my side. So I’ve got nothing to be scared of."

It’s a half-truth. You’re terrified. You keep thinking about all the things that could go wrong, all the ways you could fail and condemn him to an infinity of loops in which he’s gonna die and you barely even know him yet.

And yet, when you look at him, your worried mind is soothed, every doubt replaced by something much more certain: He’s going to have your back.

You trust him with your life and you trust him with his, and that’s just going to have to be enough.

"If I—" you start, your voice cracking. "If I don’t get my memories back, when it’s done, I just … I should probably tell you now, right?"

For a few short, unending moments, Bucky doesn’t say anything. Your hands are getting sweaty.

"You know," he says quietly. "We never did try the Groundhog Day option."

Your hand tightens on the railing as your heartbeat kicks up. You glance at him from the side. His face is still hard, but determined. And there it is; that little glint of a challenge in his eyes.

A beat passes.

Your gaze drops to his mouth and he surges.

There’s a new edge to the way he kisses you this time. He holds your face in his hands like you’re something precious, and you can feel him pour all of his desperation into the kiss.

Tears spring to your eyes. You want nothing more than to just melt into the moment, forget everything else and keep kissing him forever. It’s not that simple, though.

"Just in case," you whisper, pulling his mouth to yours again.

You kiss him like it’s the last time and Bucky responds with the same urgency because you both know, deep down, it might well be.

"Just in case," he repeats against your lips as you come up for air, his voice dark and rough and full of fear.

You nod, almost imperceptibly.

He picks you up in one quick, fluid motion, and you rub your nose against his, breathing him in before you find his mouth again.

Again.

More.

You lose your shirt somewhere on the stairs. Your hands are shaking as you attempt to lock his door behind you.

His belt won’t unbuckle. He snaps it in two without taking his lips off your neck, and you let out a surprised laugh as he drops you on his bed.

Despite the growing heat, neither of you hurries this; quite the contrary. It’s a slow, reverent dance. Every inch of clothing that gets removed feels like peeling back another layer, leaving you both fully exposed for the very first time.

You kiss every single scar on his chest as he watches you through half-lidded, glassy eyes, his heart beating so wildly you can feel it just as well as your own. You interlace your fingers and pull him even closer, and when you press another kiss to the palm of his metal hand, he lets out a shaky breath.

When he finally sinks into you, you can taste yourself on his tongue, and your eyes roll back in your head because yes.

Nothing in your whole life has ever felt this right before.

I love you, you think, and the words are at the tip of your tongue when you tumble over the edge as Bucky mumbles sweet praises into your mouth. I love you I love you Iloveyou.

You think that maybe he knows, anyway.

* * *

"What are you thinking about?"

The sun is setting outside, leaving a reddish hue on Bucky’s hair. Your voice is rough after hours of talking and sex. You’ve spilled so many of your secrets you’ve lost count, and he listened to all of them.

Just in case.

You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and Bucky shudders. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Nothing."

His eyes betray him, like they always do.

"You are the worst liar I’ve ever met, Barnes."

"Being a good liar isn’t something to be proud of, you know."

There’s something so devastating about the way he looks at you, like he’s watching something shatter right in front of him. He kisses you again, softly, and it makes you forget your next thought.

"You …" He sighs. "I don’t want to lose this."

"Do you still trust me?" you ask him, voice quiet.

Bucky looks at you, huffing breathlessly, hesitant in a way that only lends more conviction to his answer. "Of course I do." Like there’s no doubt to be had.

It sends a thrill through you.

"I think it’s a good plan in theory, but it puts everything back on you again." He cups your cheek in his hand. "You’ll go back to hating me, and then I won’t be able to help you."

"I never hated you," you say. "I mean, you drive me up the walls sometimes, but I never hated you."

"Why not?" he asks. "I would."

You sit up a little to look at him straight, one hand pressed to his chest. "James Buchanan Barnes, you are more than worthy of all the good things in the universe to happen to you. I’m only sorry it took me that long to tell you."

The saddest little smile curls at the edge of his mouth as he evades your eyes.

"Hey," you say. "We’ll be fine."

"Yeah."

You lean in to kiss him, short and sweet. "I need you to promise me something."

"Hm?" A vibration against your lips.

"Don’t do anything stupid."

He grins, and it’s almost honest. "You know me."

"I do. That’s what I’m concerned about. When I do this, we get one try, and if I fail …"

"Don’t worry about me, sweetheart."

As if he’s not made that quite impossible.

"Fuck you, Barnes," you whisper.

His eyes melt a little, and you trace the little lines in their corners. "There she is."

You roll your eyes. "Bucky?"

He looks at you questioningly, and the words die on your lips. Instead, you pull him in for one more kiss, trying to pour everything you’re not able to say into it, your heart beating wildly.

He presses you deeper into the matress, and you savor every second of this feeling. His stubble scratching across your cheek, the way your fingers slip perfectly into his mussed hair, the low, soothing hum of his arm.

This, you think. This should have been the kind of day that got stuck all along.

You roll on top of him again. His hands catch your waist, warm and cold against your skin, and you shudder as he smiles into your mouth.

One more, you think, sinking back into the kiss. One more. Just one more.

You bring him even closer to you with one hand as the other one slips under his pillow, carefully angling yourself forwards.

Just in case.

"It’s strange," you whisper. "Somehow I wish we had more time."

A hot tear falls on Bucky’s cheek. His eyes widen.

It’s the last thing you see before you put his gun against your temple and pull the trigger.

chapter twelve

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚 we're in the endgame now and you are so welcome to shout at me in the comments/tags 😈

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes series #intrepidacious #i am so in love with this fic #i just run out of words every time i read it #time after time

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cookietails · 14 hours ago

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Happy Julance... 🎀

Day 12: Undercover

It's not an undercover mission without a spicy, kick ass outfit, is it? Enjoy.

Ao3: [X]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

“You want me to do what now?”

“Lance, it’s not a big deal.” Pidge states bluntly, yawning at the outfit held out in front of them by Allura.

Hunk chuckles, murmurs, “Oh man…” to himself, Shiro raises a questionable eyebrow, and Keith has a broad hand covering over his face. Coran’s eyes are sparkling like the finest of diamonds, before he interjects: “Yes, it’s just for the mission, my boy!”

“This is… something.” Lance hesitantly responds, brow twitching.

“It’s a beautiful outfit.” Allura explains, almost too delightfully; eyes shimmering in delight, not dissimilar to Coran.

The outfit was quite extravagant—but essentially, it’s a fancier version of a maid outfit type dress; royal blue with golden trims across the front of the fabric where the front buttons line up, two skirt like petals on the back of the top, blue that gradients into purple and red tips, with a matching blue skirt and white thigh high socks underneath.

It's a magical bishoujo heroine on crack.

“Why don’t you wear it, Princess?” Lance asks, a little defensively.

“Well…” Allura thinks this through, strategically picking every word in accordance. “I would be caught immediately. It would be improper for me to, considering my role amongst the team.” She explains.

Lance narrows his eyes in her direction. “But… you can shapeshift.”

Allura smiles wider. “…Please?”

“Ugh, can’t Keith wear this? Or, Pidge?” His negotiation tactics fall onto deaf ears.

“Leave us out of this.” Keith and Pidge both demand in unison. Lance groans, low and mighty enough to get their point across. “Shiro?!”

Shiro puts their hands up defensively, patting the air as he looks away from the outfit in Allura’s hand. “Nope, I am not getting involved.”

“Coran…?” He pleads, almost in feigned tears at this audacious request. There is no way.

“I think you’d look quite dashing in it.” Coran nods, agreeing with Allura. He grabs the other side of the outfit in Allura’s hands and stretches it out. “Look, it’s even got frills on the arm sleeves! Very stylish.”

Lance raises his hands, almost as if he’s pleading to the wider universe to pay attention to this debauchery. “Oh, come ON.”

“C’mon, just try it on!” Coran grabs his hand, pulling him along while Lance whines with an abundance of complaints. “We have to seduce the prince for information somehow!”

“Se-Seduce? Can’t I do that with a normal tuxedo or something?!”

“He has specific tastes.” Coran responds, throwing him behind the cryopod with the outfit. “C’mon, hop to it!”

After a few minutes of rustling and silence, Lance meekly walks out, a faint blush swept across his cheeks. He feels ridiculous. Genuinely, this is probably the most mortifying idea they’ve ever had as a team.

Unfortunately, the outfit fits way too well and he receives the opposite response from Allura.

“Perfect.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

They arrive in time for a Gala on the outer Kingdom of Triyal, a planet in the Xercin galaxy.

The plan is for Lance to distract the Prince of Triyal, flirt with them, maybe make them drink more Nunvil to ensure his lips are loose, and retrieve information on the upcoming coup against the Coalition whilst the others lay low within the Gala and retrieve information through other means. Keith and Shiro will be around him at all times to ensure the mission is a success (and to go full bodyguard in case the Prince gets a little too hands on).

Tonight, Lance is Leandro Pike, a cultural advisor of the planet Croixal. Maybe even royalty, if he plays his cards right (and if the prince will believe him).

As soon as he walks into the Gala, team in tow with this insane outfit and glitter across his eyes, he feels the piercing eyes of the Prince from across the hall. The Prince looks Altean, almost a cut clean copy except for the grizzled appearance, the marks illuminating all down his cheeks—like streaks, rather than crescents beneath his eyes—that extend from the outer corners of his eyes. He looks dangerous, like a mafia boss rather than a Prince.

The rest of his team are in typical formal attire, all associated with their colours.

He feels the deepest ick feeling submerge into his heart, but he carries on with duty.

“This is humiliating.” He whispers to Keith on his right. “I look like I’m cosplaying an anime Pidge watches in their free time.”

“You look… nice.” Keith offers with a small smile. It throws Lance right off kilter, so he chuckles briefly at his space ranger partner with a wide brim smile.

“...Thanks for trying, Keith.”

Keith discreetly slips a hand in his, his fingers intertwining for a few seconds while they’re surrounded by socialites partying none the wiser. He squeezes, then pulls away just as quickly. Lance fumbles, feels a little dizzy from the sudden contact when he turns in his direction.

“You got this,” Keith says with such a charming, elegant smile. What did he do to deserve that? “We’ll be right with you.”

Shiro chimes in with a little mirth in his smile from the other side of Lance: “I’ll be here too, but you might be tempting the wrong prince.”

“…Huh? But, there’s only one prince?” Lance responds, brows furrowing with a little confusion. Keith narrows his eyes at his brother with a ruddy red colour blooming on his cheeks. “Shiro—“

“Why, hello there.”

