#i have no idea what possessed me into doing this

[navybrat817]

This man. This gif!

Take Them Off

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky just wants to read. You have other ideas.

Word Count: Over 900

Warnings: Established relationship, implied smut, teasing, slight possessive behavior, dirty talk, mentions of spanking and fingering, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Another quickie, but I hope you lovelies. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t ask for a lot. In fact, all he wanted to do today was finish his book and not move from his chair. Very simple, and he should’ve known you would take it as a challenge.

Since he said he didn’t want to move from his chair, you decided to tease him and strut around the place in just your underwear as you did chores. And not just any pair of underwear. You had a pair specially made that had “Property of Bucky Barnes” written on the front and back. He was hard and aching for what felt like hours thanks to you.

He could admit it was fun when you teased him, but he could only take so much.

“Take them off.”

Three simple words. All you had to do was listen. Bucky sure as hell put enough authority in his voice, and he knew damned well you heard him since you looked over your shoulder with a playful smirk.

“What was that?” you asked, toying with the band of your underwear. “You want me to take these off?”

He exhaled slowly and gripped the arms of his chair. It was an impressive feat that he hadn’t done any damage to the furniture. “Yeah. Take them off. Now.”

You pretended to think about it. “Or what?”

Bucky snarled when you darted just out of his reach and had the audacity to shake your ass at him, which only made you smirk more. Whenever you got close to him, you moved away with a giggle. Both of you knew he could catch you if he wanted to, and he would, but he was trying his best not to leave his chair.

But once you got close enough, he’d put you over his knee. Maybe spank you. Maybe yank that special pair of underwear down and fuck you with his fingers until you came all over them, only after you begged for it. And after a little edging for all the teasing.

The question was if he wanted to fuck you with his metal fingers or not.

“Or I’ll cut them off,” he threatened.

You faced him as you played with the band again, his cock ready to burst from his pants when you pulled them down enough to show him your mound. Just as quickly as you pulled them down, you pulled them back up. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“You drive me crazy,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. His scalp tingled at the thought of you pulling on the long strands. A very good kind of pain.

“And you love me for it,” you smiled.

His gaze momentarily softened. You were the light of his life, always. “I do. Very much,” he swore, brandishing a knife from his pocket and twirling it for you to see. “And maybe I can turn that threat into a promise if you get over here.”

You gasped and he didn’t have to look between your legs to know there was a wet patch on the fabric. “Is this the part where I go ‘is that a knife in your pocket or are you just happy to see me’, Barnes? Or are you planning to stab me with your dick?”

His blue eyes darkened when you took a step closer. As much as he wanted to put you over his knee, he also wanted to lavish your gorgeous breasts with the attention they deserved. “I’m going to destroy all of your holes tonight, and I might just fuck your pussy last,” he said, going in for the kill. “Or maybe I won’t fuck your pussy at all since you’re a fucking tease.”

He wanted to smirk when you narrowed your eyes and took two steps closer. Close enough for him to grab you. “A tease doesn’t back up their words and you know damned well I always-”

Careful not to cut you because he’d never hurt you, he gripped your wrist and chuckled when he yanked you over the armrest. “Follow through. I know, baby. I know.”

He half expected you to squirm or struggle, but you only moaned when brought the blade to your hip. He saw you rub your thighs together. The teasing had worked you up, too. Good. “Are you really going to cut these off?” you pouted.

He sank his teeth into his lip when he read the words along your ass. It would be a shame to destroy them since he was already going to destroy what was underneath. “Maybe, maybe not,” he mused, grazing the blade along your skin to make you shiver. “I’ll think it over while I finish my book.”

You tensed up and slowly turned your head. “You’re still going to finish your book? Are you kidding me?” The fire in your eyes almost made him lose his cool, but he used to be the Winter Soldier. He didn’t break so easily.

“You knew that was my plan today. Not my fault the sight of me gets you hot and bothered,” he smiled, rolling his hips up so you could feel just how hard he was in his pants. To be fair, the sight of you did the same thing to him. “So sit tight, get comfortable, and we’ll see if you can figure out which hole I’m fucking first.”

Because if you got to tease him, he got to tease you, too.

Once again, nothing to see here, lovelies! Go about your business. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[randomstore]

okay but this is my generation. and to see people so casually do this every single day hurts me so much. need an essay idea? ask ai! want a list of goals for your life? chat gpt can help you! want to draw something? just come up with a prompt and the art is yours.

if I had to guess, around a quarter to half of the thesis statements in my honors english class this semester were made with ai. nobody seems to bat an eye but me. stuff like ai 'art' seems to irk more people, but there's a noticeable part of the population who just doesn't really care.

maybe it's because I'm a writer. an artist. I spend so much of my life consuming the art people have made with their own hands and their own souls and creating my own that it does not make sense to spend my time trying to make less art. art made by real humans has shaped who i want to be as a person. every ounce of emotion and struggle that goes into that art shows how much they wanted to make it exist and that emotion and that struggle is what makes it art.

also, why would I want to outsource my thinking? my beliefs and values are the things that make me who I am, more than any simple physical traits and skills I possess. my goals are uniquely my own and to hand any part of that process of development over to a machine that can never really know me feels strange. all it will ever do is spit out what the majority of people want to do, never accounting for who you want to be. I have found no easier way to find what I want to do than to go on a walk or just sit and contemplate. alone. only with my thoughts, which isn't always fun. but it gets me somewhere. I know myself better afterwards, even if just a little bit.

maybe it's just because I'm an artist. but I don't want to see people jump at the opportunity to do less of what makes them human.

the generational gap between me and the people my age who use chat gpt

[riddleswhcre]

────۶ৎ his hunger, your ruin

tom riddle doesn’t just want your blood—he wants to ruin you, break you, and fill you until you know you’re his.

warnings: smut, vampire!tom, bloodplay, creampie, overstimulation, slight dacryphilia, degradation, possessiveness.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: this wouldn’t exist without my love marleen, who first blessed us with the vampire!tom. all credit for this deliciously dark concept goes to her, so go lose your mind over her au + fic. show her all the love and tom might just pay you a visit in the night x

more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

his breath is cool against your throat, a ghost of a touch that makes you shiver beneath him. ‘pretty thing,’ he murmurs, voice like silk laced with something darker, something more dangerous. ‘mine.’

you whimper, thighs already trembling where they’re spread around him, the heavy weight of his cock pressing against your slick folds. he hasn’t pushed in yet, just letting the tip tease you, smearing your arousal over himself. he loves this—loves watching you squirm, watching the way your body betrays you.

‘needy little thing,’ he taunts, dragging a single, sharp fang along your pulse point. you jolt, body arching up, but he pins you down, fingers bruising where they dig into your hips. ‘do you have any idea what you do to me? how fucking sweet you smell? i should drain you dry right here, watch you go limp on my cock.’

your breath stutters, a whimper slipping past your lips. and fuck, it only makes him harder, cock twitching against you, precum leaking onto your swollen clit.

‘please,’ you gasp, and that’s all it takes for his control to snap.

he thrusts into you in one brutal motion, splitting you open, a strangled moan tearing from your throat. you can feel him—feel every inch, every ridge, feel the way his cock stretches you, forces your body to take him.

his fingers find your jaw, tilting your head back, exposing your throat. he watches you, eyes blown black with hunger, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

‘so good for me,’ he purrs, rocking into you, dragging his cock along your walls, slow and deep, making sure you feel every fucking inch. ‘so tight. so warm. you were made for me, weren’t you?’

you nod—desperate, delirious, pleasure pooling low in your belly. ‘yes,’ you breathe. ‘yes, tom—’

his teeth sink into your throat.

the pain is sharp, white-hot, and then—bliss. a rush of pleasure so intense your vision blurs, your walls clenching tight around his cock as you cum, a cry tearing from your throat.

he groans, fucking you through it, drinking deep, his hips snapping against yours, chasing his own release. your blood is thick on his tongue, intoxicating, his grip unrelenting as he ruts into you, dragging out every last tremor of your orgasm.

‘so perfect,’ he breathes, pulling back just enough to press his bloodstained lips to yours. ‘so fucking perfect.’

then, with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself deep, spilling inside you, his body shuddering against yours.

but he’s not done.

‘look at you,’ he breathes, dragging his fingers through the mess between your legs, pushing his own cum back inside you. ‘soaking my cock, full of my cum, and you still want more, don’t you?’

you whimper, but you don’t deny it. can’t. not when your body is still trembling, still burning with the need to be ruined by him.

he smirks—dangerous, sharp. ‘such a needy little thing.’

and then he moves, dragging his cock through your slick folds, teasing your overstimulated clit with the flushed tip before slamming back inside.

the sound that rips from your throat is obscene, high and desperate, tears spilling down your cheeks as he fucks you open again, raw and wrecked.

‘crying already?’ he taunts, thumb swiping away a tear before he shoves it past your lips. ‘s’too much for you, sweetheart? can’t take it?’

you shake your head, tongue flicking over his thumb, sucking it into your mouth.

he groans, jaw tightening. ‘that’s what i fucking thought.’

his hips snap against yours, unrelenting, the wet slap of skin-on-skin filling the room. he’s deeper this time, fucking you rough, ruthless, possessive, like he’s trying to carve himself into you, ruin you for anyone else.

‘you’re mine,’ he growls, fingers curling around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. ‘mine to fuck, mine to fill, mine to break.’

your walls clench around him, drawing a deep, shuddering moan from his lips.

he loves this—loves watching you unravel, loves knowing you can’t get enough of him, loves knowing you’re his.

his free hand slips between your bodies, fingers rubbing tight, desperate circles over your clit.

‘come on,’ he urges, voice dark and dripping with sin. ‘cum for me again. make a fucking mess, sweetheart.’

your body obeys before your mind can catch up—pleasure slamming into you, knocking the breath from your lungs as you cum, clenching down on him so tight he groans, hips stuttering.

but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow.

he keeps going, fucking you through it, dragging out every last aftershock until you’re sobbing, thighs shaking, body wrecked.

and still, he keeps fucking you. keeps using you.

‘one more,’ he whispers against your throat, voice thick with hunger. ‘one more, and then i’ll fill you up again.’

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

[soaln]

could you do ace with a m!reader who is into breeding (the reader being the bottom)

NO TITLE IDEA ﹒ ౨ৎ

𓏵 ﹒ ┈ warnings : minor dni, breeding kink, maybe ooc, smut w no plot, ace x m!reader, probably bad grammar, over 1,4Kwrds ｡— ◟ 𖦹

The ship rocked gently on the open sea, its wooden frame creaking softly as it cut through the waves. The midday sun blazed overhead, casting a golden glow across the deck, but inside the cabin, the heat was of a different kind. The air was thick, charged with an electric tension that seemed to hum with every breath. The scent of saltwater mingled with the earthy aroma of sweat and desire, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that enveloped the two men in their private world.

Ace loomed above his lover, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his breaths. His lips were slightly parted, his expression a mix of hunger and restraint. The space between them crackled with unspoken need, the kind that had been building for days, weeks, perhaps even longer. His hands, rough and calloused from years of life at sea, moved with surprising tenderness over the smooth expanse of his partner’s chest. Every touch was deliberate, every caress a silent promise of what was to come.

“I told you,” Ace murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver through his lover’s body. “You don’t know when to quit.” His thumb circled one of the taut nipples beneath him, a teasing motion that elicited a sharp gasp. The man beneath him arched into the touch, his body betraying the depth of his need.

But despite the teasing edge to his words, Ace’s gaze was dark and intense, his pupils dilated with desire. His lover’s breath hitched at the sight, his own eyes heavy with lust, his entire body trembling beneath Ace’s weight.

“No,” came the soft but insistent reply. The man beneath him shifted, his hands sliding across Ace’s back, nails scraping lightly over the muscles there. His fingers dug into the flesh at Ace’s hips, pulling him closer. “I can never get enough of you.”

Ace’s lips curled into a wry grin, his amusement evident. “Yeah, I know. You’re insatiable.” His breath was warm against his lover’s neck, and he couldn’t help but let out a low laugh, the sound rich and deep. “Always begging for more. But that’s what I love about you.”

