#i wish i had a washing machine the size of a room

[mozki]

do u guys ever get the #exec dysfunc where ur trying to get started on something like 5 separate times and whenn u redirect urself back to the task for like a 6th time u kinda just stand there swaying over it cos what da fuck is going on . and then go tell tumblr. LOL kill me

[quickiesgirl]

I wanted to send you another request cause the last one you did was so good!

Plus size! Reader x Perv! Eddie

It’s laundry day, While doing you and your best friends laundry you are jamming to Holy Diver rocking out in nothing but a bra and panties. Eddie walks into the laundry room and catches you diving into the washer and he can’t help himself.

Thank you for sending another request and being patient with me these past few months. You are such a sweetheart. I’ve been on hiatus and haven’t written in a while, so forgive me if it’s not that great.

Laundry Day - Eddie Munson

Paring: Perv!Eddie Munson x Fem!Plus Size!Reader

Warning: 18+, Smut, Mild Drug Use, Dom/Sub, Perv!Eddie, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Praise Kink, Pet Names, Friends to Lovers, Reader and Eddie Are Very Horny For Each Other.

Your hips sway back and forth in your favorite high-waist panties, dancing to Dio's "Holy Diver" as it played from the next room. You take a hit off the lit cannabis cigarette hanging loosely between your lips before setting it aside on the ashtray and stepping into the laundry room. 

It was finally laundry day, and after a long, stressful week, all you needed was a good joint and some of your favorite rock albums to give you the motivation to get some chores completed around the apartment. 

The sweet sound of your voice singing along to the lyrics caught your roommate’s attention as he made his way over, finding you in such a vulnerable position.

You pressed against the large washing machine and bent over with that pretty ass on full display, only wearing your undergarments while your other clothes were in the wash. 

“Need any help?” Eddie asked in a low and husky tone as all the blood in his body rushed straight to the head of his cock. He couldn’t help himself, admiring every inch of your body, especially the outline of your sweet pussy through the thin material of your panties, taking a mental picture of the sight for later. 

You wedge your bottom lip between your teeth and extend your arm out, standing on the tips of your toes, diving to reach the last bit of clothing stuck at the bottom.

You feel those hungry eyes burning holes into the back of you, giving you the courage to teasingly wiggle your ass. 

“Nope, all good, Eddie-pie.” You hum innocently, feeling an arm suddenly snake around your stomach, and close the space between you with his warmth. 

A shiver expels through your body from his touch as your roommate holds you from behind, hands smooth with calloused fingertips against your skin, his thumb grazing back and forth just above your belly button. 

The weed had decided to affect you in other ways, making your cunt starved and achy like never before. It was more difficult to keep yourself together while his hands were on your body.

Those cute, cotton panties were the only thing keeping the mess of arousal from leaking down your inner thighs. 

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” 

Fuck, you loved when he calls you that. 

“Mhmm, I’m okay.” You hum lightly, attempting to focus on the clothes you were pulling out and tossing into the front-load dryer instead of those hands now caressing your lower hips. 

Your mouth lowers, letting out a small gasp from the feel of your clitoris pulsating between your neglected pussy lips, earning a smirk across his face, knowing how badly you wanted it. 

“Seems like you could use a break,” Eddie spoke with a heavy tone, paying attention to how you gulped as he inched closer, “and I’ll help with anything you desire, any needs that must be met... I’m here, baby.” 

You breathily whimper from his words filling your ears. He was familiar with those sounds of pleasure, especially on the nights when he’d listen to you behind these paper-thin walls, stroking his sensitive cock, wishing he was there to help you. 

“You like that, hm, pretty girl?” He coos, listening to soft, incoherent mumbles escape your mouth. “Use your words, baby.” 

“T-touch me, Eddie.” You begged pathetically, ass backing into his crotch, making him chuckle deviously, witnessing a sight he’s yearned for years. He was a perv, and every chance he got, he was picturing you in every situation, all positions. 

Especially how he wanted to fuck you from behind with that pretty ass sticking out. Hands holding your love handles and forcing you back on his length till you are practically raw. 

Seducing his best friend might have been wrong, but you both knew these feelings and deep longing desires needed to be addressed sometime soon. Hell, everyone believes you’ve been secretly fucking anyway. 

Eddie peels your soaked panties aside with his ring finger and glides two digits through your sticky, swollen folds. The tips of his fingers slid down with ease, reaching your practically dripping entrance. 

You moan softly as his fingers, covered in arousal, follow up and brush gently against your fluttering bud. His warm breath fans the back of your neck and applies gentle kisses, watching you melt back into his body from the sensitivity. Powerful, yet so pleasing. 

“Mind if I take this off?” He questioned after a few seconds, pushing a finger between the thick lace of your bra and subtle skin as you gave a consenting nod. The clips suddenly unhook, and the straps slide down your arms. 

Your tits spill out of the restraining cups and into his hands, taking time to admire the feel of your beautiful breasts. His cock begins to twitch in his tight jeans, listening to you let out a needy moan while your body melts like putty in the palm of his hands. 

And before you knew it, your underwear was peeled away, completely exposing yourself to your best friend, Eddie Munson, something you secretly yearned to do throughout this entire friendship. 

“Sure you want this, baby?” 

You glanced back, gaze latching onto his with wide and intimate eyes, desperation in your voice.  “I w-want you, Ed’s. I wanna feel you- f-fuck me from behind~”  Those words were so fucking sexy as they left your mouth. 

Eddie’s grip released from you, beginning to undo his worn-out belt. You impatiently squeeze your thighs together and apply some pressure on your swollen clit.

Mind racing with the image of your roommate as he pushes his jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs, and the sound of his heavy erection slapping him in the stomach rings through the room. 

He wraps an eager hand around the base of his dick and glides it between your puffy folds, feeling your warm arousal cling to his throbbing member, used as the perfect lube. 

You swallow thickly, feeling his cock, thick and lengthy. It only made you needier, unable to control your hips while you back further against it, feeling a light slap be given to your greedy cunt with his cock before the girthy, mushroom-tip lines to your wet cunt. 

 “Look back at me, baby… I wanna see your pretty face as I slide inside this perfect pussy.”  

You listen to the instructions and look over your shoulder, gazing directly into those intoxicating eyes while he pushes through your entrance. “Ooh, fuck.”

Your mouth lowers into a drawn-out sigh, eyes broadening with complete lust. The sight could’ve made the man cum right then and there. 

Your brows knit together, and your back arches into the cold, metal appliance, feeling your stretching cunt flutter with every inch. Sparking an intense fire in your stomach. Eddie pulled out and gently thrust forward, moving with the pace of the music as his cock massages your inner walls, watching how you react, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort, though your body showed complete pleasure. 

“Holy shit, you’re so, so wet and tight. You f-feel incredible, baby, just like I imagined.” 

His hands squeeze the softness of your waist and hips. Balls swinging with every deep stroke, slapping your swollen clit. His leaking tip strikes your a-spot, sending an intense rush of ecstasy to shoot through your body, pushing you closer to the edge as his pace becomes more relentless. You can barely come up with words of your own, only whimpers and whines. 

His pervy gaze took an interest in your ass that jiggled against his thighs and how his cock glistened with your sweet arousal, working in and out of your tight hole. 

Loud, pornographic moans and slapping skin filled the little laundry room as the music outside completely faded out for you, too focused on your best friend of more than five years fucking you into the washing machine. 

Your hands clutched the appliance, attempting to steady your shaking legs beneath you while your orgasm crept closer and closer, and the coil tightened in your stomach. 

 “Mhmm~ eddie!.. Please-please don’t stop. I’m g-gonna cum!” 

“That's it, baby… Come for me, cum all over my thick cock,” Eddie says, his strumming hand snakes forward, down past your mound, and uses his finger pads to rub away at your neglected clitoris. His hips continued to thrust faster than before. He would’ve made you go longer, but he didn’t think he could wait with the hot cum raising up the crown of his cock. 

Your head became a haze, lost in the sensation of your orgasm that washed over you, eyes rolling to the back of your head and your inner walls clenching and spasming while milky cum gushes across his thickness. 

“hmm yeah, that’s it, sweetheart. Such’a good fucking girl,” Eddie speaks between low growls, losing self-control as he fucks you through your orgasm before pulling out, barely pumping his twitching member till strings of his ropey cum shoots out across your lower back and drips down your ass. 

His head slumps into your shoulder, and his arms slide around you. An adoring smile spreads across your dazed face, feeling lazy kisses applied to your inner neck, sweet nothings whispered into your ear as his semi-hard dick buries between the warmth of your ass cheeks. 