All three of them turn to the Prince. Allura and Pidge quickly mesh with the crowd and become illusive socialites.

“I see, three is company?” His speech is a little off, he looks slightly tipsy, and his eyes are on the prize. Lance walks towards him with the grace of a prince.

“It could be one if you want it to be.” Lance immediately responds, low in volume but oozing with appeal. He sinks his claws right in, and his prey eats it up for breakfast.

“How bold, I do love your attire. It’s very flattering on you.” Coran was right. “My apologies, I’m Prince Axello, Prince of the Planet of Triyal.”

He extends a hand out while Keith tries not to grit his teeth. Shiro moves to the other side and with no sense of subtlety, takes Keith’s arm and drags him away. Lance shakes it in return, notably lingering his fingers over his rugged ones and plays up the innocent act.

“…Leandro Pike, Cultural Advisor for the Council of Croixal. It’s an honour to make your acquaintance.”

The Prince smiles, eating up the explicit attention. “I must say I’ve never seen eyes so strikingly blue. Is that common on your planet or are you just unique?”

2/10, it doesn’t land like he hopes because he slurs at the tail end and Lance has standards. However, Lance pretends to chuckle, smacks his arm lightly and gracefully, and puts on his very best interested face. “Oh… uh, you.”

It feels terribly fake.

Suddenly, the eye contact radiating from the Prince feels very predatory. Lance shivers (and not in the hot, sexy way). Eugh.

“Forgive me for being a little forward, but would you like to see… my…” he leans a little too forward; right into his ear with a disturbingly hot breath. “Chambers?”

His heart drops as he feels Axello’s hot breath linger into his eardrum, his pulse quickening in fright. He plays it off and theatrically giggles, a little too jerky and fraught. Shiro and Keith are blended into the crowd now, but he can feel their protective stares honing into their conversation.

Lance offers a quick alternative to ease the tension lingering in the air, “How about a drink first? I would love to know more about your culture.”

Play cool, be cool, keep cool.

“You’re fascinating.” The Prince laughs, a little too treacherously for his liking.

Lance laughs too, polite with an easy charm, “Well, in my culture, you gotta work for a slice of blueberry pie, should you not?”

Prince Axello chuckles, low and predatory. “Well, Leandro; Sir. Cultural Advisor, teach me more about your culture… before I show you mine.”

Okay, 4/10, a bit better but not that great of a line either. Despite that, he loops his arm into his and leans in to whisper, sultry and wondrous, in his ear back, “Lead the way, Prince.” His warm face blooms a bolder red, and Lance knows he’s hit the mark.

He can feel the distinct feeling of being watched by others; not just his teammates. He does his best to lean into the Prince, ignoring it all.

Mission Seduction is underway.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

It’s very clear the Prince loves to drink. Either that, or he’s hoping he’ll drink too so they both get tipsy enough to spend the night in his chambers.

Not happening, but Lance appreciates the effort, he supposes.

“Another drink?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Pick whatever your heart desires.” Prince Axello lifts a thick brow in an attempt to thicken his flirting game. “Even if it’s me? In my Chambers, Leandro?”

Ick. 0/10.

“Sure…” He randomly picks one of the drinks that’s handed to him on a silver platter from what he suspects are just everyday waiters for the Gala. It’s red, a little sparkly like starlight, but he pretends to take a sip anyway. “But, I would love to know more about your relationship with other cultures too.” He says politely.

“What would you like to know, Leandro?” Prince Axello queries curiously.

Christ. Is it too on the nose to ask directly? Lance is so nervous he’ll be called out. But maybe his drinking might throw him off the trail. He takes the risk. “Let me think.” He pops a finger on his chin, patting it with feigned thought. “What about…” He moves his finger and starts fingering his royal tunic, tapping his fingers on his chest like he’s nothing but into the dude. “The Galra?”

“Ah yes, I know a lot about the Galra.” Bullseye. “They’re very possessive in nature, but they’re a good race; perhaps a little more traditional than most. I’m in talks with them right now, actually.”

“Oh? Whatever for?” He glides into the conversation smoothly.

In his peripherals, he sees Pidge and Keith taking some food from the banquet table, whispering amongst one another. Keith’s senses are extra sensitive—thanks to his half-Galran lineage—so he should be able to hear this conversation (theoretically).

“Well, our planet is not a part of the Coalition.” He takes a sip, his eyes not leaving his line of sight. Is it too hot in here? “As you may be aware, the Empire wants us to bear fruitful relationships in the interim. Political stuff, you must know how that is, Leandro.”

“I certainly do,” Lance pulls gently on the front of his tunic, pulling him a little closer and serving sultry eyes for his dessert. “I know all about them, being Cultural Advisor of my planet. It must be so stressful for you as a Prince. I can be an open ear for you, if you’d like that?”

“Oh? Are you offering stress relief?” The Prince responds, oh so smugly. “That can be arranged.”

Lance hears a plate drop in the background. He pulls back, and takes a (pretend) sip of his drink and puts it down, ready to politely reject his explicit agenda. “My liege, I…”

He looks up to the Prince growling at him. “Say that again?”

“Apologies, did I offend you?” He says, patting down his tunic and stepping back. He feels a bit dizzy and lost in direction when the Prince instead steps forward to match.

Uh oh.

“No, I just, I’m terribly sorry, I—” He does not look sorry at all. “You just, to be frank, got me extra aroused saying ‘my liege.’ Say it again.”

Oh shit. That was not…

“Can you say it again?”

“I, uh…”

“You're shy now?” He gleams, sending a malicious smirk his way. “Simply adorable.”

“N-No! I, just, um. I-I just wasn’t expecting your boldness, my liege.” Oh fuck. He said it again. His confidence shatters and a fragrant blush blooms on his cheeks, bright as scarlet as the Prince takes a mighty, confident step forward. “I, I-I mean, um.”

You see, he might be loverboy Lance, but Lance is not ever able to recover from someone sending him signals. It throws him so off kilter, the mission is borderline in crisis now. He needs to pick himself up and rein it in before it’s compromised.

The Prince grabs his wrist and he has to stop himself from shrieking like a banshee. He feels a bead of sweat drip down from his temple, his smile becomes too shy and it sends the completely wrong message to the Prince.

Get. It. Together. Lance.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want…” The Prince glimmers, pulling him from the wrist, arm across the waist and hugs Lance way too tight, lips centimetres from his. It’s less on the sexy side and more on the ‘I need to run immediately’ side. “...If you come with me to my Chambers?”

Oh, he’s pushy, but he might be able to turn this around. His heart is pounding. His skin is trembling. These are not the good kind. He feels a little scared.

But he braces himself. Puts on his best sultry smile. Takes the risk. “It would be an honour, my liege.”

He hears another plate drop and feels an intense stare from his peripherals. Still, he lets himself be led, fingers tingling from the vice grip around his wrist.

Look, it might not be the best idea, but he can’t shoot his way out of a corner. He can shoot his way out of a Royal Chamber though.

He does try to find a familiar gaze as soon as the Prince pulls on his wrist.

He locks on to Keith and Pidge, who are staring from the banquet. They stare back.

A mutual understanding between eyes. He feels safe. It's go time.

As he’s pulled in the direction of the halls, the hallways blur by in velvet, reds, and gold, guards turning discreetly as they pass.

As they approach the chamber, the doors swing open, and as soon as he steps in he notices that the room is suffocating with opulence.

Curtains like blood. Candles lit in uneven rows. A faint, pulsing hum in the air like the walls themselves are breathing.

Lance's foot hesitates on the threshold, and the Prince senses it. “No need to be shy,” he purrs, his voice lower now, edged sharp like a blade. “You said it yourself… An honour, right?”

Shuddering, Lance steps inside. Not because he wants to, but because the door has already started closing behind him. He takes a deep breath.

Click.

He scans. Every instinct twitching. His heart races from the danger. But he knows his friends are just outside, lying in wait for anything to go wrong.

He feels the thrum of his bayard, hiding beneath the blue glow of the garter beneath his shorts.

“This room is… exquisite, my liege.”

“Quite, isn’t it.”

The Prince walks forward, sits in front of the edge of the extremely over-compensation bed, and then looks at him like a piece of meat. “Turn around.”

“I-I’m sorry…?” He feels his eye twitch as he plasters on a small, polite smile, posture straight like a threatened cat.

“Turn. Around.”

Sigh. He knew this mission, wearing this god awful cosplay was the worst idea. So he does what he does best. He oozes fake confidence and twirls around like a magical girl.

“Too quick. Slower.”

The internal groan he exhales is excruciatingly long. Externally, he smiles wider, pulls his best sultry face. He twirls, elegant, graceful, and flips up the two petals on the back of his tunic like a runway model showing off certain pieces of their intricate outfit. It exposes the back of his shorts, which isn’t anything special, but it does something to the recipient and thinks maybe he did a good job.

Back to the Prince, he turns his head towards him and his jaw almost drops. Sometime in between all of that, Axello is now topless, broad hands unbuckling his belt.

“Uh, um, m-my liege…? What are you doing?”

He rips the belts from the loops and whacks it on the bed edge. The whack creates this provocative sound that rips Lance’s heart in fear.

“Just getting ready. Ask away.”

Oh. Oh! Time to ask what he needs for the mission. Got it. He’s on a time crunch. Great.

“H-How…” he coughs, a little shaken by the unwanted, bold nature of the Prince. He looks away and he swears he can hear a growl emanating from his mouth. He sounds like a lawnmower.

“How do you feel about the Coalition? Th-they’ve been vital to learning more for my role as a Cultural Advisor.”

“Hate ‘em, baby.” He says, tone filled with a weird mix of turned on and hatred.

Interesting. Also, gross.

“…Why?”

“Look, they upset the Galra Empire, and therefore upset the trade markets for our planet, which is run by the Galrans. Makes my job harder. We have to make them happy politically so they don’t overrule my planet.” He explains, eyeing him off once again like a piece of meat. Ick.

It’s… reasonable, I guess.

“Makes sense.”

“Leandro, do you want to show me what your culture can do?” The Prince requests. Lance turns around, brows furrowing in confusion. “Uh, we have… great, mining operations? I don’t know how to show you that, though.”

Axello bursts out into laughter, loud and maniacal. It scares him a little but he keeps his posture straight.

“You come into my palace wearing that, not knowing what that implies?”

Huh.

“It’s a servant-type of outfit. Surely, you know what that means. Your planet served you on a platter for me to have. Stress relief.”