A subtle smirk played at the corner of his lover’s lips. He tilted his head up, capturing Ace’s mouth in a heated kiss, his hands already working to undo the buttons of Ace’s vest. His fingers trembled with impatience, his need palpable. “You can’t deny it either,” he teased between kisses, his voice rough with desire. “You love how much I want you. How much I need you.”

Ace groaned against his lips, pressing his body down into his lover’s. Every touch, every movement, ignited a fire deep within him, a fire he had no intention of extinguishing. He kissed back hungrily, his hands sliding down the lean body beneath him, feeling the warmth and strength of it beneath his fingertips. He could feel the heat of his lover’s pulse against his own, a perfect match to the burning ache between them.

“You’re damn right,” Ace muttered between kisses, his hands traveling lower, gripping his lover’s hips firmly, possessively. “You belong to me. Always have. Always will.”

A tremor ran through his lover’s body at the words, a quiet shudder that only fueled the fire raging between them. His hands moved to pull Ace closer, desperately. His body shifted beneath Ace’s as he arched up, pushing their pelvises together, a sharp intake of breath slipping past his lips as their bodies finally aligned.

“You’re mine, too,” his lover rasped, his voice raw, needy. “Only yours, Ace.”

Ace’s eyes darkened, burning with something primal. “Good.” He pulled back slightly, positioning himself with deliberate slowness. The anticipation built in the silence, heavy and thick, before he lowered his lips to his lover’s throat, pressing kisses down the warm column of skin. “I’m gonna make sure everyone knows you’re mine. Nobody’s gonna be able to touch you like I do.”

His cock thrust forward then, deeply, deliberately, forcing the air from his lover’s lungs with a shocked gasp. “Ace,” came the broken whimper, the sound of his name enough to send a shiver down his spine.

“Yeah, that’s right. Say my name,” Ace murmured, his breath ragged in [y/n]’s ear. He thrust again, this time faster, harder, feeling the way his lover’s body trembled beneath him. “Beg for it.”

His lover’s body responded eagerly, his legs shakingly wrapping around Ace’s waist, pulling him in deeper. “Please,” he begged, his voice a melodic mix of pleasure and desperation. “I need you, Ace. Want you so bad.”

Ace growled, his teeth grazing his lover’s neck. “You’re gonna take everything I give you. Every. Damn. Inch.” With that, he surged forward again, setting a frantic rhythm, his hands gripping the sheets beside his lover’s head, his body moving with the powerful, relentless drive of a man consumed by fire.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the only sound the rhythmic clash of their bodies, the gasps and moans that spilled from their lips. The air thickened with heat, the flames of their desire licking higher, stronger, until the only thing left was the raw, unfiltered need to claim, to possess, to mark their territory in the most primal way imaginable.

“You’re mine,” Ace growled again, pressing in deep, making sure his lover felt every inch of him. “Forever. No one else will ever have you like this.”

His lover’s hands gripped him tighter, nails digging into his back as he came closer, shuddering violently beneath him. “I’m yours, Ace. Always… yours.” He moans.

And with that final admission, Ace gave in, his body shuddering in the release, filling his lover completely with a hot sticky climax. They collapsed together in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs, breathless, the aftershocks of their shared climax still rippling through them.

Ace pressed a lingering kiss to his lover’s temple, his hands gentle now, fingers carding through his hair as they both caught their breath.

“Never gonna let you go,” Ace whispered, his voice low but steady, the promise hanging in the air between them like a vow.

And for once, it wasn’t just the flames that burned between them. It was something much deeper, something that neither of them could ever extinguish.

---

The cabin was quiet now, the only sound the gentle lapping of the waves against the ship’s hull. The heat of the moment had faded, replaced by a warm, contented glow. Ace lay beside his lover, his arm draped over the man’s chest, their bodies still pressed close. The room was bathed in the soft, golden light of the setting sun, filtering through the small porthole and casting long shadows across the wooden floor. The air smelled of salt and sweat, a lingering reminder of their passion. Ace’s fingers traced idle patterns on his lover’s skin, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his touch.

“Do you think it’ll always be like this?” The male asked, his voice low and husky, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ace turned his head, meeting the man’s gaze. There was a vulnerability there, a question that went deeper than the words. He smiled softly, his thumb brushing over the man’s cheek. “I don’t know about always,” he admitted, his voice gentle. “But for now, it’s enough. You’re enough.”

The man’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile, and he leaned into Ace’s touch. “You always know what to say,” he murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. “I just… I don’t want this to end.”

Ace’s heart ached at the words, a bittersweet pang that echoed his own fears. But he pushed them aside, focusing on the warmth of the moment, the way their bodies fit together so perfectly, as if they were made for each other. “It doesn’t have to,” he said firmly, though he knew the reality of their lives. “We’ll take it one day at a time. That’s all we can do.”

The male nodded, though the worry didn’t fully leave his eyes. Ace leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, then his lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against his skin. “Not yet.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile promise in a world that was anything but certain. But for now, in the quiet of the cabin, with the waves as their witness, it was enough. They held each other tightly, savoring the peace, knowing that whatever came next, they would face it together.

[violetasteracademic]

A little birdie told me the Elriel tags were in desperate need of some good vibes and unhinged smut, so dropping by to sprinkle a slutty lil one shot!

Summary:

Elain escapes to the Dawn Court for one evening, hoping to ease the pain of her broken heart with the distraction of a ball. But Azriel, the very shadowsinger she has sworn to forget, has followed her. And he isn't too keen on letting other males put their hands on the Night Court seer.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Rough sex, exhibitionism, mild pain/power dynamic kink, orgasm denial, breeding kink, garden fucking, yes literal hedge maze fucking, unhinged jealous possessive Azriel and Elain loves it, it's basically just kinky. But very beginner friendly! (er... in my opinion. I guess let me know if I'm wrong about that lolol)

This fic was inspired by Deep End by Ali Hazelwood for @yourstarsmyscars and all the girlies who went insane for Lukas Blomqvist as a modern day Azriel.

Read the fic here

Preview below the cut.

“Elain,” Azriel called after her, but she didn’t slow down. Not until she managed to shove her way through the crowded ballroom and burst out into the garden for a breath of fresh air. “Elain, stop.”

“You’re giving me orders now?” Elain spun on her heel. “What are you doing here, Azriel?”

Azriel’s nostrils flared. “I’m making sure you’re safe. Someone obviously needs to.”

Elain’s jaw fell open, then quickly snapped closed. She was right, then. He’d been sent after her. It stung more than she cared to admit. “I am perfectly safe. Not that it is any business of yours. You can tell my sisters there is nothing to worry about.”

Azriel’s gaze briefly flickered in confusion at the mention of her sisters, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by an icy rage. “Oh really?” Azriel moved in on her, forcing her to retreat until the stone wall halted her movements. “Damon Thatcher is a sniveling creep. There is no way in hell I would let you accept a drink from him.”

“Let me?” Elain’s chest heaved. How dare he? “You don’t control what I do and don’t do Azriel. I will dance with whoever I want and drink champagne with whoever I want, and you don’t get to say a damn word about it.” 

She shoved at his chest, but he snatched her wrists in his hands and pressed her into the wall.

“Not him,” he said, so low and quiet her breath hitched. “Promise me it won’t be him. He’s an ass.”

Elain took a deep breath, trying desperately to clear the fog from the heat of his body and the light, heady buzz from the champagne. “Why does it matter to you?” 

Azriel’s pupils blew wide and his breath sawed through his chest. But he didn’t say a single word.

Elain’s heart was caving in. She couldn’t stand to be this close to Azriel. To breathe in his scent and feel his eyes boring into her, as if he would die if he couldn’t touch her. But he had already proven that wasn’t true. It was a mistake. He never wanted her in the way she thought. So why was he doing this?

“You don’t want me, but no one else gets to have me either? Is that what this is?” She shook her head and turned away, desperate to keep him from seeing the tears forming. “It seems like the only ass here is you, Azriel.” This time, he didn’t stop her when she shoved him away.

It broke something in her. After all this time, she still held on to some fragile hope that she hadn’t imagined everything between them. That the crazed and desperate look she sometimes saw in his eyes wasn’t just… Well, whatever it was. She had no idea anymore. But it hurt too much to try to understand.

“I won’t accept a drink or another dance from Damon,” Elain said over her shoulder. “I… I didn’t like the way he made me feel. But I am not leaving here alone tonight, Azriel. I can’t bear another night alone. So, please. Don’t interfere again.”

Her hand had just barely begun to reach for the knob when darkness swarmed around her.

She landed hard against a cold stone wall, and gasped for breath when the shadows faded and revealed a small fountain surrounded by hedges. Elain had seen the large hedge maze in the Dawn Court gardens, and briefly considered how romantic it would be to sneak quietly away if she indeed found someone she could attempt to distract herself from Azriel with. But it was Azriel himself gripping her wrists and looking like a half crazed animal.

“Azriel,” Elain hissed. “What are you doing?”

“No,” he choked out. 

“No what?”

“No, I don’t want anyone else touching you.”

[dykeforhire]

Emily Prentiss Headcanons

bottom!emily prentiss x reader

[NSFW 18+]

A/N: basically just more of me talking to myself… this one was lowkey harder to write idk why.

- Emily is very needy when it comes to sex… always looking at you with those sweet eyes, begging, pleading for you to touch her… to take care of her.

- She is definitely vocal, but not loud… more so breathy, whiny and panting. She knows just how to drive you crazy with the sounds she makes, making sure she has your full attention or direct eye contact when she does so.

- She loves teasing, both being teased and being one… she thrives off of it. It plays into how much she likes to beg for you. Using that soft, seductive tone of voice… please, please touch me baby, I need you…

- Emily loooves praise… she absolutely preens when you tell her how good she is, how well she’s doing, how pretty she looks while you fuck her…

- Although she listens well when she wants to, Emily can be quite the brat. She loves riling you up so you’ll go harder, take your frustrations out on her. But when she does decide to listen to orders, she takes them very well... she is very eager to please.

- Although Emily does enjoy taking your strap, she much prefers you to use your hands or mouth during sex. She loves it when you hover over her body on the mattress, fingers buried deep inside… the preciseness of it all.

- On the topic of your mouth and hands… Emily especially loves kissing you right after you eat her out, or sucking your fingers clean after you fuck her.

- in the early days of your relationship with Emily, she was very shy… but the longer you two were together, the more comfortable she became with asking for what she wants… she loves finding new things and kinks to try, and she loves how eagerly you want to support her.

- Emily definitely gives me power!bottom vibes… not fully submissive but definitely willing to submit when you want it… but she loves telling you how to fuck her.

- she adores when you get all possessive over her… sometimes she even lets people flirt with her just to get that reaction out of you.

-Emily is a very touch oriented person, she loves to be constantly in contact with you… these innocent touches often lead to not-so innocent ones.

-somnophilia is definitely a yes with Emily… she’s loves waking up to you between her legs, or your hands shoved down her sleep shorts.

- she also is a big fan of letting you take your stress out on her, letting you come up behind her in the kitchen after a long day and just bending her over the counter to have your way with her… that or using her as a toy to get yourself off.

- Emily just looks oh so pretty tied up for sure. She isn’t too fond of heavy bondage, but she’s very green for hand cuffs and silk ties. She loves the feeling of not being able to escape your musings, overwhelmed by the pleasure, so full of you…

—————————————————————————

a/n: I’m probably gonna keep adding to this cuz ideas are slow in my brain… but I wanted to give it to you, so here ya go, I hope you enjoyed!!

Taglist: @joanofvarc

[thursdayinspace]

Since yesterday was the anniversary of the Sushi episode (Rm9sbG93ZXJz — yes, I just looked it up), here's a little ficlet, set after they came out of that warehouse. I was in need of some fluff, and also I love that episode. tagging @today-in-fic and @poangpals

Somehow, the night seems less quiet all of a sudden as they step back out into the street. It’s almost as if the world has been holding its breath, seeing how this was going to play out. Reality on hold. The nightly noises are back now, wind rustling the leaves, even their steps sounding less hollow. She feels almost dizzy, a little like waking up from a really strange dream. The world feels shaky, not quite solid under her feet.

Mulder sighs deeply next to her and stops walking. She stops too, turning sideways to face him.

“Was that all real?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“Of all the strange things we’ve seen…” He laughs softly.

“That was definitely among the strangest, yes.” She laughs with him, shaking her head. “Remember those times I used to call your theories science fiction?”

