#but i just don't even know how to describe my state at this point it's something way beyond the usual depressed

[reimeichan]

God I love this question a lot tbh and I'm so glad anon asked it. I actually had to sit and think about this for myself- as a system that's regularly in a fully fused state but also regularly still experiences splitting into dissociated parts, how exactly does fusion feel for me?

At the very beginning, when I was adjusting to being fully fused, it was definitely A LOT and while I wouldn't call it "fatiguing", it was definitely very confusing. I had access to all of my emotions and thoughts and memories and it was incredibly overwhelming for me to try to navigate through all of that. We did find our equilibrium after a while though, and I think it took us a couple of months to really settle down and be at peace. Nowadays, being in a fused state is just... nice. I feel like my emotions have mellowed out and don't tend towards any one extreme anymore, and I know for me the stronger my emotions, the more energy that takes out of me, and thus the faster I tend to get fatigued. I feel in sync with all parts of me so that there's basically no need to actively communicate and spend energy on that as well.

When I'm not fused, though, and acting more as dissociated parts? That's definitely tiring for me. I regularly get headaches from communicating with ourselves and will need to sit down or close my eyes more because it's generally more exhausting to exist that way. I feel like I actually have to put in effort to be present and grounded- something that's basically effortless when I'm a fused whole. The difference isn't really as stark as I'm describing it tbh, as because I'm more dissociated I'm less able to notice just how tired and fatigued I am until after the fact- like now, looking back on those moments. That's really not to say it's all bad; acting as individual parts can be kind of fun and freeing, but generally speaking being fused is definitely much more preferable for us. Even though as dissociated parts we work together incredibly well to the point co-fronting and blending feels seemless and normal, it's still genuinely not the same as operating as a fused whole. It's a pretty major reason why I'm actively working together with my therapist to decrease my reliance on dissociation and splitting and to increase my window of tolerance when faced with high amounts of stress.

hi, i have been thinking about the topic of fusion, and what i want my long-term goals to be, and i was wondering. do you ever feel like being fused is exhausting? not the process of fusion, i know thats exhausting because healing is exhausting. but like. do you ever feel overwhelmed due to being all parts of yourself at once? i havent experienced any fusions yet (hopefully in the future!) but ive seen people talk about how even when fused, none of the parts disappear but instead are all part of the "you" that always exists. my only frame of reference for how that feels for myself is blendy cofronting, which in my experience can be pleasant with 2 or 3 parts, but any more than that gets overwhelming and disorienting

Actually? Surprisingly? No. Not really at all honestly. The funny thing is that I used to wonder the same thing so I absolutely understand the frame of reference and perspective and assumptions that go with it, but its extremely comfortable and LOW energy to be fused for me.

The actual thing that happens is that you don't really get that "too many parts in front" fatigue like... ever or fronting fatigue like ever - at least thats how it is for me.

I relax a whole fuck ton better as a fused whole and while a lot of fusion still has me having to learn my new / fused "me" and how I operate on a baseline, thats an entirely different thing than trying to balance all the differing and contrasting parts or trying to understand and negotiate that because like... They are all simultaneously me and I VERY freely and fluidly exist as and between all of them. There isn't really "compromise" I have to make because.... we just co-exist harmoniously as one without even needing to explicitly talk about it or discuss or put intention into coming to a shared understanding, we just... do and know and its really really really really fucking easy living as a fused whole compared to being multiple parts

Like even if you were to ask me just as ONE part versus how I am now, there is not a single part in our system that has ever actually been so comfortable and so not-fatigued existing as I am as a whole

Everythings a lot more balanced, managable and our window of tolerance is STUPID fucking large - and I don't mean that in a "relative to where we used to be" or "relative to someone with as much trauma as I do" but genuinely STUPIDLY huge compared to most generally neurotypical non-traumatized not-severely-mentally ill people and I largely thank that to Post Traumatic Growth honestly.

But like... tldr, not really at all for me surprisingly. Maybe really early post fusion when I was still figuring myself out a lot but like.... Thats more so the process of fusing than being fused itself imo.

(Side note edit: Sometimes I DO think itd be better to explore a situation and issue as independent parts and so sometimes I DO operate in a more system / plural way of existing for however long its beneficial, but thats less to do with fusion not helping me as much as it is that I think a plural lens and perspective has a lot of perks in navigating complicated situations.)

Anyways tagging a few others who might have a different answer / perspective on this since they are either in a different stage of a fusion / integration and/or have a different way of existing with their fused / integrated state than me.

@hiiragi7 @reimeichan @subsystems

[fluentisonus]

.

[seaofreverie]

How weird it is to be at the funeral of a close relative and still feel like I'm not allowed to cry or grieve and that everyone deserves sympathy but me. Because you know, I've never been to a funeral before, so that only makes me lucky, because I didn't have to deal with something like this until I was almost 23 years old. But maybe that actually makes me not lucky because otherwise I would have had some idea how I should feel and how to process this. I feel like this just doesn't make me special in any way, everyone experiences this and I mostly ache for my dad and my grandma. And even then I've been dreading the day this happens for years and it was inevitable that it would happen, and my grandad was almost 90 years old and I wasn't even that close to him so I feel like I should just not think about it so that it doesn't feel real (because nothing feels real to me anyway these days). And even by posting about it here I feel like I'm just begging for sympathy when I don't deserve any. And I feel like most of my sadness now comes from how alone I feel in both this and just in every other sense and how I feel like this makes me a bad person because I don't feel about it all the way I'm supposed to be feeling

[bewby]

soooo insane how depression actually affects the way i talk/speak/my speech patterns/etc like not only have i lost motivation to even talk to myself and it's rotting my brain away but i also forgot how to talk to others entirely because it has become. exhausting for me. awesome

[incognit0slut]

On camera

PART 4 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Roommate!Spencer x Camgirl!Reader Spencer requests to take on a more involved role in one of your live streams.

content: (18+) 4k, exhibitionism/voyeur, reader wears lingerie, unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, overstimulation (surprisingly it’s him for once), and a hint of cockwarming at the end a/n: this is the second part to a special show although you don't necessarily have to read it to understand what’s happening. this took a while because… there was a little pressure? i didn’t expect people to wait on this i hope it lives up to the expectations, let me know what you think my cuties<3

You nudged your foot against his. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine."

"Are you sure? You've been quiet ever since you sat down."

He felt the words knot up in his throat. The quiet wasn’t hesitation, it was disbelief. The kind that lingered in the gap between what he imagined and what was happening. The lack of conviction that defied logic, even when he was the one who initiated to exist beyond just a pair of hands at the edges of the frame.

"Spence?”

He glanced at you. Deep pools of brown drowning in lust swept over the piece of lingerie you decided to put on tonight. Even without much fashion sense, Spencer could appreciate the soft frills of purple lace clinging to your figure. The garter belt wrapped snugly around your waist, leading down to thin straps that framed your smooth thighs, and every logical thought he tried to root out slipped away the longer he looked at you.

Wait. Purple?

Purple.

Although Spencer was sure it probably had a fancier, specific name that bordered on… lilac? Lavender? Or something else elusive he couldn’t quite pin down. To him it was just purple. He might not have the vocabulary to describe the exact shade, but he knew the way it looked on you was nothing short of captivating.

“You’re wearing purple.”

The frown creased between your brows as you tried to make sense of his sudden observation.

“I am.” Your lips formed a slight pout. “And you still haven’t answered my question.“

And he still couldn’t bring himself to answer.

“I thought you were supposed to be Princess Pink?”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. It was true. Pink was your color. The soft, playful blush had always been part of your alter ego. You shifted on your feet, glancing down at the purple lace hugging your hips before meeting his eyes again. A small, hesitant smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and for a moment, you looked almost… shy.

“Well, yeah,” you admitted, your voice so soft it dipped into a tone he wasn’t used to hearing from you. Your fingers traced the edge of the fabric absently, and you glanced away again as if finding the floor more interesting.

“I thought maybe… it might help, you know? Calm your nerves or something.” The nervous laugh creeping out of you sounded strained. “I know you like purple… so I figured…”

The corner of his lips curled upwards. His smile reminded you of the times he caught you off guard with a look that was equally amused and deeply affectionate as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

“You wore it for me?”

You felt warmth rise to your neck but decided there was no point in hiding it. “I thought it might make this less scary for you.”

His smile faltered. “I’m not scared.”

“Spencer, you’re about to get naked.”

“You’ve seen me naked before.”

You couldn’t help but let out an amused laugh. He stated it so plainly with no hint of self-consciousness or hesitation. And technically, he was right. You had seen him completely, wholly bare more times than you could count by now ever since that first night you stripped away his innocence.

You still remembered how you had pulled him across the line from a curious roommate to someone who wanted to know every inch of your body. And that night turned into another, and then another, until what you were doing stopped being about one-off hookups and started blurring the boundaries you’d drawn between friendship and something more. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on that felt heavier than lust but not quite defined as love.

Spencer was a roommate, a friend, a lover, and eventually, an active participant in your live streams.

His hands were, at least.

You took a step forward, slipping between his legs where he sat comfortably at the edge of your bed. “I have seen you naked,” you agreed, “but they haven’t.”

His hands hovered at your waist, fingers twitching over your lace as if he wasn’t sure where to put them. He glanced up at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips before he finally admitted, “Okay… maybe I am a little nervous.”

“I know, but you don’t need to be. Think of it this way, the people who are going to see us will only be jealous of you.”

“Why would they be jealous of me?”

“Because you’re the one who gets to be with me.” You reached up to brush his hair back from his face, tucking those long, unruly strands behind his ear. “They’re in their rooms jerking off to a screen while you get to kiss me.”

A kiss fell on his lips.

“Touch me.”

Another peck.

“And fuck me.”

He chased your lips this time, his mouth puckering before he closed the gap. His words were muffled against you, “I am pretty lucky.”

“The luckiest,” you mumbled back. A soft smack of a kiss lingered in the air when you pulled away. “And you don’t have to worry, once we get started, you’ll be too distracted to remember what you were even nervous about.”

He hummed, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest as his grip on your waist tightened. “I think you might be right.”

“Good.” You moved to the side of the bed. “Now let me set up the camera.”

The tripod attached to the top of your computer screen wobbled slightly as you fiddled with it, adjusting the device until the lens angled down. You observed the setup, making sure it captured your body and the way Spencer’s hand rested on your waist without revealing either of your faces.

Perfect.

“You ready?”

Surprisingly, he was.

With a slight nod from him, you turned on the live stream.

Princess_Pink is online.

Spencer’s eyes widened as the chat erupted in a flurry of notifications, messages pouring in so rapidly they blurred into an endless stream of words.

“That’s a lot of people," he muttered under his breath.

“That’s the usual amount of people.”

“No, it’s not,” he countered. “I can’t even keep up with the chat.” Which was saying a lot. For someone who could read entire pages of text in mere seconds, this was overwhelming in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

“Don’t let them intimidate you.” You turned around and slipped between his legs again, feeling the way his knees instinctively parted to make space. “Just focus on me.”