He knew it.

He’s gonna kill Allura and Coran later.

“Right. Apologies, I did not realise.” Lance expresses, bowing politely in response. He cringes, that was very maid-like too.

“You’re too cute.” He smiles at him, almost genuinely. He feels sick. “Come here.”

He walks forward, trying excruciatingly hard not to show his disgust as this ick of a Prince unbuttons his pants. “Be a good servant.”

He feels the thrum of his bayard, waiting to be summoned by his garter. Lance unbuttons his shorts and pulls them down, kicking them off on the floor with his shoes; thigh high socks and garter on display so he has better access to the garter. Axello licks his lips in excitement.

“Getting ready for me?”

“You know it.”

“Love your confidence.”

He’s gonna hurl, but he’s got to play the part. He kneels down on the ground and turns around, confusion displayed on Axello’s face.

“Axello, can you help…” Lance turns his head back around to the Prince with such innocence, that he’s unsure if he oversold it or not. “Unbutton my blouse from the back? It’s…” he looks down, lingering his eyes from the floor to his treacherous gaze. “It’s hard to reach… my liege.”

Ready to devour him, Axello does as requested. He places a hand on his garter, closing his eyes and focusing his energy on the thrumming he feels within his fingertips. He uncomfortably hears his pants fall to the floor, hands on his collar, and he takes his opportunity.

At the same time, Lance feels the energy of Pidge, Keith, just beyond the door…

His bayard comes to life in his hand, immediately shifting its form into an Altean broadsword and he swings his body around, sword to his neck. He stands quickly and kneels one knee down on the bed just as quick, threatening him for all his worth.

Axello frowns at the turn of events. “What is this, Leandro?” Lance glares at him, ready to kill if he needs to.

“Tell me all you know about the coup.”

“This is kind of hot. I love the hot and cold nature of you.”

He doesn’t respond. Axello sighs. “Nothing?”

“I’m not into you. Sorry.”

“I figured that when you put a sword next to my neck. You should bend over next time before you threaten royalty like this.”

Lance’s glare deepens to hatred. “Keith. Pidge.”

Suddenly, the two paladins burst into the room and have their eyes slammed by the sight of Lance in his attire, sword against the Prince’s neck.

“La…” Keith’s face morphs into a few facial expressions in half a second; shock, anger, impressed, turned on, then back to the mask of defiance, ready to fight.

Pidge notices the pause, but doesn’t say anything—more focused on any impending dangers surrounding them rather than Keith’s existential crisis masked beneath his poker face. Pidge runs to cuff Axello’s hands behind his back whilst Keith walks right up to the scene. If he notices the shorts on the floor, he does not comment. Not the time.

“You okay?” Keith checks in. “Not hurt?”

“Peachy.” Lance says, blade still on their neck. Axello’s gaze lingers on Lance’s face.

As Lance moves his sword away (once Pidge has safely cuffed him) Prince Axello chimes in, raw with defensive anger: “This slutty maid of a spy? This is so ridi—“

Keith elbows him in the face, knocking him out cold.

Lance turns to him with a look that says why did you do that? But it quickly disperses, as Keith wordlessly passes over his shorts, pointedly not looking at him, a blush swept over his cheeks.

“You shouldn’t have agreed to go to the Chambers. What if we weren’t there?”

Lance stalls, gently grabs the shorts and holds it tight. He blushes too. His body trembles as the aftershock echoes through his body.

Keith’s right, he could’ve been assaulted. He shouldn’t have taken the risk. If Keith and Pidge weren’t around, he’d have been screwed.

Humiliation frills across his skin.

“…I’m sorry.” Lance murmurs low, tinged with embarrassment.

Keith turns around, eyes on the floor but the blush is now on full display.

“…No, I’m sorry. You did a great job. We trust you and you don’t need protection, but I should’ve done a better job in protecting you knowing you were put in a vulnerable situation in the first place.”

Lance lifts his gaze to him, blue eyes shimmering in appreciation. Wow, he’s actually—

“This is nice and all,” Pidge breaks their moment, snapping them both out of it like glass shattering on a window. “But we have a knocked out Prince in his bed. We need to leave his chambers without being caught.”

Right. That is a huge problem.

Keith and Pidge pull him under the covers, making him look like he was knocked out from drinking. In the meantime, Lance tries to fix his attire, puts on his shorts and tries to rebutton the back. This button is excruciating to clip on.

“Need a hand?”

He feels warm hands move his hands to his front, and reclips the button. It feels extremely intimate. “There you go.”

His cheeks warm slightly at the touch. Unimaginably shy, Lance turns to him and nods with thanks. An echoed smile is sent back to him.

Pidge, seeing all of it, rolls their eyes and murmurs to themself: “Can’t wait to tell Hunk this one back on the ship.”

All in all, the mission was successful and they managed to sneak out of the Gala without a hitch, and with new credible information about the Galra Empire’s coup.

Except…

“Coran, why Lance?” Hunk asks inquisitively, waiting with Coran for everyone else to arrive back on the Castleship. He receives a smirk in return.

“He’s got a good body, that boy.” Coran says slyly, pulling at his mustache with glee. “If you got it, flaunt it, I say. Have I ever told you about the time Alfor and I went on a similar mission together?”

“The same outfit?” Hunk blinks at him incredulously.

“The very same, and might I say, I looked quite dashing.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

#julance #happy julance! 💙#2025 julance #julance2025 #vld fic #voltron #vld #vld lance #lance mcclain #minor klance #maid outfit lance #lmfaoo #magical girl lance mcclain #cardcaptor lance #I'm sorry I couldn't help myself #cw: suggestive #coran coran the gorgeous man #ofc he has one of these outfits

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oldtvandcomics · 1 year ago

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All the crimes the 2013 movie committed, etc etc, but the sad thing is, you COULD bring magic into that world, if you really wanted. Just. Not Like That.

What I would do, is make Tonto magic. So, I fully stand with what I said - at some point in 2020, maybe? - about Tonto being a Science Superhero. He really is. In a way that is just so 1950's, the supernatural doesn't really have any place in the Lone Ranger mythos. But if it did? It would show itself in all the small ways that the story itself bends reality, to make it something softer, something more child-friendly.

Like, you have a Realistic Situation, and then these two figures show up with their horses, and suddenly Reality doesn't quite work that way, and you can outwit the bad guys and silver bullets are actually a good weapon (they are not. Silver is not a good material to make bullets from. There is a reason why we don't do that). And then they leave, and normality resumes, and you will never understand what happened there.

So it is the heroes themselves who have reality bending powers, and, well, Tonto is the one who has been doing it longer. It could explain why he is always where needed, why everyone seems to be his friend, how he always has the right medicine, why he doesn't need a tent, how he can spend weeks riding through the desert and come out looking perfectly clean and well-groomed, how the fuck he hasn't died of a concussion yet....

And John, John would kind of drop out of the Real World, and be bewildered about these things first, but the longer he spends living with Tonto, the more he himself would start to bend reality. Bullets always miss him. His horse never grows tired. One day, they arrive at a town, and he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, perfectly clean and well-groomed, despite having spent weeks in the desert with no water to wash his body, let alone his clothes...

(You would of course have to be very careful doing this to avoid racist stereotypes, but that is the case while writing Tonto no matter what. Also, this started out as a dig to the 2013 movie, and, come on, they had MORE than enough money for sensitivity readers, if only they'd used it)

#Silver is of course magic #we all agree that Silver is magic right #as in he is magic even IN THE UNIVERSE WITHOUT MAGIC #but that's a different question #my point kind of is:#these are superheroes #superheroes are kind of inhuman in the way they bend Reality around them #so that it stops being Reality and becomes a Story #The Lone Ranger would be a fun example because he is NOT part of a gigantesque extended universe #just two men who are clearly not quite of this world #could be SUPER FUN if executed correctly #fanfiction ideas #Lone Ranger #superheroes #fuck the 2013 movie don't watch the 2013 movie all my homies hate the 2013 movie #had to be said somewhere

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rubynymphyy · 4 months ago

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❖NEON DREAMS❖

the house always wins.

Marigold on Toyhou.se - Cress on Toyhou.se

#my art #my ocs #pokemon gijinka #pkg ocs #luxray gijinka #shiny empoleon gijinka #sin city pkg #mlm ocs #pkg #collar and leash #collar... cress is making a point dont worry about it #marigold: probably a good idea to share a chair so we can discuss without everyone else being able to hear. presents a united voice #cress: where can i put my legs that says 'Come To My Room Tonight' but still retains a veil of plausible deniability and professionalism #there is no veil of plausible deniability.#maricress is also hilarious to me because theyre in the casino #and cress bet his life and won (safety) on a one in a million chance he didnt even know was possible. love them #sin city universe is full of magic powers n gods but maricress are the lucky ones #heh

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moeblob · 1 year ago

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(throws them into a modern AU)

So since Ymber wouldn't be a deity there are some things he lacks physically - such as no pointed ears and no bright blue undertones to his hair. Just the basic blue. (does he dye it in a modern AU ? who knows) Also while he doesn't have a collar to symbolize his servitude to humans I still think he should have a choker.

I had some help a while back brainstorming how there would be some form of "superior" dynamic could still exist and I really liked the idea given that he's a famous architect. (he does design all constructs for his city as a deity so it checks out - he likes buildings) And Deacon just admires all the guy's works and never expects to run into him but of course they do! Gotta have a very awkward "oh it's you I'm going to melt into the earth" and "I have no idea who you are but we should hang out".

Sooo Deacon still just really admires Ymber and feels like they're on totally different levels and doesn't understand why Ymber would want to associate with him since he's just a "boring human".

#my characters #then deacon proceeds to ask a lot of questions about designing buildings and somehow they manage to be weird questions #you cannot take the weird questions away from him i wont allow it #this man has to accidentally make things even more awkward with ymber #also i was thinking about drawing them then was like mmmm maybe different ocs ?#and then spun my RNG wheel that is just colors and it landed on blue so whatever they're blue coded lets go #ymber the architect is just a fun idea and i love it let the man design things #and let deacon just appreciate all the work without having met the guy but accidentally meet him #there are only two problems with this kinda au and that is now that ymber ISNT a deity and DOESNT have a deity aura glow #how does deacon with facial blindness just know its him right away #and the other problem is aside from ymber just liking his neck in all universes ive decided - hes also injured when they meet in two #so its important to figure out how hed be injured in an au where he just is sort of reclusive and designs buildings #like how does mr ymber get injured here #there are things i need to figure out #also up for debate is ohime and ohiwe since they were originally just one person #i think i might use oh solo for the modern au instead of a duo since they wouldnt have the magic to be divided for misbehaving #i dont usually do the mermaid may stuff but i wanna do something for these two even if just as my sole contribution to the month

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randomnameless · 1 year ago

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Typing about the best wildlife scholar made me realise something -

We know Dheginsea's extremist isolationist and non-interventionist policies were motivated by his wish to stop the propagation of wars, or at least, not to create a situation where the entire continent would be engulfed in War, else Ashera would wake up and erase the population.