“The ones you didn’t call outright crazy.”

“Yeah.”

His smile is soft. “Yeah. I remember.” He pauses for a second before he continues. “So. What happens next?”

She has no idea. But there’s always the safe option. “I should probably go home. I’m pretty tired.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He smiles at her and she feels her heart beating faster in her chest. The truth is, she wasn’t entirely sure at the beginning of this evening whose house she was going to end up in. Neither one of them had said the word, but that had been a date tonight. She’s sure of it. And if it hadn’t ended so abruptly, if one of them had said something… Her face falls as realization hits her. “Oh.”

“What?” he asks.

“I can’t go home. My house blew up.”

“You—Oh. Right.”

“I should…” She hesitates. “I should probably check on the state of it. To see if there’s anything there left to salvage.”

“Do yo want me to come with you?”

She doesn’t want to go at all. It seems oddly tempting to just forget about it, to pretend it didn’t happen. Honestly, if it burned down then it burned down. She didn’t really have anything of great value in there. Nothing she would really, truly miss, most of her personal items left behind in boxes at Mulder’s house because she didn’t want the reminder of their happier times. Truth be told, she never liked her new place. “You parked your car in front of my house.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you call us a cab? One with a real human driver.”

“Don’t you want to get your phone back first?”

She sighs. “You’re right.”

Everything is where they dumped it earlier and they gather their possessions—she leaves only the vibrator behind.

He calls them a cab. They’re quiet on the way to her house, both of them exhausted. When she gets out in front of what used to be her home, he follows her. There’s a last, lone fire truck there, and she chooses to stand and wait and process as Mulder goes to talk to whoever is in charge. She says nothing until he gets back to her.

“Well,” she says.

“Shit,” he says.

That describes it pretty well.

There isn’t a whole lot left.

She sighs and wraps her arms around herself. “I think I need a place to sleep.”

“You have a place to sleep,” he says simply.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She doesn’t have an answer to that question.

**

He drives them back to his house. She feels like she should say something, but even if she wasn’t very attached to her place, being pretty much homeless all of a sudden is not a great feeling.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” Mulder says quietly.

“It’s just… strange, not having a home.”

“You have a home.”

It seems he has made it his mission to state simple facts tonight. She has no idea what to say, but they’re pulling up in front of his house at that moment, and so she gets out of the car and waits for him at the foot of the porch steps. He takes his time joining her there. She knows he’s waiting for her reaction but she’s tired and none of her defenses are in place, and if she speaks now she’ll tell him how she feels, and then he’ll know.

So she watches as he locks the car and makes his slow way over to her. She follows him up the steps, into the house, stands and waits as he closes the door behind them. When he turns to look at her, she forgets to be exhausted, she forgets everything that happened.

His eyes on her are all that matters in the world. The softness in his gaze, the way he stands facing her, solid and unmoving, ready for her to step into his arms and be safe there.

She has never loved anyone this way. Nobody else has even come close.

And she’s done, she’s just done. The world is a mess. But she has something to hold onto. He’s here, he’s right here, and she can’t breathe for a second. She doesn’t believe in fate, but she’s so tired she’s just going to accept it as a sign from the universe that her house blew up after she failed to kiss him after their date. A huge fucking neon sign from the universe, an arrow pointing right at him, flashing letters saying “kiss him, you fucking coward.”

So she does.

She realizes she still hasn’t said anything to him. “You have a home,” he told her, and she’s been looking at him in silence ever since. She hopes he understands that this is her answer.

With a few steps she closes the distance between them and pulls him down into a kiss. He kisses her back immediately, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and yeah, he’s right, she has a home.

She has him.

“Stay,” he whispers against her lips.

She smiles into the next kiss. “I don’t think I have any other choice right now.”

“No.” He pulls back, his eyes amused and hopeful at the same time. “I meant for longer than just tonight.”

“Oh.” She waits for her mind to start screaming at her that this is a bad idea. For the panic to set in. It doesn’t happen. “Yeah.”

He carries her up to bed for no other reason than that he wants to, and she wants him to. She falls asleep in his arms and wakes up there as well.

It feels like being home. Maybe that’s okay.

[love---mandy]

Helloo sorry if my english is not the best 😅 Have you seen the music video for "Tú Corazón Es Mío" by Kali Uchis ? It would be very pretty as Shidou and Sae ❤️

Hiii, Your English is great please don’t worry~

First, you helped me put a name to the voice, I’ve been hearing her for years and I had no idea 😭😭😭.

Second, I had intended to do something more directly inspired by the video, but at some point I just had the song on repeat, and got inspired in a different way (I dunno what happened 😭😭😭, I got possessed by the ghost of goin the wrong direction)

A beautiful song and video, Thank you for the rec! (Everyone else go look and listen!)

[potato-lord-but-not]

Around 8 months ago (I can't believe its been that long either) you answered an ask about what Arthur Lester and his 3 bf's ideal positions were (top/bottom/switch), and, just out of curiosity, have you changed your mind at all about your answers? Or is John still a top, Oscar still a bottom, and Noel & Arthur both switches?

ITS BEEN THAT LONG ?!?!!?! good god oufghc anyway anyway- I think that has changed a bit and I’ll put my ramblings under cut bc well. there’s probably a bit more detail than you want out on your tumblr dash

okay Arthur hasn’t changed, he’s still a switch in my heart. I think John is still mainly a top, but he dabbles in switching positions. Like if someone realllllyyyy wants to top he’ll be like “okay :)”

Noel is definitely just a top, and he tried being the bottom once and was content to not try it again (even if Oscar was patient and gentle). Although he does top, he’s not much for penetrative sex. He has some problems getting like, physically aroused (also aforementioned preferences- he’s a bit of a voyeur, he’s got those monsterfucker tendencies, whatever the fuck he and the butcher had going on) and therefore likes to get creative with it. He definitely likes to have a bit of control during sex, not being possessive but just being in the lead.

Oscar is mainly still a bottom but I think he can switch it up if he wants because he’s hot like that. Im pretty sure this might directly contradict my earlier statements, b u t- it took him a while to be comfortable being the top, because he’s had very negative connotations with that position. He didn’t like the idea of the power imbalance during sex it could make, and that he’d be the one creating it. With enough patience tho he was willing to give it go with someone he trusted (Noel probably, and although that didn’t do much for Noel he was still great at giving pointers). Annddd I think that’s why I like bottom John and top Oscar together bc they’re going against their usual preferences and trusting the other to give them something they don’t usually get.

I feel bad for writing whole paragraphs for Noel and Oscar and jarthur just gets to share a single sentence um OOPS- uhhh o k a y

John! a switch with top preferences! he gets really aggressive with Arthur but that’s just because Arthur matches his energy. I think he also talks a lot during sex, mainly giving affirmations and praise. With Noel tho- if he’s still human then they’re just having a teasing match. Noel likes to bring out the flirt and get under John’s skin, and John is trying so hard to keep up without just being an ass. Monster John and Noel tho? all bets are off and they’re getting real freaky with it. John still makes sure to be careful and check in often incase he does something that might hurt Noel. And Noel’s like sweetheart I don’t caarrrrreeee pleaassseeee get those tendrils around me. And with Oscar he’s verrrryyyyy careful. Like he could most definitely get more rough with him, but he doesn’t want to do something wrong and have Oscar never want to be near him again. So he’s real gentle, placing more emphasis on foreplay and closeness than actual sex.

and Arthur! the guy I think about the least somehow! sorry king! a switch that is a horny little freak at heart. He’s up for a lot of things and will be down to try anything if his partner thinks they’ll like it. He’s definitely got more of a dominant personality, and I think that’s verryyy evident with, surprise surprise, Parker! Those two had some wweiirrdddd dynamics going on and thought of flirting and sex like some kinda secret game they both wanted to win. Arthur gets manipulative sometimes, but only if he knows the other person would enjoy it. I think since he’s aro, he’s got less romantic attachment to sex, and thus just really likes having sex to unwind or have some fun.

OUG I RAMBLED TOO HARD SORRY I’ll leave

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Tired Stalker AU

AKA "Tim Drake is a little obsessive, possessive, and really, really likes his new boyfriend (Danny)" prompt idea!! No non-con, violence, or dead doves. Brief reference to human experimentation.

Inspired by this one post where Tim kept a methodical journal of Danny's resting pulse, body temperature, weaknesses, tracked him literally all the time, and Danny was like *heart-eyes* (I can't find the post now but please, I need it-)

I like the idea of Tim's idea of love being completely a bit skewed. He was neglected as a kid and craved attention, affection, being wanted; so, understandably, he assumes that's what other people want, too. He'd only had one boyfriend before. Kon was sarcastic, funny, and sweet, but even he couldn't handle Tim's... staring. The unblinking intensity in those eyes, the hundreds of pictures of himself on Tim's phone, somehow Tim knowing about Kon's conversations and experiences without having been there.

Needless to say, Tim and Kon's relationship ended with a harsh reiteration that most people need boundaries.

So, when Tim meets this very cute messy-haired boy at Gotham-U, he shoves down the instinctive urge to know everything. Mentally captures moments, memorizes them, instead of taking pictures. Shoves earbuds in to avoid listening in on Danny's conversations (oh, his name's Danny, which he overheard when the boy was speaking with the TA).

It's so hard not to obsess, though. Danny is... well, he's haunting. His crystalline eyes make Tim's heart stutter in his chest, chills rising along his arms; he swears there's this aura around Danny that's just utterly compelling. (Stop it, Tim, you'll scare him off.) But Tim can actually be a person sometimes, so he just asks, "Do you want to go out for coffee with me sometime?" And he's psyched when Danny says yes!! (He tries really, really hard not to memorize the fact that Danny likes hot oatmilk chai lattes, uses his left hand to hold his drink, and prefers not to use a coffee sleeve. Does Danny always hold his cups by the lid? Does he prefer- Tim stops himself.)

And Tim is a great boyfriend!! They go on dates (he doesn't avidly stare at the way Danny's eyes sparkle while at Gotham-U's planetarium). Tim learns Danny's favorite music the normal way (he doesn't hack into Danny's Spotify... although he's suddenly found himself listening to an artist named Ember). And Tim has a totally normal album of pictures of his boyfriend on his phone (his burner phone is a different matter entirely, but not even Batman himself could get it unlocked. Tim's got that phone sealed up tighter than the Fortress of Solitude).

Except Tim notices Danny becoming more withdrawn. More tired, dark bags under his eyes and stealing Tim's double espresso (he never does that, it's too bitter for him, why isn't he drinking his oatmilk latte?). Leaning his head on Tim's shoulder during lectures to take naps. And Tim's becoming more frantic the more lethargic Danny becomes.

Maybe he's more like Bruce "Contingency Plan" Wayne than he's willing to admit. Tim sets a hard boundary for himself: I'm just going to Google his symptoms. That's it.

He spends the next 42 hours obsessively researching Danny: hacks into his phone, downloads all his previous location history, texts, calls, background checks everybody Danny's been in contact with. Re-traces his steps down to the minute, finds all his Google searches, activates Danny's laptop webcam. He's determined to find out what's wrong with his boyfriend.

And because Tim is Red Robin, who literally became part of the Batfam because of his stalking tendencies and is one of the greatest detectives since Batman, he finds out. He finds out that Danny Fenton is one Phantom, a vigilante from Amity; finds obscure clips of newspapers mentioning a young boy's tragic death, discovers the GIW, uncovers classified information containing metahuman experimentation (let's say he doesn't quite know about Ghosts, but Metas are close enough).

Somehow, he makes a connection between ectoplasm and the Lazarus Pit (maybe not necessarily the right connection, but something-adjacent). After all, Jason was resurrected via "Evil Baja Blast" and Ra's al Ghul used it to make himself immortal. It would make sense that the GIW could sample Lazarus Pit water and use it to experiment on metahumans. So... Does Danny just need more Lazarus Pit water?

Cue Tim making use of the Drake and Wayne family wealth to literally overnight mason jars full of Lazarus water. Ra's al Ghul has no idea how it happened. He tests the reaction of Danny's DNA and the Lazarus water only to realize he was right. (Lazarus Pit waters are just excessively concentrated ambient ectoplasm, I guess?)