Eddie reaches over to grab the clean, folded towel off the top of the dryer and wipes away his little mess before clenching the fabric material in his fist and tossing it aside into the laundry basket. 

“Thanks…” You turn on the tips of your toes, knees still a little unsteady, and watch him slip his tattered jeans back up, looking upon the naked woman standing before him, immediately attaching his hands to the sides of your hips, tugging at you closer. 

You nibble lustfully on your bottom lip and glance between his captivating eyes and soft-looking lips. Your hands raise beneath his signature Hellfire shirt, and your fingers begin tracing small, delicate circles against his subtle skin. “So, what do we do from here?” 

“I say… We go cuddle on the couch and start planning some date ideas. See where the night takes us?” Your roommate suggests shyly. He really wanted to take you out. It doesn't matter what you had planned or where, as long as he was with you, he was a happy man. 

“I’d love that, Ed’s.” You mutter softly, placing a single finger on the bottom of his chin and moving in closely, “But, we have to wait til the clothes are dried, or we’ll have nothing to wear.” 

The man smirks mischievously, his ogling eyes flickering over your beautiful body and tongue darting over his bottom lip sensually. “Think I’d prefer it that way.” 

You gasp and give a gentle slap to his chest, trying to hide the flustered smile across your face as a devilish chuckle expelled from his throat.  

“You're such a perv... ” You tease, squeezing the collar of his shirt and finally colliding his mouth with yours while you push the two of you of out the laundry room. 

-

Eddie Munson Smut Taglist: @sunflowerharrington @nevermore-munson @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rottenstyx @cantthinkofauserlololol @natashamacimoff69 @zestychilli @luna-munson83 @chaoticcancer @ruinedbythehobbit

Taglist Form | Message if you want to be removed <3

[imreadydollparts]

A bit of a ramble.

I was asked if I had a pony salon wish list by a repeat customer that was interested in replenishing my supplies a bit.

I do, but it's not exactly what you might expect because part of how I can keep my salon fees so very low is that most of those supplies are paid for by my S.O. as we can grab them at the store during our regular grocery run.

But it got me thinking: Would people be interested in knowing what I use a lot of?

I've shuffled the wish lists around a bit to make them more sharable (because they were a mess), and will talk a little bit about what I use and how.

(I know punctuation and capitalization in a bullet list doesn't go like this. I don't care.)

bubble wrap is used to protect ponies in shipping

40Vol is 12% hydrogen peroxide cream, which is what I use to "retrobright" yellowed vinyl in the SunBox and it will sometimes remove stains - I don't use this up very quickly, surprisingly

I will use any dish soap, but that's the one I'm using right now because I had bought it to wash dishes but the whole family doesn't like the scent so I took it down to the salon to use up. I'll get something else when this runs out, which won't be for some time

Garnier Fructis Sleek & Shine conditioner isn't really great for repeated application to people-hair because it does build up over time, but it's excellent for a single application on synthetics. Well conditioned hair flat irons better than dry hair (and feels nicer, too).

I absolutely burn through melamine sponges. They're excellent at removing grime from vinyl that doesn't come off with a gentle hand-washing or toothbrush scrubbing. Anything acetone can take off, a melamine sponge can, just slower. Melamine sponges are micro-abraisives and will take the shine off of things.

larger envelopes for larger numbers of ponies sold on eBay

smaller envelopes. I prefer these envelopes to boxes because it keeps the shipping weight down, and ponies do just fine wrapped in paper, then bubble wrap, then in an envelope. For larger orders I reuse boxes from other things.

packing tape doesn't need much explanation. I tape boxes shut with it.

I wrap every pony in packing paper both to help keep their hair in place during shipping and to keep them from touching each other in the case that one has that particular yellow hair that likes to stain when it gets hot, or has colorant leeching that I don't want to transfer from one pony to another

cellophane tape is used to close the paper towel strips that I use to set their hair

Paper towels are cut into strips to use as hair setting strips, used to clean up areas that I don't want the mess getting onto my work cloths (I do mean cloths, not clothes) nor in my washing machine like rusty oxy clean goop, rusty tail washer chunks, or bits of hair that were combed out. I also use paper towels to strain the cleanser bath when I'm doing deflockings. I prefer to put all those little bits of plastic filament in the trash rather than down the drain. I'd like to get some full-size paper towels for straining flocking fluids because the perforated line is a weak point that sometimes breaks but it seems they're all half-size, now. Coffee filters are too slow and get gunked up too fast by the debris and glue residue from deflocking.

acetone is used to remove factory paint, or you know how sometimes paint from something else sticks to a pony, and smooth out rough areas

L.A.'s Totally Awesome concentrate has many uses in my salon. I use it to remove Mattel head glue, deflock ponies, and remove nail polish from areas where acetone would remove factory paint

This is is the things I wouldn't mind getting for the salon.

You may or may not know that the salon is currently mostly in the basement bathroom. Don't worry, no one uses that bathroom, so there are no potty particles flying around.

Towels are just for laying out on the wire shelves where I dry ponies, or laying on the floor when I need more room to dry ponies. I often do a hundred or so ponies all at once and need a lot of space to work.

There is no counter space in there at all, and it's honestly very difficult to work in there. As such, I've been looking at adjustable work benches because I have to accommodate the toilet and shower if I want to put in some work surface. It's a whole thing.

UVC light is the kind of UV light that kills off bacteria and fungus. Right now I have UVA lights in my SunBox for "retrobrighting" and wouldn't mind adding a little UVC lamp in there, just to help with cleanliness and probably also would help with smells.

The sink in there is teeny tiny and very difficult to work in, so an extension for the faucet would be really handy. I'd rather replace the whole sink, to be honest, but that's not in the cards at the moment.

A thermal printer would be really handy and let me no longer be reliant on the inkjet printer for which the ink cartridges are being discontinued, soon, and will become difficult to get a hold of. I honestly don't know if THAT one will work with my computer (I don't think my computer has Bluetooth), it's just a placeholder, really.

Obviously this isn't EVERYTHING that I use in the salon. I have an ozone generator for bad smells, paint and paint brushes, combs, brushes, flat irons, crimpers, curling irons, straws to curl hair, pipe cleaners, a massive stash of doll hair........

There's quite a lot going on down there, really.

(Since I'm putting wish lists anyway, here's the art supplies list: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/264SH6D7R373P?ref_=wl_share )

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 40

I tossed and turned for the rest of the night, trying to fall asleep but to no avail. The events of the party still had me reeling—the masked man who had tried to kill me, and the night I had spent with Steve. He had fallen asleep not long after, caressing my face and whispering sweet nothings into my ear. We had been building up to this moment for months, sharing countless kisses and tender touches, only to pull back each time, burdened by our buried guilt.

That night, however, we collided once more, finding solace in each other's arms. Our mutual loss had drawn us together, a shared grief that neither of us could escape. The warmth of his touch and the softness of his words were a temporary refuge from the chaos, but the turmoil within me refused to settle.

As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, memories of the masked man haunted me. Who was he, and why had he targeted me? The fear and confusion swirled in my mind, mingling with the bittersweet moments I had shared with Steve. Despite the comfort of his presence, an unease lingered, a reminder of the dangers lurking in the shadows and the unresolved emotions between us.

I watched him as he slept, his hair falling gently into his face as he hugged the pillow close. He looked so peaceful, and a wave of emotions washed over me. Gratitude swelled within me; having him here was my lifeline. Without him, I would have been adrift in this difficult time. He was my only connection to the past, to Bucky. Their lives were so intertwined in my mind that I couldn't look at his face without thinking of Bucky, and I despised myself for it.

The guilt gnawed at me, a constant whisper in the back of my mind. It told me I was using Steve as an anchor, a way to keep myself from drowning in sorrow and confusion. I tried to quiet that voice, to focus on the comfort and stability Steve provided, but the doubt lingered, casting a shadow over the solace I found in his presence.

In the stillness of the night, as I watched him sleep, I wrestled with these conflicting emotions. Steve’s presence was a balm for my wounds, yet it also reopened the scars of my past. I wished for a moment of peace, where the past wouldn’t intrude, and I could simply be grateful for the man beside me.

The sun was already rising when I decided to search for the kitchen that was supposedly somewhere nearby. I put on my dressing gown and stepped into the hall. The elevator was at the end, and there seemed to be other rooms on this floor. "Jarvis," I whispered hesitantly, "where is the kitchen?"