Which is what he ultimately believes happened - that's why we fight against him in FE10, because the plot is stupid and cannot have Yune tell him "hi! We were woken by Galdr, Ashera mistakingly believes the inverse!" before his ultimate defeat.

But thinking more about it -

The Three Heroes (tfw Lehran's not part of the gang) made a pact with the Goddesses : they had to ensure 1k years of peace else they would stone Humanity. If they wake up in 1k years and the world is in chaos, they would stone it. If not, then kumbaya.

If they wake up before those 1k years due to war, the world is stone. If they are awoken by Galdr, they should, uh, talk to each other to decide what to do.

To Dheginsea, the only person who could sing the Galdr of Release, Lehran, lost the power to do so when he lost his abilities as a Laguz : ergo, without any possibility to wake the Goddesses up with Galdr, the only way to avoid Ashera's judgment was to avoid wars for 1000 years, even if it means... well, ignoring people suffering and letting them die at your doorstep.

So, Dheginsea, if he revealed the truth about Lehran, would have started a war against Beorcs (there's no way Laguz who know the truth will accept the status quo that if they live too closely with Beorcs they die), and without Galdr : Ashera wakes up "with war" and stones everyone.

If he intervened like Lehran wanted, and had Goldoa stomp Begnion/Beorcs who enslaves Laguz? Ashera wakes up "with war" and stones everyone, since she can't be waken up with Galdr anymore.

Hell, if Dheginsea terminated Ashnard and Daein as he planned too after losing Rajaion and Almedha (what FE10 tells us... but can we seriously believe this when in FE9 he dgaf about the situation?), again we have the same situation : Ashera wakes up due to war and stones everyone.

The only reason why the cast "won" and Tellius isn't stoned anymore is because unbestknown to Lehran, Dheginsea and well, everyone in Tellius, Lehran's branded descendants (who conveniently weren't all wiped out!) can actually sing the Galdr of Release and release Yune, who can circumvent the "Ashera wakes up with war and stone everyone".

-> When Lehran lost his powers and couldn't act as an alarm anymore, the only way to "wake the goddesses before 1k years happen" is with war and their judgment would be to kill everyone.

So Dheginsea had to grit his teeth and accept every fucked up thing that happened in Tellius because Lehran - due to this world's crappy mechanics - cannot "wake up the Goddesses" earlier and ask them to withold their judgment : if there is a war they will kill everyone - they must endure for 1k years, else Tellius is doomed.

Tl;Dr : TFW "make love not war" backfired in Lehran's case, and completely fucked up the covenant they had with the goddesses and if Miccy chocked on a pretzel, Lehran's love for Altina (aka him losing his powers) would have led to Tellius being wiped out even without his own participation.

#Tellius stuff #tfw the events of the game are triggered by the crappy universe mechanics #imagine their despair when Lehran loses his ability to sing the Galdr #'oh crap you were the only one able to sing to wake them up without the massive stoning what should we do?'#hopefully his branded descendants magically inherited the lyrics and tune but #can this also explain Lehran's despair that led him to agree to the massive stoning? idk #idk how much of a hand Lehran had in the entire Daein debacle #Goldoa being moved in the war Ashnard was trying to create fit with his plans #but it also implied he sacrificed his friend's children to have him 'react' and join the war meant to kill everyone?#or he knew Dheginsea and his kids would escape Ashera's judgment? idk #Dheginsea 'we only have to wait 200 years before they wake up we can do it'#Almedha 'dad i'm going to explore the world and fuck a beorc what could even happen?'#Lekain 'damn those subhumans what if I genocide a few of them for funsies? That'll make that subhuman blooded apostle mad lol'#'or maybe i can kill her too and rule over begnion for the lols?'#and then izuka graduated #those were the last 200 meters and they fucked the last lap #FE10 #this verse I swear #how much Lehran's despair was fueled by his inability to keep his promise to the goddesses?#and how did the 'great news' affected his allies and the world?

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imasadhashbrown · 8 months ago

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When you think about it telekinesis is ridiculously overpowered

And any person who isn't capable of taking down armies single-handedly is an idiot who doesn't know how to use it

Being able to move things with your mind, even if you are restricted to what you could move normally is baffling

1. If you can move things behind your head, you clearly don't need to see things to be able to affect them.

Including inside people's bodies.

Squish the squishy little brains

Simply stop the heart from moving

Mush the mushy organs around

1.5 You could also affect your own

Stop your heart, but ensure the same amount of force is used to keep your blood moving, so anyone with super senses can't hear your heartbeat

Help move air into and out of your lungs for the same reason

Perfect poker face

2. If you are aware of whatever you are using telekinesis on, regardless of the amount of force, you can simply apply a tiny amount of pressure on Everything Around You

Perfect spacial awareness

You know exactly what is inside that safe without needing to open it

The dirt looks like it was disturbed, I wonder what's under there? Oh, someone buried a chest filled with stuff they wanted to keep hidden

3. Hand-Eye Coordination is not necessary

Win at darts every time

Perfect knife tricks

I threw a bunch of needles in the air, and my ability to keep track of them doesn't matter if I just control the area and throw them at you as a group over and over again

I Ran Out Of Arrows/Knives/Darts/Really Sharp Throwing Cards! Oh... wait... never-ending!

4. You can be really good at ignoring wounds

Yeah, I got hurt a while ago and I didn't have time to bandage it cause we were in the middle of a fight, but if just kept everything in place so I'm not bleeding out or anything

I am my own splint

#telekinesis #overpowered #superpowers #if its a universe where magic also exists #even just sticking with dc and marvel #if you can picture basically pressing a word into sand or mud #why wouldnt you be able to do the same with runes or sigils?#better concentration means more complicated stuff #depending on the rules of the magic system #you might even just be able to carry around sand and have it make shapes in the air #or dirt #or water #maybe even the air itself if you're making it be pressurized or following specific currents #I don't know #but sticking with sheer strength is so ridiculous #like #if i had telekineses i would probably just use it for grabbing things without getting up #or weird party tricks #But I Would Definitely Get More Creative Than #Lift a heavy rock #lift a heavier rock #the only character I really hear of that actually uses Telekineses creatively is #kon el #superboy #and he's great #but with the amount of characters with telekineses #there needs to be way more #it's a mental ability #use your heads

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ourlordapollo · 1 year ago

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And if I told you I finally came up with a fucking framing device for my Twinkfred von Karma origin story series thing

#it's really crazy how things can influence you without you ever realizing like. i was really into Kung Fu Panda after it first came out #like REALLY into Kung Fu Panda #2008??? damn i would have been like 11/12 #anyway i read this fic called Memoirs of a Master written by someone obviously a lot older and smarter than me and i just loved it #it was about Tigress and Po discovering Shifu's diaries (he was on a trip i think)#and so that was the framing device like it was Tigress and Po kinda guiltily reading this diary and learning about Tai Lung and all that #and i read a LOT of Kung Fu Panda fic so it wasnt like this one was particularly special to me *at the time*#(again i was like 12 i just liked anything that made my brain go brrrr. i read a lot of fic about rhe cast of KFP getting magically #transported into the KFP universe like i wasnt a literature connoisseur by any means)#but over the years i just never stopped thinking about Memoirs of a Master #and this isnt even the same framing device it's just similar but i cant even describe to you how much of this fic simply *is*#Memoirs of a Master #like obviously it's not. you could read that and then read this once i finish and notice maybe loke 3 superficial similarities #but at the same this fic would simply not exist without it #not to quote kamala harris of all people but you really do exist in the context of all that came before you #anyway.#the warped maniacal mind of wizard glick at work #oh yes also idk other ppl's hesdcanons for the other von karma daughter but i went with Verena because #1) i thought it was pretty #2) it means 'truth' or 'verity'#3) it doesnt make sense with the surname— 'truth from karma' is meaningless and i have her as kind of distant from the family #4) it showed up on random list of 'german names that were popular in the 80s' i found. didnt bother to do the math or even pick an age #for her but it really doesnt matter #okay. i think that's all.

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meticulousmaker · 8 months ago

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another random thing that stands out to me rewatching Steven Universe as an adult:

throughout the show there's this clear Vibe that Steven has inherited some big magical destiny, right? and it makes sense narratively: he's the son of Rose Quartz, leader of the rebellion, now being raised by her friends who were the last remaining survivors of an interstellar war. he's like a human child in most ways, except he has magical powers that start to become more obvious as he's getting older. no one like him has ever existed before. it's a big deal. raising him and figuring out how he's going to grow is its own unique challenge, because nobody knows what to expect. so of course there's this magical destiny vibe, given all that.

What's interesting to me, though, is that this magical destiny is in no way literally, physically present in the story, it's just something everyone kinda feels. Like, there's not some ancient prophecy about a half-gem, half-human savior. He's not the Chosen One in any literal sense, he just happens to give off Chosen One vibes. And I say that's interesting because it means that the fact he was kinda raised with this Chosen One vibe is completely a decision everyone around him made, for better or for worse. And the show is aware of this, because the weight of Rose's legacy and everyone's expectations of him is a constant theme, and as Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl all grow and develop, they also realize the downsides of them putting those expectations on a child. Like, Steven spends his whole childhood being told about how great Rose was, and how because he's inherited her gem he will probably inherit her powers - and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Imagine how awful things could have been if Steven had no exposure to the Gems and no knowledge of what they were or how they worked, and then his powers started coming in? It was hard enough even when he was surrounded by the most qualified Gem Experts on Earth. But being primed for all of this "you're going to have your mother's magical powers" stuff put a heavy weight on his shoulders, and then the fact that nobody else quite knew how his abilities worked meant he was constantly faced with the adults in his life looking to him with concern because they didn't know what was happening with him. That's gotta leave an impression on a kid - and, well, throughout the show and especially in SU Future we definitely see that it does.

