#comedy twitch clips

[itspvg]

How to stop your mods stabbing you.

See this and more live at twitch.tv/itspvg

[autisticlalna]

honestly it was only a matter of time before "everybody draws viking with pointy ears when he's canonically a Normal Human" was going to have consequences in-lore

i love Fiv so much.

[risingphoenixtv]

Just when you think you killed them all

[holyfirethem]

This scream has since been isolated and added to several soundboards. Really, how could I not?

[calvincawthornevtuber]

The Board of Directors told me after this event that I was not allowed to drink caffeine ever again.

THIS IS AN OUTRAGE! I WILL NOT ABIDING BY THEIR SILLY DECREES! THROUGH THE MAGIC ENERGY JUICE WE CAN TRANSCEND THE BONDS OF SPACE-TIME AND TAKE HUMANITY WITH US!

[jasper-dracona]

I’m gonna make a blog for sharing clips of my bf’s streams because he is a very funny man and more people need to know this!!

I’m gonna make it so everyone can watch the funny man whom I love very much!

Anyway, keep an eye out for that in the future 💜

[itspvg]

One of my Mods thought I went "Swedish Chef" here lol...

We be streaming over at twitch.tv/itspvg

Come hang out with us!

[uss-edsall]

I guess if I was to actually answer that anon, a cliche tabletop character archetype I’ve come to dislike is extremely niche:

Twitch Streamer Mecha Pilot

The general concept is like this: a streamer, with a chat that hovers over their shoulder which they refer to every so often, who livestreams during the battles. Sometimes involving jokes about people donating to see them blow a mech up or do a cool trick or something. These characters are almost always irreverent, built for comedy, and approach the game (deliberately or unintentionally) expecting to play a campaign that doesn’t take itself seriously. In nearly every game I’ve played of the tabletop game Lancer, the twitch streamer mecha pilot has either come up as a possible character concept from someone in the group, or is outright played by somebody. Almost all of them have been some ripoff or other of D.Va from Overwatch.

When I create a TTRPG character for Lancer or similar settings, I do bear in mind that mech combat is extremely violent and bloody, and is a form of warfare just like anything today. It may be with cool mecha, but it is still practicing some of the worst that humanity has ever inflicted upon each other. I probably do this just due to my profession and academic background as a military historian. But it does means the Twitch Streamer Mecha Pilot has always put a bad taste in my mouth.

The concept of live-streaming a battle for a live audience, chatting as if you’re just playing a game, thanking people for subs while swinging a mech’s blades, “chat, no, chat, don’t make me shoot a guy’s head off, haha, chat, okay fine” but it’s supposed to be a real battle with real people in the gunsights? It rankles me. It feels like all of the desensitising to deadly violence or the concept of it made manifest. I understand there’s real life parallels now. Especially with the Russo-Ukraine War, and just how many people I know pass around leaked clips of it like entertainment. It doesn’t make it look any better or more palatable to me.

[anomaly-hivemind]

Collar ID || collaring w/Yuri Briar x Afab! Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

Word Count: 1609

Tags: dom! reader, POC reader,flogging, latex, cock stepping, groveling, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, degradation, praise kink, squirting

I was sitting in bed, bonnet on snuggly , with a can of fruit in hand. Watching some random comedy horror that I found on netflix. It was only to pass the time while I waited for my boyfriend. It was around the usual time that Yuri would be on his way home if nothing came up. I scroll a bit on my phone when I get a notification from Yuri.

“Gonna be a bit late coming home, I got a bit of paperwork I want to finish. “ The message read and I let out an annoyed sigh. I don’t feel like waiting for him to finish work because I know that just means he's not going to get home until I was long asleep. I smile, as a mischievous idea comes to mind.

I take my oversized top off, my naked breast getting the blunt of the cold air from this bedroom. I lay on my stomach and posed so that my butt was in the view of my camera. I push my tits together and set my timer so I can take a photo. When the picture was taken I sent it to Yuri.

“Can't wait for you my pet, I miss you ;]” I sent the message right after the photo and waited.

Read.

Wow this was my breaking point. He couldn’t even dignify my unadulterated sexyness with a whiny emoji or anything!

I dropped my phone on the bed and went to my closet. I pushed past my regular clothes to where all my lingerie was. Silk was soft, coquette, not the vibe I was looking for. Lace? No, no it still had an air of delicacy.

Here, perfect. Latex. I hadn’t worn this set before. I smirk as I slip into the snug latex body suit. The suit hugged my curves tightly, had a boob window, the back out and the crotch exposed. If anything, it was a shame, I didn’t wear it as often. I sent Yuri another photo this time in my bodysuit.

“I don't appreciate you leaving me to read ):( ” I text him, and again get left on read but faster this time. What the hell is he doing?

A few minutes pass and the house opens and an out of breath boyfriend walks into the house. Yuri walks over to me with a desperate look on his face, his strong grip on my shoulders.

“I’m so sorry baby,” Yuri dropped to his knees and kissed me on my neck.

“I’ll only give you a light punishment since you came home earlier than normal.” I kept a straight face even if his kisses felt good.

“You're still gonna punish me… but I came home early.” yuri whined as he tried to give me the puppy dog eyes. Too bad for him that shit hardly works on me.

“Maybe if you beg for my entire forgiveness I'll let you go.” I smirk, my words were a set up and I'm sure he knows it. But that doesn’t matter, he was going to do what I said anyway.

Yuri dropped to his knees in front of me, he leaned down and placed a kiss on my foot. A smile grows on my face as he does, I stare at his cute butt. He looked out at me and I could see the lust in his eyes. I moved down to sit on our bed, he started to kiss up from the ankle to my upper calf.

“Strip.” I lean over to a drawer beside the and up out a dog collar, my eyes never leaving Yuri. I watch with a smile as he slowly takes off his uniform. I clip the collar around his neck, the cold dog tags make his skin shiver. He was shirtless and was making his way out his pants. He was hunched over in his boxers, his erection twitching and was practically begging for my attention. I pressed my foot against his crotch, giving his cock a light shove. He let out a little whine that made my cunt throb. I tilt his chin up so that he is looking up at me.

“So do you have something to tell me, pet?” I hold his face in place, squishing his cheeks slightly.

“I’m sorry….”

“For?” my toes pinch his balls and he tenses up, the dog tags of his collar jigging as he moves.

“Leaving you on read?” I nod.

“And” I ran my hand through his hair.

“Always co-coming home late.”

“Good boy, What do you think I should do now? Forgive you or pushish you?” my smirk grew a bit as i already knew what my little freak would say.