Spencer barely managed to nod before your lips met his again, and with that, everything else seemed to dissolve. He could never quite get used to how effortlessly you could unravel him with just a kiss. His hands slid up the back of your thigh, the rough pads of his fingers brushing over your skin as they trembled slightly, grazing the delicate strap of your garter before settling firmly on your ass.

A surprised giggle bubbled out of you.

“Easy there,” you murmured, catching his bottom lip gently between your teeth before letting it go with a playful tug. “I have to greet them first.”

He reluctantly loosened his grip, letting his fingers linger on you for a final moment before slipping away to rest at his sides. His eyes remained fixed on you as you turned away, shifting your focus back to the screen and reaching over to the mic.

A faint hum filled the room as it came to life. Spencer could feel his breaths gradually falling into sync before your sweet voice cut through the silence like honey.

“Hi, boys,” you purred, letting the greeting roll off your tongue. “Did you miss me?"

Princess.no1.fan: Princess!!! JadenCums: we missed those tits Adam_4432: fucking hot as always Adam_4432: purple looks good on you Crazydick: who's the skinny loser at the back

You rolled your eyes as the comment popped up in the chat.

“This is getting old,” you said with a sigh, fingers hovering over the mouse. “You’re all obsessed with him.”

With a quick flick of your wrist, you blocked the troll and watched with satisfaction as his name disappeared from the list. Spencer tried to peek over your shoulder. “What did they say?”

“Nothing important,” you replied lightly, brushing it off as you turned back to the mic. "Didn’t I tell you guys to play nice?”

Princess.no1.fan: i always play nice with you JadenCums: they’re just jealous of your boy toy Adam_4432: ignore the haters, babe BigBoss88: let him stay in the background ThickNick: you're gorgeous princess

“Remember, if you can’t behave, you don’t get to stay. And I don’t think any of you want to miss out on what we've prepared."

That was his cue, right? He forced down the tightness in his throat, the sensation catching and shifting like a dry click as his pulse quickened. With a quiet exhale, he slipped off the edge of the bed and made his way behind you.

There was a moment of hesitation. But his doubt faded into the background as he focused on the curve of your waist beneath his fingers. He let his hands move slowly, tracing upward with a touch that lingered at the dip of your spine until his fingers brushed the delicate lace of your bra.

Wide hands covered the soft swell of your breasts.

Princess.no1.fan sent a $50 gift.

“See?” you breathed, pressing your back against him. “You play nice, you get to enjoy the show.”

He couldn’t help but squeeze your flesh, fingers sinking in and then pulling back, the skin dimpling under the pressure before slowly springing back. His veins looked prominent, winding up his forearm like delicate, raised lines that caught the light on camera every time he moved over the fabric of your bra.

And the lace offered the thinnest barrier. He could feel the way your nipple firmed underneath his touch, straining subtly as if it, too, was reaching out for more. He traced small, lazy circles around it, and when you arched into him, he had to bite back a smile. He pressed a kiss on your shoulder instead.

“You’re so good at this,” you muttered, letting your hand drift up to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair.

He let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment, his fingers hooking under the edge of your bra’s cup before pulling it down. Your breasts bounced slightly, settling naturally in his palm as the lace slipped away.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

A soft moan escaped you as he began to explore, and Spencer couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction that followed. He was rougher than he intended to be at times, testing the line between what made you shiver and what made you push back for more. It was the way he rolled both of your nipples between his fingers, alternating between gentle pinches and firmer twists, that finally drew the most telling reaction—a subtle, instinctive rub of your ass against him.

He took it as a sign to touch you further, one hand drifting lower while the other stayed firmly in place. Goosebumps prickled over your skin as he slid down your stomach until he reached the edge of your panties. His fingers skimmed along the waistband, and you could feel his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as he brushed his knuckles underneath the delicate material, hesitating.

Adam_4432 sent you a $100 gift.

That was enough to break through his hesitation. Without a word, he slipped his fingers beneath the lace.

The heat between your thighs greeted him, and there was no mistaking what that meant. You were wet, so wet that his fingers glided over your folds like silk. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of smugness as each subtle shift seemed to draw a new sound from your lips.

He let his fingers slide lower, searching, and when he finally found your clit, brushing his fingertips lightly over it, you jerked in his arms. The tiny, sensitive nub was swollen and begging for attention as it pulsed under his touch like a racing heartbeat. He gave gentle rubs. Slow circles. Steady pressure. The more he explored, the more your arousal smeared against his fingertips.

“Oh—you’re gonna make me cum so fast,” you gasped. You threw your head back against his shoulder, letting out a whine you knew would drive your viewers wild. “What do you think, boys? Should he make me cum now?”

The chat lit up instantly, flooded with messages begging you to let go, but between the rapid scroll of usernames and flashing emojis, one message caught your eye.

Looking4Sluts: no Looking4Sluts: cum on his cock Looking4Sluts sent you a $200 gift.

The notification flashed across the screen, and you felt a surge of adrenaline, a wicked smile playing on your lips. “Do you see that, baby?”

He nodded against your neck.

“They want more of you,” you purred, letting your hips roll back against him, pressing yourself closer to his obvious erection. “They want to see just how good you make me feel.”

Your words went straight to his cock. His touch suddenly changed as he began to move faster against your clit, and a choked gasp spilled from your lips. But just as the pressure started to build rapidly, you quickly grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand from your panties.

“No, not yet,” you stopped him, turning your head to catch his ear, your lips brushing against the shell. “Wanna cum on your cock.”

He watched as you reached down and slowly hooked your fingers into the sides of your panties, sliding them down your legs. A thin string of your arousal followed as you lowered the fabric, clinging to the lace before it finally broke and left a glistening trail against your thigh.

His balls tightened painfully.

Princess.no1.fan: Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot JadenCums: fisting my cock so hard Fatcock_777: wreck that damn pussy PussyLover69: i bet she’s fucking tight Looking4Sluts: jesus christ, she’s dripping

Spencer’s mind emptied the moment you leaned forward, planting your palms firmly on the desk for balance. The way your body arched made his pulse stutter, a surge of heat rushing through him so quickly it almost left him lightheaded.

“Like… this? Standing?”

You glanced back at him over your shoulder. “Exactly like this.”

He could barely think straight. His hands moved on their own, one sliding over your hips, gripping you firmly, while the other fumbled with his waistband, desperately tugging his pants down. The fabric slid down over his thighs, and he bit back a groan as his cock sprang free, hard and aching, pressing against the bare skin of your ass.

He could feel the heat of you against him, and it took every ounce of self-control to keep himself from sinking into you all at once. He pressed in closer, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse echoing in the ache between you both as the tip of his cock settled right where your folds parted. He rocked his hips in shallow motions.

“Baby…” You tilted your hips just enough to align with him, “no teasing."

But hearing those words only made him want to draw it out even more. He let his bulging head nudge at your hole, barely dipping in before pulling back, feeling the way you instinctively pressed against him.

"Spe—" you faltered, then groaned. "Stop it."

He couldn’t help but smile as his fingers found the straps of your garter belt. He tugged on one gently, watching the elastic snap back against your skin. "But you look so pretty."

"I'll look prettier with your cock inside me."

That did it. With one last shaky exhale, Spencer gripped your hips firmly and began to sink himself into you, feeling the tight, warm stretch of your cunt.

“Oh my god,” you gasped. He felt a slight resistance as your body adjusted to him. He carefully gave a few gentle thrusts, easing in and out just enough for you to relax.

Looking4Sluts: fuck yes JadenCums: she's so fucking tight PeachyKeen420: look at him stretching her PussyFiend69: just watching this is gonna make me cum HotForTits: Fuck her harder dude she wants it

His eyes flickered to that last comment, and something inside him shifted, like a switch flipping. Without another thought, without any lingering trace of hesitation, he tightened his grip on your hips and pushed in all at once.

Your moan tore through the air. So. Fucking. Loud.

HotForTits sent you a $300 gift

The notification flashed across the screen, but Spencer barely registered it, his control was slipping further away as his hips moved on their own. He started to grind into you, eyes traveling to your connected bodies. You were practically swallowing his cock, clenching so tightly around him that he felt like you were pulling him deeper, refusing to let him go.

In a way, you did beg for it. Each time you met his thrusts with an eager roll of your hips, the sound of skin slapping together echoed around you. He would have thought he’d be shy doing this in front of so many watchful eyes, but the way you moved against him made it impossible to care.

It only made him bolder. He let his hand slide up your back, fingers fumbling slightly with the clasp of your bra before he unhooked it. The straps slipped down your shoulders, sliding down your arms, and then you were completely, utterly naked, except for the garter hugging your thighs.

You were so pretty like this, so incredibly beautiful it made his pulse stutter in his veins. You were so pretty that it was almost disorienting, as if looking at you too long might make him forget where he was. And in his mind, all the lofty notions of beauty and art seemed to fall flat compared to seeing you like this. He needed to see all of you.

A startled whimper left your lips when he suddenly pulled out.

“Can you angle the camera down?"

There was a knowing look in your eyes. Your fingers moved to adjust the tripod, and he wasted no time stripping himself. By the time you were done angling the camera, he was already sitting on the edge of your bed, his cock throbbing against his stomach.

He looked painfully hard. Hard enough that every heartbeat seemed to pulse visibly along his length. You crawled onto his lap.

“Hi.”

His palm found the curve of your hip. "Hi."

“Are you okay?”

He nodded, his fingers tightening around the base of his cock as he urged you to lift your hips. “I think I’m starting to understand why you do this.”

“Yeah?”

"Mhm.” He nudged his tip between your folds. “It’s kind of exciting.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, fingers curling into his shoulder for balance as you began to lower yourself. “See? Nothing to be nervous about.”

A deep groan escaped his lips the moment your walls tightened around him. “You make this seem easy.”

“Maybe you’re just a natural.”

He gave a low chuckle, but it caught in his throat when he felt the full length of his cock buried inside you. “I… ah… I think you’re the one making me look good.”

“Shut up,” you replied with a grin, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “You don’t need any help looking good right now, trust me.”

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure what to think about that. He’d never seen himself like this, not in the way you did. But when he glanced over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the screen and the way your hips rolled over him, he started to believe it.

He looked like… well, like the porn he’d watched late at night in his room before you came along. But better. The kind that didn’t seem real, the kind that made him question if anyone actually had sex like that. He knew the vast majority of what’s portrayed in porn is exaggerated with only a small percentage even close to reality. Except this was real. It was really him, and you made it look like he knew what he was doing.

And sure, maybe he did in some way, albeit you being his only real experience. But that was the thing—he knew what made you tick. He could read the way your body reacted, knew the subtle cues that signaled when a whisper of his fingers could coax out a whimper or when the right shift of his hips would leave you trembling. And more than anything else, he knew how much you liked being watched.

He knew just how much it turned you on.

With that thought in mind, Spencer grabbed the firm swell of your ass and spread you open.