I like the way the show handles the pressure that's put on him, and the fact that everyone is just... trying their best in a completely unprecedented situation. Nobody knows what to do or how to raise this kid, and that inevitably causes problems but everyone is trying. And Steven can feel that everyone is trying without knowing what to do and he just wants to help and not be a burden and none of his caretakers have said that he's a burden but he can feel everyone's confusion and concern and the expectations he's not living up to and he cares so much, about everyone, about everything. He's in an extremely unique position that grants him opportunities to help that nobody else has, and he feels like he's failing everyone if he can't fulfill that, and in the end it never should have been his job to fix things but somebody had to try. Somebody had to try, and he was one of the only people with the ability to stop the Diamonds, stop the war, stop the lies, stop his world and everyone on it from being destroyed... and he was just a kid.

#i feel so protective of this kid watching as an adult like holy shit #so much terrible shit happens to him. it's nobody's fault. it's everybody's fault.#it's destiny but it's a choice. it's necessary but it's really not. it's all about steven but it never actually was.#the show handles the contradictory nature of things well i think. everyone's feelings and relationships are complex and nuanced #ghost speaks #steven universe

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demon-at-peace · 2 months ago

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DC + DP

Danny found it rather hard to discriminate, most ghosts did, they were rather wild. Claws, glowing skin, most weren't human. So really he learned to ignore the large teeth, the glowing skin, the creepy voices, and the other inhuman buts about people. He was also immune to the way they scarred people, the way you instinctually avoided them, winced when you saw them.

Not Danny, he'd smile at you ask you out for coffee, really he didn't seem to notice the monterous aura of demons and such. So supernatural beings liked him, they liked his laughter, they like his smile his quick-witted tongue. So Danny had a rather odd group of friends.

Really though most of them were villains, it wasn't really a surprise since other than with Sam and Tucker the only time he went out was with Dan or Jazz. As such it was either a bunch of therapists of villains. And sue him he'd sooner blow up the world than go to therapy.

The group was chill, most of which not rich evil people simply because neither Dan or Danny could stand them. Vlad was more than enough to deal with. So crimelords, demons, a plant lady and other assortment of people.

Dan had friends out of the group that Danny met, but for the most part it was just them. Danny also mi-ght have had a criminal record. I mean he had one before, for existing, shoplifting and property damage. But only the shoplifting was on his civilian ID.

Now he also had arson, property damage, and assalt of police officers. But honestly only the first two were that bad.

Acab for life, cops sucked ass. Unfortunately the officers were suing and he was now being hunted down by some infernal thing called the Justice league.

Honestly who would call themselves that? It was so pretentious! He though darkly as the lady with the W on her outfit went after him again.

pretentious aside why were they all dressed in lingerie type stuff. Like the spandex show everything, and the woman’s uniforms were a bit more than revealing! Seriously was this universes Heroes all into kinky stuff?

a couple weren’t so revealing, the one in black with the child (except the child was in a leotard?) the one with the arrows, and some of the magic ones, like the trench coat man! He at least had changed out of the hazmat suit at first chance!

anyhow really he should get out of here, except whoopsy daisy that laser vision just hit him. He landed pouting! “Really I burned a shed down! An empty shed! And like the officers were being racists dicks!”

“You also bulldozed through a wall!” One of the decently dressed heroes tells.

“yeah and? Y’all get away with public indecency I can get away with a bit of property damage!” Danny pouts.

“Public indecency?” The S dude asks.

“duh, like I can see everything! You might as well just paint your skin! I don’t need to see your pecs it ain’t even that hot out!!” He crosses his arms indignantly.

“you still need to pay for property damage!” The guy dressed in black scolds him.

“fine! when you stop dressing a child without pants! They are a thing you know! Besides he doesn’t even have armor!” Danny scowls.

“my costume is a tribute to my dead parents!” The kid bites out.

“and mine was a tribute to my death!” Danny rolls his eyes. “Just please add some pants!”

“Fine!” The kid agreed grudgingly, glaring at Danny.

“Shake on it?” Danny asks holding out his hand. Robin shakes his hands and Danny vanishes.

Robin doesn’t get pants. Danny doesn’t pay his bills. Years later after Tim is Robin, and Robin has pants Dick gets an email. Sure enough Danny payed his bills.

—-

huh it’s fluff? Also I updated my demon twins fic finally!!

Bye ✌️

#danny fenton #dpxdc #dick grayson #justice league

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catiuskaa · 1 month ago

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head touches pillow.

sum: after a long day without you, finally able to cuddle against you, when his head touches the pillow, Hyunjin can’t help but dream.

wc: 5.1k

cw: dreams and art and philosophy coded fluff, hyunjin talks (in detail) about a sex dream, handjob, blowjob(?), aftercare.

[★★{📕}★★]

Hyunjin is a dreamer.

A dreamer is a curious creature whose head often floats several inches —or miles— above the ground, tethered to reality only by the occasional text message, meal, or heartbreak. They are powered by equal parts hope, caffeine —chocolate, in this writer’s case—, and the kind of delusion that dares to believe love letters still are a thing, that strangers on trains might be soulmates, and that rainstorms were invented for dramatic monologues, and really, really wet kisses.

Hyunjin blames his imaginative mind for all the late assignments, failed exams and dull evenings he’s had. If it weren’t for his active little mind, in a constant need for dopamine and books that can make one curl in bed, kicking their legs as they giggle and read about romance they can only hope they get to live, maybe he would’ve payed more attention —on a general sense, that is. And on a particular one, maybe then he wouldn’t have lost the bus that day.

But that would mean he wouldn’t have met you.

When a dreamer falls for another dreamer, the universe experiences a brief but noticeable glitch—somewhere, a clock forgets how to tick, a soldier writes poetry, and a star goes slightly off course just to watch what happens next.

“Oh, Larry won’t open the door for you, so I wouldn’t run,” you chuckle. “Mean bus driver, the fella.”

And Hyunjin just blinks, watching the red bus turn smaller as it drives away.

Turning to face you, he swears, changed his brain chemistry. Not that he knows much about brains nor chemistry, but somehow, when his eyes meet yours for the first time, it was as if the air paused mid-breath, unsure whether to exhale or hold onto the moment forever. There was no thunderclap, no dramatic swell of music —just a quiet, electric recognition, like two secret worlds brushing against each other at the edges. In that glance, he saw not just a face, but an entire cosmos made out of late-night musings, unfinished poems, and stardust tucked behind eyelashes, shining in the colour of your eyes.

It wasn’t love at first sight, not exactly —it was possibility at first glance.

He doesn’t believe it happens often. When an artist such as him —or that’s how he enjoys calling himself when the blinds are down and no one’s looking— somehow falls in love, it’s like those magical moments that movies can’t help but mention. Finding a muse —to him, only you— is the one thing artists hope for in secret, hiding the fire in their hearts between layers of paint and crumbled ink-stained pieces of paper, hoping to never mix love and whorship in the same person, for one cannot hug someone that stands so far away on a pedestal.

Still, he yearns for the words a writer may reach to in order to make sense to the myriad of feelings that simmer in his paint-soaked heart, unable to express them in a way that could suffice.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Hyunjin blinks, lowering his head to face you. He can’t help but smile, his eyes wrinkling at the sides.

“You’d lose all your money, my pearl. I think too much.”

Cuddling more against him as you giggle soothes within the both of you the tension from a long week, days that have passed by without the joy of seeing each other most of the time. But alas, here’s the sweet sweet joy of a long-awaited Friday night.

“C’mon,” you snicker, your hands tracing mindless paterns on his shirtless torso. You make a note to thank the summer weather for that. “Oh, at least tell me about that dream you had a couple nights ago.”

“A… dream?” He frowns in ginger confusion.

“Yeah, remember? I called you… Tuesday morning. You said you had a dream you wanted to tell me,” you grin, resting your chin on his chest.

"Oh, that dream,” his expression turns a little more mischievous. His smile only grows as he watches your expectant eyes. “Fun dream, that was. I remember it alright," he snickers, his tone a little husky. "Every single detail."

You give him a cheeky look, fixing your position to lay down next to him, your head up to face him, resting on your palm.

“Go on. I’m all ears.”

He can’t help but chuckle, his expression playful. "Oh, are you now?" he teases, his tone low. "You want to hear all the dirty little details?"

“You know I do,” you grin, your other hand cheekily fidgeting with his golden chain.

He takes a deep breath, and he can’t help but lick his lips as he remembers the dream in detail. "So, it was just the two of us," he starts, his voice lower than usual, his gaze flickering over your features. "And we were... well, let's say we were in a bed."

“What do you mean, let’s say?” You grin softly. “Where were we?”

He chuckles, a small, charming smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "I don’t really know. I mean… well... you were on top of me, to be specific," his gaze turning a little bit heated. "And I could feel your skin against mine, your hands resting on my chest. And your face was... so close, I could feel your breath on my skin." Pausing, his voice grows huskier. "You looked into my eyes... it was like you were hungry for me."

As your hand couldn’t help but follow a slow path down his chest, your eyes stayed locked to his. There was something dangerously poetic about them, like they’ve been dipped in paint and secrets, and looking into them feels less like making eye contact and more like falling, headfirst, —heart-first—, into a storm you don’t want to escape. He didn’t just look at you—he unravels you. With one glance, he strips away your composure, peels back every practiced word, and leaves you lying there, entirely too aware of how close his mouth is to yours. It almost isn’t fair, the way his gaze lingers—slow, deliberate, like a hand sliding over bare skin —your nails, long, leaving cheeky red streaks over his abs. You could drown in him. You want to. God help you, you want to forget your own name if it mean he’d keep looking at you like that—like you were something he’d dreamt of touching —not just this once, but for lifetimes—, and now that you are here, he has no intention of looking away.

"You leaned in even closer,” he lets out in a short breath, “your lips… against my skin,” he swallows, dry. “I could feel… the heat radiating off your body and... I felt your words as a soft whisper against my ear," he murmured, eyes dark. "You said..." his eyes lock onto yours. "You said, ‘I want you. Now.’” he mumbles, his tone intense.

You licked your lips. God, you could eat him alive. “Then what happened?”

"You started… trailing your lips down my neck, leaving soft, wet kisses. It felt... really, really good."

“Mhh, I like the sound of that,” you smile.

He chuckles softly, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Good. It gets better," he simpers, his voice a little deeper than before.

"You then… started making your way down my body, your fingers trailing slowly over my chest, my stomach... and you stopped at my waist and..." he paused, his voice growing quieter as he remembered the rest of the dream.

Your hand started cheekily playing with the waistband of his pijama pants. “And?”