“My love, please forgive me, I want to taste you” he shuffled a bit closer, pushing my foot harder against his weeping dick. He whimpered from the pressure but I wasn’t going to cave. I could feel his dick growing harder under my foot and pressed my hut down harder.

“You would like that wouldn't you.” I adjusted the strap of my latex bodysuit, loosening the strings so I could move it better as I pleased. I put more pressure on his cloth cock practically stepping on him and he groaned.

“Please, my love…” Yuri moaned breathlessly.

“No. You won’t tempt me, you seducer, and I’m sick that you keep trying to get out of your punishments.

“But-“

“Hush, Pet, now bend over. I’ve had enough of this disrespect.

Yuri gulped hard, “Yes ma’am,”

Yuri walked over to the storage drawers in the closet and pulled out. A leather flog, I rubber by thumb over the braided handle of the flog I make sure to pull him fully out of his boxers.

“Baby, please.” he pouts and holds back a whimper.

“You better keep count or I'm going to start over, nut i guess I slut like you would like that.” I swing the flog over his asscheek.

“One…” Yuri made sure to say through his yelp. We repeat this fourteen other times before I'm somewhat satisfied to stop. Yuri had hot adorable tears threatening to drop down his face, it would almost make me feel bad if I hadn't known how much he enjoyed this.

He had his tell-tell signs; like how his dick was pretty much begging to cum or how he tried to hold back moans and groans with each solid impact I made on his body.

“Okay now if you can make me cum I’ll forgive your little behavior,” I said, placing one hand on my hip and the other soothingly rubbing Yuri‘s ass.

“Yes ma’am,” Yuri said, straightening up.

I laid back on the bed, spreading my legs open to expose my glistening pussy. Yuri inches closer, I could feel his breath on my folds.

“Go ahead, I know a loose man like yourself is dying without your fix,” I said and without hesitation Yuri dived in.

His tongue runs a slow stride to my clit, he was savoring the taste as he let out a pleased murmur. He was slurping up my juices like he didn't drink anything in months. Lapping up my arousal like he was on a mission and knowing my lover boy, he definitely sees this as such. He was a military man after all, working for the police and such.

But none of that was really important right now. I was too busy feeling the great action of Yuri sliding his fingers into my wetness. The way he curled his digits against my walls, made me fall back onto the bed and let out a moan. He alway knew how to get me going, how to push me closer and near to the edge. I could feel him smirk against my cunt and I pulled his hair in a quick yank that made him moan.

Yuri starts to focus more on my clit, making sharp circles on the nub, and long sucks that make my toes curl. His fingers thrusted onto my spot and I let out a short cry, he was going to make me cum any second now.

The feeling was winding up in my core, a coil ready to snap at any moment.

“You’re such a good slut, isn't that right?” I asked, running my fingers through Yuri’s hair. He hummed, against my muff the soft vibrations traveling through the mound of flesh..

As Yuri’s fingers stroked my g-spot and he sucked on my clit, something finally snapped. Warm fluid gushed from my pussy making a mess on Yuri’s face but like a good pet he lapped it up, and licked off what ran down my folds. My hips bucked from the sensitivity of having just cum, into the air and subsequently against Yuri’s face.

“Fuck. That was good.” I said breathlessly, my body sliding down so I was laying down more than sitting up.

“Does that mean all is forgiven… Ma’am” Yuri asked with his pathetic boy slut face.

“Fine, I forgive you now. But if you do that shit again I'll come up with a way harsher punishment. Understand. “ I said sternly even if I was a bit out of breath my point came across the way it was supposed to be and that's all that mattered.

“Yes ma'am.” he nods and licks his lips off my juices.

“Good now, come up here, I want to cuddle.” I pull him into a hug as soon as he gets close enough to fall into my grasp.

[risingphoenixtv]

"Oh yay we both died"

This honestly has to be my clip of the week this was funny

[firefirefruit]

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Twenty-Two

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Doctor Just Pinched Me

“What did you just say?!” Sanji sputters, a cigarette spat airborne from his lips. You furrow your brow at the cook.

“What do you mean, what did I say? I said ‘let me play with your—‘” Realisation dawns on you and you swear even your blackened arm sizzles in humiliation. You reflexively bark out a nervous laugh. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sanji.”

Usopp, on the other hand, bursts into laughter, doubling over as he struggles to catch his breath; you shoot him a scowl and shove him hard, but his resounding cackles only intensify. Meanwhile, Sanji's stunned expression slowly morphs into a shit-eating smirk, and you can practically see the gears turning in his devilish head.

"You…dirty-minded fiend." The cook wriggles his eyebrows. "I didn’t know you had a thing for doctors."

Zoro whips his head around so hard you think for a second, he’s actually snapped it off. He glares at the cook, frustration colouring his face from his lack of understanding. “What you talking about?”

Sanji, undeterred by Zoro's glare, flashes a smug grin and leans back against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, nothing much, just that Raya wants to play with Law’s sword."

Yet again, Usopp breaks out in belly-aching laughter, his knees knocking onto the floor. “Oh, this is the highlight of my day!” he gasps.

“Sanji? Can you shut up now?” you scowl, feeling the familiar smell of your hair singeing in embarrassment.

Zoro furrows his eyebrows and blinks obliviously. “Yeah, it’s just a sword. What’s it to do with doctors?”

“Tch. Meathead,” Sanji grumbles under his breath, flicking his cigarette butt into the sea before strolling back into his kitchen.

“Zoro…” Brook gapes at the samurai. “Surely, you get it…you know…maybe try putting the words into a different context?”

His brows knit together in a knot of confusion, his gaze bouncing from one smirking face to another like a befuddled spectator at a carnival sideshow.

Then, like a slow-motion replay of a pratfall in a comedy of errors, realisation begins to dawn on Zoro. It starts as a flicker of recognition, a tiny flame of understanding struggling to ignite amidst the murky depths of his mind. He blinks once, twice, his expression morphing from bewilderment to incredulity in the span of a heartbeat.

Suddenly, it hits him like a ton of bricks, and his eye widens with the sudden revelation. And with all the subtlety of a charging bull, Zoro turns his gaze upon Law, his eye shooting daggers with the precision of a seasoned marksman.

"Already preying on our crew-mate, Law?" he roughly mutters out, his tone clipped short.

 “Oh my God, I didn’t mean it like that!” you exasperatedly exclaim, hands flailing in the air. You turn to Law, desperation in your eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.’