"Good morning, Ms. Barnes. I hope you had a pleasant night. The kitchen is this way," Jarvis replied, as the floor lit up, indicating the door just across from ours.

"Thanks," I said, following the illuminated path. The kitchen was spacious, with a huge island in the center, equipped with the most modern appliances. Even the fridge had a screen on it. The seating area faced large glass windows, half-covered by shutters. All I wanted was a simple coffee, but I was overwhelmed by the sheer size and array of options.

"Good morning," Natasha's cheerful voice startled me, and I turned around quickly. She was dressed in workout gear, but she looked like she had just come from a photoshoot rather than a workout. How did one look so effortlessly gorgeous, I wondered. And there was me, with yesterday’s makeup smeared across my face because I hadn’t bothered to take it off—I couldn’t fall asleep anyway. My mother would have had a fit if she’d seen me like this.

“Good morning,” I stammered as I tried to tame my hair, which probably looked like a bird’s nest. Natasha walked over to the coffee machine, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

“Coffee?” she asked, turning on the machine and leaning casually on the island.

“Yes, please,” I replied, gratefully sinking into one of the barstools at the island. The grey marble countertop was cold under my fingers as I nervously tapped them against its surface.

“Want some sugar and creamer?” Natasha inquired, taking a sip of her black coffee.

“Just black is fine,” I said, reaching for the mug she handed me. I inhaled the rich aroma and closed my eyes for a moment, hoping this would be enough to keep me awake for the rest of the day. Ever since the serum, the effects of caffeine didn’t seem to hit the same way.

“Did Happy find anything?” I asked, my voice laced with frustration. Natasha shook her head, her brow furrowed.

“It’s like he’s a ghost. But I’ll keep looking. There has to be something about him somewhere.” I nodded slowly, taking a sip of my coffee as I tried to shake off the sense of helplessness that clung to me. The serum had made me strong, but it felt like it wasn’t enough.

Looking up at Natasha, I took a deep breath. “I have a favor to ask,” I said. Her eyes sharpened with interest. “Can you train me to fight like you do?” I continued, my voice steady despite the nerves gnawing at me. Her eyes darkened as she considered my request. She sighed, then met my gaze. “I’m good at what I do, but the things I had to endure to become this way… I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

Disappointment weighed on my shoulders. It was clear that her training was not something she looked back on with fondness. “If you really want to do this,” she said softly, “I can show you a few things, but it won’t be easy.”

I straightened, a glimmer of hope igniting within me. “Thank you, Natasha. I appreciate that,” I said, my voice steady despite the challenges ahead.

We got to work immediately, there was no time to hesitate. We stepped into the tower gym, which was full of equipment, each for different purposes. This early in the day, it was empty which helped to ease my nervousness. At least there would be no strangers to witness my shortcomings.

“Let’s start with the basics,” Natasha said, her tone firm but encouraging. “First, we’ll work on your stance.”

I mimicked her stance, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. Natasha adjusted my posture, her hands guiding my shoulders and hips into alignment.

“Keep your weight centered and your movements balanced,” she instructed. “You need to be able to move quickly but remain grounded.” We spent the entire morning working on stances and basic strikes. Natasha demonstrated a series of punches and kicks, her movements precise and fluid. I struggled to match her technique, my muscles burning as I repeated each motion.

“Keep your form tight. Every movement should have a purpose,” she said, her eyes sharp as she corrected my form. Despite the sweat and exhaustion, I was determined to improve.

After several hours of drills, Natasha wiped her brow and handed me a water bottle. “You’re doing well,” she said, though her eyes betrayed the weight of the day’s effort.

The next day, we moved our training outdoors to a secluded park. The grass was damp with morning dew, and the air was crisp. Natasha set up an obstacle course with cones, ropes, and hurdles.

“Agility is key in a fight,” she said, demonstrating how to navigate the course with quick, precise movements. “You need to be fast and nimble.”

I followed her through the course, stumbling at first but gradually improving. Natasha’s encouragement kept me going, even as I tripped over ropes and missed hurdles.

“Again,” she said, her voice a mix of challenge and support. “You’re getting there.”

By the third day, we were back in the training room. Natasha had set up a series of target dummies and pads for combat practice.

“Today, we focus on technique and speed,” she explained. “It’s not just about strength. It’s about outsmarting your opponent.”

We sparred, with Natasha moving swiftly around me, her strikes controlled but powerful. I tried to anticipate her moves, practicing dodges and counters. Each session left me breathless and bruised, but Natasha’s critiques were sharp and constructive.

“Good reflexes,” she said after one of my successful blocks. “But you need to be more decisive in your attacks.”

On the fifth day, the physical intensity was matched by mental challenges. Natasha guided me through visualization exercises, teaching me to focus under pressure.

“Clear your mind of doubts,” she said as we sat cross-legged on the floor, our breaths synchronized in a calm, steady rhythm. “Visualize your success in combat, not your fears.”

I closed my eyes, pushing away the memories of my failures and focusing on my goals. Natasha’s calm presence helped me center myself, and for a moment, the weight of my past seemed lighter.

On the seventh day, Natasha led me to a secluded training ground surrounded by trees. A heavy bag hung from a sturdy frame, and various weapons were neatly arranged against the wall.

“Today, you’ll test everything you’ve learned,” Natasha said. “We’ll start with a full routine—combat, agility, and endurance.”

I faced the bag, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and fear. Natasha watched as I moved through the routines, her eyes assessing my progress.

“Don’t hold back,” she encouraged. “Show me what you’ve got.”

I threw punches and kicks, my movements fueled by all the hard work from the past week. Natasha pushed me through drills and exercises, pushing me beyond my limits. The hours passed in a blur of sweat, pain, and determination.

At the end of the session, I was exhausted but proud. Natasha approached her expression a mix of satisfaction and relief.

“You’ve come a long way,” she said, offering a small, approving smile. “But remember, training is a never-ending journey. There’s always more to learn.”

I took a deep breath, the weight of her words settling in. “Thank you for everything, Natasha. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

She nodded, her eyes softening. “You did it yourself. I just gave you the tools. Now, you have to keep sharpening them.”

We were so busy with training every day that I barely had time for Steve. I was up before him in the morning and fell into bed, utterly exhausted, at the end of each day. Every night, he tried to initiate intimacy, his lips brushing against my neck, his fingers trailing softly down my body, but I was so drained that I had to gently push him away each time.

At the end of the week, Natasha and I sat on the grass, a peaceful respite after the grueling days of training. We reflected on the physical and emotional challenges we had faced, and Natasha’s guidance had pushed me to grow in ways I hadn’t expected.

I glanced at Natasha, who sat beside me with a rare calmness after the intensity of our sessions. “What was the hardest part for you?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Natasha’s eyes met mine, her expression thoughtful and somber. “They broke me down just to build me up into something they could use,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I wonder who I might have been if they hadn’t turned me into a weapon.”

I nodded, the weight of her words resonating with my own feelings of monstrousness. “Thank you, Natasha,” I said, my voice filled with gratitude and understanding. “For everything. I finally feel like someone understands.”

A genuine smile tugged at Natasha’s lips, a rare glimpse of warmth. “Can’t wait to see you kick some ass out there,” she said, her tone light but encouraging.

Next Chapter

[wolveria]

The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 31

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “What are you doing here?”

AO3

Two guards in hazmat suits led you out, and you were as cooperative as you could be, wanting to be rid of that room as soon as possible. A sense of uncleanliness pervaded you within and without, and you were grateful for the decontamination shower, even if it left your skin raw and stinging.

You scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to wipe away the filth that only existed in your mind, knowing the tainted feeling would linger far longer than any contaminants did. You might have been wearing the mask, but 035 had wormed his way into your thoughts, nudging your body and voice before you’d realized what was happening. 035 hadn’t controlled you in any significant way, it had felt more like he had taken your anger at Leahy, fed his own hatred into it, and caused a sort of merging that had been a blend of you both.

You shuddered and scrubbed harder, turning your mind to other parts of the so-called interview. It didn’t make any sense what 035 had said about 682. As far as you knew, 682 had been neutralized during Site-19’s containment breach, and Leahy had nothing to do with the SCP or its disposal.

Of course, the truth may have been above your previous clearance level. Hadn’t the Foundation already proven to be withholding more information than it shared? You still didn’t know why you’d been trapped within 049’s cell, let alone what the Foundation had actually done with an SCP they’d been trying to destroy for years.