JadenCums: fuck yes FatCock69: she’s so wet BigdickXX: damn, I wish I could feel that pussy ILovePinkPrincess: spread her wider TommyGoode sent you a $200 giftDaddyDom92 sent you a $300 gift.

Your body squirmed beneath his hands.

“Babe… what are you doing?”

He ran his tongue over his lips. “Giving them what they want.”

Then he spread your flesh even further, fingers digging into your supple skin as he held you open. The sight was undeniably lewd, and yet he couldn’t deny the surge of pride swelling in his chest as he held you like this, putting you on full display. But more than that, it was what you wanted. The tension coiled in his muscles as he thrust his hips up, watching the movement play out in the reflection over his shoulder.

He could see everything. The slow drag of his cock, the way it stretched you open with each push, leaving no inch of you untouched. Every time he thrust up into you, his length came back slick and shining, catching the light for a split second before disappearing inside you again.

There was something hypnotic in the rhythm, in the way your body seemed to swallow him whole. And somewhere in that steady push and pull, you visibly clenched around him, a vice-like grip that sent a shudder through his body and pulled a deep, harsh groan from his throat.

His hands tightened their grip on you, and before he could think twice, his hips began moving faster. You squealed, an actual high-pitched sound that he hadn’t expected. It was almost cute in a way—if cute was even the right word for what was happening. But there was nothing cute about the way his body reacted to that sound.

His hips bucked upward, again and again by an instinct he couldn’t control. He was so lost in the sensation of your warm, slick pussy that he barely registered the rising tension in his own body. It wasn’t until his muscles locked up, his hips jerking with one final, forceful snap, that it all crashed over him.

Oh shit.

A sudden rush of heat coursed through him as he spilled inside you, the realization hitting him a second too late. His breath came in shallow gasps, a deep groan escaping his throat as pleasure overwhelmed him, leaving him stunned and gasping for air.

You paused, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his release slowly seep inside you. “Baby?”

His eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, sliding his hands up your waist. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—that was—”

Fast didn’t even come close to describing what happened.

You cut him off with a soft laugh, shaking your head as your fingers gently cupped his jaw. “Oh, honey,” you cooed. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

His eyes flickered to the camera behind you. “I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

You followed his gaze, then turned back to him with a smile. “Of course not,” you said softly, threading your fingers through his hair. “You kind of made everything better, actually.”

His brows knitted together. “I did?”

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Do you know…”

You started to roll your hips again.

“How hot it is…”

A soft squelch filled the air.

“To fuck with your cum inside me?”

He could barely comprehend the words that had just left your mouth, let alone the feeling of you moving against him. His eyelids struggled to stay open, the question catching in his throat before it spilled out in a breathy whisper. “Hot?”

“Insanely hot.”

Spencer couldn’t describe what happened after that. Obscene didn’t even begin to cover it. Surreal, maybe? But even that word felt lacking. It was all too real. You were rocking your hips on his lap, and the wet, sticky sounds filling the room were undeniably his own doing.

He held your hips tighter, half in an effort to steady himself, half because he didn’t know what else to do. The words were gone. Logic was gone. The only thing that existed was you, grinding against him with the same intensity that had already undone him once.

And he knew he was going to lose it again.

You leaned forward, your forehead pressing gently against his. “Spence, baby,” you whispered, making sure your voice was soft, just loud enough that only he could hear. “Can you fuck me again?”

He couldn’t say no even if he tried. His hands slipped beneath your thighs, fingers curling with just enough force to lift you, tilting your hips for better leverage. The shift pulled a startled gasp from you and you clung to him for balance, but he didn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. His hips met yours in a swift, demanding snap.

The sound of your body meeting was unmistakable, a rhythmic slap that would’ve made him blush if he were in any state to think clearly. But right now, all he could focus on was the mess he’d made of you, the way his cum seeped out, sliding down his cock in slow drips. Whenever he thrust into you, there seemed to be more spilling out, leaving thick, creamy streaks painted across your inner thighs.

Spencer had messy sex before (all with you, of course) but this was on a whole different level. It was chaotic—unapologetically filthy. The wetness between you spread everywhere. He could feel it pooling against his thighs, trickling down your legs, and the damp sheets beneath you were clinging uncomfortably to his knees while the heady scent of sex hit his nostrils.

And your voice wasn’t helping his self-control. It was high-pitched with a tremor, somewhere between a moan and a desperate whine tumbling out in a jumble of words that barely made any sense. Your voice grew higher each minute, more frantic, until finally, he could make out a few clear words through the haze.

“Gonna c-cum,” you moaned, “I’m gonna cu—ah fuck yesyesyes—”

A final, helpless cry pushed him over the edge.

He came for the second time tonight. He tried to hold back, but the way you were clenching around him, your body pulsing through your sudden orgasm tore down what little control he had left. He groaned, burying his face in your neck as his release overtook him again, shocked that he still had anything left to give as he emptied inside you.

The intensity bordered on painful. He could feel his body pushing to its limits and every pulse of pleasure felt like it was wringing him dry. And it was no less intense for you. You jerked against him, body twitching, sweat beading on your skin. Your muscles tightened and relaxed with the rhythm of his racing heartbeat as the last spark of pleasure finally washed over you.

Neither of you moved for a while after that. The only sound in the room was your labored breathing, the heavy rise and fall of your chests pressed together.

You were the first to break the silence.

“Baby,” you hummed, a soft, breathless laugh escaping your lips, “I think that might’ve been the hottest stream we’ve ever done.”

It took a second for your words to sink in, and when they did, his eyes widened slightly. The camera was still on. The audience was still there. His nose pressed harder against your neck as he tried to hide in embarrassment.

“Really? You’re getting shy now?“

His soft groan vibrated against your skin. “I wasn’t exactly thinking about the camera,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your neck. “It left my mind the moment I… you know.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Oh, I know. I could tell.”

You started to peel yourself off of him, only for his arms to tighten around your waist. You gave a playful tap on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Holding you.”

“Why?”

“My brain needs a moment to process this.”

Your hand danced aimlessly across his back. “Still embarrassed?”

“Mortified,” he confirmed.

A giggle slipped out of you, and you wiggled your hips. “We still need to clean up. I don’t think you want to stay like this forever.”

He let out a sound of protest but didn’t loosen his grip. “Just a few more minutes.”

Smiling at his stubbornness, you slid your fingers into his hair, letting your nails scrape lightly against his scalp. "Spencer," you said gently, making sure the mic didn't pick up your voice. “I need to turn off the cam.”

"They wouldn't mind watching us a little longer."

You sighed, feeling the undeniable stickiness between your thighs. It wasn’t the most comfortable feeling, and the warmth was quickly turning into a mess that would need attention sooner rather than later. But there was something so sweet about the way he wanted to hold you that it made it impossible to resist.

"Fine," you relented with a quiet laugh, "five more minutes."

[x-brik-x]

I'm seeing a lot of people say that punk fashion is expensive and inaccessible, which is very wrong. here is a list of some ways you can make punk fashion easier, cheaper and more accessible for you, since that's... kinda the whole point.

others are encouraged to add onto this!! (just don't recommend corporations like amazon. not cool.)

1. patches!! you don't need to buy them. DIY patches are not ugly or boring. in fact, they are encouraged here!! DIY, in my opinion, is always the best thing to do when it is an option and is safe to do so.

2. speaking of DIY, spikes!! you can make them!!

cut the top and bottom off of an empty can. cut down the middle of the cylinder and flatten it, so it's just a flat rectangle of metal.

cut out a shape that is kind of a third of a circle, but around 3/4 of the curved edge is taken up by triangle shapes. (I'm not very good at describing, so here's a badly drawn picture)

roll it into a cone, leaving the 4 triangles sticking out at the bottom. this bit is optional, but you can fill it with hot glue to make it more sturdy, just be careful touching the hot metal. I tend to hold the cone by one of the triangles with a bit of fabric wrapped around my fingers for this bit. cut 4 small holes in your fabric in this kind of shape:

and put the spiky bits of triangle through the holes. fold the triangles in on themselves to secure the spike in place. boom. spike obtained. this is one I made and attached to a little piece of fabric to test this method out:

3. battle vests!! (like the base jackets). the best places to buy these are charity shops and second hand websites in my opinion, but if anyone else knows any better options, please reblog with those!!

a good trick I find works well on eBay is to filter search results to your country (or state? can you do that in the US? idk) so that a: fast delivery because local, and b: all the sellers of everything that shows up are in YOUR TIME ZONE.

why is this important? when people sell something for really cheap, it goes FAST. check eBay at like, 2am or something. all the scalpers in your area are asleep. grab the cheap stuff while they can't.

4. sewing!! want patches, but can't sew for whatever reason? I've heard of a lot of people with joint conditions like arthritis complain about the inaccessibility of patch stuff, and that does sound extremely annoying, however:

safety pins!! while they are still a little fiddly, they're much less work so you don't have to fiddle about for long. if you can, you could even ask a friend to help, since it doesn't take long at all I'm sure someone will be willing to help out!! (I know I would, but that's just me, and I love this kind of thing). safety pins on clothes are also widely considered to be a symbol of solidarity, so if anything, you're adding some extra love and meaning to your patch pants/battle jacket.

if that's still too fiddly, fabric glue is always an option. unfortunately this means you won't be able to remove/reposition patches, at least without leaving a massive patch of residue, but if you're ok with that then fabric glue is probably your best bet.

for people who prefer sewing: as for where to get the thread, I've heard a lot of people recommending dental floss, as it's apparently much cheaper and works just as well. I haven't tried this myself so can't confirm that, but I thought I'd share it regardless.

5. where to get fabric!! old clothes. rip em up. you don't need any kind of fancy fabric from the craft store. my patches are made of old jeans that I grew out of.

don't have any old clothes and you don't want to waste any good ones? I'm not sure about other countries, but in the UK, as long as you're not on private property (trespassing), dumpster diving is perfectly legal.

I definitely ;) do NOT encourage ;) trespassing rich people's land ;) to steal from their dumpsters ;)

or tbh it doesn't matter too much how rich the person is, since it's all going to landfill anyway. if it's in the bin, it's free game, but you didn't hear that from me. ;)

please add onto this where you can!! and if I missed something or got anything wrong, add that on too!!

[deerboybreeder]

LONG fucking fantasy below the cut whoops. Tw for rape, drugging and stalking ♥️

I move to a small town in the middle of nowhere to completely restart my life. The community is small and tight knit, but thankfully extremely accepting, so me being trans is a non issue! Or at least, people have the decency to not say anything about it to my face. I feel welcomed in this town, though I spend a lot of my time improving the patch of land I moved onto and less talking to residents, even though I've met nearly everyone.

I start getting letters in the mail, complimenting me in sweet, flowery language. It makes me feel special, but there's no return address, so I can't write back. But over time, the letters get more possessive. Once, the letter describes my body fairly graphically, in all the most complimenting ways, but it's clear they saw me working shirtless in my garden, tits free to the wind. My land is huge and fenced in, someone would have to have jumped my fence and gotten very close without my noticing to see me doing that.