Law, ever composed, merely shakes his head with a small smirk. "I know."

"Okay, okay, so, what about it?" you quickly press on.

He glances down at the sword in his hand, then back up at you, his lips twitching with the hint of a smirk.

"You want to play with Kikoku?" he asks, the corners of his mouth lifting into what was, you suppose, an attempt at smiling. Regardless, you nod eagerly, your eyes lighting up with joy; Law looks at you in curiosity before the next set of words part from his mouth.

"I want to know why first."

You shrug nonchalantly, trying to play it cool despite the sword-like butterflies that are totally geeking out in your stomach. “I like swords."

Zoro scoffs hugely hearing this, while Usopp snickers at yet another one of your sentences, earning him a humongous slap on the head before you swerve around to Law and hiss, “You did that on purpose!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he smoothly replies, his eyes fixing on you with a twinkling gaze. He looks down to his sharp-bladed partner, twirling her body under the sunlight like a marionette. "If there's even a dent on her, I'll be teleporting you into different pieces."

You meet his gaze with determination, a smirk rising on your lips. "Fine with me."

With a nod to you, the doctor turns to your old furry friend, making your heart squeeze again at the fact that he’s really a few steps away from you. Soon, you'll be able to talk to him. To see how he's lived, t know where he's been, who Law really is to him. And, of course, to ask where Zepo is.

“Circle the rest up and bring them on board. I’ll explain the situation to them later.”

And with a firm, “Aye, Aye, Captain!”, Bepo turns to you, giving you a large, meaningful grin - in a way that wordlessly says, 'we need to talk!' and goes to climbing over the deck, only slowly descending from your sight.

Law looks at you expectantly, his sword extended in the air between the two of you. “Let’s go, then.”

✦

As you and Law make your way up to the crow's nest, you can’t help but analyse the weight of Kikoku in your hands, its presence so thrilling, yet so bashfully reclusive. You can’t wait to see if you’re able to talk to her, to see what she’s really like, whether she's happy with her owner or, rather, incredibly displeased.

You steal a glance at Law, who walks beside you with his usual deadpanned demeanour, but you can't help but notice a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watches you.

Reaching the crow's nest, you open the door and step inside, the familiar scent of wood and metal greeting you as you enter your side of the workshop. You gesture for Law to take a seat on one of the refined stools, and he does so with a raised eyebrow, his gaze lingering on the array of gadgets and contraptions scattered around the room.

"A gym and a workshop?" He comments, his tone casual as he begins to push his sleeves to his elbows. “Interesting design choice.”

You laugh a little, lovingly spreading your hand across your desk. “We have a living skeleton as our bard, and our Cyborg lives off of cola in his stomach-fridge. Wouldn’t say this is the weirdest one out of them.”

Law exhales a breath from his nostrils, not quite wanting to commit to laughter, yet still not being able to control his reaction. “Fair enough. It’s a nice set-up you have here, regardless.”

You nod in agreement, a sense of pride swelling within you at the compliment. "Thanks. It’s my baby, in a way."

Law nods, his eyes flickering to you and your arm, and before you can pick up and begin to truly get a sense of Kikoku, he ‘rooms’ it to his lap with a flick of his inked finger.

“Hey!” you snap, glaring at him. “What about our deal?”

“I'll take a look at your arm first," Law simply says. “The deal’s still on.”

Rolling your eyes, you begrudgingly comply, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the blackened charcoal of what used to be your arm. And with a soft tug, Law examines it closely, his cold fingers deftly tracing the contours of the markings as he murmurs to himself in thought.

"Well, it is a transformation," he concludes after a moment, his expression grave. "But it's different from any I've seen before. I’m going to do a few tests to understand what we’re dealing with."

You shrug, stuffing a wrapped sweet you found in one of your desk drawers in your mouth. “Do as you like, but only if it doesn’t interfere with my work.”

He purses his lips, looking deeply into your skin. “Do you have any Devil Fruit powers?”

You nod. “I do. The burn-burn fruit, specifically.”

“And can you still use them?”

“Why don’t you have a look?” A shit-eating grin begins to grow across your face before fire from your hand explodes into Law’s face – albeit you used the harmless version of your power, Law glares up at you, his eyes blown into massive saucers.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He snaps, staring furiously at you.

You wince and inhale sharply, your upper arm punishing your childish shenanigans by pulsing angrily through you. “You’re supposed to be laughing, Law. I was trying to mess around.”

Still unamused, he looks down to your skin. “So, in short, you can use them, but it hurts like hell.”

But just as Law’s getting into the groove of his expertise, you both hear heavy footsteps cramming themselves in the entrance of the door, and you turn to see Zoro loudly stumbling into the crow's nest, his expression unreadable. Your eyes widen as he looks at you, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face.

"What are you doing here?"

Zoro shrugs nonchalantly, though there's a hint of defensiveness in his stance. "Working out," he mutters, his gaze flickering between you and Law.

You raise an eyebrow, pushing the sweet in your mouth into the corner of your cheek. “You don’t normally work out around this time.”

“I don’t remember you asking me these types of questions, either.” And with a twitch to the samurai’s eyes, he stands from afar, facing you and Law, and peels his shirt off.

He flings it in the corner of his gym, his eyes never leaving Law’s, as he begins to stretch out and flex his arms. “Got a problem?”

Law’s mouth twitches upwards slightly. “Thanks for the entertainment, I’m sure my patient’ll need it.”

You slap a hand on the side of your cheek, definitely not entertained by any of this. “Is this another dick-swinging contest I’m gonna have to watch?”

Law chuckles softly, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he looks at Zoro. "Looks like it," he remarks, his tone light yet tinged with a touch of irony.

You shoot him a sideways glance, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

"Well, let's hope it doesn't turn into a full-blown showdown," you quip, your gaze flickering between Zoro and Law. You dramatically sigh, earning an eye-roll from Zoro. "May I remind you that you're dealing with a wounded patient, here?"

"Please," Law and Zoro both mutter.

As Law begins to conduct his examination of your arm, Zoro's presence looms in the background like a silent sentinel, his watchful gaze never wavering. You can't help but feel a pang of annoyance at his intrusion, yet there's also a strange sense of comfort in having him nearby, like a lion you’ve so begrudgingly befriended. Always on your shoulder, always watching, always growling.

Law, unfazed by Zoro's presence, focuses intently on his task, his movements precise and calculated as he ‘rooms’ in a set of his medical equipment that you assume was salvaged at the last second from his sinking ship. Then, he prepares himself to conduct the tests on your skin.