As the cold, chemical spray drenched your hair and skin, you were unpleasantly reminded of 035’s desire for a containment breach. There was no denying you would love to be out of Foundation hands; taking 049 with you had crossed your mind more than once, but it was little more than a daydream. A way to pass the time and wish for things that would never be. Despite your effect on SCPs, you were still human, with no abilities or weapons that made you dangerous or capable of escape.

Once the spray stopped, you were air dried with a machine that made you feel as if you were going through a person-version of a car wash, and after that, you were led to what you assumed was your next test. Except the next room resembled staff accommodations more than a testing chamber.

You were left alone with instructions to rest, and a clean, white nightgown was left folded for you on the full-sized bed. It was impossible for it to be night already, yet your body ached with a fatigue that meant you’d been awake too long. Just how much time had passed in 035’s chamber?

Replacing the paper-thin hospital gown they’d given you after decontamination, you donned the more comfortable nightgown. Even after crawling into the bed and your weary body thanked every soft layer of material, you laid awake. It felt too… kind. Too nice for the treatment you’ve received so far. You didn’t trust it for a second.

But despite your paranoia, you couldn’t fight the exhaustion that weighed you down. You drifted off, curled under two comforters, and remained that way until the entrance door slid open.

You shot upward, clutching the blanket to your chest in a half-awake, childish attempt to protect yourself.

Two guards led a figure inside; tall, masked, and intimately familiar. You didn’t speak as the guards unlocked 049’s chains and collar before vacating and shutting the door behind them, leaving the two of you alone in the fully lit room. It had been dim when you’d drifted off and must have come back on when the door opened.

“049?” You pulled back the covers and rose from the bed. “What are you doing here?”

The SCP flicked his gaze around the room before settling on you, his head at a tilt.

“I am unsure.”

He took a step closer, his gaze troubled, frowning in his own way.

“Do you require medical assistance? Have they caused you harm?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Nothing on the surface, anyway. 049 was already approaching you, reaching out, but then he paused.

“May I perform a cursory examination?”

You blinked, your throat working.

“Uh… yeah. Yes.”

049 gently took your face into his hands in a way that did not feel like a cursory examination.

“Your skin is damaged. Raw from a mild burn.”

“Oh, yeah. The decontamination shows.”

049 narrowed his eyes.

“Barbarians.”

The word was harsh, but he said it quietly, holding you like a precious thing. Warmth spread down your face and neck, spreading at an alarming rate, but you weren’t concerned. It had been a long time since you’d really feared 049.

“I am… dissatisfied with our last conversation,” he said, rubbing one thumb across your cheek. “I wish to apologize.”

“It’s okay.” You smiled, the gesture so easy when it was him. “I’m sorry too.”

He returned the smile, his eyes warm.

“All is forgiven. Now, you should try to get some sleep.”

He was standing close. Too close. But he didn’t pull away, and neither did you.

“I’m not tired,” you mumbled and leaned in, caught up in the wave of warmth spreading throughout your body. You chased it, craved more of it. More of him.

“You need to rest.” His insistence was undermined by the hand still resting on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. His other hand was a comfortable weight on your waist. You couldn’t recall when he put it there.

“No,” you breathed. “That’s not what I need.”

You leaned forward, pressing your entire body to him. Your face nudged against the crook of his neck beneath his hood, and it was titillating being so close, exploring a place you hadn’t before. His natural scent was stronger here, and you pressed in further, the cloth around his throat blocking you from skin contact, but that didn’t dissuade you from pressing your lips to where his pulse point would be.

049 shuddered and gave a choked off noise, and then his arms were around your waist, lifting you up and moving you backward towards the bed. You held on tight, more in desperation to be close rather than any fear he would drop you, and you didn’t let go even when he deposited you on the bed.

He carefully relinquished himself of your hold, but 049 didn’t go far. Whatever it was, this unquestionable need that had you in its grip, he also heeded its call, his heavy gaze never leaving yours as he bunched up your nightgown and stripped off your underwear.

Neither of you spoke as 049 leaned over you, the movements wanted and familiar, as if you’d done this before. He pressed his weight down on you, and you finally released a noise as something hard and heavy pressed against your thigh.

049 nudged himself between your legs with gentle insistence. You didn’t need any preparation, you welcomed him greedily, impatient as you slid your hands up his back and wrapped a leg around his hip.

He let out a low laugh, as if finding your lack of patience amusing, but then his expression darkened as he prodded at your entrance. Your nails dug into the thick cloth of his back, every inch of your skin tingled with anticipation.

Clenching your jaw, you sensed in the back of your mind you didn’t have much time left.

049 didn’t make you wait any longer. He plunged forward, fully embedding himself with you.

Lightning crackled up your body, electricity racing down your limbs and firing up every synapse in your brain, and you opened your eyes wide. The sensation, almost like an orgasm but not quite the same, faded away, leaving you unsatisfied. Alone, in an empty bed, with no 049.

You slowly sat upright, your body heavy with sleep, and you looked down to see you were still in your nightgown, tucked under the covers, and drenched in cold sweat. You didn’t even have to check to know your underwear was soaked with slick.

Covering your face with your hands, you groaned aloud.

The dim lights between your fingers bloomed into life, and you jerked up your head as two armed guards and a scientist entered the room.

“Get up,” one of the guards said, the manacles already waiting in his counterpart’s hands. “Stand here.”

You followed instructions, figuring they were simply leading you to the next test, but then the scientist pulled out a pair of black, thick rubber gloves from his lab coat pocket. He put them on and then flipped over your pillow, exposing what was beneath.

It was an old coin, specifically Irish gun money. A half-crown with James II on one side, there would be a sigil of the crown on the other, as well as the year 1690 stamped at its top.

The guard who wasn’t holding you moved forward, carrying a wooden coin box, and he opened it for the scientist to carefully deposit the coin inside.

Your lack of sleep and pent-up frustration from the interrupted dream had you pulling at the guard, your restraints clicking at the movement.

“You used SCP-5964 on me? Are you trying to kill me?”

But the scientist only said, “Please, come this way,” as if you were given a choice, and you were pulled from the bedroom—which had just been another testing chamber, after all.

Next Chapter

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

RATED M

The clock struck five in the morning. Contaminated test tubes and beakers were wet in the sink. A bright green bar nearing 65% completion was loading on a large computer screen surrounded by monitors. Shoko was busy in her lab, observing a single drop of blood, splotched between two thin slides under a beaming microscope. She hadn't left work since yesterday. You’d think after all these years hunkered down in the school’s basement like an obsessive recluse, she’d be used to the loneliness. She could already hear poor Ghost yowling for his breakfast, but there was no room for pause. The blood sample results from the New National Theater had finally come back, but Shoko was only interested in one.

The jujutsu doctor’s lips drew together in concentration, suspending the tail end of a depleted cigarette. Screw resolutions. This was far more important than her respiratory health. Her findings so far were not as she’d hoped. The red blood cell count was starkly lesser than last week. She reckoned about a third of them had vitiated in that timeframe, even with the aid of reverse curse technique, but how? How? The discovery troubled her. She would start from scratch again if need be. After all, there was still more testing to be done.

Exhausted, Shoko wiped the beads of sweat off her brow and smothered her depleted cigarette in the ashtray. The computer monitors increased to 66%. She just prayed her hypothesis did not hold the truth.

Nanami Kento removed the strainer of brewed oolong leaves from the Royal Copenhagen he had sitting on a tray; a teapot and two cups with matching saucers, Blue Fluted Full Lace. They were heirlooms once owned by his late great uncle, who subsequently died of a stroke three years ago; another Henriksen lost. He had no wife or children and his mother didn’t want them, despite their value, so she bequeathed the china over to him. Not that he ever had a reason to use it. The full set of plates and fine tableware cost more than his apartment lease. He mostly kept the novelties for decoration. And perhaps nostalgia.

But not today.

Today he had a guest.

Nanami closed the lid on his uncle’s Copenhagen teapot and lifted the tray to walk back inside the living room of his small, one-bedroom sized apartment. It wasn’t the grandest place in the world, nor the cheapest. He could afford a much bigger unit if he wished, yet the space was well accommodated. It was furnished with all the essentials befitting of a bachelor; functional kitchen appliances, a washing machine and dryer, a brand new air conditioning system, and modern furniture. He had picked the farthest unit down the hall, so he wouldn’t be subjected to the loud elevator cranking up and down the many floors. It allowed him some peace and quiet in this bustling, wayward city known as Tokyo, granted, if you ignored the endless stream of ambulance sirens, blaring jumbotrons, and cries for help.