Tim does what any good boyfriend would do and spikes Danny's oatmilk lattes with Lazarus Pit water. And it helps. Danny is suddenly so much more energetic, there's that glittering shine to his eyes, and he looks so much healthier. Happier. Tim can't stop staring at him. If anything, he stares more, tries to memorize every angle of his boyfriend's face; he collects more candid pictures than before, always catching the gentle curl of Danny's lips when he's distracted; doesn't disengage the tracking apps or phone mirroring software.

He's just happy that his boyfriend is feeling better, more like himself. It's just a perk that Danny doesn't know about Tim's minor stalking tendencies.

(Danny absolutely knows.)

[mrderofcr0ws]

HEADLOCK

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

that was the name written on a gravestone in brooklyn with no body below it since the sergeant had been pronounced dead in 1945.

the body that once belonged to that name was now hydra's most prized possession— but the winter soldier was not the only danger locked away down in the remote siberian facility. you were there, too. a monster made from horrors most refused to believe could be real.

two trained killing machines.

one bound to commands and trigger words.

the other bound to instinct and bloodlust.

it had been a long time since either of you had seen the sun. you could get out with his help in the brief, painful moments of clarity he had. when he answered to that long forgotten name, you could escape together.

but bucky was often buried under that brooklyn headstone-and the winter soldier who slept in the bunk below you nearly every night was a danger to even you.

this is a fic that explores bucky's time in hydra. the content warnings are as follows: torture, manipulation, angst, pain, psychological horror, graphic descriptions and language, poetic comparisons to cannibalism, hurt with minimal comfort at times, stockholm syndrome, smut, degrading, power imbalance, canon divergence. 18+ fic.

— DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT WARNING —

THIS SPECIFIC CHAPTER OF “HEADLOCK”CONTAINS A NEW SET OF POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING CONTENT ON TOP OF THE ONES LISTED ABOVE THAT PERTAINS TO THE TRUAMA OF THE READERS CHARACTER. THE LIST IS AS FOLLOWS: kidnapping, themes of stalking, implied sexual abuse and assault, drugging, mutilation, and trafficking.

bucky x fem!reader (you have a given name in this fic for the sake of making writing easier, but it will be used sparingly)

word count: idk i write on tumblr... but this one is really, really long, guys, im ngl… (roughly edited)

<- previous part

author note: this chapter is heavily inspired by the song “strangers” by ethel cain. i recommend giving it a listen after you read to deepen the experience. on my masterlist, i shared my bucky playlist that i use to write this fic, too. music is a big source of inspiration for me — the title of this fic and each chapter���s title are a direct reference to the imogen heap song ‘headlock’ (except this one) — and a lot of what i write has songs to go along with the emotions that i try to capture and portray. i hope you enjoy if you decide to listen to the song or take a peek at my playlist.

sorry in advance, everyone.

-crow

PART FIVE —

— WITH MY MEMORY RESTRICTED TO A POLAROID IN EVIDENCE.

a girl had been born to a mother and a father in a small romanian town in 1919.

her mother tended to the house and grew the prettiest flowers in the front garden. she had flowers that bloomed in every season and she had the longest hair anyone had ever seen. her father was a factory worker. he helped manufacture car parts like steering wheels and headlights. he was a strong man. strong like an ox who could lift his two children over his head like they weighed nothing at all, even when they grew to be too big.

this girl had a little brother and her little brother went on to become a scholar as they got older. a scientist. a virologist determined to cure the sick. he moved away to a bigger city when he was old enough and had enough money in his pockets. but he was a good boy. a kind one. he always sent money back home. he sent his sister pictures of the city he lived in and wrote to her every month.

the girl stayed with her parents.

she stayed with her mother— and she and her mother opened a flower shop out of their garage together. it had been her idea. her mother was hesitant. she did not see the value others could find in flowers grown from their garden— but the girl had heard the compliments. their neighbors always had nice things to say as they crossed paths. she saw how people would stop and stare outside their house.

with a bit of persistence and a sweet charming smile, her mother came around to the idea.

for years, she and her mother sold the prettiest flowers for the prettiest shiny pennies. they spent the spring knee deep in dirt, planting seeds and dirtying their nails as they giggled together. in the summer, they would fan themselves off and drink cold iced tea under the shade of their garage head, selling out their flower supply in a matter of days.

she had a good life.

she had been a happy girl.

in 1943 at the age of 24, the girl had met a man deployed to her town during world war ii. an officer.

he took a great liking to her and came to visit her every day. she paid him no mind outside of small conversations and pouring him a glass of iced tea when he asked for one. he paid a dollar every time and she slipped it into her pocket. her mother always beamed when he came by. hospitality was her trade and she welcomed the solider each and every time he popped his head into the garage.

her mother would’ve been cross with her if she knew that her daughter was taking a dollar from him for a cup of iced tea— but it was their little secret.

the girl now grown grew used to his presence.

she grew used to his persistence, too.

he wasn’t so bad to be around when he brought chocolates. he had learned how to swoon the stubborn girl who had caught his eye— and the officer asked on her a date.

a man on deployment shouldn’t date but what else was there to do in that tiny romanian town.

and she agreed.

of course, she had. she’d grown fond of him. a foolish little thing with a crush, she had come to enjoy his visits. when he asked her out, he’d brought her a new dress for the occasion and promised to have her home by 9 o’clock.

how sweet things could sour so terribly…

she never returned from her date on july 9th, 1943.

her mother never saw her again and all the flowers in the garden died. her father lost his strength and he could hardly lift himself out of bed. his brother grew sick with grief and he left the city to return home.

it was all a story.

it was a sad story that filled you with dread knowing there was no way to change the fate of the poor girl who had been stolen away.

but that’s all it was.

just a story.

you had no memories of pretty flowers. no memories of doting parents. no memories of a little brother. there was no house you could close your eyes and picture. there was no town to call home. there were no neighbors. no friends. no officer.

the pictures in the folder made your throat sting. the girl in them had your face. it was the face you could not look at in the mirror— but her story meant nothing.

her story was not yours.

yours had only began where hers ended.

that was the difference between you and the winter soldier— and if nick fury was trying to appeal to a better side of you he believed had to exist by handing you that folder, he was wrong.

whatever hydra had done to you in the very beginning, it was different than what they had done to him. you had no memories— but he had his. they were buried under the rubble of the thousands of pieces they shattered him into over and over again. like shards of a broken mirror, everything reflected off of each other. it was too hard to make sense of— and that is why they tortured him.

they made it too hard for him to sort through the pieces by jumbling them up each and every time he got the courage to try.

your mind was void of everything that came before. it was a blank white space like the room you sat in now.

that is why manipulation and brainwashing could not work on you the way it did for him. there was nothing they could toy with. there was nothing they could take away because they already had— so much so that you could only see the blocks that built your story for yourself when they were placed in front of you within the folder.

pictures of the girl named isla were not the only ones paper clipped to the pages holding any and every bit of information there was about her. a picture of her parents. a picture of her and her brother. a picture of their house in romania. your heart ached as you rubbed the pad of your thumb over the picture of this girl’s mother— but there was no lightbulb.

there was no click.

there was nothing you could recall about this woman— of either women in those pictures.

but you knew one face in that folder better than you even knew your own.

as you flipped the page, his face was clipped to the top of the sheet of paper with the red logo at the top.

hydra.

a hydra document.

a hydra officer.

nikta patrova’s face stared stone-cold back at you.

“stop it,” a far, far away voice cried out. “don’t touch me! please, stop! stop!”

you shut your eyes and all you could see was the blank white void. in every direction you looked in the space behind your eyelids, it was nothing but white. it wasn’t anything at all.

“get off me!”

the ground below your feet began to tremble.

the sound that echoed in the space between your ears was the awful, terrible crackling sound of ice giving way. kukukuku.

the void in your mind was not a void at all.

it was a landscape of unyielding winter— and the ice below your feet shattered, sending you sinking into the freezing depths of a darkness long sealed away.

the smell of blood burned your nose as you crawled through the tall grass under a moonless sky. one hand after the other, you heaved yourself across the dirt. across the grass. across the field.

he tugged you back by your ankles and a sharp, petrified gasp ejected from your lungs. you screamed as you twisted and writhed on the ground like a snake with its head cut off. your nails dug into his arms. blood painted your nails as you tore open skin— but he only snickered.

“shhh,” he hushed as he covered your mouth with his large, calloused hand. “come on, don’t be this way.”

you bit down on his hand and blood stained your teeth. he hissed, pulling his hand back. he put the wound in his mouth, grunting as he suckled on the hurt.

“you little bitch…” he whispered.

the dirt suffocated you and you choked on it each time you tried to draw breath. it stuck to your blood stained mouth as he pressed his palm down into the back of your head and held you in place. on a breezeless summer night, the rustle in the grass was no fault of the winds.

you never saw that field by the river again.

you never took the path back into the town you called home.

and you never returned to the house with the prettiest flowers in the front garden at 9 o’clock.

“get up,”the officer said. he grabbed you by your elbow and hoisted you to your feet. “walk.”

it was hard to walk. you had been cramped in the trunk of that dirty, rusty car for hours. the sun was too bright. you stumbled alongside him as he guided you by the back of your neck towards a warehouse.

you hit the floor hard as he shoved you inside. you scraped your hands on the concrete floor. your knees, too. you looked up with tears in your eyes. in the warehouse, men dressed in dark uniforms stood around a circular table.

“nikta,” one of them turned. a general. he glanced at you with little interest. his next words were in a language you didn’t understand. “what is this?”

nikta grabbed you by the roots of your hair. a cry escaped you and you reached up to grab his wrists. he dragged you over to the table of uniformed men and whispered two words you could not understand.

two words that had damned you.

“she bites.”

you cried ceaselessly in that dusty, dirty trunk when he shoved you back inside it.

you cried ceaselessly when he and the group of uniformed generals forced you onto an airplane.

you cried ceaselessly as you were put in chains and led inside one of hydra’s weapon facilities.

you only stopped crying once they put you in a cell.

you stopped crying because you weren’t alone.

“hey,” a low, soft voice whispered.

you turned at the sound. through the metal bars to your left, you saw the silhouette of him. you wiped your face off on your arms and winced as you made your way across the cold stone floor to the bars separating you both.

“you alright?” the pale, blue-eyed man asked you. he had bruises on his face and bags under his eyes. his short, dark hair was a mess across his forehead. “christ, they roughed you up pretty bad, huh?”

“i…i don’t understand you,” you whispered through trembling lips. you spoke no english. you spoke no russian like the guards did. you had been drowning for days in words you didn’t understand.

his eyes widened, “romanian? you speak romanian? i mean— you’re romanian?”

it felt like god had heard your prayers to hear him speak the only language you understood. you couldn’t help but cry. you placed your hands atop his on the bars and wept like a baby.

“yes.” you cried. your head dropped and you curled into yourself. big, wet tears left streaks on your dirty face. “you— you are, too?”

“yeah. my grandparents moved from there to america.” he said with a smile. he squeezed your hands and rubbed them between his, trying to warm up your fingers. you hadn’t noticed how cold you were.

“how long have you been here?” you asked in a whisper, glancing around at the cold, desolate cells around you. he had been the only one down here before you showed up.

his smile faltered but he tried to keep a brave face. “only a little while.”

he was lying and you knew it, but you didn’t push.

“what’s your name?” he asked as he settled down to sit directly across from you.

“isla,” you told him softly. you sniffled and wiped your face on your sleeves. “my names isla.”

“isla,” he grinned as he said your name. “it’s nice to meet you. i’m james but my friends call me bucky.”

“james,” you said with a small smile.

“bucky,” he corrected. he gave your hands a soft squeeze and whispered like a promise, “we are friends now, isla. call me bucky.”

“friends.” you agreed, squeezing his hand back.

they left you to rot in your cell for more days than you could count.

but they always took him away.

like clockwork, they came each morning to take him and brought him back each night. every day got worse. he lost more and more weight. you tried to share the food they would toss at you but he would politely decline. every time he tried to eat it would all come back up, anyways.

he would apologize to you profusely after he tossed up nothing but bile in the corner of his cell. you would have to cover your ears at the sound of him gagging. the air would smell like sickness. he’d apologize for it over and over again as you sat together with the iron bars separating you.

the time passed slow but he made it all a little easier.

he was a talker.

he would talk about anything and everything even when he didn’t feel well just to keep the quiet away.

he hated the quiet.

he told you about where he had grown up. about his parents. about his sister. he told you about his best friend steve and how they had turned him into a super soldier.

captain america.

you knew that name. you had seen a picture of him in the newspaper not too long ago. he was spotted in europe traveling around to boost the moral of the america troops.

bucky took that news as bravely as he could.

his best friend was on the same continent as him— but no one knew where he was and he doubted very much that they had any resources to spare towards looking for him.

he made his peace with it.

it was you who did not.