As he lowers his head closer to your blackened arm, his hands rub together in sanitiser; the smell of distilled alcohol wafts into your senses and a tiny part of anxiety wedges into the depths of your stomach. What are you both going to find out? Or – will the tests come back inconclusive? You don’t know. Honestly? You're not sure if you want to.

“This might hurt, so breathe deeply for me,” Law’s voice intrudes into the babbling of your thoughts as a mild warning, as he gently places your hand over his palm, his other hand resting over the skin. With a silent nod, you inhale and grit your teeth, ready for the familiar pulse of pain to ring through you, to turn your world upside down yet again.

And he pinches the skin at your fingertips, hard. A pause. He pinches again, but in a different section, a lot harder this time, from the way his fingers are turning white from pressure. Pause.

And nothing.

You blink, looking down at a curious Law as he pinches at the skin yet again, his eyebrows furrowed as continues to observe your reactions.

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re not pretending to feel anything, right?”

“Not at all.” You huff out a laugh, looking as intrigued as him as you flex your affected hand out over his. You cock your head, deep in thought.

“The contusion appeared from my hand first, so compared to the rest of my arm, my hand should be just a bunch of…dead, old cells. Which would make sense - that I'm not feeling anything at your attempt of contusions. Weird that you tried to bruise me, Law," you mutter, giving him a side-eye at his odd idea of doctorly testing. You then begin to prattle off on more of the medical knowledge you once used to know from your heart. From way back in Wano. From both the books they gave you, and the books you would steal. You continue, your voice now softer, more thoughtful, as you talk more to yourself than to him.

"But how am I still in control of it? How are my muscles still convulsing, if they're supposed to be dead? Shouldn’t I be unable to even move my hand, let alone use my powers?”

Law looks at you, leaning back in his chair. He retracts his hand, folding them into a tight cross, and continues to stare at you with an emotion you can’t quite place.

You stare back at him, then awkwardly look around the room. Was it something that you accidentally said?  

“…What?” you mutter.

He smirks, carefully looking at Zoro and then to you. And with the lowest, quietest voice, he mutters the next few words in the stilled air between you two.

“Bepo was right. You really are her. Kozuki Raya.”

[chthonicgodling]

The Taki Fuego “BEST OF” Clip Show*~ AN INTERLUDE

[prev: first half • interlude1 • second half • interlude 2 • epilogue]

aka EXPOSITION AND NUMB DEFLECTION: THE COMIC; a recap explanation of things to come!

Once again - in the wake of our most recent turns of events (SHH WE’LL GET THERE), working on assembling some choice scenes from the recent few months in Elysium between the Taki Fuego trio, through a series of comics starring all canon dialogue, quick Elysium Drama Update snapshots. Previously - funny comedy hour and banter! But this is an INTERMISSION before returning to the grayscale scribbles - THIS is dialed back EVEN FURTHER…. Allllll the way back to the solemn and serious talk taking place just BEFORE Loki agreed to have a baby with them (it was actually the very literal same convo).

EeL’s deepest psyche re: his deep rooted anxiety and ✨issues✨ are common knowledge to MEEE and Fenixe (and some of you!!) yes, but dragging it all out into the open in this brief window is crucial, I think, to provide some context for some upcoming moments Loki has now shared through his pregnancy with Maci and Tory 🥺 …relevant meme here aHEM.

I’ve certainly written no shortage of essays on tumblr about Loki’s kids in here but in case anyone’s missed those essays: the tragic and traumatic fates of Loki’s (myth!) children Sleipnir, Hela, Fenris, Jormundgandr, Vali & Nari are EXTREMELY canon. and haunt EeL to this day. Even though he’s gotten 4 out of 6 back! Doesn’t change the memories trapped in the story of his past forever! Sleipnir and the trio confiscated by Odin - the twins murdered at Odin’s hands…. And now YOU can painfully remember this too!

yknow. It is always so fun to write EeL’s dialogue but drawing all of this was incredible as well. How do you illustrate the words of someone nonchalant, aloof and clipped and cool, shrugging within his protective haughty shell like “none of this is a big deal, don’t be silly”…. while already beginning to twitch on the inside?

How do you illustrate the monologue of a traumatized liar (affectionate)???🥺🥺🥺🥺 AUGH

😌 Well the tragic backstory reminder may have made Maci cry but HE’S fine, Pft don’t be ridiculous. Boy this definitely isn’t going to have any emotional repercussions within the near future probably! haha!🤪hhhahahhahh

Tory & his brief involvement in this drawing (but his absolutely crucial and vital role in this trio) belongs to hiatus’d @fenixethekid : Maci is mine and EeL and his endless weary pontificating is all mine toooooooo… Next part coming soon; return to more current canon, the other half of prev. Stay tuned!

[0104-vikita]

I know you like Gangle, so I thought maybe you might like to see this little motivational quote that Gangle's VA did in Gangle's voice on her Twitch stream. It's very cute!

https://www.twitch.tv/vixen_vtuber/clip/RepleteMushyDillTakeNRG--R7RMZcWyx0bPbch

Awwww. I just saw it, that's a really great message honestly. I know the tone of the series will most likely be half comedy half serious stuff, so I hope there's a little space for those kinds of things. It's not necessary but it would be cute c:

[definitelynotshouting]

Since you mentioned you like Lethal Company, I have a recommendation: Go to Scar's Twitch VODs, go to his recent "Lethal Company - with the boys!" VOD, and go to about the 27:30ish timestamp and start watching. Scar's reaction was PRICELESS and I hope it ends up as a clip on Youtube.

I JUST HAD THE CHANCE TO LOOK AT THIS AND IM LOSING MY FUCKING MIIIIIIIND OMFGS SCAR........ NAWT THE MASK............. oh my fuckign gods the face he made when it killed him AKSNWKDNWKSNKSND COMEDY GOLD THANK U FOR TELLING ME ABT THIS !!!!!!!!

[sarahowritesostucky]

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: ptsd, trauma recovery, kink negotiations, fetishes, fantasies, body modification, objectification, degradation, self-harm, destructive sexual urges, heavy bdsm, bondage, 24/7 D/s, dom Steve, sub Bucky, sadism, masochism, castration fantasy, dark comedy, oddly sweet relationship dynamics (idiots in love)

Summary: Bucky explains his darkest fantasies to Steve

🖤Disclaimer: Nobody gets castrated or otherwise body-modified in this fic, okay? It's Steve and Bucky, kink negotiating and sceneing w/ regards to Bucky's very strange fantasies.