I start spending a little less time at home and more time in town, hoping to make some connections to keep my mind off my "secret admirer", who started recently describing how beautiful and motherly of a man I would make swollen with his baby. I don't tell anyone about it, embarrassed by the content, and the fact that despite the obvious escalation, it makes me wet to think about all this attention. I'm not beloved by the town, but I make a few good friends.

One day, a year to the day I moved into town, a package shows up at my door. Its from my secret admirer, a very small bottle of wine with a letter attached. Praising all my accomplishments this year, in detail, in order. Singing my praises and wishing for even more in the upcoming year. Against my better judgement, I accept, and take the wine inside.

I generally am a lightweight when it comes to alcohol- I learned that recently, out with friends at the local bar. One had bought me a drink and I needed help home afterwards, and the friend that bought me the round felt so badly about my state he walked me home himself. But I had nothing else to do that day, so I poured myself a glass anyway.

I don't drink often, so I didn't recognize right away that something was wrong. Didn't notice that I was fading in and out of consciousness on the couch until one moment I was watching a documentary on wilderness survival, and the next it was about space travel. My body was heavy, I could barely move, so the couch would have to do that night.

I almost chalked it up to overindulgence when my front door opened.

It was a small town- I had no reason to lock my door. Even my secret admirer hadn't made mention of wanting to break in, just lamented that they couldn't work up the courage to approach me first. But apparently, this was how they chose to do it.

I yelled, a slurred and disoriented thing. Time was runny, and I didn't even have time to process running before they were on me. A mask, sunglasses and a ball cap obscured my attackers face, hair seeming meticulously tucked into the cap to further obscure their identity.

I tried to struggle, but I'm small and they're much bigger- not to mention the wine that I realize must've been drugged. They shush me, clearly altering their voice so I wouldn't know who they are- small town, after all.

They pull up my shirt, tangling me in it and covering my face so I can't see them. Everything is running together, and at some point they've taken my pants off too, Im lying naked before them. Everything narrows down to sensations that run together. A mouth sucking on my nipple, my attackers hands running reverently down my body. They're murmuring words I can't understand because my head is swimming from the spiked drink. Their fingers find my wet and waiting slit, and they thumb over my tdick, and despite myself I make a strangled noise.

Then, I am aware of their cock at my entrance, and I get another burst of fighting, but it's useless. They shush me, kissing the side of my face through the fabric of the shirt around my face, and promise to be gentle as they push themself into my dripping cunt. They moan openly into my ear, muffled by the shirt, and start playing with my tits while they rape me.

Everything is blurry, I keep slipping in and out of consciousness, only to wake up and find that they're still fucking me. They whisper praises, saying they wish they'd done this a year ago when I first moved in, how much of a tease I was working in my garden shirtless or changing in front of the window. How we were going to be so happy together, how excited they were to realize I had a womb they could fill. How they'd start with one, but they knew I would look heavenly round and heavy with their baby for the rest of my life.

I don't know how much time passed, them using my pliant body like a cocksleeve. They were mostly true about being gentle, aside from the bruising on my hips where they held me down. They came against my waiting cervix at least once, but it all ran together for me. After cumming inside me, they gently rubbed my stomach over my womb, scratching the trail of dark hair that sprouted over the year taking testosterone.

I wanted to cry, but they stayed inside me growing soft for a while, gently fondling me or kissing my body. Eventually, I blacked out entirely.

The next morning I couldn't pretend it was a dream- I was left tangled up in my clothes, though a blanket from my room was draped over me and my TV turned off. My cunt was sore and I had the world's worst hangover. I stumbled to the shower and tried not to throw up.

I didn't want to be alone, so after my chickens were fed I went down to the friends house who helped me home that night. He had been so kind, and we'd started getting close. He had even dismissed a mutual friend making a joke about taking advantage of me the night he helped me home- he'd just helped me to my bed and left. I could trust him.

He knew something was off the moment he saw me, and ushered me inside. He got me water from his fridge, and sat down with me to let me talk.

I told him everything. First about the rape that night, then elaborating to the stalker in tears. He looked horrified, and let me sob in his arms. He was so kind to me, so good to me. I told him I didn't want to be alone. He offered to move in with me for a little while, to make sure nothing else happened. I agreed immediately, and he started packing up his things right that second.

His time spent moved in was nice. I got up early for my chickens and garden, but somehow he was always up earlier, making me coffee and breakfast. Some days he even watered my plants for me, just to be kind. He was sweet, always there to support me. He slept on the couch with no complaints, and even held me close when a noise outside had me convinced the stalker was going to break down the now locked door and rape me again.

The admirers notes slowed. They first were promises of coming back again, to see my "beautiful fertile body" up close again. Then threats when my friend moved in. Then nothing. I thought the nightmare was over.

I had chalked up the throwing up to a traumatic response and the drugs working their way out of my system. When it continued I didn't think much of it. Attributed the weight gain to my friend fussing over me and making sure I ate well. But the slightly round look of my stomach unsettled me, so I bit the bullet and took a pregnancy test.

Positive.

I was in hysterics when I saw the lines, and my friend ran into the room asking if I was hurt. I just shook my head and showed him the test, and he took me into his arms. We both know by this point it was too late to abort in the state this town was in, and travel costs put it out of the question if I could go out of state to have it done.

My friend assured me that it would be alright. That he'd help me through this. That he'd even help me raise the baby if I didn't want to be a single father.

Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, maybe it was the kindness he'd shown me this past month or two. Maybe it was the way he looked up at me, having knelt down in front of me to make his promise of support. But I kissed him. I had fallen in love with this man, who'd taken care of me in my time of greatest need. And with the way he kissed me back, he'd fallen for me too.

It was like a switch was flipped, like he had been holding back this entire time. I invited him into my bed, and every night his hands were on me. I loved the way he felt, so happy to have someone else touch me after what happened. Every touch was adoring and reverent, he made me feel like a prince. Id beg him to cum deep inside me and breed me, and he'd get a look in his eyes when he pounded my cunt. It helped me pretend it was his baby growing inside me, especially when he'd put his hand on my growing stomach protectively.

Our relationship moved quickly. We were dating for only three months when he proposed to me, but it felt like three years. Gladly I accepted, and it took only two months to set up the wedding. He handled everything, insistent I just relax because he didn't want to stress out the baby. I was heavily pregnant at our wedding, and I heard a few murmurs about it being a shotgun wedding. I let them gossip- I hadn't told anyone about my attack, and I didn't care if they thought we were just getting married because I got knocked up. My husband and I knew the truth.

Those final few months were hard, but my wonderful husband took such good care of me. Doted on me hand and foot, took care of the chickens entirely, and with winter setting in soon I didn't need to tend the garden at all. This loving wonderful man cared for me through every stage of this unwanted pregnancy and turned it into the start of a beautiful life. It was like a scene out of a romance novel.

My labor was hard, but he was there through it all. Fussing over me and ensuring I got the best care. It hurts beyond words, the baby huge and heavy, but I managed. A sweet baby girl.

He was overjoyed. The next two months spent in a sleepy newborn haze, of course. But he was always there, at my side. He cooked dinner, kept the house tidy, watched the baby as I tended the chickens, our main income aside from a few residuals from some old novel he wrote years ago. He didn't even ask for sex, knowing I was healing, even if I wanted to regardless of doctors orders. But we waited.

The anniversary of the attack came and went, and he held me through my sobs. Reminded me that even if the experience was horrible, we had our beautiful daughter, and our beautiful relationship, because of it. And he was right. I was able to leave it behind.

As time wore on, he continued to be an amazing husband. Attentive in daily life, wonderful to our child, and absolutely fantastic in bed.

Nights spent after the baby was sleeping entwined in each other. His cock buried to the hilt in my needy cunt, his mouth on my heavy milky tits. Some nights, id let him take Polaroid photos of me impaled on his cock, or sucking him off, or stroking my tdick as his cum leaked out of me. I never saw where he kept them, but the idea that my body was so important to him he kept photos around made me feel good and loved. I never needed to ask with him, he somehow always knew what I needed, and I was often marked with hickies along my body from him. He said he was claiming every part of me.

A few months into summer, I felt off again. This time I didn't wait, and took a pregnancy test right away. Positive again. We weren't trying explicitly, but we weren't preventing it either, especially not with how I begged him to breed me every night. I told him, and he was overjoyed. I felt like I was in a fairy tale.

We decided to turn his old stuff into a playroom, since the nursery itself was small. I set to work on it in the mornings, while he was making breakfast. It was a lot to take down and move, so it took a while. While emptying his desk to have him move it to storage, I found a little cardboard box. Curious, I opened it up.

At first I thought it was the dirty photos he had taken of me. The idea of him alone in his study, fucking his hand to these photos when working late on a new story made me shiver. But then, under those photos were more. Candid shots of me out with friends, even before the baby. I hadn't gotten out much after the baby came, not like I went much of anywhere after the attack. These photos were old.

Then, the ones from my home. In through the windows while I was changing. My shirtless working in my garden. Me reaching for a gift wrapped bottle of wine.

With shaking hands, I set the box down. My husband, unbeknownst to me, had come up behind me. He wrapped his arms tightly around me, in a way hours ago I would find protective but now felt like a vice grip.

"What's the matter, love?" He asked, as he placed a hand over my womb, once again full of his child. "I told you we were meant to be. That you would look beautiful heavy with my baby for the rest of your life. I know you think so too. Why else would you beg me to breed that fertile, beautiful body of yours again? Just as I said before. If it weren't for that night, we wouldn't have our daughter, or our marriage. I just wish I'd done it sooner."

[etheries1015]

(In Lilias dream) General Lilia X reader : Hidden pregnancy

General warnings: The reader mentioned being pregnant, but no pronouns are used. Situationship described, mention of heat...honestly, just a shitty scenario I half-baked when day-dreaming at work the other day. really self-indulgent and not my best work, but ima share it anyway. Cause'. I like the idea, even if I can't execute it very well. HAHAHA

"You" general Lilia pointed during the dream, startling you as you ate peacefully at the food you 'humans' had so kindly put together for the fae army. You looked up curiously and tilted your head, heart pounding in your chest at the sight of the beautiful man you had known to be important to you.

"You're pregnant. With a fae child, nonetheless." He said bluntly. The suddenness of his comment left your heart drop into the pit of your stomach, and you were immediately alarmed. With a loss of appetite and eyes wavering, you threw a panicked glance at Sebek and Silver; both who were staring at you with wide eyes and spoons halfway out their mouths.

You hadn't a clue that fae were able to tell such things. Questions swirled around your mind all at once: Did Lilia in reality realize this? or perhaps his magic and senses dwindled so much he hadn't taken much notice? What are you to say in response? However, there were more pressing issues to think of at the moment. And that was the way the two boys rushed to your side in shock, Silver grabbing your hands and looking you in the eyes earnestly.