“bucky,” you murmured.

“hm?” he asked without opening his eyes. he was holding your hand through the bars like always, exhausted and cold. the two of you were trembling, trying to seek each others body heat despite the bars between you.

“do you think we’ll die down here?”

he opened his eyes and met your gaze. he pulled his hand from yours and slipped it through another bar, placing his hand on your cheek. he wiped the tears off your nose and shook his head.

“nah,” he whispered with a smile. “you and me? we’re going to live until we’re a hundred, darlin’.”

you giggled and placed your hand atop his, pressing your face into his touch. “a hundred?”

“at least that, yeah.” he chuckled.

you slept easy that night.

but the next morning, it wasn’t bucky they took.

“let her go!” he roared, slamming against the bars of the cell. he tried to grab at the officers who dragged you out and into the hallway. “isla!”

you reached for him, the tips of your fingers grazing.

the officer who had stolen you away once before stole you away again once more.

that was the last time you saw bucky.

that was the last memory the girl in the pictures had before you took her place.

you opened yours eyes and stared at the folder in your lap. you brought your hands to your face, touching the tears pouring down. you wiped at them. over and over again until your skin was raw, you wiped your face dry.

the imaginary lightbulb above your head flickered.

nikta.

the hydra officer who had stolen you away and made you what you were— it was all him. every single bit.

he chose you to be weapon-v.

he brought you to hydra and threw you at their feet.

you were his project and they froze him year after year alongside you so that he could keep his eyes on you.

and yet in the end, he turned the gun on bucky and you killed him for it…

why would he have done that after all this time?

you could’ve been sick all over yourself at you saw his stone-cold glare in the picture beside yours. you grabbed the picture out of the folder and let out a bereaved scream. you tore it to shreds as disgust spread across your skin and infected the marrow of your bones.

you fell back against the bed and cried into your pillow. your clawed at the mattress. rage vibrated in every cell of your body. you could’ve torn the room apart— but you were weak. fear made you weak.

the despair you felt knowing there were so many more gaps to fill in froze you still on the bed as you shed tear after tear.

you wanted your mother.

you curled into yourself despite the way your wound protested and clutched the photo of your parents to your chest.

they were long since dead by now.

and you should’ve been reaching the end of your time, too, but you were nearly still that young girl they lost all those years ago.

— ☆ —

“i want everything you have on him.”

nick finished placing down your food but you pushed the small table away. you weren’t hungry.

“the files we have on sergeant barnes are classified.” nick said with a sympathetic frown. “sorry, kid.”

“i’m classified,” you hissed out from between your sharp teeth. “give me the damn files.”

nick stared at you for a long, painful moment.

tears were brimming on your lashes and you tried so hard to fight them— but you couldn’t.

“please,” you begged in a broken voice. you closed your eyes and the tears fell free. “i need to know what happened to him.”

“let me make a call.”

you looked up but nick was already out the door. a soft breath of relief escaped you and you turned your head. the food was steaming beside you. freshly prepared.

you swallowed your pride and ate it.

it wasn’t too bad…

— ☆ —

when you saw nick again, he had a file in his hand. not only that but an agent behind him wheeled in a television. your brows pinched together as you sat up.

“here’s the deal,” nick said, holding up the folder. “i show you everything i have on barnes and you tell me everything i wanna know about the two of you. got it?”

you nodded once.

you’d decide whether or not you’d tell him anything of substance when he asked the questions.

his folder felt as heavy as a headstone in your hands.

you placed it down on your lap and ran the tips of your fingers over his name.

SGT. JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

HOWLING COMMANDO

[ DECEASED ]

you held your breath as you opened the folder.

a massive stack of papers with every bit of information there was of him greeted you. your heart sank as you skimmed the old, aged ink.

his name. his birthday. his height and weight. his birthplace. his parents names. his enlistment papers. his mission logs.

the medical report from the day he’d been brought back to his company.

you had not been with him the day captain america broke into the hydra base and freed his friend.

doctor zola had sent you away three days earlier to the siberian facility in the mountains. when bucky was freed by steve, they were pulling out all your teeth and reconstructing your jaw.

the answer to the longstanding question between the two of you was now answered.

you had been made first.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you picked up the note smooshed between the next two pages. the crumpled, stained piece of old parchment had his handwriting on it.

you touched the words written in pencil.

——————————————————————————

santa,

her name is isla and i need help to find her.

i have to get her out.

i told her we’d live until we were 100.

- bucky 12/25/1944

——————————————————————————

“oh, god.” you cried, clutching the note to your chest.

guilt burned through every inch of you.

how could you have forgotten him?

the sweet-hearted soldier who held your hands and wiped away your tears. how could you have forgotten that? it was as clear to you now as the moment it had happened— but where had it gone?

where had it all gone?

where had he gone?

you brought the note to your lips and held it against them. it smelled old and worn. when you closed your eyes and tried to picture his face, the only thing you saw was winter and his blank, icy stare.

it was hard to imagine them as one person— just like it was nearly impossible for you to see yourself as the girl in those photos.

bucky hated the quiet. you could recall so vividly now how he hummed a soft, jazzy tune each night you both would grow too tired to talk. he would run his fingers through your hair and hum until he exhausted himself.

winter was quiet. far too quiet.

they weren’t the same.

you and isla weren’t the same.

not anymore.

as you flipped the page, you saw the date at the top of the paper and your heart sank.

1945.

bucky had never found you.

though he tried, a years time had passed and there was no trace of you. you where a ghost in the snow and there were bigger missions for him to see out.

you didn’t blame him.

you couldn’t.

because even if he had found you, you wouldn’t have been able to recall his face.

it was fight in the freight-car that got him killed. he was hanging on to the dangling door for dear life as steve tried to reach him. but it broke. and he fell.

bucky was pronounced dead on january 9th, 1945.

the winter soldier project was resumed on january 9th, 1945 when he was found by hydra soldiers who took him to the facility in the mountains.

you were in your first sleep when they brought him in. underneath the floor frozen in a cryochamber, neither of you had any idea that you were together again.

he didn’t know that you had lived.

and you didn’t know that he had died.

a little less so than before, but you two were soon to become strangers to each other once more.

it broke your heart to read that there were no efforts made in finding him. it was accepted throughout the whole of his platoon that the fall had killed him and it was too dangerous to try and find his impact sight in the mountains.

his friends believed that he was alone and broken in the snow all this time.

and you hadn’t even remembered him.

you covered your mouth with your hand and stifled a sob as you saw the pictures of him. a collage of four. a couple paperclipped to the back of the folder. you wiped away your tears before they could fall and you tried through hardest to see through them as you pulled the piece of paper with all of them glued down out of the folder.

“hello, soldier.” you whispered, touching the picture of him in his uniform.

he was handsome.

you had forgotten how handsome bucky was.

you brushed your thumb across the photo of his face with the cut on it. you knew that cut. you had dabbed your sleeve against it to try and stop it from bleeding. it was one of the last things you had done before you were taken away.

how bittersweet it was to know that photo had been taken of him after he had been brought back safe.

you unclipped the two photos on the back of the folder carefully. a soft smile curled across your lips at the picture of him and his buddy captain america.

his best friend steve.

it was nice to put an unmasked face to steve’s name.

it was strange to see him with short hair— to remember him with it. it made it all the more hard to accept that his man was the same man you had spent every single day with up until your capture.

he was the same man you shared a cell with.

he was the same you are every meal with.

he was the same man you showered with.

he was the same man you punched and kicked and bit and fucked.

but it wasn’t the same man it all.

the man in these pictures was someone you hadn’t seen in a long, long time despite the fact that you had been with him just yesterday.

bucky was a ghost.

sometimes, you heard him whisper and you could see the remnants of him flickering in winter’s cold blue eyes— but bucky had died a long time ago.

and so had isla.

there was only the two of you.

you and winter.

you should’ve given yourself the grace to mourn them — bucky and isla — but it was too late to start.

you placed the picture of bucky and steve down and picked the other one up. you hummed audibly at the sight of his smile. it made you smile. something so automatic. something so sincere.

he was with his squad.

with a charming smile and a cigarette between his teeth, he was surrounded by his brothers-in-arms.

you were careful as you put everything back into his folder— as careful as placing flowers into a casket. you took one last look of the photo of him with the cut on his face.

you kissed the small hurt like you should’ve done back then to comfort him.

you held the folders out for agent fury to take. he was sitting in the chair by your bed. he had stayed quiet and let you…

grieve.

“will you keep them together?” you asked in a whisper. it was such a stupid request but it meant something to you.

those were more than just folders.

they were graves.

“sure,” nick said with a small nod.

you swallowed hard and looked anywhere else. your gaze fell upon the tv. “what is that for?”

“you said that you wanted everything we had on barnes.” nick said as he stood up. he clicked the lights off and flicked on the tv. “this is the rest of it.”

your brows drew together and you watched the screen intently as the camera fumbled. whoever was moving it was doing a piss-poor job of it. you could hear the clunky audio of the tripod bumping into things.

when the camera was finally set up, you saw the bar from the picture. it took a moment to find them but the camera settled on the two of them: bucky barnes and steve rogers.

you sat forward and ignored the pain it brought you. you could hear them laughing together over the music. over the chatter in the bar, you could hear his voice. they had no idea they were being filmed. they spoke like teenage boys as they caught up with each other.

“i really don’t like this whole ‘you’re-now-taller-than-me’ thing.” bucky said as he took a sip of his beer. “it freaks me out. i used to be able to fit you in my pocket, little man.”

steve chuckled and glanced over at him, “i like it.”

“of course, you like it. now you know what it’s like to look down at a woman and see her cleavage from above.” bucky said, wiggling his eyebrows.

steve blew a raspberry and rolled his eyes. “you’re a real dog, buck, y’know that?”

“woof! woof! woof!” bucky barked, throwing his arm around his best friend.

the two of them downed their beers together before the camera turned off.

the tv screen flickered and you watched as nick changed the tape. when the next video started, you sat back in your bed and let the tension in your shoulders drop.

it was an army home-video. the cameraman made his way passed each and every person in the squad. you saw him in the background.

shirtless with two human arms.

it made you smile.

he was shaving in front of a small mirror. as the camera man walked around and he caught wind that he was being filmed, he started flexing in the background. he kissed his muscles and winked.

“look at barnes,” laughed one of the soldiers.

“guys, c’mon, this is supposed to be a serious documentary for roger’s whole big thing. we are living through a historical moment in time. it’s important!” the cameraman complained.

“oh, this is important alright.” bucky said as he walked up to the camera. he leaned in close to it and batted his eyelashes. “hello ladies. like what you see?”

the camera turned away. “you’re going to fog up my lens, jackass!”

“oh, great heavens!” bucky cried out in a god awful posh accent.

the camera turned in time to catch him with his middle fingers up. he hid them behind his back and bowed politely, “good evening.”

“roger’s, how the hell did you put up with this guy?” asked one of the soldiers.

“to be fair, bucky did a lot of putting up with me.” steve said as the camera turned towards him.

“he used to be the size of my pinky picking fights with guys who could toss him over their heads like a sack of potatoes.” bucky said. he stepped into frame beside steve as he pulled on a shirt. he pointed at the camera and said, “america, i want you to know that our nations hero used to be an instigator and feral little street rat that used to not only get his ass royally kicked but mine, too.”

“i will not confirm or deny anything at this time.” steve said with a bow of his head.