Wait! I haven't read Part 1 Part 2 yet!

Part 3 - That Morning a Few Months Ago, When Steve Found Out About The Castration Issue, cont'd

By the time all the clothespins are on, Bucky is a sweaty, twitching mess. “Shhh,” Steve soothes—somewhat hypocritically, since he’s the one doing all the pinching. “You’re okay.”

“Mmhm,” Bucky nods, trembling. “Oh, god, Steve.”

“Shh, I know. I know.” Steve very much does not know. He’s never had a clothespin anywhere near his junk, and he never intends to.

These ones are teeny tiny and pastel-colored, maybe an inch long - like clothespins made for dolls. If that's true, then they’re certainly being put to off-brand use. Steve would laugh about it, but he’s tested the things on the skin between his thumb and forefinger, and they pinch like a motherfucker.

Bucky’s got them all around his groin and thighs, his taint and foreskin, all the way down the shaft to where the cock ring/stretcher hugs his cock at the base. The sensitive skin of his balls would have them too, only they’re still being pushed and weighed down by the stretcher, too taught to hold onto anything. Everywhere else is covered in the sweet looking clips, each one applied with tender, sadistic care.

Steve would argue that it’s not really sadism, if you’re only enjoying it because you know your masochistic partner is. That’s just love. But he can’t deny that he’s enjoyed watching Bucky react to the intimate hurts, because Bucky’s beautiful in anything he does. Even suffering.

Every time his breath has hitched, every time his muscles have tensed and his body jerked, has been in response to Steve applying a new clip. His skin is flushed purply-pink from it, getting darker by the minute from all the blood flow between his legs; his breath coming in desperate, shaky inhales. His eyes are wet with tears but he’s not crying. Steve would assume that he hates this, if not for the fact that his hips keep jumping into it, if not for the fact that Steve hasn’t stroked him off once since he first slid the ring on and started hurting him, and Bucky’s still hard as a fucking rock.

Steve gets a bunch more oil on his hands and touches him delicately, careful not to knock the clips around too much. He gently, gently holds the head of Bucky’s dick and rubs in wet little circles, pressing against the softness of the glans, digging the tip of his thumb into the slit, gathering the precum that beads out and swirling it around.

Bucky grunts softly when Steve reaches back with his other hand and starts pressing against the base of the plug that's in his ass. At the same time, he keeps working the pad of his finger back and forth under the head of Bucky's dick, and glances up. Bucky’s brow is pinched, his expression one of distress.

Steve keeps pulsing the plug, keeps rubbing that sensitive spot under the head of his dick. “This feel good?” he asks quietly, not surprised when Bucky nods and whines unhappily.

“Steve … p-please …”

“Shhh. It sounds real pretty, honey, but you shouldn’t beg. I’m not gonna listen.”

Bucky shivers and nods. “Yes Sir.”

“Steve,” he corrects.

“S-steve.”

Steve had thought he’d like it, being called ‘Sir’, but he’s come to find that it’s not his favorite. It usually feels so inauthentic, stripping what they do together of its real intimacy and making it into a production instead.

Only when he’s doing the most outlandish, demeaning, perverted things to Bucky, does ‘Sir’ ever feel right. Only then, or else when Bucky’s in subspace (Bucky still denies that’s what it is, but Steve can tell when it happens, and if that helpless, non-verbal, pink-flushed and muzzy-eyed condition isn’t subspace, then Steve doesn’t know what the hell is). Bucky doesn’t seem to be very able to call him anything but ‘Sir’, when he’s in that state.

“Are you gonna?” Bucky asks in a nervous whisper. Steve is still rubbing under the head of his dick with one hand, still pulsing the plug with the other. “Are you going to turn it on?”

He’s not, but he doesn’t need Bucky to know that. “I might,” he says instead. “If I decide I want to.” He tilts his head and surveys Bucky’s expression. “What’s the word you say if you can’t do it?” he prompts, and Bucky breathes out a laboured,

“Yellow.”

“Good.” Steve acts like he never even asked the question, still gliding his finger around that one, sensitive spot. Bucky doesn’t say yellow, and Steve moves on, makes a ring with his thumb and forefinger and jerks him below the head in gentle motions that tug his foreskin and just barely jostle all the clips along his shaft.

Bucky hisses at the combined pain and pleasure. “Hunh-ah! Ohn … sh-hit.”

Steve trails fingers down the center of his sac, smearing oil, tracing the seam from front to back, delighting in how he can see the twitching as Bucky’s balls keep trying and failing to pull up close to his body. “S’it a lot?” he murmurs, glancing up and catching the end of Bucky’s throat bobbing in a heavy swallow.

“Uh huh,” he gasps. “Ss-steve … I’m so—oh … I’m s-sso …”

“Close?” Steve whispers, but Bucky shakes his head and whines a pathetic little ‘no’. Steve tuts. “Oh, Sweetheart, I think you’re lying to me. I think you’re real close.” A stifled whimper cuts off in a gasp as Steve curls his fingers against his balls, over and over, stroking and then patting in an almost-but-not-quite rough enough way to be what Bucky wants. Everything is filthily, luxuriously slick. “I mean, you can cum just from me wailing on your ass a little, and I’ve got fucking clothespins all over your junk, pal. So I think you must be feelin’ real wound up.” He closes his oiled fist over his cock for a single, loose stroke and slaps his balls at the very end of it.

“Ohn ... fuck,” Bucky says, and it’s Steve’s favorite kind of ‘fuck’: the kind that’s whimpered, high and tight and hushed, half in the throat and half behind the nose; the kind that works its way through clenched teeth, turns guttural at the end, and barely makes it past the vocal cords. And Steve is a bad man, because he would pay a lot of money to hear nothing but those sorts of desperate, not-quite-sure-I-want-it, ‘fuck’s from Bucky’s lips for all time.

He takes a break when he sees Bucky’s cock throb dangerously hard. Even with the ring and stretcher on, Steve’s been teasing him for a while now, relentless, slipping and sliding and pinching and clipping the little clips in places that hurt Bucky just the way he craves. And despite his enduring aversion to it, Bucky is still a healthy, grown adult male who’ll come if you touch his cock enough—and Steve has been touching. Not to mention the plug up his ass, currently inflated to press unerringly against his prostate. So Steve pulls his hands away and stands up from the chair.

Bucky’s eyes follow him, heated, a little pinch of unhappiness between his eyebrows the longer he looks. “Steve,” he says softly, asking and complaining all in one. Steve smiles, fond, because Bucky’s always had a talent for packing a lot of shit into the single syllable of his name. Bucky’s complaining because he doesn’t like that Steve’s still fully dressed.