The part-time Jujutsu sorcerer entered his living room and acknowledged his guest sitting on the sofa.

“I apologize for bringing you out here like I did. I’m usually not this spontaneous.”

Nanami set the tray down along the coffee table and handed his guest a teacup. Hannah smiled at her host warmly and took the blue and white china from his hand. The porcelain clashed with the pink roses on her dress.

“Not at all, it’s perfectly alright,” she assured him. “I hear you’ve been busy with work, so this is me intruding on your time.” She looked down at the coffee table. “Anyway, I hope you like the rødgrød. Satoru mentioned you were Danish, so...”

Nanami sat down on the leather armchair, opposite her, and glanced at the small portable crockpot she had brought atop the table. Rødgrød med fløde was as much part of the Danish diet as cheeseburgers and fries were to the American. People preferred eating the berry porridge with custard or poured over freshly baked bread. Everyone loved it. Nanami hadn’t tasted the dessert since he was a young boy visiting his grandparents on holiday. Hannah had used raspberries and cherries for hers; exactly how his mormor used to make it. The tarter, the better.

Well, there were those waves of nostalgia hitting him again. He’d sample a bite later.

Satoru had dropped his wife off at his place that afternoon and hurried to go “run some errands.” Whatever that meant. Nanami had no choice but to leave the office. As ever, the Six Eyed moron liked to make things difficult and keep his whereabouts elusive, in addition to getting his lineage wrong.

“A quarter Danish,” Nanami clarified, loosening the lavender silk tie around his neck. He hadn’t been allotted time to change out of his business attire. “My grandfather was born and raised in Denmark, however my grandmother is Swedish.”

Hannah looked positively delighted.

“Ah, a Swede and a Dane,” she exclaimed. It would explain his blond hair. “That’s quite a match. The closest I got to living in Denmark was Germany. Did your grandparents ever alternate between countries?”

“For a time,” the quarter Dane replied. “But my grandmother has lived alone in Aarhus since my grandfather’s passing. I still get Christmas cards from her every year. She’ll be ninety-one this October.”

Unable to stop herself, Hannah heard the word “Christmas” and blurted the next question out loud without thinking.

“Oh. So you’re Christian?”

She could see the tug pull on the corner of his lips, barely noticeable to the untrained eye, and instantly regretted it. He was so cool, you’d think he hadn’t reacted at all. The quarter Dane shook his head. “Mom had me baptized in the Lutheran church as a baby to appease my grandfather, but the buck stopped there. She wasn’t very religious and I myself hold no beliefs.”

Hannah felt her cheeks burn hotter than the tea she was sipping, flushed with embarrassment. Her shoulders sagged. Of course he wasn’t Christian. What a foolish thing to expect? She felt awkward.

“I see,” she said rather sheepishly. “Please, forgive me. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Nanami nodded understandingly. He thought it wasn’t dumb of her to ask, but with introductions out of the way, they had official matters to attend to.

“Satoru said you had some information about a possible Sukuna finger.”

Hannah nervously tucked a strand of long auburn hair behind her ear, lowering the expensive Copenhagen in her lap.

“Yes,” she said, swallowing her tea and straightening her bad posture. “I think I know where one is.”

Nanami leaned back against the armchair and crossed his legs, hands folded patiently in his lap. His eyes never wavered.

“I’m listening.”

Hannah coughed. “Well, you see,” she began, trying to decide where to start. “I think nothing of them at first. My dreams - er visions - are often quite,” she searched for the adjective, “sporadic, if you know what I mean. But lately I’ve been having a recurring dream.”

“A recurring dream.” Nanami quirked a pencil thin, blond eyebrow. “I’m guessing that’s a dead giveaway?”

Hannah let slip a dry laugh. “You’d be correct. In my experience, whenever a dream is recurring, it’s usually indicative of a vision.”

“What has the vision shown you?”

“It’s hard to describe,” she continued, squinting her eyes as though aiming for a moving target that refused to stay still. “I don’t know why, but it always begins with me…drowning. I’m ever so slowly sinking towards the bottom.” She closed her eyes for a second, trying to imagine the nightmare in her mind. “It’s very dark and murky, so I can’t see anything. I’m terrified out of my wits. I try to kick and swim my way back up to the surface, except someone, or rather something, has me by the ankles and won’t let go. I fight and struggle to free myself, but I can’t. It isn’t until my lungs give out that I finally look down and…” she stopped for a second.

“Go on,” Nanami coaxed gently, waiting in silence. He wasn’t going to force her to talk, if she didn’t want to.

“Eyes,” the seer said, own eyes flitting open. She took a much needed breath from the horrid memory. “Four glowing, scarlet eyes staring at me from the black. That’s it. That’s all I see. Then the vision pivots.”

“Pivots?”

Hannah took a sip of oolong before humming in agreement. “I’m shown a film reel of things. Places, I think. I can’t remember what they are, but there is one feature that stands out from all the rest.”

Nanami also took a sip of tea. “Like what?”

Hannah placed her teacup on the coffee table and used her fingers to “draw” an invisible picture for him. “A massive red o-torii, floating above a large body of water.”

The quarter Dane’s brow narrowed ever so slightly. He knew what place she was referring to.

“Itsukushima Shrine,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Hannah sighed. “Satoru showed me a picture of it when I told him. It’s the exact same gate. He then mentioned you were working on a secret case and that I should speak to you immediately.”

Well, it’s not so secret anymore, Nanami thought, holding his tongue. Now he understood why Satoru had been so adamant the two of them talk, but hell, what a pain in the ass. The white haired dolt could’ve explained all this on the phone, or typed a quick text, instead of wasting he and his wife’s time. Even though she was a lovely person, both inside and out. Reminded him a bit like Haibara; her kindness and selflessness towards others.

But a tad miffed by this new flux of information, Nanami rose from his leather chair, teacup in hand, and walked over to the large window overlooking Shibuya Crossing, the thousands of city nerdowells commuting below, crammed like sardines.

“In the last four weeks, a total of eighteen people have been reported missing from the shrine,” he said, staring monotonously out the apartment window. “Evidence suggests it’s curse related. I and a few other sorcerers have been called in to investigate the disturbance.”

“Then perhaps this is your lucky break,” Hannah added, hoping to shed some light on the subject.

The quasi-business man continued looking out the apartment, almost like he wasn’t listening (but of course he was). “Itsukushima Shrine is a popular tourist destination in Miyajima. We’ll be fighting heavy crowds if we search during the day. Curse activity tends to worsen at night, but then there’s high and low tide to contest with. Your presence might also be needed. Could get dangerous.” He was listing all the potential roadblocks ahead.

“Can’t we disperse the crowds at least?” was Hannah’s suggestion. “Close the shrine off to tourists?”

Nanami hummed deeply in thought. Things were never that simple. He at last turned away from the window. “You’re sure this is a vision?”

Hannah shrugged. “More sure than not.”

“And you think a Sukuna finger is hiding somewhere at the bottom of Hiroshima Bay?”

The seer frowned. She felt her confidence wane at his scrutiny. “It’s the only lead I have.”

Confined to his thoughts, Nanami walked back towards the coffee table, relinquishing his empty teacup and saucer, and plopped back down in the leather chair, hand in his chin. A disconcerted expression became him, though his eyes were fixed on the Royal Copenhagen. Hannah thought he looked far older than his real age said on paper. He was handsome, she decided, with golden blonde hair and mixed Scandinavian features, but in a battle-hardened, wise kind of way. Forever pensive and stoic, like he had crossed the river Styx and managed to survive the harrowing ordeal, but only just so. Even without the bloody cleaver knife in his hand from that night at the opera, she could tell he wasn’t much for taking days and nights off. Kento Nanami was certainly a man operating under a lot of stress.

“I can’t name anyone on the top of my head with a water curse technique,” he vexed tiredly, observing the porcelain tea set. “A diving team will have to be dispatched. Damn. It’s always a risk when we get non-sorcerers involved.”

“But maybe we won’t have to,” Hannah said, complexion brightening. “Because as it were, I know someone who might be able to help us. That is, if we can persuade her.”

Nanami’s hand fell to his lap, eyes raised. “Her?”

Hannah rested her teacup on the coffee table and hurriedly rummaged through her dress pocket for a folded piece of paper. She offered it to him.

“Her.”

Feeling pessimistic, Nanami took the paper and slowly opened it. His eyes landed on the contact’s name above, and thus the part-time jujutsu sorcerer’s face tensed into a shrewd scowl. He exhaled loudly through his nose.