"You...you're what..?" The silver-haired boy peered into your eyes with concern, "You're...pregnant? Is it...is it his?" You pursed your lips and held back tears that threatened to pour out of your melancholy orbs and your hands trembled with fear. You gave a nod in response. You could feel the gaze and judgment of the fae surrounding you, including Sebek, who knew well enough to hold his tongue at this moment where you seemed to be at the edge of a breakdown. Bauer, his grandfather, on the other hand, scoffed in almost disbelief at the mere notion a fae would copulate with a human. Such were the times in the dream that Lilia was having, however, you felt no true judgment wafting off of the long-haired general.

"Yeah. It's his. But...he wanted to leave and I ...need to go home. I can't.. I mean, I want to stay, with him, but I know that he is losing his magic and he wants to go to a faraway land, and I...I don't want to hold him back from doing what he wants. Besides, he believes he's too old to start parenting all over again, I just-"

You started going off on a nervous tangent, vomiting every word and excuse that came to your mind. Bauer made a snide and astonished comment about the situation, Sebek following suit not without a piercing glare from Lilia and a sneer of dissatisfaction. Uncertain how to proceed, Lilia moved past Silver and placed an uncertain and awkward hand on top of your head in an attempt to console you.

"Fae are eternally loyal to one mate. If your fae lover is noble and virtuous, he will not abandon you. Speak to him, perhaps there's a misunderstanding." You almost winced at the word "lover," for could you really classify your relationship with him as such? Of course, there were times of flirtiness, but you two felt comfortable in each other's presence (clearly). Yet...Lilia Vanrouge is a very mysterious man who worked in ways that will forever be unfathomable to you. He kept his relationships at arm's length, and you were not far behind. You just so happen to be there at the time of his heat, the instincts of two bodies craving affection indulging in primitive actions. So...what he felt about your...relationship...was beyond you.

General Lilia averted his rosey gaze from your own trembling orbs, your lips pursed and embarrassingly staring at the ground unable to make eye contact with the others.

He would have insisted you stay behind in your state, however felt compelled to bring you with him under the guise that he would better be able to keep a watchful eye on you in case this was some sort of ploy to induce some sort of surprise attack. However, it was obvious to any onlooker the way he tended to your needs, protect you from harms way, and at random inquired of your state. The rest of the army that followed him was in awe seeing their general practically 'dote' (for lack thereof better terms) on this random human who was impregnated, to their knowledge, by some other fae.

You wanted to hold on to the belief that he subconsciously knew the truth, even in this dream world, the Lilia you had come to love was attentively paying attention to your fragile state at all times.

And...somehow you knew that it would be alright.

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddled with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, weather you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

[marlshroom]

came to the fucked up realization after finishing gravity falls again last night the parallels of the dream bubble bill made for mabel and the literal state of delusion he keeps himself in.

in the book of bill on the page where bill cipher describes how he figured out a way to manipulate her into giving him the rift, it says:

"Summers ending, my guy. Ending to death, bro. She'd do anything to make it last just a day longer. Probably something RASH and OUT OF CHARACTER, even!"

as we know, mabel cannot handle the fact that she will be growing up. that the relationship with her brother is going to change. she is scared of high school.

bill then says "That was it. She'd never make a deal with me. But she'd make a deal with someone she believed could give her more time. The dream was done. I had her."

bill then creates the dream bubble for mabel, he makes every one of her dreams come true, a place where time is still and she can be a kid forever. a lie so great that she wont have to face the truth.

in journal 3 on one of the pages bill is writing in code, we see this:

[ID: "I ask you, why must[should] time only move forward? Why must cause preceded effect. Who voted on the law of physics."]

my friend helped me break down what bill means by this:

why can we only move forward in the 4th dimension of time. why does something have to make another thing happen, why must cause come before the effect. why cant you move backwards, in the other direction, change the decisions youve made.

how interpret this is bill asking why he is not able to back and stop what he did to his family. he says to ford that he tried and failed to undo the past.** why did him wanting people to acknowledge his advantages instead of suppress him lead to the destruction of his whole dimension?

**(i just want to point out that this is probably the time where bill is the MOST open to anybody, or at least the first. to his henchmaniacs he had been telling them that he liberated his dimension until the oracle discovered the truth. here, to ford, he got so much closer to telling the truth. he SHOWS ford the last atoms of his world. he says that it was destroyed by a monster, not that it was liberated! destroyed)

back to when bill says "I had her" about mabel, he had her cause he knew exactly what needed to happen to trap mabel in a delusion because it is exactly what he is doing to himself. creating a fake narrative of what happened to him, that he was vindicated in killing his whole dimension. only ever doing exactly what he wants because confronting the truth is too scary for him(good fucking lord). the morality page offers good insight into this too.

i am actually just going to quote the whole page and highlight the important part. it speaks for itself really

"THE POINT IS it's[morality] is a very flexible concept! But parents and presidents don't want you to know that, because then you might start asking other questions, like who put them in charge, anyway? So they cram your brain full of guilt and regrets for transgressing the laws that they just made up(the laws that they made to prevent the destruction of their dimension, regardless of if the law + the wrongful medication of a fucking baby triangle did any good to actually prevent it). Wouldn't it be nice if you could put all that baggage down? Quell the shame that follows you everywhere for a lifetime of crimes? MAKE THE SCREAMS FINALLY STOP? The good news is you CAN silence that annoying voice, and here's how!

DENIAL

Works 100% of the time in every situation. What you you mean there are people who disagree? I can confidently say there aren't!

RATIONALIZATION

If you can do it, you can justify it! "Truth" is open-source code and anyone can edit it anytime! Want to be like me? List 3 "evil" things and then 3 "reasons why they're actually good." You'll be rationalizing like Bill in no time!

DETACHMENT

Did you know 100% of your human cells die and are replaced every 7 years? That means that anything you did 7 years ago wasn't even you-it was some dead loser! You can't be held accountable for what a dead person did! What? You think this is just another form of rationalization? I DENY THAT!

THE BILL CIPHER DECISION METHOD!

Working over the eons, the voices in my head teamed up and worked out a foolproof method for making any decision in any situation.

DO WHATEVER I WANT."

ooooooooooooooooooh boy.

he is fully admitting here that he is living in a completely different really in order to justify doing whatever he wants. he gives mabel the tools to deny, to rationalize, to detach herself from the reality of it all. that time has to move forward. and he thinks it will work because it worked on himself.

but it doesn't work on mabel because she understands that she needs other people. shes vunerable, she lets people in, admits when shes wrong. and bill cant do that because it would destroy the fantasy he's created for himself.

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

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A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

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The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

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The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

[yutasbellybuttonpiercing]

#3 "i dare you to fuck me (hoshi)"

kinktober 2024 — #3

pairing: kwon soonyoung/ hoshi x reader

au/genre: smut, slightly fluffy (?), best friends!au

word count: 4293 words

warnings: brief nipple play, fingering (f receiving), not detailed oral (f receiving), awkwardness, a bet about orgasms, soonyoung has a big dick (how does this always happen?), piv sex (reader is on unspecified birth control), unrealistic stamina, cream pie 💞

a/n: I WUV HOSHI 🐯 also, can someone please count how many times i've described his body as muscular?

taglist: @rjreins @meowniee @deezbin @ant-onie @ablackbtsstan @gacktsa

"There just is no way you can do it, no one can!" A groan escapes you as you fall back onto your mattress, throwing a pillow over your face to hide your half-embarrassed, half-distressed feelings written all over your face. It's awfully quiet for a moment, and to have a peek to what you assume is happening, you remove the pillow, immediately being greeted with your best friend's face hovering mere inches in front of your own, signed with that look – and therefore be proven correctly.

"I think I can." Soonyoung grins, leaning in closer. His knees rest on each side next to your hips on the mattress, his hands creating deep imprints beside your shoulders as he stares down at you. Involuntarily, your breath hitches. You find yourself staring into his eyes, switching from one to the other as your own widen in realization that – maybe – you're not as much against the idea as you initially suspected.

Soonyoung is commonly known to be absolutely competitive. If everyone was backing down from a challenge, Soonyoung would be the last man standing, facing the difficulties and tearing them apart like a cheese grater. It is something you do admire about him, well, under normal circumstances that do not include your... your body.

"And I think you're being a creep," you announce, pressing your pointer finger to his forehead to push him away. With a whine, he compliantly retracts, a pout forming on his lips, all while you feel like you can finally breathe again. With a scoot, you sit up against the headboard, switching between looking at your best friend and fighting your hardest battle of trying not to look at him. 

"Well, I think you're not giving me a chance," he states, criss-crossing his toned legs that you probably shouldn't gaze upon right now to stand your point, but how could you when they're practically begging for you to bite into their muscly flesh?

"Well, I think-" You're forcing your eyes to take in anything but his thighs – a quest hard enough to bring even the strongest soldier to their knees in defeat – "that would cross boundaries that can't be un-crossed."

The playful glint in his eyes disappears suddenly, leaving him to contort his brows in concern. "For real?"

"I mean, yeah?" Your shoulders tense up and your fingers begin fiddling with a loose string on your sock. "Look, the thing is that I'm fine. I don't need to- you know."

The look he sends you is unbelieving, doubtful, unconvinced.

"It was just a random fact I threw into this conversation, I didn't mean for you to jump on the opportunity," you reason, hands gesturing weirdly in front of your chest.

"Alright, my bad," he grins and you thank the universe for the one thing that characterizes your best friend more than his competitiveness: his naivety to believe every lie you tell. Because if he'd tried convincing you for a minute longer, you would've presumably given in. It's not like you don't want to, it's not like the voice between your legs hasn't yearned for Soonyoung's touch once or twice or thrice or more in the past years of being friends. It's just that- how does one move on from that?

"Great!"

"I mean it's your choice if you don't want to cum." Soonyoung shrugs, eyebrows risen with a sly smile on his face as he turns his head, then side-eyes you.

"Exactly." You grin fakely.

"I mean, not to brag, but the feeling is pretty great."

"I know. I can do it myself."

"Sure, but" he sighs dreamily "it's different through the hands of another person."

"Weren't we going to play Mario Kart?" You ask through gritted teeth, trying to change the topic away from your sex-life. Soonyoung might be great at a lot of things, most things even, but how can you be sure he's good at this too? How does one move on from that – okay, maybe that’s somehow possible… but how does one move on from that failing miserably?

"Oh, of course," Soonyoung scoots to sit down next to you and presses a controller into your hands. You would like to say the cool material eases the sweaty feeling of your palms, but it actually intensifies, highlights the feeling, and you try your best to ignore how it threatens to glide from your wet digits every passing second. Not long after, the game starts with Soonyoung immediately taking first place. You try to concentrate, mood dropping when you have to, once again, realize that he is pretty much unbeatable. Saltily, you side-eye him, only to see a smug grin on his face. "What can I say, I'm pretty good with my hands."

"Oh, for God's sake!" You throw the controller down, crossing your arms over your chest and watch Soonyoung win the game just seconds later. Slowly, he turns his head towards you, grinning evilly.

"What?"

"Nothing," he smiles sweetly and you huff, then get ready for the next round which goes by just as quickly as the first, and with the same outcome. Annoyed, you throw the controller across the bed only for it to bounce off the edge and hit the floor with a thump. 