This started out as Steve panicking and needing to get his bizarrely traumatized boyfriend under control as fast as possible. Now that he has, his field of vision almost seems to expand. He becomes more aware of himself, of how his pants have become too tight, how his pulse is ticking in his veins and his cock is trapped and pressing against the zip of his jeans uncomfortably.

He gives himself some relief by flicking the button and pulling down the fly. It feels good, makes him realize how long he’d been ignoring himself in the first place. Steve shivers pleasantly and bites back the groan that wants to come, stepping back into the vee of Bucky’s legs.

He licks his lips and lets his eyes roam greedily over all of Bucky’s tanned skin. Fuck, he’s gorgeous like this: body held taught and trembling, skin flushed and just barely starting to sweat as he hangs there, suspended, wanting, helpless to Steve’s whims.

Steve’s dick gives a hearty pulse now that he’s made room for it, and he allows himself one good squeeze from over the the crotch of his jeans before ignoring it again. In his bonds, Bucky looses a tiny sound of frustration, holding back whatever it is he wants to say.

Steve smirks. “Oh yeah?” He rubs his hands all over Bucky’s shoulders and down his pecs, over the ladder of his ribs and the tight lines of his abdomen, fingers following the belt of muscle that slips from his waist down to his shuddering pelvis. He flicks at the clips closest to the cockring’s base and waits for Bucky to hiss in pain before closing his fist around the head of his dick. He squeezes in little, repetitive pulses. Over and over until he gets another overwhelmed cry out of Bucky,

“Ah! Ss-s-steve, please … I-I can’t …”

“Sure you can,” he murmurs. He steps close enough that their chests touch, and then leans in just another inch or two, pushing Bucky’s body with his, forcing him back in the ropes. Bucky’s bonds are all rigged from a single pivot point in the ceiling, so Steve knows that this is tightening the harness, making the ropes dig in cruelly at Bucky’s thighs and ass. He knows he doesn’t have to worry though—Bucky’s always griping that Steve might as well not even bother with shibari if he isn’t going to make it harsh enough to leave real marks.

He smooths his hands over the tops of Bucky’s thighs, groping the muscle, then sliding outwards to his butt. Bucky’s hands are both clenched into fists where they’re tied at his sides and Steve brushes over them with his fingers in a quiet little hello, before veering away to grab at his hips again. He uses that hold to rock them together, slow and dirty. It’s not really the right angle for Steve, but that’s not why he’s doing it. He wants to watch Bucky’s pupils dilate as he responds to Steve’s touch, wants to see him helplessly react to the pressure and the friction.

There’s no way the grinding doesn’t make every single one of the clothespins move and twinge painfully. Bucky keeps making little hurt sounds the more he’s pinched and stimulated, and Steve leans in and kisses him. It’s a sloppy, shallow kiss, stopping and restarting multiple times, Steve doing most of the work while he hums in mock sympathy and licks at Bucky’s slack mouth. “Yeah,” he breathes. “You are close, huh?”

Bucky shivers and nods, more tears leaking from his eyes. And these ones, Steve thinks, these ones might be real tears of distress. Steve’s heart pangs for him, even as his neglected dick throbs in his underwear from watching it all. He’s been hurting Bucky real nice, but he’s also been touching everything he wants to touch, in ways that aren’t always easy for Bucky. Feeling so much has Bucky’s breath hitching in barely-there sobs each time Steve pushes on the plug or dares to glance fingertips against the head of his cock.

“Buck,” he coos, looking down between their bodies. “It’s alright to feel good, baby. You know that. You’re allowed. It’s not a bad thing to let it feel good.” He glides his fingers into the crease of Bucky’s hip, down between his legs and back up to the base of his cock, over his pubic bone where, as far as Steve knows, hair hasn’t grown since 1945. Steve likes to watch the shine and trickle of the oil against all that bare, ruddy skin. He likes watching everything darken, likes the access it gives him. “I want to put my mouth on you so bad,” he confesses, not surprised when Bucky shudders against him.

“Please,” he breathes, begging for Steve to not do that. “Steve …”

Steve’s balls throb and his dick pulses in a strange but familiar counterpoint to the ache that always lodges in his chest whenever he hears Bucky fearing something that should only feel good. “Hang on, pal,” he soothes, stepping away to the rolling cart so that he can get the crop he’d set aside. “You’ve still got a lot of explaining left to do.” He curls his fingers over the crop’s handle. It’s a very small implement, less than two feet long, with a short and sturdy fold of leather at the tip—made just for the sort of precise, delicate swatting that Steve has in mind. Bucky’s throat clicks audibly in another nervous swallow as he watches Steve take hold of it. Steve uses the tip to touch Bucky’s chest. He pats the leather flange against his pec, nudging at the black metal barbell that beads out to either side of his nipple. “Are you ready to get talking?”

Bucky nods shakily. “What do you wanna know?”

“Well …” Steve keeps his tone conversational as he pats around at Bucky’s belly and groin with light, testing ‘thwaks’. He sits in the chair. “Knowing you, you’ve probably already researched it to hell and back, am I right?”

“... Yeah,” Bucky says distractedly, and Steve knows without looking up that he’s staring at the crop and where Steve might be taking it next. “I’m sorry.”

Steve swats him on the inner thigh. “I don’t want you to be sorry,” he corrects. “I want you to explain.”

“Steve …”

“Explain it to me,” he repeats, stern, fluttering the tip of the crop along the taut line of a hip flexor. “What is it about it that appeals, hm?” He lets his eyes drag back up to Bucky’s face. “Why do you like the idea of … of castrating yourself?” He hesitates for only a fraction of a second, but he knows that Bucky doesn’t miss it, doesn’t miss how it is hard for him to even say the word. Steve swallows and steels himself. He already has a pretty good guess of what Bucky’s answer is going to be, but he needs to hear it from him. He lets the crop trail lazily up and down Bucky’s inner thigh, stopping to nudge one of the clips along his taint. “Come on, pal. Explain it to me. I’m not gonna knock these off until you do.”

Bucky’s face is red, embarrassed, and it takes him a moment before he can manage to open his mouth and admit, “I like … that it makes you soft. I probably wouldn’t be able to get hard anymore. My body wouldn’t react the same.”

Steve frowns and touches the bouncing line of Bucky’s erection with the crop. Just the visual threat of it there is enough to make Bucky jerk with excitement. Steve tuts at the reaction, but it was an honest answer, so he swats him lightly on the head of his cock in reward.