A bowl of that rødgrød didn’t seem like such a bad fix all of a sudden.

Neither did some brandy.

Chapter Contents

[2024ardn632isobelchilberto]

Week 7 - Photoshoot 1

For the first photoshoot for the study break, I wanted to take some shots of my subject (self as a 50s housewife) putting laundry into a washing machine. This was intended to be edited to give the appearance of blood, and I plan to add a bloody handprint and the knife. I wanted to play around with facial expressions and body language. So, in some shots, I went for sombre expressions; some were more happy and poised/posing, while some were slightly malicious. Unfortunately, I had a lot of out-of-focused photos due to the limitations of my camera and the size of the room. Therefore, there were a few shots that showed more but were unusable due to the focus not being on my body. I decided the lighting wasn't important as I will be editing it later to suit the horror film's poster look.

I realise it could be hard to explain the white sheet, but my reasoning was that she killed him over the sheet to avoid blood getting everywhere. I also wish I could have gotten shots from far away, but the laundry room was too small for that. To conclude on this photoshoot, I'm not sure how plausible it will be for my final, but I like the idea of it. I feel with the right tweaks it could look really fun and spooky!

Favourites:

For my favourites, I chose the first two as they felt very posed and poster-girl-like. Tying into the 1950s theme, who looks so good when putting their laundry out!? I do feel like the head being cut out could be an issue, though. The third image shows a point of reflection on what she's done, which could be fun to play with. The final three feel how the male gaze viewed women back then as obedient, motherly, and doting. I think these could be fun to play with to show the juxtaposition between the bloody sheet.

[andrewkhurst]

HOW I WENT FROM DADDY HURST TO PAPA SMURF IN THE NEW AVATAR MOVIE IN THE SPACE OF THREE AND A HALF MINUTES.

Half term holidays mean a few rare but cherished daddy and Martha days. This particular one started at 7am with Martha saying “dad DAD I’ve got chickenpox!” Motherclucker. The weather forecast was for springtime sunshine. We had a trip to the library planned, and I was going to see if we could maybe buy some strawberry plants and do some daddy daughter gardening. This was prevented by the pox, as we were placed under house arrest by our resident healthcare professional (i.e. mum) before she left for work. I had covid PTSD, trapped again.

Martha said she was feeling a bit tired, and wanted to have a sofa day. She had ditched her obsession with repeat binging the Wizard of Oz as soon as I decided to spend £7.99 purchasing it on Amazon movies. Today was a PJ masks kind of day. If you haven’t been subjected to the show before, the titular Masks are three school chums who go to school during the day (often discovering some knocked over paint cans or the mysteriously missing innards of a remote control) then get into their pyjamas (or PJs, geddit?) and spend the entire night gently fighting crime against one of three pint sized pre-pubescent baddies. They then seem to be back at school the next morning in the following episode, right as rain, not a yawn or eye bag in sight. I think they just neck a tonne of amphetamines between them in the closing credits. I can’t see it working out long term for these drug addled young ‘uns. Come to think of it, PJ could stand for ‘Phetamine Junkies.

A PJ Masks day meant Martha watching a series or three of the insomniac kid superhero cartoon before morphing herself into a variety of evil villains and making a lot of cardboard or paper remote controls to control the superheroes and make them do ridiculous things (the basic premise of at least 34.8% of the episodes). Once the first remote was manufactured, Martha asked which superhero was going to be controlled. I looked around. I was the only person there. Bad odds. Martha then threw a curveball, pointing to two invisible friends or Victorian ghosts at the side of me. “Will it be daddy, or medium girl or this little baby?’

I grabbed the crucifix and holy water from our exorcism drawer (located between the man drawer and the tea towel drawer) and doused the Persian rug before Martha announced “It will beee….daddyyyy!” I was glad that the ghosts had been busted, but kind of wished that we were inhabiting an actual haunted house so that I could be freed from the ridiculous clutches of the remote control. My spirit was crushed slowly over the next thirty minutes of ‘left, right, jump, backwards, freeze, unfreeze’, until the evil villain said that she needed a wee. I asked if I could be remote controlled to unload the washing machine and hang the laundry out. This was met with approval, and villain sent me on my way to the garden via the utility room.

It takes about three and a half minutes to hang out five work polo shirts and two pairs of jeans. I came back in and there was no sign of Martha. I looked up to the living room ceiling in case her spooky spectre sisters had levitated her in my absence, but no dice. I called up ‘Martha are you okay love?’ More silence. Silence is never good. It’s either a blunt head injury that results in loss of consciousness, or mischief. I feared the worst. Mischief.

I called out again as I turned to go upstairs. Martha was at the top of the stairs, in front of a 1950s G Plan full length mirror that she is single handedly on a mission to cover in fingerprints every 24 hours, despite my protestation. She really didn’t look well. She looked like she was a severe case of hypothermia. Or dead. I dialled 999. Then I noticed the blue marker pen in her left hand. I told the operator that I required no emergency service, unless cleaners were an emergency service, then I really REALLY needed a cleaner. She told me that cleaners were NOT an emergency service, like those lying bastards in the AA, sighed and hung up on me.

As I reached the top of the stairs , I saw that Martha had coloured her entire face in blue pen. Eyelids, lips, EVERYTHING. I felt like papa Smurf clapping eyes on Smurfette for the first time. Or an extra in a live action, lower budget remake of James Cameron’s zillion Dollar cartoon, ‘Avatar: the Way of Daughter’. Martha dropped the pen on the floor and stuck out her tongue. That was blue too. My kid had turned into Violet Beauregarde. I waited for her to inflate and float away to a restricted area of the chocolate factory, but she didn’t. My instant reaction was to laugh out loud whilst thinking ‘oh shit. We are BOTH in so much trouble’. We went straight into the bathroom for a good scrub and wash. Which removed about 90% of the pen, leaving Martha with the distinct look of a corpse. All she needed was a ruffle collared Victorian dress and she could have joined the spooky siblings in the line up for the next game of “who am I controlling now?”

[captainsimagines]

pretty woman, this is me trying || one

Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader

Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers

Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

(1/14)

Mini-Series / AO3 Link

Warnings: PTSD themes; past sexual abuse (Hydra); strong language; panic attacks; nightmares

Word Count: 2,950+

Author’s Note: A holiday fanfic! You know I couldn’t leave you all hanging! I’m excited for this one. I know it deals with a lot more heavy situations, but I wanted to write something angsty/romantic. PLUS, I wrote this in 3 days so I’m sorry if it’s bad lol

I hope I do you justice. Love you all. xxMoni

~

     Bucky Barnes did not like to be touched.

He did not shake hands, he did not hug, he did not do well with even the slightest brush of someone’s body. The faintest of touches froze him. Paralyzed in the faint sensation. Memories of harsh hands and machines, demented laughter and sedated foreplay, echoed through his mind.

The only person he allowed to touch him when necessary was Steve, and even then Bucky had to remind himself that it was his best friend. The size of Steve’s body was not a danger. The command of his voice was for safety only, and not to order him to strip. The friendly claps on the back were meant to ease Bucky into the world, not to bend him over from behind.

Sometimes he believed he was getting better. Mornings were beautiful, food tasted great, and everyone greeted him with a smile. On those special days, Bucky's heart filled with hope. Hope he could sit in close proximity to someone else, hope he could travel outside the compound and not rely on his super soldier skills, hope he could get out of his head for one second.

But when someone entered a room too loudly, or when he was forced to physically fight an enemy—those special days crumbled to ash, now cruel illusions that sent Bucky on a downward spiral. A spiral Steve usually had to coax him out of with gentle words, words that scarily resembled begging.

So Bucky has given up on trying to fit in. On trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel. On trying to feel human again.

And fuck all that bullshit about being human was to feel pain.

Pain was not a good emotion, and it was mean to give it relevance to the human condition.

It wasn’t an emotion every human had to suffer in order to be considered living. It was an emotion that was cruel and unforgiving and completely, completely exhausting.

If Bucky Barnes had to live his life without touch again, then so be it. If he had to step out of a room to calm his nerves with the repetition of his tapping fingers, then so be it. He did not want to feel trapped, or abused, or ridiculed ever again. He did not believe in soft touches or love making anymore.

First, the war stole his boyhood.

Then the Swiss Alps stole his life.

And Hydra stole his dignity.

His time with Hydra had been documented to horrible extremes. Extremes Bucky was certain were going to be plastered on media outlets and history books. But he had discovered one night, while on a solo-mission to the compound’s lounge, that those theories were unlikely.