"You seem pretty tense, maybe I should help you relax," Soonyoung grins, and you wish upon the Gods to either let the ground swallow you whole or to give you a way to wipe his awful smugness off his handsome features.

Maybe you could punch him. It would most certainly shut him up, but you're not a violent person. You like peace, you like the pigeons, and punching him would only result in the same outcome of a ruined friendship, but without the fun.

Maybe you could kiss him. It would also ruin the friendship, but at least you get half the fun. 

Maybe you should just go for broke.

"Okay," you simply say. Judging by the look that takes over Soonyoung's face, he is definitely surprised, but not opposed. He blinks, bottom lip pushing forward in disbelief.

"What?"

"Do it," you demand, grabbing the remote to turn of the TV (the Mario Kart Theme Song is not the ideal background music for getting intimate with your best friend, you decide) and lay down on your back. With a swift motion, you lose your pants, kicking them off your legs and down the bed to pool in a little jean-mountain next to the controller you'd sent off earlier.

Soonyoung looks like he's been petrified while looking at a pot of freshly made budae jiggae. It takes him another split of a second to collect himself before he comes crawling over to you. "Are you sure?" 

"I'm sure that if you don't do something right now I will kick you out and keep your switch," you answer blandly and, in the same breath, wonder when all of your uncertainty turned into passive-aggressiveness and impatience. 

"I didn't pressure you into this, right?" Soonyoung's stare into your eyes is so intense that a part of you melts, but a different part of you wants to show him, to prove him wrong. There is no one who's ever been patient enough with you to make you finish, so maybe it's your poor choice of men, maybe it's your body, maybe it's something else entirely. Of course it bothered you at first, but you've come to terms with it. That was until today. There is just no way that he can bring you an orgasm. It cannot be that simple.

"I swear to God-"

"Can I kiss you?" Soonyoung's voice sounds so soft, uncharacteristically soft. He's appeared besides you, finally settled in laying on his side, slightly towering over your form. The scent of his cologne meets your nostrils as you dare to look up at him, a dark gaze set upon his eyes that makes you gulp, throat drying up with the thought of what's to come.

"Just do whatever you need to-" You don't even get to finish before his soft lips press against yours. He slips his hand beneath your chin to lift it up the slightest bit for better access. His mouth moves gently against your own, obnoxious sounds of lips parting and connecting again litters the quiet room. Sounds that would usually make you gag upon hearing them, but something about it being him makes it okay, makes you not even realize. 

It's then when you notice his hand leaving your chin, trusting the way your lips move against his own that you will not pull away without the support. He traces your form, hand stroking over your sides to come to a quick halt at your hips. You gasp as he moves it up again to gently trace the outlines of your breasts through your shirt. 

Tingling sensations of want spray through your body like a miniature firework. Soonyoung knows how to touch you, even though he never has, not like that, and when his thumb brushes over your clothed nipple, you gasp against his lips.

You just know he's going to be smug about it, you're not even surprised when you feel him smirk against your lips before resuming to kiss you deeply, adding a little tongue to lick over your lower lip, not yet begging for entry.

His hand leaves your breast, and you feel a little disappointed until you realize he pushes your shirt upwards to create real, skin-on-skin contact with your nipple again. You'd be surprised at how easy it was for you to let yourself go for him, to let him in, to let him explore, if you could concentrate on anything but the way his self-declared skillful fingers are making you feel right now. 

With your shirt pushed further up to reveal your body to his eyes, his lips leave yours to attach to a nipple instead, sensually licking and sucking on the bud to leave you back-arched and hungry for more. You voice your wish, and Soonyoung, not without a chuckle, lets go of your breasts to kiss you once again. 

His hand leaves your chest to travel south, tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach briefly before exploring the sensitivity of your thighs. He traces soft patterns on the supple flesh, riling you up even more before finally attending to your clothed core. 

At the first touch, your eyes roll back behind closed lids, hips bucking into his touch as if having a mind of their own. You know he can feel how your wetness drenched the flimsy material of your panties, and when he finally reaches inside, you feel much less like needing to prove a point. To say his fingers feel good would be an understatement, you would even dare say that you've never had someone else’s touch feel this good.

Soonyoung glides a finger through your folds, collecting enough of your wetness to spread upwards over your clit, then begins circling it. The action makes you clench around nothing. He knows just how to touch you, and you start to believe that he might actually be able to make it happen.

His motions, speed and pressure intensify over time, making you grasp the sheets to keep yourself from thrashing around. At this point, you don't even realize the sounds you're making, nor the volume of them, only spurring Soonyoung on to keep touching you just like that. 

Pressure begins building. Your heart skips a beat, then hammers away at twice its original pace to make up for it. The familiar knot in your stomach keeps forming, you cry out, hands, touching everywhere at once to find the closure of knowing what to do with yourself, finding refugee on Soonyoung's shirt. Your lips are no longer connected, instead your forehead rests pressed against his, allowing your panting breath to tickle his lips.

It's happening, it's going to happen-

It’s… it’s gone.

As slowly as it came, it ended abruptly. It still feels good, everything feels so, so good. You feel yourself being on fire, every part of you yearns to feel Soonyoung, more of Soonyoung and Soonyoung everywhere. It's just not enough.

Whether he felt your build up and crashing or not, he does not seem to be ready to give up just yet, instead reaching down to insert a finger into your waiting hole, then another. His movements are neat, concentrated on making you see stars with the way he drags along your walls, pads of his fingers pressing upward to massage into your spot just right.

It builds, it builds, and it's gone.

Reading your signs, Soonyoung moves to lie between your legs. The absolutely drenched material of your panties meets the floor moments later before Soonyoung dives in, lips and tongue connecting to form a firework of sensations between your legs. But it's just not enough, you realize, and you feel like crying. It can't be, he is doing everything right, better than right, so why isn't it working?

"S-Soonyoung-" you bring out. "It's not- it's not working."

"Are you sure? I mean, I could-"

"I can't. It's not going to happen."

"Just let go-"

"I can't!"

"Please-"

"Just let it go!"

It's not awkward, it just feels a little weird. None of you had realized just how much time Soonyoung spent between your thighs, and the reality came crashing down on you as you looked at your phone to overcome the awkward silence, showing numbers that indicated that Soonyoung's last bus was gone for good and there was no way for him to get home.

Hence, the two of you stare holes into the darkness lying next to each other on your bed about half an hour later. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't-" Soonyoung whispers into the quiet room.

"That's why I told you, it's impossible," you whine, hiding your face in your hands even though he can't see you anyway. 

"Was it... just not good in general?" The uncertainty in Soonyoung's voice is uncharacteristic for him, voice usually overflowing with confidence to a point where it's almost unbearably annoying sometimes. It makes your heart ache.

"No, you were not the problem. You did... everything right, to be honest. I don't want to stroke your already massive ego too much, but I've never been touched like that," you admit, turning to your side to face where you assume him to be.

"Phew," he says, and you can hear the playfulness in his voice clearly. You roll your eyes, but crack a smile. Rustling noises coming from Soonyoung's side of the bed, paired with dipping motions of the mattress that let you guess that Soonyoung's turned to face you as well. Carefully, you reach out to touch him.

"That's my f-, I swear to God if your finger ends up in my nose, that's your problem- no wait, I'll turn on the light," Soonyoung says and follows his own words with actions, and you giggle, closing your eyes to shield them from the stinging brightness of your lamp and scooting your body closer to Soonyoung until you can feel the warmth radiating from his body not only on your hand, that's touching his chest. It's silent for a minute.

"It was really good..." you admit again, Soonyoung's scent reminding you of the happenings earlier, and maybe this is your subconsciousness telling you to try it again, but you're unaware of it.

"If I didn't know any better, I could swear you're trying to fuck me right now," Soonyoung laughs and earns slaps to his chest from you until he has enough and grabs your wrist. "For real though..."

"What?"

"Let's try it again- wait! Hear me out," he warns, and you shut your opening mouth in defeat. "Let's make it a competition, whoever cums first has to buy ice cream tomorrow."

"Ice cream?" You mumble, head spinning a little at his eagerness to try again. You can't believe that this is only his competitiveness speaking, yet you can only speculate the reason why he is so head over heels at the idea of being intimate with you again.

"Ice cream," he confirms, but the tone of his voice dropped in both deepness and volume. A tingling sensation washes over your body, causing your breath to come out shakily as you subconsciously press yourself closer to Soonyoung.

"But isn't ice cream like really cheap? Shouldn't we compete for something a little more... expensive?" You don't notice how your tone changed as well, making it sound like you're unintentionally purring your words.

"It's not about the ice cream, silly," Soonyoung tsks, making you look up at him once again by lifting your chin, "I just want you."

You whimper at that, and fortunately, Soonyoung is quick enough to pull you into another kiss before you can feel embarrassed about your shameless display of attraction. Quickly, the kiss gets heated, yet not hasty, no teeth clashing, no lips crashing, just raw desire and a little too much spit. It’s perfect.

Soonyoung’s hands find your waist, pulling you closer, before shamelessly reaching for the supple flesh of your ass, generously groping a cheek with his hand, making you whimper once again, uncoordinated hands tugging at his shirt, wanting it off, wanting to see the bulky richness of the body you know he’s sculpted to upmost perfection at the gym in the past years.

Following your desperate request, Soonyoung pulls the fabric over his head, he himself too affected to even act cocky about you wanting an opportunity to visually take in his beefy torso, instead panting softly as his intense gaze meets yours.

Though not for long, as yours immediately falls to his strong chest, muscles visibly bulging through his skin, and you can feel yourself gulping from drooling so much. Your nimble fingers quickly find their way onto his skin, softly exploring the wide expanse of muscle paradise as your lips find his again. 

Soonyoung softly grunts into your mouth as your fingertips briefly circle his assumably sensitive nipple, then softly pushes you onto your back to hover above you effortlessly, strong arms wrapping around your figure before pulling your shirt off as well.

The in between is a bit of a blur, every glimpse at Soonyoung's body enough to get your head spinning, every one of his touches feeling electric with how turned on you are, and soon, there's not a layer of clothing separating you. 

Soonyoung reaches down gently, spreading your folds with his fingers to find your wetness greeting him once again, insisting on preparing you for what's to come as he softly kisses along your neck.

This time, you feel, he's less determined, there's no goal in his mind, he genuinely wants to explore the depths of you, every little part he missed in his determination earlier. But that doesn't make it any less mind blowing.

“You’re so… perfect,” he mumbles into your neck, the sound almost getting lost in your gasps and soft moans as he stretches you with three of his digits. 

“Soonyoung…” you whimper needily, trembling hands running down his body, reaching their destination as you wrap a hand around his length. 

“Fuck, you’re big,” you gasp in mild surprise, unable to hold back the implied compliment, and the charged atmosphere briefly lightens as Soonyoung lets out a soft chuckle. 

“You want it?” He asks, and it’s not only a question of if, but also him trying to gauge if you're ready for him yet.