Bucky makes a horrible, stifled sound; like he’s taken a gut punch but is trying to keep quiet. “So it’s about being impotent, then,” Steve says, heart sinking and trying not to show it. He’s always tried hard to make sure that what they do together is something good, something Bucky either wants, is ambivalent about, or can learn to want. Steve hates the idea that maybe he’s been pushing sex on Bucky when he doesn’t want it. He’s got his mouth open to say something to that effect, but Bucky’s already answering him,

“No. Not impotent. Just …” he flounders. “Just different.” Steve raises an eyebrow and makes a hand gesture to indicate that Bucky should keep on talking, because Steve sure as shit doesn’t understand yet. Bucky sighs. “I like the idea of just being there for you. Of my body not reacting. Not being able to use my cock to feel good.” His face colors even worse and he averts his eyes. “I’d never have to see it get hard.”

Steve presses his lips tightly together, hurt by that. He knows that it makes Bucky nervous to see his own body react that way. Steve’s never been brave enough to ask for the specifics of why. The generalities are plenty, and Steve’s not so stupid that he can’t infer. Bucky was tortured, horrifically, raped and traumatized until all the wires in his brain got crossed. They still are, these days, but Steve’s been trying his damned hardest to untangle at least a few of them. “So you never want to cum?” he asks in disbelief. “Ever again?” The thought makes him want to cry.

“No! I do. I mean, I still could,” Bucky says. “When you want me to. When I need it. But it would never happen by accident, only if you wanted it to, if you put real work into it. Otherwise, I—” He chokes on a breathy ‘ah!’ as Steve swats the head of his cock again, “I–I wouldn’t have to—ooh!—w-worry about it.”

“Mm. ‘Worry’,” Steve repeats unhappily. “What about the humiliation aspect of it? The emasculation?” Steve’s pretty sure that’s what it’s about for most of the freaky fetish internet people (but leave it to Bucky to find the fringe group of a fringe group). “Is that part of the fantasy?”

Bucky pauses guiltily. “I mean … yeah. It’d be a bonus, I guess.”

Steve scoffs. He really feels like he needs a lot more time to try and wrap his mind around the way that Bucky sees this, because God knows it’s not how Steve sees it. Just the concept of being voluntary neutered has him wanting to shield his own nuts with both hands. Still, he tries to do what he always does in situations like this. He flexes his mental strength and imagines how Bucky must feel about this new, fucked up thing he’s expressing. “So ... you like that your body would be under control?” he eventually guesses, taking his cues from Bucky’s expressions. He taps the shaft of the crop against where the plug is lodged in Bucky’s ass, watching him wince minutely. “Your body’s reactions, your sex drive?”

Bucky nods and croaks out, “Yeah. Yeah, under your control. Exactly. This would just control it a little bit. I like feeling under control.”

"I know you do.” Steve is in no way actually considering this, but he plays along, mapping out the shape of it in his mind. He winds up drawing an unpleasant comparison between Bucky getting his balls chopped off to control his sexuality, and female circumcision. “... Men who’ve had this done,” he asks slowly, “they don’t get erections?”

“Well … No. Not easily. Not strong ones.”

“Do they ejaculate?”

“Not as much.”

“Huh.” He trails the crop down Bucky’s cock, nudging at the clips along the way. He leans forward in the chair and watches intently as he rubs the leather flange over Bucky’s balls. They’re taut and shiny and dark, swollen from being bound so cruelly. He taps them once and Bucky flinches and gasps. “But they can still have orgasms?” Steve checks.

“Y-yeah. Dry. They can cum dry.”

Steve looks up. “Personally, I really like these,” he says, tapping. “I like seeing ‘em, touching ‘em, putting ‘em in my mouth. I don’t know what I’d do, if you—” he cuts off, swallowing down a slight wave of nausea at the image of Bucky, bleeding out on some guy’s basement’s tennis table. “You can’t get your balls chopped off, Buck,” he says, forcing levity into his voice. “It’d be such a waste.” He lifts Bucky’s balls up on the shaft of the crop and hefts their weight a few times. “Look at these gorgeous nuts, huh? Just think: what would I get to torture so nicely if you didn’t have these beauties?”

Bucky’s face is still flushed deep in embarrassment, but he isn’t looking away from Steve anymore. He starts chewing his lip, and Steve gives him a real swat behind his balls, getting a bare spot between the clips on his taint. Bucky moans and jerks, making the harness sway midair. Steve steadies him.

“You’d really take that away from me? Hm? Change your body like that?”

Bucky shakes his head, fast and desperate, and the obvious honesty in it is a huge relief. “No,” he gasps. “No not if you didn’t let me. I wouldn’t, I swear!”

“But if I let you?” Steve asks, waspish, striking out to knock one of the clips off from behind his balls. Bucky yelps. “You’d gladly do it then?”

“Oghn.” Bucky nods, recovering from the pain—cock dripping from the pain. He looks pleadingly down at him. “It’d be so simple,” he whispers. “I’d be so simple and compact and so … so useful for you.”

Steve averts his gaze back down so that Bucky can’t see the revulsion pass through his eyes. He doesn’t even know what the hell Bucky means by all that. It’s like they’re speaking in two different dialects of the same language: close, but no cigar. “You really think I want to have sex with someone who doesn’t enjoy it?” he asks, trying not to let his voice waver with the sorrow he feels.

“No,” Bucky insists. “I would enjoy it.”

“That makes no sense, you jerk. You wouldn’t have a sex drive!” Steve says angrily. “Your body wouldn’t have testosterone, and you wouldn’t have a sex drive.”

“I’d still be able to feel pleasure,” Bucky insists. “When you touch me. And I’d still want to be intimate with you. You could still make me cum. All of that, but it would just all be you.” He says it like he’s pleading with Steve to understand. “Don’t you see? I wouldn’t need it, but I could enjoy it when I got it anyway. Please! I just want to work right. I want to be under control.”

Steve nods, upset and trying to calm himself down. He doesn’t think they’re going to come to any kind of an understanding on this one. “Sometimes the wires won’t make sense,” he can just hear his therapist saying. “And they don’t need to. You can still be a supportive partner. Do your best to understand, tell him when you can’t, and don’t invalidate what he feels.”

“I’d be sexual with you,” Bucky’s still arguing, frustrating Steve by plowing ahead and just spitting more words out at him. “I wouldn’t be doing you a favor. I’d want it. You’ll make me want it. But when I’m by myself, it’d just be gone. Like turning off a vibrator when you’re not using it.”