He swallowed dry, his body growing heated as he continues. "And you started... touching me," he lets out, like a whispered, breathless confession. "Your hands were roaming all over my body, and your touch was soft, but so... possessive." You watch him lick his lips as he stares at you, and it feels like pornography. "Your lips followed your hands. And... you started nibbling on a spot right... here..." he vaguely moves his hand, as if afraid that would crack the heat-tinted atmosphere, and points to a spot just below his collarbone.

Leaning against his neck feels like a meancing act againt his self-restraint, and his heart too. He wants you to do it again. With this newly-found information about himself, Hyunjin can’t wait for you to try and kill him.

“Oh, this one?” You smirk, stroking it with your nose tantalizingly.

He lets out something quite like gasp, a shaky exhale that sounds like "yeah," he breathes out heavily, his voice tinged with a moan that he’s holding back. He’s already hard. "T-that spot."

Only a fool would miss a chance this exquisit, so you quickly start to work.

“Keep talking,” you whisper with a smirk.

Hyunjin’s brain threatens to turn off as he closes his eyes, his breathing heavier as you press kisses on his neck. "T-then, um..." he sighs, trying to focus through the sensation of your lips against his skin. "You started... moving lower, your hands and mouth down my chest... and then my stomach..."

He lets out a sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as your hand strokes his abs and your lips leave soft kisses on his neck, dusting his skin with pretty pinky marks. "Mmm, keep doing that," he murmured, his voice a little gruff. "It feels... really, really good."

“Keep talking about the dream, or I’ll stop,” you tease, smirking.

Fuck. Either he’s dreaming again, and today is only Thursday or he’s gotta be the luckiest man on Earth, he thinks, letting out a soft, breathy chuckle —a moan, if you squint your ears—, his eyes opening slightly. "Fine, fine... but keep going," he mumbles weakly, his tone laced with a hint of huskiness. "You were moving lower... and lower... and then... you reached my waist." His throat bobs, and you kiss it. He wants to cry. The thought of you stopping almost makes him, but he keeps talking, just like you asked. "You pulled my pants off, leaving me in my boxers," the dream seems almost tangible in the dark pools of his eyes. He can almost taste it, so he licks his lips again, one of his hand fisting the sheets, the other holding you close by your waist, his fingers quickly settling beneath your shirt where you hope he’ll always stay.

"I remember how… your fingers trailed over my thigh," he murmurs softly. "Gentle, but… firm…”

And so you press wet kisses down his chest, happily following the innocent little words that leave his lips —lips you hadn’t want to kiss this bad since, at least, last Friday, but you refrain just to keep listening to him— until you can reach his thigh with your hand.

Your eyes move to his. Soft, wide, sly. “Like this?”

Yes. No. He’s going to blow in milliseconds. Scratch all that, you have to be a dream. Reality hasn’t felt this good since someone put butter in popcorn. Since he figured out color theory to some extent. He lets out a soft gasp, his breathing quickening.

"Yes,” he almost moans, “exactly like that."

His hand grips the bedsheet like the poor thing could ever keep him tethered to how your mouth lingers on his collarbone. If this is a dream and he wakes up, he’s catching the first bus and knocking your door of its hinges with the only objective of doing very bad things to you. But when your kisses slow down in intensity, and your hands threaten to leave his blushed skin, he keeps talking. This is real, and if you stop, he’ll start begging.

"You started kissing," he pants out, "kissing… down my thigh... and then you… started moving... higher."

He pauses, his breathing growing heavier as the next part of the dream unveils in his mind. Hyunjin needs you to keep touching him. "You were right between my legs, your lips just... barely against my skin,” his eyes flutter open, and he has the cutest blush all over his face. You’re going to eat him.

“T-then you… took me in your mouth," he gasps softly, his eyes closing again. "I remember how your tongue felt, how your lips felt-" He winces, because the memory and your touch alone are making him really hard.

He can’t do this. This feels too good. He’s not going to be able to let you go on Sunday afternoon. But then your hand travels down his chest and beneath his blue-striped pj’s, and he’s dead.

“Keep talking, love,” you grin, kissing his chest as you start stroking him, moving your hand up and down.

He lets out a low moan, his body involuntarily bucking against your touch. "A-ah... I'm... trying..." he whines quietly, his voice growing huskier by the second. "Y-You were... um-" He trails off, now rendered unable to form a coherent thought, the sensation of your touch scrambling his brain.

"You... you were moving... up and down," Hyunjin tries to speak, but his words are cut off by a moan. His breathing is heavy and his chest rieses and falls rapidly. He can’t even look at you anymore; his eyes are shut tight, his head pressed against the pillow, blushing all over as he squirms underneath you.

"I... I don't...don't know how much...longer I can...can keep doing this," he admits in a low, ragged voice. "I... I need..." he attempts to say something, but the words just don’t come out. "Please, I… I need..." he pleads softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand slows down. You have the desperate need to fuck him senseless. Desperate, submissive Hyunjin is a rare sight, and you want to cover him up in pink hickeys.

“The dream, love. Keep talking, mhh?”

He lets out a low, soft whine as your hand slows down, his eyes clenched shut. "Oh…a-ah, okay," he whispers, trying to regain his composure. The feeling of your touch is driving him crazy, but he knows he has to stay focused, because this feels too good to stop now.

"You were... you were moving so... so slowly, and... and it was driving me insane." His eyes are like crescent moons, cheeky drops of sweat shining on his forehead, and on his pink-coloured chest. "I... I wanted more... but you were teasing me so much" he murmurs, his voice growing more desperate by the second. "I wanted to... grab you and... and just-" He groans in frustration, unable to find the words. "I wanted... I needed..." he chokes out, whimpering, struggling through the fog of pleasure. "God... it's so hard to think..."

Teasing him comes off naturally. Just looking at him makes you want to lean and bite his cheek. Instead you snicker, smirking.

“Oh, poor baby. Feel so good, he can’t even think.”

Surely, you weren’t expecting the embarrassingly needy whine he lets out, his face flushed with pleasure. "Y-Yes," he murmurs softly, his arm moving to cover his eyes and how his blush turns deeper in colour, his voice heavy with desire. "A-and... and it's all your fault."

God. Your legs would give out if you were standing. His muscles flex as he tries to hide his face, kind of, and the fact that you know he’s far too gone to be consciously showing off only makes you hornier. Pleasure looks so good on Hyunjin, you can’t help but need more, as you start stroking him slightly faster. “That’s a pity,” you whisper with a smile. “Feels good, yeah?”

He groans, his hips instinctively bucking against your touch. "Y-Yeah," he breathes out weakly, his voice strained. "It feels... so good."

“Wonderful,” you grin, eyes so dark Hyunjin believes they might’ve just turned black. “Keep talking, then, love. What happened next?”

His body dares to tremble with pleasure as you continue, his breathing ragged and uneven. "You..." he trails off, trying to find the words to speak. "You... moved your mo.. a-ah, mouth away... but you... oh, God, y-you replaced it with..." he lets out a moan, his breath hitching as you continue your slow ministrations, “you replaced it with your hand... and..." He swallows hard, trying to find the words through the pleasure, "a-and you were... slow... and gentle..." he manages to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Just like this?” you whisper too.

The feeling of your touch is driving him wild.

"Yes," he whimpers, almost sheepishly. "Just... just like that."

He’s struggling to keep his mind clear, the pleasure almost overwhelming him. "Please..." he whines, his voice hoarse and needy. "I need... I need..."

Your eyes look into his, but you only find dark tones of brown that scream at you to keep going. “Focus, love,” you smile. “The dream, mhh?”

He struggles to speak, already feeling like it’s hard to think straight. "Y-You... you started to... speed up..." he whispers, his voice raw with desire. "And... and it felt so... so good,” he breathes heavily, “a-and then, you… ” He groans softly, his whole body trembling as he envisions the scene play out in his mind once more. "Y-You... you lowered yourself onto me..." he blinks slowly, his eyes locking onto yours, his voice heavy with lust. "And... and it felt... so good... so perfect..."

He inhales sharply, his heart feeling like it might just leap out of his chest. "You... you started... moving slowly... and... and I-" He lets out a low, guttural moan, his body arching towards your touch instinctively. "God... it feels... so good... so good... I can't think straight... I-I need you... I need you, flower... please…”

You kiss his thigh, to which he lets out a soft moan at the feel of your kiss, his body trembling with need. You’re going to cave, you know you will, but watching him like this is an addiction you don’t want to let go off just yet. “Does the dream keep going too long?”

"N-Not much longer," he sighs weakly, his voice strained with desire. "I am... I w-was so close... I-" He pants, the memory of the dream playing out in his mind. "I was so... I was so close to..." he confesses, his voice thick with lust. "But just before I could... you... you stopped."

And almost cheekily, your hand stopped, teasing. “I… edged you?”

Hyunjin is pretty sure he’s dead at this point. His body trembles, pliant and undone, eyes glassy with surrender as he floats deeper into that delicious haze —where time blurs and sensation reigns. Every word from you felt like silk and command wrapped in fire, and he clings to it like a lifeline, like prayer. His voice is barely a whisper now, rough with need, as he chokes out, "N-no… please, flower." Not out of pride, but desperation —because in this state, he isn’t thinking, only feeling, and everything he feels is you. Every nerve begs to be touched, praised, claimed—each second without your hands, your voice, your rhythm, feels like air slipping through his lungs. He’s gone, truly gone, and the only thing tethering him to reality is the gravity of your control and the aching, raw hunger to please keep going.

You coo at him, leaning against him to kissing his cheek, “You’re doing so good, love. Keep going, for me?” He nods softly, and you smile, softly pressing your lips against his.

“And then?” You smile, resuming your slow pace with your hand.

His body responds immediately, his back arching as he let out a low moan. "Y-You..." he fails to speak, his words lost in a pool of desire. "You... you kept going... and... and it was so... s’good... but it was... frustrating... to be so... close... but not... not quite there yet..."

His body is shaking with need, his breath coming in short gasps as he struggles to speak. "Please," he begs softly, his voice a mix between a whine and a whisper. "Please... I need you… please… make me-"

Your tongue against his length weakens him in ways he never thought possible before, and when he finds your eyes glued to his, he’s sure his eyes tear up in pleasure.

“Keep talking, love.”

He lets out a strangled moan. "Oh... oh god..." he moans again, his voice broken by pleasure. "T-too good... I… it's so... hard to... to keep… speaking..."

“C’mon, love,” you smirk. “You want me to keep going, don’t you? You just have to keep talking about the dream.”