“Mm,” you hum in approval, hooded eyes hazily looking up at him as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Soonyoung lets out one last breathy chuckle before aligning himself with your entrance, intense gaze meeting yours as he carefully shifts forward, his tip briefly catching on your hole before sliding inside.

Your breath hitches at the stretch despite his preparations, yet you want more, you want all of him, all of Soonyoung as deeply as possible, and to never let him go. And he complies, slowly pushing deeper and deeper, every vein dragging deliciously along your walls that struggle to adjust to the intrusion.

With your eyes rolling back, you let out a soft groan, hands grabbing onto his bulging biceps for any form of stability as your head spins, his tip seeming to slide deeper endlessly, his cock filling you to the very brim before he finally bottoms out.

“Holy shit,” Soonyoung grunts softly, panting breaths leaving his parted lips, eyebrows scrunched in a mix of raw pleasure and trying to hold himself back from just pounding into you right now.

He takes a deep breath, grabbing onto your thigh to adjust it around his waist before stroking all the way over the flesh of your ass and up your waist where he rests his hand to hold you in place as he pulls back slightly, then thrusts experimentally.

A whine escapes your parted lips, fireworks going off behind closed lids, the butterflies in your stomach going crazy at the feeling combined with the mere reality of this situation. Soonyoung’s inside you, reaching depths that you’d naively describe as uncharted territory, and, God, he feels heavenly. And your body seems to agree, clenching automatically as if not wanting to ever let him pull out entirely again.

Soonyoung gasps, then buries his face in your neck again, lips attaching to your skin, peppering open mouthed kisses everywhere he can reach as he repeats his thrust before setting a slow yet steady pace.

Moans tumble from your mouth uncontrollably, the bet about ice cream long forgotten, as well as your uncertainty about whether you can even cum from someone else's touch. 

And Soonyoung takes you for hours, pushing your legs and body into every possible position one could think of, whispering sweet yet dirty nothings into your ear for only you to hear, and gifting you the best night of your life. 

By the time he announces that he's close, he’s a panting mess, a layer of sweat covering his muscular body while the wetness between your legs has increased to a point where it's almost too slippers, and yet all you feel is pure bliss.

“Cum in me,” you gasp breathlessly, your legs feeling like jelly at this point, “it’s fine… cum in me…”

With his last remaining strength, Soonyoung’s head snaps up, a look of pure astonishment on his face, “for real?”

“Y-yeah.. yeah, I’m-,” you interrupt yourself with a moan as Soonyoung’s thrusts pick up, “yeah..”

“Oh my God..” Soonyoung’s moans get whinier, a tad higher in pitch as he gets closer and closer. He’s managed to manhandle you back into your original position with you on your back, and his hands grip onto your waist to be able to piston his hips into you faster, his face buried in your neck as he grunts in pleasure, “oh, fuck, thank you…”

His thrusts get sloppier, almost losing their rhythm and all you can focus on is how his body slowly tenses up more and more, the veins on his strong forearms bulging as he moans your name into your neck needily. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum…”

Just as you open your mouth to encourage him once again, he picks up his pace yet again, pounding his hips into yours with such force and speed that it makes the bed crash against the wall repeatedly. It takes you by surprise, your back arching and your jaw dropping at the sudden overwhelming sensation, your nails digging into the skin of Soonyoung’s wide shoulders.

He pushes into you harder and harder, as if losing himself completely, his moans growing louder and louder, maybe a bit too loud for the time of night, but neither of you care, merely focused on the pleasure you’re both feeling. 

Soonyoung bottoms out again, once, twice, before pushing in impossibly deep, and you can physically feel the exact moment he orgasms, his length pulsating wildly and a warm sensation filling you, and that’s when it happens. 

With a soft, tired whine, you feel the knot in your stomach, that you didn’t even notice was forming, snap, your own walls clamping down around Soonyoung repeatedly, albeit rather softly and not as intense as Soonyoung’s high. It takes you a moment to realize.

Your eyes widen. Was that…? The same moment, Soonyoung’s head snaps up, his eyes as wide as your own. Oh, he felt it.

“Did you…?” He whispers, as if afraid that if he talked too loudly, it would turn back time and undo your orgasm.

With parted lips, you stare back at him, “I… y-yeah…”

You expected everything from a cocky remark over an ick-triggering victory dance to an actual orgasm-celebration party featuring everyone Soonyoung’s known since birth, but Soonyoung just leans back down and hugs you tightly. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper back. Hesitantly due to your surprise, you slowly brush your fingers through his hair, suddenly deeply in thought.

Soonyoung actually made you cum? And it was… that easy? Well, despite the fact that it took literal hours… and why did it happen when he- and generally, what now?

“Can I take you out on a date after getting you ice cream?” Soonyoung suddenly speaks up, too exhausted to lift his head once more so his voice gets muffled in your neck.

“Huh?” You ask, sure you must’ve misheard him.

“Date…” is all Soonyoung can mumble.

“You-,” you begin, but quickly shut up. Why not? “Yeah, why not?”

“Fabulous,” Soonyoung mumbles, then presses a wet kiss to your shoulder. A few minutes pass by before he speaks up again. “I’m feeling sticky. Are you feeling sticky? Let’s shower…” he lifts his head, then slowly begins grinning. “We can reminisce about this experience in there…”

Ah, there he is. 

© 2024 YUTASBELLYBUTTONPIERCING all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works.

[kick-a-long]

so let me get this straight. elon musk retweeted or tweeted an antisemitic comment (because he's an antisemitic asshole from a very antisemitic country south africa) and he was critizised to the point that he took a trip to israel to like reflect and learn about how jews don't eat babies or whatever. but...

Ta-Nehisi Coates, an antisemitic asshole who's antisemitic dad also publishes antisemitic books just one's he's too lazy to write, says in person, recorded on video, without retraction.... that he would join in on the rape, murder, infanticide, and kidnapping of jews, if given the chance... and trevor noah (from very antisemitic country south africa) agreed whole heartedly and adding that it's like the american revolution.... which implies that isreal rode into gaza and lebanon ans was dictating how those countries operate and taking taxes which is WHAT IRAN DOES THROUGH HAMAS AND HEZBOLLAH ALONG WITH THE RAPES AND MURDERS... but there's no media outlet saying that might be kind of fucked up and maybe they should apologize or some vague insincere bullshit... I'm sorry?

and also Christopher Columbus... THE symbol for Catholics in America (which is why we that monster even got his own day. literally catholics, the knights of columbus, wanted a celebration of how interconnected the united states and CATHOLICS are) the Christopher columbus with MASSIVE statues around the globe in portugal, spain, america, italy... that guy is now jewish, just like hitler, because .... he has some jewish DNA. and we are just disregarding his recorded actions, relationship to the church, his very catholic life, lifestyle, origins, and catholic life.

and all this during the jewish christmas/ramidan (because goyim don't know what the fuck our high holy days are even if that name alone should tell you exactly how important they are) ??

which idiots are these things for? who is watching the ta interview and saying to themselves, "boy i would love to read the book by the guy who loves murder and kidnapping and rape! what a leftist humanitarian!" or, "WOW! I hate christopher columbus I'm so glad i don't have to feel guilty as a christian that he was under orders by my church because he was obviously a jew going rouge. because i'm a leftist but also a devout catholic? which is a thing that is a totally consistent world view?"

Who asked for this? I don't think this kind of shit is even for antisemitic leftists anymore. this is for some kind of POC leftist white supremesist with white guilt but also an arab supremasist .... i guess that might describe one or two very mentally ill people but... like ... who? is this stuff to get rage clicks from jews? there aren't that many jews you guys. I have no fucking understanding of these people's world's view other than they hate jews. none of this makes sense in any other way than to attack and increase attacks on jews around the globe. it's so mentally confusing because none of these people are saying anything that benefits them in anyway, nothing that is smart or true, nothing that makes sense if it is not generated directly from the thought, "this will increase jew hate, so i should do it!"

these people are risking their careers, being hella racist about arabs generally and Palistinians specifically, making both jews and arabs less safe, saying inflammatory things they obviously spent very little time thinking about, for the chance to normalize antisemitism. what planet are these media orgs even living on? they don't sound like nazis, they sound like fucking delusional Qanon derps who are improving "the day of the storm" ironically like the segments they show on the daily show, with TREVOR NOAH.

it's like really... sad. like, these guys and scientist have wasted so many people's time and their own talents which people tell me they have i guess, but it's sad that this kind of libel from the media doesn't even make sense to people who don't live on twitter.

[mrabubu]

/the ref is a bit old, but the info is mostly accurate/

So, I did kinda sketch ref for my Kraang character and make her more of a person, or something, with a name and all. I'm still going to use they/them pronounce and Y/N when people will be asking something about Krangified AU.

More information about her below.

So, her name is Ana now.

About her personality before she was turned into the Kraang zombie I still can't say much at the moment (because I'm mostly focused on their interactions in the present timeline), except for her being the person who was genuinely worried about Leo and what's been going on in his head. She saw his attitude and for her it was obvious it was mostly a facade to hide his real emotions and wanted to help him, being a shoulder to lean on. I see her being the weirdo to others that found his jokes actually funny.

After Kraangification, I can describe her with one word: DEPRESSION. I mean, you've been a mindless zombie for about 10 years that practically flashed before your eyes. You wake up facing the facts that the world has been at war with the Kraang for all this time, everyone you knew grew up, your family is long gone, your boyfriend been through hell and lost his arm, and, yeah, your still kinda a zombie also facing some self-control issues. Your Kraang half is taking control over you from time to time, attacking others and even friends if provoked. Not to mention that a lot of things that used to be casual to you are now something you need to learn to be used to again, like bed or actual food. Yeah and also that little inconvenience that she has to eat people now.

She's been dozing off a lot at first, after Leo got her to their base, just staring at one point, processing the whole situation and still feeling like it's just a very long nightmare. And only Leo could snap her out of this state at least for a short amount of time.

When I've been making first sketches with her I gave her this pointed ear and horn like Kraang appendage on her forehead, and thought this kinda reminded of oni's (demons) from Japanese folklore, which kinda resonated with this whole Kraang AU concept.

I also can't stop thinking about Beauty and the Beast (original Disney animated movie) concept, only with them swapping roles in contrast to the original story.

I really like the concept of the turtles being able to make this chirping and churring sounds, and thought, why can't she make something like this? So, yeah, she can churp and purr (I don't know if there's a difference between churring and purring, still didn't understand, and this churring sound is still mostly fictional, fanon thing..? but, anyway). I like this idea of Leo and Ana being able to communicate with the language only they (and other turtles) understand.

A few more sketches with her and a couple of scenes.

Her claws on the Kraang arm can extend. I thought about her being able to shapeshift her arm further, but for now it's either extended claws, or something like a sword or some other sharp pointy thing...

I've been thinking about her fighting style, and for a reference I used the The Witcher 3 again (yeah) There's a vampire species, Bruxa and Alp, and I'm thinking her fighting style would be something like of an Alp. Fast and agile, also pretty strong (tho still not strong enough to take out big enemies like the Kraang in their suits).