“barnes when you’re not getting your ass kicked, what’s it like being captain america’s best friend?” one of the soldiers asked. he held the end of a hairbrush towards the two of them and pretended to interview them.

bucky grabbed ahold of the brush and started screaming into the camera. the whole room erupted into laughter.

steve took the fake mic and said, “for those who don’t know, that means ‘i love you,’ in german. isn’t he just so kind?”

the two of them laughed together, smiling at each other before the tv went black.

music began to play.

your breath got stuck in your throat as the melody floated through the air towards you. it struck you in the heart. the trumpet’s melody was familiar.

this was the song he would hum to himself.

clips began to roll across the screen of him. videos that had him in the background. some more soundless videos of him walking around the bunks and sticking his tongue out at the camera. there were clips of him walking alongside his platoon— walking with steve in his captain america uniform.

the last clip of him ever taken was a video of him right before the howling commandos followed captain america onto the train.

he never returned from that mission.

and you couldn’t help but notice how nervous he looked on the screen in front of you.

you wanted to reach out and save him— but nick shut the tv off.

for a moment, the room was completely dark. it was so dark that you expected to feel the bed rattle as he tossed and turned somewhere below you in his bunk.

but he wasn’t here.

and when nick turned the lights on, you were faced with the horrible emotion now pressing down onto your chest for the first time.

you missed him.

you missed winter.

you couldn’t show it because you could not be weak now of all times— but you were afraid. you had been told so much. shown so much. you remembered so much.

all you wanted was him.

and you missed him.

you missed bucky because isla missed bucky and that part of you — no matter how fleeting she was now— had the privilege to know him for even the smallest amount of time.

and that was a gift.

a gift that you promised yourself you would never forget again.

“now,” agent fury said as he sat down beside you. he pulled a recorder out of his jacket and clicked it on. he placed it on the table beside your bed. “i want answers.”

“you told me that shield knew more about either of us than i could imagine. what questions could you possibly have for me?” you asked before he could.

he grinned at you. “your friend agent nikta patrova defecting from hydra to join shield may have bought him a few brownie points, but we’re only selling lemon tarts right now. you, miss constantinescu, happen to have enough lemon tart points to buy out the whole lemon tart bake sale shield is hosting.”

“i’m not fond of word games.” you said with a roll of your eyes. “and don’t ever call him my friend. he is no friend of mine.”

“yeah, i put that together when you threw a knife into his chest and nearly killed him.” nick said.

nick watched your face go pale and your shoulders tense. he glanced behind him, as if he could see nikta from where he sat right now.

“he’s…alive?” you asked in a whisper.

“he is.” nick said.

“go on and ask him all your questions then. he will know more than i will.” you said with a scowl.

“miss constantinescu, im going to be straight with you. the questions i am going to ask you are not to find out intel about project winter or project vampire. you’re right. we know all that. that’s why you’re here with me now.”

“this,” nick gestured between the two of you. “is an interview.”

you recoiled the smallest bit. “what?”

“an interview, miss constantinescu. shield has known about your existence for some time now thanks to agent nikta’s guilty conscious— and it’s taken a lot to find you. it’s a known fact that you and sergeant barnes are highly trained and lethal expert assassins, but all it takes is one look into either of your project files to show loud and clear that you two are only following orders in order to see another day.”

“that is why shield is offering you a chance.” nick said as he leaned back in his chair.

“a chance…” you repeated the word. it didn’t feel right coming off your tongue. “what kind of chance?”

“a chance to do the right thing.” nick said. he crossed his arms against his chest, maintaining a lax posture as to not put you anymore on edge.

if only he knew how much worse seeing him pretend to be casual made you feel.

“and my options are?” you asked softly.

“you join shield today — right now — and your record is scrubbed clean. fresh start. a new life for you while working for us— helping us bring down hydra at its most weakest spots.”

nick shrugged, “or you go to a maximum security prison in the middle of the ocean where you will never see the sun again.”

you closed your eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh. covering your mouth with the tips of your fingers, you giggled.

“something funny, miss constantinescu?” ageny fury asked, raising his brows.

“yeah. yeah, you know, it’s really funny to me that you think i have a choice in all this. you think that just because you showed me a folder of the woman i once was and i shed a few tears over some dead soldier that what? i’m not the monster you’ve been told i am?”

“i am much worse,” you whispered like a reluctant promise, as if you were trying to spare him from the truth. “i know no other life than the one i was made for. i kill, i eat, i freeze, and i do it all again.”

“there is no choice for me, agent fury, because hydra will come for me. they will come and they will find me. i will not jeopardize what little space i’ve carved out for myself in the rock of my cell for a fresh start that won’t last when they find me. when they know i’ve betrayed them, they will take me from him— and that is not something i can live with.”

“aren’t you alone now?” nick asked. he glanced around. “where is the winter soldier?”

you laughed a again. “men like you think you know everything, don’t you?”

“don’t i?” nick smiled at you and scooted his chair closer to your bedside. “you know, i find the nature of you incredibly fascinating. they did a lot of work on you. you are technically a super soldier— but they gave you special teeth and rewired your olfactory nerve. i know of your dietary habits but they use a strange word in your files that i can’t help but think is a bit out of place.”

“bloodlust. that’s what they call it when you fall into spells of rage. you can wipe out of a whole platoon of men all with your teeth, isn’t that right?” nick asked.

you said nothing.

“but see, here’s the thing i just don’t believe. i don’t believe that you become this insatiable, feral monster at the sight of blood. if you did, then you sure kept a tight grip on yourself on the street yesterday when it was raining blood.” he said.

you tried to lie. “my mask was stuck.”

“bullshit,” nick said, pointing a finger at you. “i call bullshit because i’ve spent a long, long time reading each of your files and i’ve gotten real good at reading between the lines.”

“i believe that you have codewords of your own, don’t you, miss constantinescu? just like the winter soldier, when they are said you have no control over what happens next until someone snaps you out of it.” nick said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

you leaned towards him and asked in a whisper, “are you expecting a gold star from me?”

nick smiled. “so it is true then.”

“in situations that seem dire, the winter soldier will do what needs to be done.” you said with very little feeling.

“and what is that?” nick asked.

you took a slow, deep breath and met his eyes.

“he will let me off my leash.”

nick sat back in his chair and nodded. “and is this the only instance you know of that there are words used to control you?”

you swallowed hard. “i don’t know. i used to think not but…i don’t know anymore.”

“sometimes,” you bit your lip to try and stop yourself but it all came rushing out. “it’s like there is more missing than just…just the gaps from the black sleep. my memories from before they’ve always been gone, but sometimes….sometimes i’ll wake up and i won’t remember going to sleep. sometimes i don’t know how long i’ve really been out of the ice for.”

“i applaud you for trying but the reason why you can’t appeal to the side me you’re hoping to reach, agent fury, is because she isn’t there.” you said as you looked at him. you shook your head and shrugged your shoulders, “she’s gone and i have a feeling that most of the time, i am too.”

“and the sergeant? it’s the same for him?” nick asked.

you nodded. “worse. they steal things from him. his past. his memory. his ability to feel. they strip him of it all. but with me, i think…i think they have found a way to put me to sleep while im awake.”

“and thats why it frustrates me when people talk about me and him like we’re different. we’re not. as much as i wish we were, we are one big puzzle. if you tried to put all his pieces together, it would be incomplete. it’s the same for me. to see the whole picture, you have to put us together.” you said softly.

nick said nothing for a long, long moment. you watched as he grabbed the recorder off the table and clicked it off. you lost some of the tension in your shoulders and eased back into the bed.

“do you know what the red room is?” nick asked.

“no.” you said. and it was the truth.

“the red room is hydra on meth and they pump out assassins like seahorses. hundreds at a time. they take these young girls and they put them through the worst of the worst— much like hydra has done to you and sergeant barnes.” nick said.

he rubbed his hand over his jaw, “in the red room, they sterilize the girls so that they cannot become mothers. it’s a way to control them. to make sure they never have anything that is more important than their job.”

“what does this have to do with me?” you asked.

“when you were in surgery,” he stopped himself. he cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “we confirmed the reason behind nikta patrova’s fear. you have a uterus and — from what we know about assassins like you and the girls who come from the red room — it is by no means unintentional that you have it.”

your brows drew tight together. “what are you saying?”

“do you get your period, miss constantinescu?” nick asked.

“sometimes,” you nodded. “but why does it matter?”

“the first piece of intel shield got from nikta of you two weren’t your laundry lists of assassinations or records of your personal projects as the winter soldier and weapon-v. shield received a project folder called winter solstice.”

“winter solstice is hydra’s next step to creating its next generation of weapons like you and sergeant barnes.” nick said. he frowned at you and you didn’t know why.

“so what? they’ll be making more soldiers like him? monsters like me?” you asked.

“not exactly.” nick said, his face twitching with unease. “nikta patrova has done a lot of bad things— most of them to you — but even for the worst kinds of men, somethings are just too much.”

“hydra wouldn’t be making the next generation of weapons themselves.” nick said,

“you and sergeant barnes would be.”

your heart stopped— time had stopped.

you closed your eyes and shook your head. over and over again, you shook your head.

instinctively, you placed a hand over your belly.

“that…that wouldn’t be…” you couldn’t find the words. “that’s not…”

“ethical?” nick listed words off for you. “possible? legal? true?”

you looked at him.

he frowned at you, “shield believes that based off the information nikta gave us that projects winter and vampire were merged in the hope that you two would make…little winters and vampires.”

“that is why you have a choice here, isla.” nick said as he stood up. he crouched down beside your bed and folded his hands beside yours. “it took a us a long, long, long time to find you both and it’s a good thing we did, even if we only got one of you away in the end. we won’t let you go back. we can’t. it’s not safe. most of all, it’s not right.”

“how long?”

“what?” nick asked.

you swallowed hard and asked, “how long has shield known about project winter solstice?”

“project winter solstice was put into motion twenty five years ago and nikta patrova sent it to shield almost immediately after it was drafted and accepted.” nick said.

you pressed your lips together in a thin line. tears stung your eyes and you did your best to blink them away. you opened your mouth to speak but you couldn’t say the right words.

“do…do he and i…” you couldn’t finish as your lips began to tremble. you covered you mouth with the tips of your fingers and stifled a sob. “do we have…”

“as of right now,” nick said as gently as he could, “there are three known children to have come from project winter solstice that belong to you and sergeant barnes.”

you closed your eyes and fought to stomach the idea. you couldn’t picture it. you couldn’t imagine it in the slightest. you touched your stomach and winced as the wound reminded you it was there.

it couldn’t be true.

but it was as true as isla constantinescu story was.

“i want to see him.” you whispered. you opened your eyes and looked at nicholas fury as tears slipped down your cheeks. “i want to see nikta patrova and i want the truth from him.”

nick nodded once and stood up with a sigh. “you’re real lucky that you didn’t kill him with that knife, kid.”

hey, guys, i’m sorry. let me get that outta the way. sorry, guys. i told ya this fic was gonna hurt! anyways, hope you enjoyed as always 🖤! also, i hope the pictures added a little something something to the reading experience. i wasn’t too sure how i felt about it at first but it grew on me. lmk your thoughts and pls lmk if you listen to strangers by ethel cain.

expect another update in a day or two unless something pops up for me irl. as always, let me know if you want to join the taglist. thanks so much for reading, guys. you all make me giggle and i look forward to feeding you with each update.

with the most love ever in the world,

crow. next part ->

taglist: @homiesexual-or-homosexual @carbonnite-copy @valckenaux @itsmadamehydra @normanreedus-blog

[shizuturnspages]

how would Yandere Diluc react to his darling confessing her love to him? (she's unaware that he's a yandere)

A Love Long Awaited

Synopsis: You never knew how deeply Diluc loved you. You never knew that every moment of his life had revolved around you, his every thought consumed by the idea of keeping you safe—keeping you his. And now, as you stand before him, eyes shy but determined, lips trembling with the weight of your confession, you have no idea that you have just handed yourself over to him completely. Pairing: Yandere Diluc x Reader

The night air is crisp, the stars above twinkling in a quiet celebration of the moment you’ve been preparing for. The gentle glow of the lanterns outside the Dawn Winery casts a warm light over Diluc’s face, his crimson hair reflecting hues of amber and gold. He looks breathtaking in the moonlight, standing there with his arms crossed, awaiting your words with quiet patience.

You take a deep breath, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. This is it.

“Diluc,” you say, voice steady despite your nerves. “I love you.”

The words hang in the air, delicate yet powerful, like the flickering flame of a candle. You watch him carefully, searching for any sign of surprise, hope, or even rejection. But Diluc—he remains utterly still.