“Christ.”

“… Is that really so bad to want?” he asks, looking hurt.

It’s messed up on seven fucking-levels to want, Steve thinks but doesn’t say. He knows he should try harder to talk this out—Bucky’s clearly not trying to hurt himself just for the sake of hurting himself—but right now Steve is still terrified of what might happen. He feels tired, brain overly taxed from trying to navigate the traumatized, fucked-up nooks and crannies of the brain of the man he loves and just wants to make love to, goddamnit. He sniffs and looks back up at him, features stern. “Well sorry to break it to you, pal, but no matter why you think you want to do it, I’m not letting you chop your balls off. You’re just gonna have to catalogue that one in the spank bank.”

“Steeve,”

Like a brittled rubber band, Steve’s tolerance snaps. In a flash, he starts hitting the clothespins with the crop, knocking them off suddenly and precisely, one by one by one. He’s aware of Bucky gasping and yelping and jerking from the sudden pain, but he doesn’t stop until he’s knocked every single one of the clips off. “I’m gonna cum,” Bucky gasps breathlessly, right on the edge. “I’m–I’m—”

Steve leans forward in the chair, hauls Bucky’s crotch to his face, and sucks his tortured balls straight into his mouth. Bucky keens and jerks, but Steve doesn’t let go. He brings a hand up to knuckle brutally into Bucky’s taint, and then—meanly but so goddamn carefully—he closes his teeth, biting down on Bucky’s balls hard enough to make it really hurt.

Bucky’s sharp cries don’t disappear so much as they go subvocal, cut off into a choking, strangled sound that tells Steve as good as any scream could, that he’s climaxing. The flesh in Steve’s mouth throbs and twitches, Bucky’s balls trying desperately to pull up tight to his body as he comes. Steve thinks that the pain of having them forced away like this must be dragging the orgasm out, making it more intense; and despite how fucked up it all is, Steve feels glad that he can give that to him.

He stops biting after a second or two and just sucks on them instead, feeling the shape against his tongue and the twitches of Bucky’s hips against his face. Distantly, he’s aware of the spurts of cum that’ve landed against his neck and shoulder, probably getting on his tee shirt in the back, too. He waits until Bucky is shivering with oversensitivity before he pulls his mouth away. Bucky’s erection has flagged, though his cock remains thickened because of the ring. Steve works it off him as gently as he can, grinding his teeth every time he hears Bucky hiss and whimper from the overstimulation. “Sorry, sorry.”

“I’m okay.”

He stands up again and pulls Bucky into a tight hug, not wanting him to see the wetness that’s in his eyes. Bucky’s arms both flex where they’re bound at his sides, telling Steve that if he had them free, he’d be hugging back right now. “I love you,” Steve whispers, thinking that he’s got to think of a way to satisfy this urge of Bucky’s. Preferably before the idiot goes and gets his nuts chopped off.

Steve’s therapist is no fucking help whatsoever. She doesn’t immediately freak out when he tells her about Bucky joining nutjob (literally) chat groups online. Steve doesn’t know why he’s surprised. She never says what he wants her to. He’s her client, goddammit. He’s the one paying her. She’s never even met Bucky and yet she still somehow always seems to take his side. So they talk a lot about Bucky and what sorts of things might help him to feel satisfied without amateur surgery in Mexico/Some Guy’s Basement.

“No. How can that possibly help? It can’t!”

“We don’t get to tell people how they should feel, or how they should heal, Steve. Reenacting in a safe space, with a safe person, that can be very cathartic.”

Steve manically researches cock cages and chastity play on the internet for a day and a half. He sits Bucky down for a Serious Conversation on possibilities other than literal castration.

So, ‘consensual non-consent’ is a thing— “CNC,” because everything has to have a goddamn acronym these days.

Steve’s pretty sure that what they’ve been doing can’t technically count as that, because Bucky never non-consents to begin with—he’s a 24/7 whore for being forced, used, and objectified. But yeah, it’s basically rape play. Because of course it would be.

Turns out, Steve’s sexual orientation really is double dog dare, because Bucky likes CNC a lot, and so they get into that, because Steve would never deny him anything that facilitates intimacy between them. Turns out that when he’s held and forced and used and put and made to, many of Bucky’s sexual problems don’t rear their ugly heads. And Steve can get used to an-ny-thing, if it’s something that helps Bucky accept pleasure.

So they make some changes in their daily life and habits. Because at this point, what’s a few more? Bucky starts wearing cock cages all the time, and only Steve is allowed to remove them, and sometimes Bucky just wants to bend over and take it and be a good object for Steve, which is what they do.

They order a bunch of stuff on Amazon. Silicon, plastic, metal, tiny, medium, solid, slotted, big, locking—all sorts get ordered and show up at their door not twenty four hours later, and Bucky tries them all and picks his favorites. Steve is tasked with disposing of the reject pile. As a child of the depression, it hurts a piece of his soul to throw anything away unused, even a handful of cock cages. Bucky tells him to stop being an idiot and chuck ‘em. Steve does.

Bucky wants one absolutely locked on himself that he cannot get hard in and he cannot remove. For safety reasons, Steve is wary of this. “What if you’re in a car accident or something, huh? Your dick’ll get crushed and the doctors won’t be able to get to it in time!”

Bucky’s blithe response of “All the better,” does not inspire confidence in Steve.

They come to the compromise of a heavy-duty metal cage, but with single-use plastic padlocks—they come in packs of a hundred and have serial numbers on each one, so that Steve will absolutely know if Bucky ever cuts one off without telling him. Bucky clearly has no intention of jerking one out on the sly, so he readily agrees to this. Effectively, they incapacitate Bucky’s dick in a sick sort of mockery of Bucky’s castration fantasy.

Steve learns all about castration fantasies, of course. He researches the hell out of it so that he can know all the right things to do and say to get Bucky off when they play. He learns all about the prostate and where it is and how to make Bucky come from that and only that. For the first time ever, with the help of a few handy bedroom accessories and a little practice (and Bucky spending a lot of quality time with his own therapist), Steve is actually able to initiate sexual touch without triggering him. Turns out, all you have to do is lock Bucky’s dick up and he’s just fine and dandy with being fucked, fingered, or toyed with to orgasm—only minimal dehumanization or knifeplay needed.

Steve absolutely cries some very manly tears when he’s finally able to hold the fucking love of his life in a soft bed and make love to him—with Bucky actually enjoying it.

Masterlist

Part 4

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