He’s wrecked—gasping, trembling, eyes glazed as he blinks down at you like he can’t remember how to exist without your touch. "Yes... yes... please... don't stop..." he mumbles, his voice strained with need. "The dream, I'll... I'll keep talking..."

Hyunjin takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose himself as so to keep on talking. "So... you k-kept going... and... and I was so close... so close... but it wasn't enough..." He sweats and blushes with need, his mind blurry as he struggles to focus on the words. "I was… I couldn't... couldn't handle it any longer...”

His toned body arches against you as he feels himself nearing the edge. "Please... please... I need you, flower... I need you so badly..." he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please... please, I can't take it anymore..."

You’re caving. You want to see him come. “How did the dream end, love?”

He lets out a strangled moan as you start kissing him, the touch of your lips sending sparks of pleasure through his body. "I... I don't...I don't remember..." he whines, his voice thick. "It all gets... it gets too hazy... I just remember feeling too... too pent up... too needy..."

“And then you woke up?”

He nods, a low, shaky laugh escaping his lips. "Yeah... I woke up... and I was so... so frustrated," he pants, his voice heavy with the echo of unfulfilled desire.

You blink. The smirk that takes over your lips makes Hyunjin shiver. “Love, did you… relieve yourself… thinking about me that morning?”

His cheeks grow hotter, his expression turning more sheepish. "Yes... I… I did," he confesses in a hushed tone. "I couldn't help it... you were all I could think about." The memory of that morning is still vivid in his mind. "I was thinking about you... your touch... your voice... your body..." he murmurs, his voice growing huskier with every word.

“And you were touching yourself, just like this?”

He can’t help but moan at your words, his body responding instinctively to the mention of what he has done. He feels like he has been caught, and the way you’re looking at him threatens to send him over the edge. "Yes... just like this..." he nods, gulping. "I was... imagining your hands on me... just like this… and I... I couldn't stop thinking about you... thinking about what you would do to me..." he admits, his voice reeling in desire, almost rolling off his tongue.

Mesmerized, you speed up, watching him squirm and gasp, his body arching towardsyour touch as the pleasure intensifies. "Oh... oh god... yes, yes..." he moans, his eyes closing tightly as he feels himself getting closer and closer. "Don't…” He groans softly, his hand gripping the bedsheets again. "Please... please, I can't... I can't hold back any longer..." he pleads, his voice sunken in sheer pleasure.

“Tell me, love. Where you thinking about that when you called me that day?”

He swallows hard, his breath coming in short gasps as he remembered the memory. "Y-Yes," he managed to say, his voice ragged with desire. "I... I couldn't help it... you... your voice… it brought e-everything back... a-and I... I tried to keep my composure... but I couldn't... I couldn't keep it together..."

“What did you want to do to me, mhh?”

His body almost dares to tremble with need as he remembered the thoughts he had. Hyunjin is shaking, flushed and helpless, lost so deep in the haze he barely knows his own name —just yours. His fingers curl like he’s trying to hold onto reality, but all that comes out from his lips isa desperate, wrecked, tone, as he follows your command. "I... I wanted to touch you... to hold you... to feel you against me... to hear you moan..." he whines, his voice rough with need. "I wanted you so badly... so badly, it was driving me insane."

His breathing turns erratic. He’s going to come, but he wants to make you happy. He wants to hear you allow him.

"I couldn't... couldn't get you out of my head... I just wanted to... to do things to you..." he gasps, his words fading into the air as he loses himself in the memories. "I wanted to... to feel you... to taste you... to hear you moan my name..."

His lips part around a soft, broken sound, eyes barely open, glazed with need and devotion. He’s trembling under your hands, breath shallow, voice cracked as he whispers, "I wanted... I wanted you so bad... I couldn't focus on anything else... I could only think about you... about your touch... about how good it felt when you-" He gasped, cutting himself off as the memory flared back up, leaving him breathless. "God... I could barely... barely concentrate on anything else... though I was… going crazy..."

He lets out a low, shaky moan, his body trembling uncontrollably as the waves of pleasure consume him. "That's... that's why it was so hard... so hard..." he whimpers, his words interrupted by soft gasps as he felt himself teetering on the edge. "It was so hard to... to talk... to talk to you... and not... not think about... a-about…!”

His whole body tenses beneath you, a helpless shudder rolling through him as the pressure builds past the point of return. His fingers twist in the sheets —desperate, frantic—, trying to hold onto something solid while the rest of him falls apart. Then he lets out a moan, deep and broken, the kind that seems to rise straight from his soul, and you take him into your mouth fully, slowly, as if savoring the moment just as much as he is unraveling in it. And when he finally comes —spilling over with a cry that sounds half like your name, half like prayer— you don’t flinch. You stay, mouth warm, accepting, steady, anchoring him as he shakes and gasps and loses himself entirely in you. You feel the way he melts, undone and wrecked and utterly yours, and you don’t let go until his body stops trembling, until he’s all quiet panting and reverent touch, eyes dazed, still somewhere between the high and the afterglow.

His mind goes blank for a moment as the intensity of the sensation overwhelms him. As he slowly comes back down to Earth, he looks down at you with a dazed expression on his face, his breathing ragged and labored. "Y-You..." he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Y-You're... God, flower, I missed you.."

You merely swallow, licking your lips and smile. “I missed you too, love.”

His body still trembles with the aftermath of his climax. You cuddle against him, fixing his hair, kissing his temple with a smile.

“Want me to fetch a damp towel, love?” you whisper. “I know you don’t like sleeping all sweaty.”

Watching him nod, soft and dazed, like his whole body has finally let go, you smile and brush a hand over his cheek. He lets out a big, shuddering sigh —the kind that seemed to empty every last bit of tension from his chest— and his eyes flutter shut, peaceful in that quiet, golden moment. You move and lean down to kiss him —slow, lingering. He kisses you back with a hum, too blissed-out to speak, but full of everything he wants to say. With one last stroke of your thumb across his jaw, you slip away for a moment, careful not to wake him from the soft place he’s landed in.

When you come back with the damp towel, he’s still lying there, loose-limbed and beautiful, the rise and fall of his chest steady, calm. You lean beside him, murmuring something gentle as you began to clean him up, slow and careful, like a ritual. He barely moves—just lets you care for him, eyes fluttering open now and then to meet mine with that same look he always gives you in these moments: trust, tenderness, and something so deep you’re not quite sure it has a name. not in any language you know, at least.

We speak of the experience of an encounter as that which can appear before us without our expecting it. It can change our course, it can transform us. It is the novelty that happens to us and then inhabits us. Two paths that cross. Two people that miss the bus at the same time.

What happens when we fall in love? Is it simply a matter of wanting what we don't have, or of wanting it because it seems forbidden? We consider it more interesting to think of it as a set of forces united in a singularity that challenges us, that summons us. One of those things that make us fall in love with someone. In Hyunjin’s case, the colour of your eyes could haunt him in his sleep, and he would forever be grateful for it. Or your smile, and how it lights up the room.

A smile is something that happens between two people. It is a gesture that begins and ends in the gaze of the other, of the person who may feel trapped, invoked, questioned, stolen by that smile. It does not belong to someone. It does not belong to its owner, but is a ‘between’ the two. It takes place in a relationship of one with the other. There is something in that smile that unites, in the same group, everything that has to do with us. Like in that moment when one is frightened and sees one's life flash before one's eyes, only in this case, one sees the life we would have with the person in front of us, reflected in the brightness of their irises.

Who are we afterwards? Are we the same? What happens inside us when we encounter forces, affinities, nuances, tones, and colours that we never expected, but which become everything we desire? It is a question of thinking about the displacement that occurs. When love crosses us, there is a swaying from side to side, a foreshadowing of the transformation to come when these two people collide. This love is only possible because of the tension that makes it unsolvable: a tension between who we are and who we are not, between presence and absence. An encounter from which we emerge changed.

Or not. Maybe the world still spins as usual —but for Hyunjin, with you by his side, it hums in a different key. One composed entirely of music, comfort, and dreams he no longer has to imagine alone.

And as his head touches the pillow —the cold side, after flipping it around—, he passes his arm over your waist and pulls you closer.

Tomorrow, Saturday morning, he will make sure to pay you back, but right now, Hyunjin is sure.

He loves Friday nights.

[★★{📕}★★]

~kats, who’s new vocal stim is from sade’s kiss of life, “there must’ve been an angel by my side.” (and yes, I am aware that today isn't Friday. sue me)

permanent taglist! @svckrpvnch @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @lyramundana @cheeksung

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kekewrites · 10 months ago

Text

Tw. Bimbo reader, dark content, noncon, dubcon, corruption kink, coercion, creampie, size kink, magic sex toy/onahole/fleshlight, loss of virginity, not proof read

***

Thinking about being a childhood friend of a yandere duo.

You were just so friendly and cute, approaching them with candies in your tiny hands and offering it to them. So kind as you always play with them, and sometimes they would argue who'd be your husband when playing house. They often fought whenever they wanted to play with you but in the end, it always results to sharing you.

Middle school was a little different than Kindergarten. They get more protective when boys try to get close to you, painting them as insufferable brats that only want clout. Being neighbors with the wealthy kids, got you too much attention much to their liking, often getting bullied whenever you finally have some alone time, but this didn't get unnoticed as you wonder why that kid who pushed you on your locker, suddenly have bandage wrapped around his head and his reputation down.

Highschool is where the shift started. You wanted to explore more, finding new friends, and hanging out with other people, and they did not like that. You were just too dumb, they said. Too dumb to realize people manipulating you so that they can get close to them. Do you even realize that the girl from your class only talks to you about them? Dumb girl.

Safe to say, you never had a genuine friend in high school, not like you even had chance to form a deep level of friendship (by people who genuinely wanna be friends with you) by the way they hog all your attention and time.

College is where it gets difficult for them to spend time with you. Different schedules, classes, course. They even insisted you go to the same university as them. It's frustrating how little time you spend together, always with your stupid excuse of "working on an assignment".

Without you around, they definitely have a hard time relieving some tension. They couldn't just walt into your room and steal some panties scoot free without getting into trouble, even though they were star students and had plenty influence over the school. No, no, they won't put their reputation to ruin, they're your perfect best friends.

Despite them being a duo, they were quite different in terms of personality. One is patient and mature, thinking logical and more on the rational side. While the other is playful, outgoing and rash. Both have their charms that got everyone around their fingers. However, they wouldn't sleep with just anyone, no. It's hard to get their dick hard, always imagining your cute face whenever they try to fuck a desperate bitch to finally release some tension.