Because he had found Tony Stark and Natalia Romanov scouring every database and paper trail about his torture… and completely destroying it. With help from Jarvis, Bucky’s recorded nightmares were erased. Washed out. Encrypted, set on fire, and utterly gone.

Neither Tony or Natalia ever spoke to him of it. He assumed Stark was simply avoiding an awkward conversation, and that he didn’t exactly do good with such rough topics. Natalia did write down the number of her therapist for him.

He threw the piece of paper away.

And on nights like these, he really wished he hadn’t.

Bucky curled up in his thin bedsheets and clutched them close, willing his body to stop sweating. He tried to touch his knees to his chest but he was too large. If he could feel pressure there, then he could fall asleep. If there was added pressure to his back, then the sleep would be immaculate.

He turned and piled the pillows high, setting them behind his back. The coldness of the cotton seeped into his skin, instantly relaxing him. He clutched a throw pillow to his chest and pressed it down, counting by even numbers.

Pressure, a sequence, and breathing.

He could tell by the bright white light shining through his curtains that it was still night. No light that bright could be anything but the moon. That was a reassuring constant for him.

“Shall I ring for Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes?” Jarvis whispered over the speakers in Bucky’s room.

Jarvis’s random voice didn’t scare Bucky anymore. At first, it had caused Bucky to spring into a full blown panic attack. But as time went on and Jarvis continued to speak with him randomly, at odd times, Bucky’s body got used to it. Expected it.

“No, Jarvis. I’m good.”

Jarvis hummed, pausing a little before saying, “Let me know if you need anything.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He never took Jarvis up on that offer anyway.

He curled further into his mound of sheets and pillows and shut his eyes, forcing himself into a dreamless sleep.

He succeeded in sleeping, but relived memories twice over in the dark.

~

    “Twenty bucks says you don’t ask her,” Steve declared, pulling his wallet from his coat.

Wanda giggled from behind the kitchen counter, pouring coffee into her impossibly large mug. Pietro saddled up beside her, stealing the mug for himself.

Sam clicked his tongue. “Bet. I’ll do it today after dinner.”

Steve scoffs, “Fuck off. Another twenty says you won’t have the balls to ask until next week.”

Bucky snickered as he looked between his two friends. He sat with his left leg bent so he could rest his chin on his knee, comfortable enough to be casual this morning. He sipped at his hot chocolate, grateful Wanda gave him one of the festive mugs. It was December 1st, after all.

“After dinner,” Sam promised, slapping his own twenty onto the dining table.

Wanda leaned forward and snatched the money for herself. “I’ll keep this bet safe for the time being.”

“You think she’ll say yes?” Bucky asked, overly curious.

Sam asking Natasha to the annual Avengers Christmas ball? Yeah, right.

Sam puffed out his chest, his smile wide. “I’ll bet more money, Barnes. That’s how confident I am.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He finally picked up his fork and dug into his eggs. With his mouth full, he said, “If you think you know Romanoff, you don’t.”

It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Like I said, Cap. I’m confident about this.”

“Well, I think that’s a good attitude to have,” Pietro commented, sitting down beside Steve with own full plate of eggs and bacon. “And when it all crashes and fails, we get to be the ones to tell you ‘I told you so!’”

Sam flung a piece of bacon across the table, cursing Pietro’s name.

Bucky watched it all unfold, feeling both inside and outside the circle at once. He was a part of the conversation, but he still felt benched. His body would lurch forward on its own accord and try to join in—maybe to thump Pietro on the back of the head, slap Steve on the back, grab a mug of coffee from Wanda’s delicate hands.

It was funny, really. Being afraid of Wanda’s hands because of his own history and not because of the power she held within them.

He was both included, and not. There, and nowhere. Inside his head but forcing himself to step out of it. Dissociating for too long until the conversation was on another topic entirely.

Jarvis’s voice snapped them from their play fighting. “Sergeant Barnes, Sir has asked me to tell you that he would like your opinion on something.”

Bucky grumbled, drinking from his hot chocolate. “What does he want?”

“Oh, that’s the wonder of standing up and finding out for yourself, isn’t it, Sergeant Barnes?”

Sam howled, nearly choking on his last piece of bacon. “Jarvis really is Stark’s creation. Jesus fucking Christ.”

Bucky sighed, having been left with no choice. He placed his half-drunk mug in the sink and waved goodbye to everyone, trying hard not to stomp to Stark’s lab.

~

    Stark was under a massive machine with six arms and blue lasers when Bucky walked into the lab later that afternoon. He had ignored Jarvis’s constant badgering and decided to visit the lab after his morning run. Only after it Bucky was certain he wouldn’t physically fight Stark if what he had to say was idiotic.

“My one and only!”

Bucky rolled his eyes and sat at the farthest chair from the monster machine. “You called?”

“And you diddle-daddled.”

To this, Bucky actually laughs. Sometimes Stark got on his nerves, other times he was a breath of fresh, realist air.

Stark climbed out from underneath the metal monstrosity, wiping oil from his hands. Bucky waited patiently as Stark finally sat, cracking his neck three times before speaking.

“So… The Christmas Ball.”

“Uh huh.”

Stark adjusted his seating, slowly lowering himself in his rolly-chair. Bucky watched him become shorter, awkwardly staring at him and the walls simultaneously. Whatever Stark wanted to talk to him about, it was becoming less interesting to Bucky.

“Pepper has informed me that there is going to be an auction. A, donate thousands of dollars to take me out on a date, type thing.”

Bucky grimaced. “Isn’t that prostitution?”

“No, it’s escorting. Prostitution is the other honorable profession.”

Bucky hummed.

Stark wiped a stressed hand down his face, curling his lips as he continued speaking. “Pepper has also informed me that only Thor is being auctioned for real. Meaning, everyone else isn't actually on the roster. Their dates are going to be the highest bidder regardless of what anyone bids that night.”

Bucky frowned, stumped. “So, we’re denying money from actual bidders and rigging this thing?”

“No. Private donors have already given their fair share of money. We’ve flown past our goal for the evening.”

“Then why have the Ball in the first place?”

“Appearances, photo ops, meeting new people—You name it.”

So Steve and Sam were going to be “sold” to their highest bidder, who will also happen to be their dates for that evening. That nice coffee shop girl Steve has been dating for the past six months was already invited…

That meant she was bidding whatever amount she needed to, regardless of the price, for a date with Steve. Money that was already donated before the damn Ball even started.

Bucky looked to the white, marble floor for answers. But all he saw was his distorted reflection, staring back at him with creeping realization.

“What… What about me?”

Stark sighed, shrugging his shoulders empathetically. “I tried everything, Barnes. But the higher-ups forced us to include you, too.”

Bucky was going to throw up. That ball of nausea that often stuck to the back of his throat was crawling upward, scratching his tongue, begging to be let free. To spill all over this damned marble floor.

He whimpered silently, turning his face to his metal shoulder. His hair covered his anguished expression, but it was pointless to assume Stark hadn’t noticed. Bucky’s neck was already redder than the original color itself.

“Barnes, listen to me.” Bucky tried to follow the direction of Stark’s voice. When he blinked, his vision seemed to get blurrier. “Breathe. Tap those fingers. You remember you got fingers, right?”

Bucky counted to three, then began to tap his index and thumb together. He relished in the feel of his skin, in the lifted edges of his fingerprints, of his filed fingernails. Slowly, the world stopped spinning. The chair didn’t feel like it was caving in anymore. The walls stopped stretching and his ears stopped ringing.

The remnants of his panic attack settled in his chest, pulsing uncomfortably. But he could finally open his eyes long enough and not feel like passing out.

“Good, good. Now if you would just let me finish.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, easily amused by Stark’s sarcasm. It was a surprise how quickly the two fell into step after Bucky moved into the compound, seeking each other out for random answers and opinions. Steve had questioned it, but accepted that if Bucky was alright with it, he wouldn’t budge.

“I spoke with Pepper. You have two options: Let me find you a date who I promise will not leak anything to the press, touch you without permission, or annoy you until you feel like swallowing a bullet.”

Bucky blinked at him, eyebrows scrunching. Stark getting him a date? Bucky didn’t want to date any of Stark’s past flings or strangers he might pull off the streets. The rational part of his brain understands that this person will be vetted and practically stalked, but it’s the irrational side that’s telling him this person might just hurt him. They could convince the world they’re the most innocent thing ever, but when he’s alone with them that mask could easily fall off and reveal eight tentacles and a flaming skull.