His eyes, a deep shade of smouldering red, widen for only a fraction of a second before his entire expression shifts into something unreadable. The fingers of his gloves twitch at his sides. His lips part slightly, as if forming words, yet no sound comes out.

You don’t know it, but your words have unravelled something inside him.

For years, Diluc had controlled himself. He had watched over you from the shadows, eliminating threats before you could even be aware of them. He had spent countless sleepless nights ensuring that no one—no one—could ever take you from him. Yet through it all, he had forced himself to wait. To be patient. To let you come to him on your own terms.

And now?

Now you were offering yourself to him so willingly, so trustingly, completely unaware of the monster that had been lurking beneath his carefully crafted mask of restraint.

He breathes in sharply, feeling something deep within him snap.

You are his.

You have always been his.

But now—now you’ve spoken it into existence. And that makes it real. That makes it undeniable.

Silence stretches between you, and you begin to fidget under his intense gaze. “Diluc?” you murmur, your voice unsure. “Did you hear me?”

That breaks him out of his trance.

“Yes,” he says, his voice hoarse, as if he’s struggling to keep it steady. He swallows thickly, finally uncrossing his arms, his gloved fingers flexing like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you.

He takes a step closer. Then another.

You’ve never seen him like this before—so unreadable, so intense. It sends a nervous thrill through you, though you mistake it for excitement. His hands reach out hesitantly, as if testing the reality of this moment. When his fingers finally brush against yours, his touch is searing despite the leather.

“You love me,” he echoes, like he’s savouring the words, committing them to memory. His eyes bore into yours, searching—always searching.

You nod, your heart pounding. “I do.”

For a moment, you think you see something flicker across his face—something dark, something possessive—but it vanishes just as quickly. He exhales sharply, his grip on your hands tightening just enough to make you aware of the strength behind them.

“You have no idea,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “what this means to me.”

There is something in his voice—something heavy, something overwhelming. You mistake it for passion. You do not realize that this is the sound of chains locking into place, of a man who has just decided that he will never let you go.

Before you can process what’s happening, Diluc pulls you into his embrace. His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you as if you might vanish if he lets go. His heartbeat is frantic against your ear, his breaths unsteady.

You relax into him, smiling against his chest. This is everything you ever wanted. You don’t notice the way his fingers tighten possessively against your back, the way his body trembles with the sheer force of keeping himself in check.

You don’t know that this moment has sealed your fate.

Because now that he has you—now that you have willingly given yourself to him—he will never let you go.

Ever.

[insidekatmind]

Possession~Hwang Jun-ho

Wearning: +18,smut,dark, manipulation.

Request: yes!

The door clicks shut behind you. You barely have time to take off your coat before a pair of strong arms wrap around you, holding you against a warm, solid chest. The familiar scent of him envelops you.

"Where have you been?" His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it's filled with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. You know that if you look up, you'll find his dark eyes studying you with an almost suffocating intensity.

"I was just out with a friend, Jun-ho," you reply in a calm tone, trying to break free from his embrace, but he doesn't let go. His fingers run up your arm, gripping your wrist with a forced gentleness, as if to show that he's not trying to hold you back... and yet, that's exactly what he's doing.

"A friend? Which friend?" His gaze darkens. "Why didn't you tell me before you left? You know how much I care about you. You know I just want to protect you."

His tone is soft, but underneath the sweetness lies something deeper, a need that borders on obsession. You try to look away, but he lifts your chin with two fingers, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"You drive me crazy when you disappear like that," he whispers, his breath hot on your skin. "I never want to think that anything could happen to you. I always want to know where you are, who you're with. I want to be the only one you need."

Your heart beats faster, not sure if it's from fear or the way his words slither into you like a hypnotic melody. You know Jun-ho well enough to know that his love is a fire that burns with a flame that can't be controlled. He’s sweet, attentive, caring… but also jealous, possessive, obsessed with you in a way that sometimes leaves you breathless.

“Jun-ho, you don’t have to worry so much,” you try to reassure him, placing a hand on his chest to put some distance between you. “I love you, you know that. But I need some space.”

His lips curve into a thin smile, but his eyes don’t reflect the same warmth. “Space? Why? Don’t I already give you everything you need? Aren’t I enough for you?”

He holds you tighter, his breathing heavier. His fingers slide to the back of your neck, fingertips tracing slow circles on the sensitive skin. “I don’t want anyone to take you away from me. I won’t let that happen. You’re mine.”

His words envelop you, a whisper that worms its way into your mind. You know Jun-ho would never hurt you, yet there is something in the way he holds you, in the way he says those words, that makes you feel both a prisoner and desired like never before.

You are his. And you know it.

You caress the muscles of his shoulders. "I'm yours, love," you whisper softly. A low growl escapes him, and he hugs you even closer, his face buried in your neck. His lips press against your skin, leaving behind a trail of soft kisses.

"You have no idea what it does to me when you say that," he murmurs, the possessive edge in his voice even more pronounced. "I want you all to myself."

His hands slide down your back, fingers tracing every curve of your body with a desperate possessiveness. He's craving you, his touch is almost like a hunger.

He presses you against the wall, trapping you between his body and the hard surface. His lips move to your jawline, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of red marks behind.

One of his hands slides up to your hair, gripping it tightly, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes are dark with desire, and he's breathing heavily.

"You're mine," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "I don't want anyone else to have you."

Your breath quickens as he pins you against the wall, his body pressed firmly against yours. His touches are possessive, claiming. Every kiss and caress is a mark of ownership.

You gulp, unable to break free from his grip on your hair. You're trapped, completely at his mercy. Yet, there's something inside you that heats and tingles when he speaks those words.

"Nobody else has me, Jun-ho," you reply, your voice trembling with both fear and arousal. "You're the only one I want. You're the only one I need."

His hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head back even further, exposing your neck to him. He latches onto your skin, biting and sucking with an almost feral hunger.

"Good," he mutters against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. "I don't want to share you. You're mine, mine alone."

He lifts one leg, hooking it around your waist, pressing your body even tighter against his. He grinds against you, his hardness evident through his pants.

The mixture of pain and pleasure from his bites on your neck sends a shiver down your spine. His possessive words, coupled with the way his body is pressed against yours, makes it hard to think straight.

You cling to him, fingernails digging into the fabric of his black t-shirt. You can feel his need, the desire that burns in every touch.

He captures your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth as he devours you. He moans against your lips, the sound vibrating through his chest.

His hands roam over your body, desperate to touch every inch of you. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and pins you against the wall even more firmly.

He breaks the kiss only to attack your neck again, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin, leaving more marks on you. He's claiming you, branding you as his property.

"Jun-ho," you gasp, feeling the way he grinds against you. The air is thick with tension, and you're both barely holding on to control.The mixture of pain and pleasure from his bites on your neck sends a shiver down your spine. His possessive words, coupled with the way his body is pressed against yours, makes it hard to think straight.

You cling to him, fingernails digging into the fabric of his black t-shirt. You can feel his need, the desire that burns in every touch.

"Jun-ho," you gasp, feeling the way he grinds against you. The air is thick with tension, and you're both barely holding on to control.

The intensity of the kiss makes your head spin, your thoughts clouded by desire and need. His touch is everywhere, his lips exploring every inch of your skin, each bite and kiss only feeding the fire growing in your core.

You cling to him, digging your fingernails into his back, silently begging for more. You can feel his hardness pressed against you, a reminder of just how much he wants you.

"Please," you gasp, unable to form coherent words. His possession, his claim, only drives you more wild.

He pulls back from your neck, his lips hovering just above your ear. His breath is hot against your skin as he whispers, "Please what, baby? You want more?"

His hands move down to your thighs, gripping them firmly, his fingers digging into the flesh. He grinds against you again, a low growl escaping his throat.

"You're mine, and I'm not going to hold back," he murmurs, his voice filled with a possessive edge. "I'm going to take what I want from you, and you're going to give it to me."

Your body tingles with anticipation at his words, the sheer dominance in his voice only serving to drive your desire even higher.

"I'm yours," you respond, your voice barely above a whisper. "Take whatever you want, Jun-ho. I'll give you everything. I'm all yours."

The fire within you is burning brighter with each passing moment, fueled by his possessive touch and dominating words. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, wanting to get closer to him, wanting to be consumed by him.

His eyes darken at your words, and he lets out a low, guttural growl. He pushes himself even closer to you, his body flush against yours, pinning you against the wall.

He buries his face in your neck again, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. His hands slide under your t-shirt, exploring your body with a possessive touch.

"Good girl," he whispers against your skin. "You're so perfect for me. You're going to drive me crazy with how much I want you."

He starts to move his hips against you, his movements slow and deliberate, driving you both closer to the edge.

You moan softly, your body quivering beneath his touch. His words only fuel the fire within you, his possessive touches heightening your desire even further.

His movements against you are agonisingly slow, each one drawing a gasp from your lips, your body trembling with need. You try to grind against him, but he has you completely at his mercy, pinned against the wall.

"Jun-ho," you whine, "I need you. Please. Don't tease me like this."

The intensity in his eyes is almost feral as he rips off your clothing, the sound of fabric tearing breaking the silence. His gaze is fixed on you, like a predator eyeing its prey.

He presses himself against you, his body a solid wall against your bare skin. The feel of him against you, all hard muscle and heat, makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You're mine," he says, his voice thick with desire. "All mine."

He tosses your clothes aside, leaving you completely exposed to his gaze. His eyes roam over your body, taking in every inch of you.

He steps back just enough to appreciate the view, his eyes darkened with lust. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble.

He reaches out, running his fingers over your skin, tracing the lines of your curves. He moves closer again, his body pressing against yours, his hands exploring every inch of your skin.

"I can't get enough of you," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "I want to taste every inch of you, to claim every part of you as mine."

You shiver as his fingers ghost over your skin, setting your nerves ablaze with pleasure. The feel of his body against yours, so hard and needy, makes your breath hitch.

His words, whispered against your ear, only make your desire burn even hotter. You arch against him involuntarily, seeking more of his touch, more of his claiming.

"You can have me," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm yours. All of me. Take what you want."

He lets out a low growl at your words, his fingers digging into your hips as he presses you even harder against the wall.

"That's what I like to hear," he says, his voice rough with need. "You're going to give me everything, aren't you? You're going to let me claim you completely."

He lifts you up again, wrapping your legs around his waist once more, and carries you over to the nearest surface. He sets you down on the couch, his body between your legs, his eyes burning with desire.

The couch cushions shift beneath you as he positions your body exactly how he wants, his movements calculated and efficient. He leans over you, his body a solid weight on top of you, pinning you in place. His gaze bores into you, his expression a mix of possessiveness and need.

"I'm going to make sure you're completely mine," he whispers, his hands roaming over your body. "I won't let you leave my sight."

Jun-ho undresses and you admire him, looking at his abs and muscles.

Your eyes roam over his body, taking in the sight of his toned muscles and defined abs. He's powerful, every inch of him a testament to the strength and control that he exudes.

You reach out, unable to resist touching him. Your fingers trail over his abs, tracing the ridges of muscle, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingertips.He shudders at your touch, his muscles twitching beneath your fingers. He leans into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment as he savors the feeling.

"You're driving me crazy," he murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire. "Your touch is driving me wild."

He reaches down and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head, holding you in place. His body presses against yours, trapping you beneath him.

Jun-ho thrusts his hard cock into your pussy with one swift stroke while nibbling on your nipples. He moans loudly as he enters you, the sensation overwhelming him. He keeps your wrists pinned above your head, using his body to keep you still as he sets a brutal pace.

He's completely consumed by the feeling of you, the way you feel around him, the sounds you make.

You moaned and pulled his hair as you got lost in the feeling of his cock inside you and his mouth working magic on your breasts.

He grunts in pleasure as you pull his hair, his hips bucking even harder against yours. The feeling of your nails on his scalp only serves to spur him on, driving him to claim you even more thoroughly.

He moves his mouth to your ear, biting down on the lobe. "You feel so good," he whispers, his voice a low growl. "So tight and hot around me."

His hips snap against yours with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

His words and actions only serve to deepen your desire for him. The mix of pleasure and pain drives your body on, craving more of him.

You let out a low moan as he bites down on your ear, your body arching upwards to meet his. The sensations are building up, consuming you from the inside.