I have this scene in my head that I actually been sketching already, where she's fighting the Kraang hounds, and pretty much able to lift one grabbing it by it's throat and throwing it into the tree like a rag doll.

Another thing is her screech she uses to intimidate/immobilize her enemies. It's also more of an alp than bruxa, especially in this video time code 00:36, this is pretty much how I imagine it.

I also know that I've messed up her eyes when she's in her Kraang mode, because they should be turning purple, like Raph's left eye that wasn't covered by Kraang flesh, but, uuuh, I don't want to change that at this point...

I think that's it for now...? If I'll have more ideas I'll either be making other posts, or updating this one.

[alienpossession]

You have to do more Mike and definitely explore some shenanigan with Steven back home. And maybe explore the trainee system more like what apushforfolly did in the original version. Love everything you do!

In regards to Mike, well, he did pretty solid for the cause despite Master's departure to the States. The nerd that stayed behind witnessed at first how Mike wasted his potential and charms with endless parties and lonely workout, so one particular night, the nerd intervened during dinner

"You have to go back to your root. Look inside that meat puppet's mind to find his essence as a human and exploit it for the cause, don't just waste your time with aimless parties as if you're still not the Master's subject. He will be disappointed seeing you wasted such a good puppet, you know?"

"Oh, you wanna see me working? You wanna see me utilizing all the charm this puppet has? Just so you know, we travelled from light years away, I deserved some break. But if you challenged me, well, even the entire city can be under my control,"

"Well, I'll let your action and achievement speaks for itself," the nerd said as he left the dinner table, not interested to see Mike any longer unless he brought some tangible proof of his success

----

The following morning

"So it seems like someone is back to his good old routine once again, no more travelling for a while, I'm staying put, so it means I have some more time available for me to kickstart my online coaching program once again. I'm looking for 8 people who are willing to bust their ass and ready to give 100% effort in order to take that physique to the very next level. You will be working with myself, my team, we will guide you along the way and coach you for over 16 weeks period so this will take you up to the end of this year. If you find this interesting, click the link below--"

And as the story ended, the nerd blew his load all over his sweatpants as his thoughts already went ahead with the idea of Mike subduing all the 8 clueless men thinking they'll get better physique with the help of a renowned fitness coach only to be turned into mindless, docile puppets. And that's exactly what happened as the updates started to appear in his chat between Mike for the next couple days. It surely didn't help that the Mike's puppet really managed to drive the points home with his detailed description on the takeover or what kind of conversation he is having with the prey, either on the way to the takeover, mid-way the process or after the whole thing. For example, this video Mike sent to the nerd right at the same night of Mike's morning call for participants drove the nerd to breaking point as Mike said

"Finally, you look better with mini-mes swimming inside your brain, you were so dumbfounded at first when I spat on you huh?"

"Yeah fuck that, you know Joshua is a bit gay for ya, that spat turned him on LOL!"

"Well, you clearly looked quite eager, Josh. Maybe you do like my spit *proceed to spit to Josh gaping mouth, which Josh reciprocated with swallowing it and then licking his lips*"

Right when Josh lunged to Mike for a sloppy kiss and what probably happened right after, the video ended as Mike grabbed his phone right in time to end the videos.....

Several times, rarely though, Mike even boldly have a video call in public with the puppet in tow to describe what went down to the nerd

"Hey there dweeb, I know you know this daddy. Exactly, Frederick is now part of our little collectives! Are you around? We are in his usual cafe where you eyed him a couple weeks ago editing his Youtube content, do swing by if you wanna get stuffed by his dad's cock, yeah you pervert, you watched a good and harmonious family vlogger to lust over the dad and thinking how you can corrupt him, well here he is ready to pummel your mouth with his musty cock fresh from his workout regimen with the reliable Mikey,"

Of course the nerd ran for his life to the cafe 3 blocks from his office upon receiving the video, but again, that's not really a normal occurence as Mike mostly just sent a picture with accompanying short caption after his conversion, like when he described the first puppet he converted after the "call for clients" video released

"Happy to inform that there's a brand new controller inside Leon Walker,"

You gulped as your face turned beet red as you found yourself unable to swallow your lunch due to the shock you got from the text message that just casually popped up in your phone.....is he for real?

"Yeah, I know you subscribed to his OnlyFans, well, look at how helpful I am for you by turning your favorite content creator to give you free, even better and outlandish performance for private! Come join us later tonight in my penthouse for the exhibit! I know you've been commenting how insanely hot it will be for Leon to suck his own cock while getting his butt plugged, well~~~"

Other times, the message that accompanied the possession tend to be even shorter

"Explaining the hierarchy of the puppet to the recent convert, he was such a tool that only knows how to workout, he should be thankful that an alien takeover his body,"

Or "greedy muscle beast of a fucker got what he deserved, turned into 270 lbs bottom bitch with no more free will for a boutique gym boy like me," which caused the nerd to burst out in his day job's office bathroom upon receiving the update

Yet, as explained before, Mike loved details so, when the client is extra special, he went on to great details explaining the whole sequence. For starter, when he explained how he took down Mike's hometown best friend

"You should have seen his face when I slapped the cold slimy alien right to his ear mid-workout. He is Mike's best friend from his previous lives and my memory is so vivid, I can really tell that they both loved each other but simply not informed, some kind of unreciprocated love. And the thing is, the love is reciprocated, they just didn't mention it to each other when they still could. Or maybe it's all just my made up story LOL, both of them are straight as an arrow and he even married last year to this beautiful woman which he will abandon as he is only going to serve Mike now. I mean, you really have to feel that tight hole of his, it's surreal, and that made him a great asset to have around with me. Truly a tale of two best friend finally connected once more and become inseparable ever since"

But there's nothing that prepared the nerd for Mike's latest conquest, as the nerd wakes up this morning to the news that the startup he worked for just got bought by a VC and the deal was finalized last night. The company's messaging app turned chaotic as "CEO Office" released a rather cold statement that there will be a townhall later today to explain on what really went down and what's the direction forward for the startup while all the staffers, even some of the upper management, frantically communicated with quite colorful words among each others.

The nerd tried to contact Mike to explain to him about this dire situation and whether Mike has solution to get the nerd's out from the predicament, but much to his surprise (and sick arousal), Mike sent a video around 30 minutes ago with the simple caption of

"See you in the office"

His softening morning wood went hard once again as if there's a button being pressed and he instantly started to leak as he realized what Mike did. Is Mike for real? His own CEO? The nerd knows that his boss is hot but this is something they discussed before, that he wanted to have an environment where there's no alien whatsoever and just people doing regular jobs to keep some semblance of normalcy in an otherwise crazy world of the extraterrestrial debauchery. Seems like Mike didn't keep that part of the agreement with this breach, but deep down, he's very much aroused that Mike finally didn't listen to him and even went against his wish. As another picture appeared from Mike followed with the sign of him typing another message, the nerd looked at his screen anxiously

"This was yesterday, moments before disaster, for him obviously. In the next 24 hours after this picture is taken, he's braindead, divorced his wife with a simple text message and sell and exit his beloved startups to pursue a lifelong passion for converting people to Master's way outside of this cramped desert country and having a nerd licking his body dry and practically become his live-in servant as they travel across the world. The question is, will the nerd resign from his boring human job and join his braindead former boss he fantasized every night?"

Then, the phone rings, it's his CEO, and he clearly knows what's his answer gonna be

------

Will make Steven's later, wow so happy that some of yall are still excited for this series! Keep the suggestion coming!

[stupidphototricks]

Dwarf tradition, in The Truth. Long quote but there is so much to unpack here.

"A dwarf needs gold to get married." "What… like a dowry? But I thought dwarfs didn't differentiate between--" "No, no, the two dwarfs getting married each buy the other dwarf off their parents." "Buy?" said William. "How can you buy people?" "See? Cultural misunderstanding once again, lad. It costs a lot of money to raise a young dwarf to marriageable age. Food, clothes, chain mail… it all adds up over the years. It needs repaying. After all, the other dwarf is getting a valuable commodity. And it has to be paid for in gold. That's traditional. Or gems. They're fine, too. You must've heard our saying 'worth his weight in gold'? Of course, if a dwarf's been working for his parents, that gets taken into account on the other side of the ledger. Why, a dwarf who's left off marrying till late in life is probably owed quite a tidy sum in wages—You're still looking at me in that funny way…" "It's just that we don't do it like that…" mumbled William. Goodmountain gave him a sharp look. "Don't you, now?" he said. "Really? What do you use instead, then?" "Er… gratitude, I suppose," said William. He wanted this conversation to stop, right now. It was heading out over thin ice. "And how's that calculated?" "Well… it isn't, as such…" "Doesn't that cause problems?" "Sometimes." "Ah. Well, we know about gratitude, too. But our way means the couple start their new lives in a state of… g'daraka… er, free, unencumbered, new dwarfs. Then their parents might well give them a huge wedding present, much bigger than the dowry. But it is between dwarf and dwarf, out of love and respect, not between debtor and creditor… though I have to say these human words are not really the best was of describing it. It works for us. It has worked for a thousand years." "I suppose to a human it sounds a bit… chilly," said William. Goodmountain gave him another studied look. "You mean by comparison to the warm and wonderful ways humans conduct their affairs?" he said. "You don't have to answer that one. Anyway, me and Boddony want to open up a mine together, and we're expensive dwarfs. We know how to work lead, so we thought a year or two of this would see us right." "You're getting married?" "We want to," said Goodmountain. "Oh… well, congratulations," said William. He knew enough not to comment on the fact that both dwarfs looked like small barbarian warriors with long beards. All traditional dwarfs looked like that.* *Most dwarfs were still referred to as "he" as well, even when they were getting married. It was generally assumed that somewhere under all that chain mail one of them was female and that both of them knew which one this was. But the whole subject of sex was one that traditionally minded dwarfs did not discuss, perhaps out of modesty, possibly because it didn't interest them very much, and certainly because they took the view that what two dwarfs decided to do together was entirely their own business. — Terry Pratchett, The Truth

I super love the footnote, of course, but unexpectedly now I kind of want this version of a dowry to be a thing. I mean, the dowries of the bad old days where the man basically bought the woman from her parents, that's not okay. But this.

I'm a parent, and in no way do I feel like my kid owes me for their upbringing, education, or even (I'm anticipating) a few years of post-college living at home. Not at all. I can't imagine not taking care of them or attaching any strings to that care.

But that's not what this is. Really, ideally, it's a way for parents and children to give each other the gift of the child's independence, their autonomy, their adulthood. To officially and tangibly say that their relationship from this point on is no longer parent/child, but something more on an equal level.

For that matter, I imagine the child is free not to have a relationship with their parents any more at all, if they want. No obligation, no guilt. If parents want to be in their kids' lives when they're adults, they'll need to make sure their kids actually like them as people.

Well. I know that our world of humans doesn't work like this. Even if we put a monetary value on what we owed our parents and paid it, we'd still feel obligated to them, at least a little. Even if our kids paid us back, we'd still feel like we had the right to control them, at least a little.

But man. That g'daraka thing sounds wonderful.