But your impatient friend had enough of some random girl, high pitch moans that's not yours annoying his ears. It's miserable to even hump his own hand, so hard and cold, different to what he imagine your tight warm cunt to be. This just won't cut it. He needs more, to finally feel your wet insides without you knowing.

So what's a good way to relieve tension?

Some good ol' fleshlight.

The moment it arrived at his doorstep, he straight up bolted to his door. Slamming the door close as he finally gets his hands on the toy after days of waiting. Fuck, he can't wait to use this thing.

It's like the half body sex toy he used to watch in porns. He was quite impressed by the details it had, he gotta give props for that, but that's not what he's after for. After reading the instructions, more like skimming and skipping most of the words. He use lubricant, using plenty of it and spreading it around the artificial pussy lips. Rubbing and feeling the flaps, like how he usually does. It's kinda weird that he's doing this for a toy, but he could just imagine it being your cunt, practicing his moves. After a few moments did he slide his thick finger inside the walls of the toy... How weird, the texture was oddly real, like it was alive. Well, that's probably some mechanic shit that the factory put there or something. This is his first time using a fleshlight and it cost a fortune through some sketchy website so it better be worth it.

***

You jolted in your sit in class, listening to your professor's discussion about physics until you suddenly feel something brushing on your thighs. Your head panning around the room before looking ahead, brushing it off. It was probably the wind.

You yelp when something began rubbing your cunt, earning a few concern looks for you and your professor glancing at you before going back to his discussion. You shrink in your sit, head hanging low as you pressed your lips together. Confused and scared by the phantom touch assaulting your nether region. Clutching your skirt, you try to maintain confused whimpers as the touches didn't stop.

You're scared.

The moment something pushed inside you, you stand up and excuse yourself, running to the nearest restroom. Your feet quick as you open a random stall and sit on the toilet. Your breathing heavy as you shakily lifts your skirt, looking at the wet patch on your panty.

What's happening? Why are you wet? How can something touching you there? You're not imagining this, right?

Your mind raced as you become more terrified. Is a ghost haunting you? Tears pool on your eyes, sniffling as the assault become more aggressive.

***

Fuck, this fleshlight was the best thing he ever bought. How was this even made? Whatever. He continues to pump his thick finger, inserting another one and he jump a bit as he felt the walls suck on his fingers. Damn, it can even do that? Just how realistic can this toy be? He's not complaining though.

He decided to touch the clit earning another tight squeeze. What a sensitive toy. He continues to play, eventually adding another finger. It was weird how the warm walls didn't run out of lube, if this were any normal toy it'd need to be lubricated after few minutes but this toy seems to produce it on its on.

He pulls out his fingers as he inspects the inside, it's undeniable that it's fake but the way it pulsates around nothing makes it a bit questionable on how it works.

Would your cunt also look like that? He could imagine your wrecked heaving face after fingering you. Poor little you never had something inside, let alone this thick fingers. He couldn't wait for the moment he'll ruin you.

***

You're straight up crying as an additional thick sensation pumped your insides. Squeezing your thighs shut, like it's gonna do something to stop the phantom. Everything inside you screams to remove the intrusion but you didn't know how. Opening your legs slightly, your shaky fingers removing your panty to see what's happening inside your cunt... but nothing was there. Only a gape.

Your fingers shifts towards the gape, gasping as the invincible touch was able to touch you yet you couldn't even see or feel it. Squirming uncomfortably, as you open your legs more to try and get "it" out with your fingers. Uselessly grabbing air, whimpering and sobbing as you fail to interrupt with its continuous pumping. Your stomach twisting and an unfamiliar coil was starting to unravel, your breath hitching and legs shaking.

But it's abruptly stop as the phantom pulled away.

Finally, relief and a little bit of disappointment fills your chest. Slumping on the toilet, panting like you run a marathon. You shift a bit as you sit upright, freezing as something thick pokes your entrance.

No way...

Your brain panics, your gaze staring at the way your hole widens and your legs subconsciously spreading more to prepare yourself for the inevitable. You clutch the wall of the stall, each hand gripping the surface. Tears streaming down your face and your cheeks getting hot.

This can't be happening.

You felt the thick thing stretch you open.

***

Something about fucking a fleshlight should embarrass him. But nah, with you in his mind there's nothing to be ashamed. This is just practice to him after all, he'll do this things eventually.

With his heavy cock around his fingers, he taps the opening of the fleshlight. His other hand grips the hip. Rubbing along the slit, he collects lube running on the head of his cock, catching the clit in the process. He lets out a breath, as he finally starts pushing his cock inside.

He's quite big, so he's a bit worried if he'll fit in some shady toy but he's sure he'll fit in you just right, even if he had to force himself in your tiny cunt.

But there's no need for consideration when it comes to a toy.

He sheath inside in one thrust.

Hissing at the way the walls clings to him, tightly wrapping around his cock and pulsating as if rejecting a foreign object. Shit, why does it feel like a virgin?

Warm, wet, and tight. The perfect toy pussy for him, this could even rival a real pussy if he were being honest. No time for adjusting as he starts to thrust. Pounding the onahole, roughly gripping the hips and fucking hard. Shit shit shit why does this feel so good? This stupid toy feels a whole lot better compare to a random slut.

His hips going hard and the way he feels the inside pulsating, sucking all his worth making him groan. Such a tight fake cunt.

He wonder if he can break the toy.

***

With a silent scream, your head jerk up as the big stretch was too sudden for your body to take. Legs wide open as you try to create space for the large object. You sob as quiet as possible, as the phantom starts pounding hard at your sensitive cunt. You want to scream but held back, tears blurring your vision as you pray for it to end.

Whimpering and sobbing was the only thing you can do. Waiting for the thrusting to stop, you teeth bite your lip to stop noise from escaping. It doesn't sound like you at all, it's weird, you're scared and confused.

Your mind tries to think of a distraction, to think of anything but the mysterious assault. How is this even happening? What did you do to deserve this? Why you?

Your breath hitched as you feel the tight coil in your stomach again. Moaning a little as you feel pleasure rising though you. Your hands clasp over your mouth, muffling your noise. You shake your head as the coil gets tighter and tighter, your legs shaking as you stutter words of apology to whoever's doing this.

And it snaps.

Your vision going white, body stiffening and eyes going into the back of your head.

Ah. You never felt this... good before.

It takes you a few minutes to recover. Your limbs feel like jelly, your chest rising up and down in a slow manner, and you greedily gulp air.

You were tired and exhausted but you were glad the assault has stop after that. You groggily starts to lift you panty's up however you felt something dripping down your hole.

... you wonder what it was.

***

After that day, the mysterious phantom would touch you at random times, when you're showering, classes, or even in bed late at night. It was torturous, you were becoming paranoid and it didn't go unnoticed by one of your best friend.

He's helping you study in the library as you'd ask him for his guidance in physics. You would've asked your other friend, but you can just imagine him play with your hair or something along of not really helping you study.

You're breathe hitch as you feel the phantom ghost rubbing your cunt. Shrinking on your sit, uncomfortably rubbing your legs.

"Something bothering you?" He ask, looking a bit concern of your shiftiness.

"O-oh, it's nothing. Just a little tired lately," You reassured, smiling as you pretend to be fine.

His sharp gaze examined your face before dropping the subject, deciding to just help you study.

"If you need something to talk to. I'm right here, ok?"

You smiled forcefully, "I-I will... Thank you."

***

You could never bring yourself to tell someone about it. No one would ever believe you.

You're laying in bed waiting for the phantom, already memorizing the way it'll touch you. You brace for the touch as you can't help but feel helpless. Are you going to live like this your entire life? You don't want to...

But would someone be willing to listen to you? To believe you? You don't wanna bother your best friend, you knew how busy he's gotten the recent days and you're doubtful that he'll even listen to your story when he's the rational one. That means...

Your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion as you clutch your pillow and close your eyes. You're panting as the phantom starts its routine.

You're scared... You're scared that it's starting to feel good.

No. You don't want to be alone anymore on this.

You need help. Badly.

You shakily gets up from bed, putting some jacket on as you heads towards someone who can help you... At least you believe who will do.

***

"Oh? What's my little darling doing here at this late of night?" He grins as he opened the door with the sight of you.

You fidget with your jacket as you feel small under his gaze, "P-Please help me."

He raised his eyebrow, his grin replacing with a thin line. Yeah, he's playful but he'll never joke around when you're having a problem, "Come inside, we'll talk there, sweetie."

Sitting on his couch, you took a deep breath as you prepare to tell someone about this problem of yours. He won't make fun of you right? He won't be weirded out, right? He's a reliable person and your best friend.

He sits beside you, a serious and concerned expression on his face. It was rare to see him like this, which encourage you to finally tell him.

By the end, you were crying and hiccuping in your hands about the experiences you encounter with that phantom. Feeling his hand rub your back, cooing at you in comfort. He pulls your head to rest on his chest, telling you that everything's going to be fine.

You sob out a thank you, finding relief to finally get it out of your chest.

Unbeknownst to you, the man was smiling.

***

He didn't know if God was on his side. But, he didn't expect this would happen.

Who would've thought that the toy he was playing with was connected with cute lil you?

He didn't believe it at first but the way you described the timing was too much of a coincidence. Sweet little thing, don't worry you won't experience any scary thing from now on.

"Sweetie, do you want me to chase that scary invisible phantom away?" He cups your cheeks in his hands, locking gaze with you.

You sniffle before nodding, "Y-Yes, please..."

He gave you a toothy smile before gently pushing you down on his couch. His fingers swiping away your tears, "Listen to me, ok? I need you to trust me on this." His nose touching with yours as he leans close.

"O-ok... I trust you."

Dumb little girl.

You shouldn't have said that.

Now you've sealed your fate.

***

He wonders what was going on with you back when he helped you study in the library. Something was very off about you, and you were clearly uncomfortable to brought it up.

He thinks of you very often even when he's busy and swarmed with school works. Sometimes, getting frustrated to even continue and wants to just go to your place. He massages his aching temple, resting on his chair before a box caught his attention.

Oh yeah, that stupid guy gave him that a few weeks ago.

He recalls their conversation about it, saying that it'll help him release some stress. Well, he's plenty stressed now so why don't he test it out now?

He saunters to the box, sitting on the floor to unravel it. Only to be surprised by the object inside it.

An onahole...

If he was his usual self he would've flung this across the room and throw it to the garbage bin. But sometimes he needs to be relieve as well, plus he's a man too,

He's not that picky too.

This'll do for him.

A temporary replacement while thinking of your cunt.

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