"Don't stop," you gasp, unable to form coherent thoughts. "I want you, all of you. Don't hold back."

He growls in response to your words, his grip on your wrists tightening. He knows what you want, and he's not about to disappoint you.

He pushes himself even deeper into you, hitting a spot that sends a shockwave of pleasure through your body. He bites down on your neck again, leaving another mark on your skin, marking you as his.

"You're mine," he repeats, his voice a possessive whisper against your skin. "I'm going to make you scream my name until you can't think straight."

Your body is on fire, every nerve ending heightened by his touch and whispers. The way he takes control, leaving no room for anything but his presence leaves you trembling.

His possessive words are like fuel to the fire, only heightening your desire for him even further. You crave more, and he seems to know exactly what you need.

Each thrust is intense, each touch calculated to draw out a response from you. You can feel him everywhere, his body a solid presence claiming you, marking you as his own.

"Yes," you gasp, unable to think of anything else. "Take me,Jun-ho."

He continues to thrust into you, his pace relentless and unforgiving. He's lost in the sensation of you, the way your body moves against his, the sounds you make.

He lets go of your wrists, his hands roaming over your body, touching every inch of you. He wants to feel every part of you, to possess you completely.

He leans down, his lips finding your ear again. "You're mine," he whispers, his voice low and ragged. "And I'm going to make you mine in every way possible."

His hand slides down between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, teasing and circling it with expert precision.

Your body tenses at his touch, the combination of his words and actions sending you spiraling closer to the edge. Everything is heightened, every sensation intensified.

You arch your back, your hands grasping at his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. You can't think, can't do anything except feel.

"Please," you gasp, unable to form coherent thoughts.

He grins against your skin, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, and he's taking full advantage of it.

He continues to move inside you, his fingers working your clit in time with his thrusts. He watches your face, taking in every expression, every reaction.

"Please what, baby?" he asks, his voice a low growl. "You're so close, I can feel it. Say it."

His words are like a command that ignites you further. You find yourself completely under his spell, vulnerable and needy.

"Please," you gasp again, your words breathless. "Don't stop. I'm so close."

The sensations are building up, consuming you whole. You're hanging on the edge, desperate for release.

"I need you," you whisper, your voice breaking. "I need you, Jun-ho. I'm all yours."

He lets out a low moan at your words, the sound almost feral. He increases his pace, his fingers working you even faster, his body pressing you even harder into the couch.

"That's it," he says, his voice strained. "Say it again. Tell me you're mine."

He can feel your body tightening around him, the signs of your impending release. He's so close himself, but he wants to see you come undone first.

Your thoughts are consumed by him, by the way he's making you feel. You're completely at his mercy, unable to resist his touch.

"I'm yours," you gasp, your words a broken moan. "I'm all yours, Jun-ho. Completely. Please, I can't hold on much longer."

Your body is trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You're desperate for release, for the sweet relief that you know only he can give you.

He sees the desperation in your eyes, the way you're clinging to him, and it pushes him over the edge. He thrusts into you one last time, burying himself deep within you, and comes with a guttural moan.

He holds you close, his body trembling with the force of his release. He presses his face against your neck, breathing heavily as he tries to regain his composure.

"You're mine," he repeats, his voice soft and possessive. "And I'm never letting you go."

You cling to him, your body still shaking from the intensity of your release. His possessive words fill you with a sense of security, a feeling of being completely his.

You nuzzle your face into his neck, taking in the scent of him. "I don't want you to let me go," you murmur, your voice soft and honest.

You feel a mix of exhaustion and contentment, your body relaxed against him. You're spent, but completely satisfied.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly against his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his heart still racing from the intensity of his own climax.

"Good," he says, his voice low and satisfied. "Because you're mine, and I'm not letting you go anywhere."

He shifts slightly, pulling out of you and laying down on the couch with you in his arms. He holds you close, his body a protective shield around you.

[average-mako-enjoyer]

Purple Mage Hawke Handers is my favorite relationship in the entire Dragon Age franchise.

So your father dealt with his trauma by adopting the snarky, devil-may-care attitude. And you're a copy of your father. Everybody said that since you were a kid. So when he died, you knew you had to step up in his place to keep your family together. Were you ever allowed to develop your own personality? You have the same responsibilities as your father, you have his looks, you have his voice, you're even a mage just like him, and now you have the same coping mechanism.

And I'm the same! That's how I dealt with my trauma. With humor masking both anger and sadness. I'm forever stuck between wanting to kill everyone and then myself, or laughing about it all. What a silly, terrible idea, Templars find me incredibly angry!

See, now I'm possessed by the spirit of Justice, and he's against it, he's more on the angry side, but I still do it sometimes. What a cruel joke, let's find another use for these chains, let me ride on your rod until I'm tranquil! Wink-wink.

[cookies-after-dark]

okay but Shmilk would be such a back seat driver if he let black sapphire cookie fuck reader

“Move ur hand lower”

“They like being pinched there”

kiss em like u mean it cmooon”

and whoes to say he won’t get strings involved and fix their position himself if they keep messing up :3c

okay no wait 💡 you dropped this because that is one hell of a good idea.

(additional tags because I went loopy here: explicit content, unhealthy power dynamics, possessiveness, humiliation, exhibitionism, degradation)

See, my lame ass was just thinking of Shadow Milk Cookie using this as powerplay, you know? Like a, 'my pets are playing with each other!' scenario where Shadow Milk Cookie actually lets one of his minions knock you around a bit in his stead. Let's be honest, Black Sapphire Cookie's been eyeing you up and down since the moment Shadow Milk brought you here! He's such an eager, helpful, obedient little servant! You could learn to be more like him, Shadow Milk Cookie thinks.

And Black Sapphire Cookie is more than willing to show you just where you stand, riiiiight at the bottom of the hierarchy! No one can tell me that little purple ball of lint isn't secretly a dominant control freak who needs to have everything go his........- I mean, master Shadow Milk Cookie's way. You're adorable and endearing enough, but you need to be taught a lesson or two before you go strutting around the Spire, thinking you're all that just because your the master's newest pet.

Hence, this situation. Shadow Milk Cookie sees the most perfect opportunity to humble you and get his rocks off at the same time! Well, he has many ways to do that, but plan in partocular has him hardening in his tights already. Passing you off to an underling really paints the whole picture for you - you belong to the Spire now! You belong here, this is your new home, you won't be going anywhere, and the first thing we'll do to make sure of that is to fuck you on every piece of furniture in sight! Lovely, ain't it?

Shadow Milk Cookie also loves giving you yhe illusion that you can choose - would you rather have your legs be folded over your head whilst Black Sapphire Cookie mercilessly fucks you while recording your moans and squeals through his beloved microphone, spreading rumors all over Earthbread how you're just some hungry, poorly trained slut? Ooooor~ you could play with Shadow Milk Cookie instead! Those are the only two choices by the way, so choose carefully.

So that was my lame ass. But this ask is hysterical because this also makes Shadow Milk Cookie sharing you with anyone else an absolute godawful nightmare. Black Sapphire Cookie would never talk back to his beloved master, but even he must admit it's getting difficult continuing when Shadow Milk stops him every few seconds with some kind of criticism.

"Pfft! Well, of course, only one Cookie on all of Earthbread could handle this task correctly! Even still, you could at least *attempt* to have a bit more tact than that~!"

Because the Reader, his darling little popper, isn't just some common whore. No, they're just a speeeeecial whore, deserving of only the best treatment! Shadow Milk's words (he cannot help but through a dirty little nickname for you in there).

Honestly, the fact that Shadow Milk Cookie loves you just so, so, so, so much should be obvious! So what if his love is a little rough? Sooner or later, he'll have Black Sapphire Cookie show you the pleasure you deserve, as Shadow Milk Cookie's beautiful, lovely little pet!

[gravecircuit]

I never really like spelling out my own work but the Freudian analyses on Moralton University made me think of this again. The idea of this project was to extrapolate Clay's quote from Sacrifice and also the lyrics of the song as the lens to interpret the Puppington marriage. To be clear I didn't make this with any academic predicate, this was my own manic depression as illustrations, but I like the idea that this video landed on a bath salts Lacanian interpretation by accident.

"And then when you finally get one of these, (fanfare), coveted pieces of tail that have been built up as the grand trophy in your nothing life! You tried desperately to keep it. Not to protect it, but to hoard it. To keep it away from the other wolves and jackals circling your territory."

It's a shit old world 'Cause I don't really want you, girl But you can't be free 'Cause I'm selfish, I'm obscene

In the latter half of the animatic, the context of the lyrics "nobody else but me" shifts from that of the Alpha Couple's possessive codependency to Clay's deeper oedipal process.

From the above, I analyze what we see in the episode Passing. Clay is his given name, but I posit that Clay's signification (how he understood himself as represented by language) was the phrase "my precious only ever." The revelation that Angela had miscarried many times before Clay dissolves the consistency of that phrase and therefore shatters Clay's signification.

This results in Clay having a complete identity crisis. And I also think it is the fulcrum into Clay's mirror stage (birth of the Ego). (Might be inconsistent with the biological developmental context, but narratively I think it is the point of interest.)

I postulate this because of the way Clay weaponizes his signification when he emotionally lashes out against Angela.

"I'm not going to be your precious only ever any more."

It is here where I reach back into the notion of possession, as I believe the act of possession is what aggregates as the form of Clay's ego. I interpret Clay's stunt as a morbid test, my interpretation is that through Angela's desperation Clay seeks to affirm his signification as the "precious only ever" and the mechanisms in which he does so is the Golem that forms his ego.

I'll do my best to not get lost in the weeds here if your brain hurts just think of Lacanianism as these images:

The next stage of the Lacanian interpretation would then be desire. I'll try and bullet point these next points.

Clay's stunt results in failure and the trauma of his mother's death.

This forms a sort of Lacanian paradox as the mechanism of Clay's ego is now the cause of his mother's death. The compulsion toward the ideal self now conjures a visceral response. (There is subtext in Sacrifice that might say otherwise but I always interpreted Clay as sort of a loner until Help.)

There are additional notes you can make about Arthur in this context but I'm omitting them as I never placed him in the animatic. (Refer to Moralton University!)

What's important is the death of Angela solidifies the presence of a lack in Clay's life.

In Help, I posit that it wasn't just exposure to alcohol but the combined fact that Clay recognizes inebriation as the ticket to Bloberta's maternal behavior. Alcoholism reawakens the building blocks of Clay's egotism. Drinking became the new mechanism of possession that affirms Clay as someone desired by Bloberta through codependency.

Clay and Bloberta form an objet petit a cocktail if you will.

My wording in this part might stray (talking about OREL in a Moral Orel analysis is the hardest difficulty) but the birth and presence of Orel reignites that visceral reaction in the pursuit of the ideal self from the simple fact that Orel exists as an entity outside of Clay's ego while still inheriting his features. (bonus MU timestamp again)

The lyric "nobody else but me" shifts again here as I portray the bottle of Clay's inception, to the bottle of Clay's possession (also Nature drops some implications that Orel was conceived while Clay was under influence), to the bottle of Clay's reflection, to the vessel of Clay's reflection.

Then, Orel gets shot. Roll credits!

With a sort of poeticism, I think Clay firing his rifle at Orel, the vessel of his reflection, incepts Orel's mirror phase, the genesis of alienation and identity. There's a sort of infantilism with Orel up to this point as he has been signified primarily by whatever his father prescribes to him.

The higher level symbolic / imaginary / real goes into the meta rabbit hole of: Orel making stop motion animation as a stop motion puppet himself, Censordoll's stop motion set in Alone + the egg yolk she places above the phallic steeple of the church, every intro God intervening with the stop motion set, the statement from Grounded "I am a church", and the question of at which layer if any are the fates of these characters determined. I am thou, thou art I.

I only cite the above because it says the thing. I don't really assign any character to these with any rigidity, I do like the descriptions of each though.

Anyway, this interpretation is very retroactive and pedestrian, but fun to think about!

As with most projects by the time I got to those last slides I was tired of looking at it. There's a lot of different ways my thoughts can meander on this but that's about it for now. Not a lot of Bloberta analysis for this post, if someone else wants to go ahead!

This was fun to write and think back on, I always liked just publishing projects and moving on, but if you ever liked this vid I'm open to chat about it!