“Or,” Stark enunciates, standing from his incredibly low chair. He blew a fast raspberry before saying, “You and Sam attend together, or you and Natasha.”

Okay, that seemed like the better option. He trusts both Sam and Natalia, trusts them to keep their hands to themselves and protect him. Yeah, that was obviously the better choice—

But Sam wanted to ask Natalia. Sam has been wanting to ask her a million things before the Ball was ever a reality. His friend had all this insane amount of exhilarating excitement when he even thought about the red head.

Bucky couldn’t take that away from him. Even if his own comfort was the victim in this situation.

“This… person. Will they be an escort?”

Stark’s eyes widened momentarily before he steadied himself. “Yes, and maybe no. They’ll be the person I believe can be most trusted. Are you okay with the possibility of taking a hooker to the Ball?”

Bucky grunted, “Don’t use that word.”

“It’s the 21st century, Barnes. Hooker means prostitute, prostitute means sex worker, and sex worker has a positive connotation nowadays.”

“Just say escort.”

Stark grumbled beneath his breath, turning to a nearby computer and typing something into the search bar. “Jarvis, make sure this web search is wiped from the center of the earth after I’m done with it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tony.” Stark knew that when Bucky used his first name, it was a call to turn around and look him in the eye. So that’s exactly what Stark did. “A sex worker expects sex, don’t they? I’m not giving them that, so how can you expect me to be fine with it?”

Stark tapped his fingers against random keys, deep in thought. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding offensive. Jarvis, help me out. How do I say, ‘You don’t have to fuck the person, you can just pay them,’ kindly?”

“We will be searching for people who have voluntarily enrolled in sex work, Sergeant Barnes. Any meeting you set up with them is consensual. And the beauty of consensual sex work is, without a doubt, the freedom of choice. So think about it like this, Sergeant Barnes: They will not touch you if you do not ask. You are investing time, and they will accept the money without a kiss exchanged if that is what you wanted.”

A companion?

Bucky had only ever had Steve and Sam after he returned to the compound. Only ever hung out with them outside in the real world, too. A random person entering the compound and pretending to be his date seemed a little extreme, no? Like he couldn’t make friends of his own.

But wasn’t that the real reason behind all this? Bucky didn’t have many contacts or love interests to take to this damn Christmas Ball so he was being punished for it. Forced to interact with a stranger and the stranger forced to interact with him.

“I can do a proper search of these websites with Jarvis’s and Hill’s help and get back to you in the morning, okay? Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I only have to meet them tomorrow and that’s it?”

Stark wobbled a flat hand in the air. “Kind of. Spend one day with them and tell me if you think you can last a whole night with them as your date. I don’t want you to be paired with someone I thought was great but you find repulsive.”

Okay, that was somewhat considerate. But a whole day? At best, Bucky will last a few hours before wanting to run under a hill.

“Okay,” he surrendered.

Stark sighed, “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Barnes. It’s just… Maybe it’s not the ideal way, but meeting new people isn’t always a bad thing, you know?”

“Oh?” Bucky replied sarcastically.

“Oh. You think I didn’t suffer the same thing? People I knew since birth betrayed me. I’ve got trust issues too, my man.”

“We’re not comparing sad little tales, Stark.”

“Find it in your ice cold heart to be compassionate, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “So, tomorrow then?”

Stark nodded. “I’ll do my best to find you a hot piece of ass.”

“Stark!”

“Sorry! I joke. I kid. I jest.”

Bucky watched Stark toy with his experiments for ten minutes more before bidding him a good rest of his day.

Maybe a companion wouldn’t be so bad. He’d have someone to talk to after all. Text, get coffee with, watch movies with. He could do all those things with Steve and Sam but they were busy. Busy with work, busy with life, busy with everything Bucky avoided for good reason.

And even though his body is physically repulsed by the idea of being in close proximity with an absolute stranger, perhaps someone who was forced to be nice to him wasn’t exactly a lousy idea.

Maybe it was necessary.

~

[cookiewrites]

I'm sorry if you got bored of these but I'm literally Wilding over perv Binnies roommate, can we have one where reader is so open about it that she even says it in front of Binnie and poor baby's so stunned and shy:((

-⛓

never could be bored of it, because it's a rich text ugh, especially when you turn the tables and have changbin be the flustered one - because honestly? i think he would be. like have you seen the shy smile and flustered laughter when other members compliment him? he'd fully stop working if you outright told him how badly you wanted him.

like i am a sub!changbin enthusiast and this just feeds into that, because if you really wanted to be mean you could talk about it all the time; teasing him with whispers and promises but never touching him until he comes to you begging you to just do something - anything. and of course you do because how the fuck could you say no to him

also hi ⛓ anon - it's lovely to meet you too ahhhh

well behaved

wc: 1.9k

cw: sub!changbin x afab hard dom!reader, unprotected sex (don't do this), creampie, degradation, praise, dirty talk, pet names for changbin (binnie, pretty boy, toy), some size kink, little bit of dumbification, mentions of cum play and oral.

it was rude, changbin thought, the way you would parade around your shared apartment in whatever clothes you had stolen from him earlier in the week. and only his clothes, his t-shirts hanging off of you, but giving a delicious look at your thighs; thighs he had fantasised his face being directly in between numerous times.

what was ruder, though, was the way you'd shamelessly tell him how much you want him and then laugh and walk away - leaving him stood there in shock with a semi. that was cruel.

'god sometimes...'

you started, reaching up to the top shelf of a cupboard, giving him a delicious view of the lacy underwear you were wearing covering your ass as his hoodie raised up.

'...i wish you'd rail me against this counter.'

you finished, getting what you needed, and wandering off back to your room. and he was left picturing the way you'd look bent over the marble, your moans ricocheting off the counter.

in the middle of summer, you sat on the couch, one of his tops sliding off your shoulder giving a delicious view of your unmarked collarbone. popsicle in hand you were watching some nonsense on the tv and complaining about the heat, before catching him staring at the way you'd take the whole popsicle into your mouth, licking at it sometimes, swirling your tongue around it, mindlessly humming at the sweet taste.

'oh binnie, i'd love to see if i can fit you fully in my mouth'

you comment, before taking the whole popsicle in your mouth, swallowing around the tip, and pulling it out;

'i've been practising, see? maybe i need to size up next time'

you add, enjoying his stunned face before turning back to your show, licking up a drip from the side of the popsicle - and he wasn't even sure if that was for show or not.

another time, you were loading your washing into the machine, bending over, presenting yourself to him as he walked into the room, you nonchalantly commented;

'i have to do so much more washing lately.'

closing the door you begin the fiddle with the settings before adding; 'it's your fault binnie, really, i've been soaking through all my underwear thinking of you.'

and as he went to apologise for something that definitely wasn't his fault, you closed your bedroom door. he shouldn't apologise, though, right? fuck he never knows what to say when you talk to him like this; make so clear how interested you were but never doing anything about it, and it was just rude. and he always planned to respond, to call you out or tell you how much he wanted you or something more than standing there and feeling the blood rush to his dick - but there was something in the air of dominance in your voice that always shut him up. something you had even jokily called him a good boy for once or twice; another thing you did which made his head spin.

later on that night you were both enjoying take out on the couch, sitting at opposite ends. you were wearing one of his few button-up shirts, with far too many buttons undone. the black fabric contrasting against the obnoxiously red lace adorning your chest and, he imagined, your pussy. the shirt was shorter than a lot of the -shirts you usually wore but not that short - but maybe if you just moved slightly;

'oh binnie, you can just take the shirt back if you want it so much'

you lean forward, crawling slightly to close the distance between you too.

'i mean, rip it off me if it bothers you that much, use those muscles that drive me crazy.'

you move an arm to squeeze at his biceps, feeling the firmness tense under your touch.

'but you'd never do that, binnie, always so shy'

'i'm not even sure you know how to put to muscles to use'

'so well behaved, never doing anything unless i tell you too, what a good boy'

and he shouldn't be getting hard from a couple words, a look, and a hand on his arm but he was, he was so fucking hard. but he also wanted to deny what you were saying, he could do more than just behave.

'not t-true'

'not true? not true, really, binnie?'

and he silently nodded, waiting for you, as always. and you leaned forward, supporting your weight with a hand on your shoulder, to whisper in his ear; your lips brushing his lobe.

'then do something changbin'

and he froze, as you leaned back again and laughed with your whole chest.

'pathetic, you're so damn lucky you're so fucking pretty'

'how about this, if you can manage to unbutton this shirt, do that for me? and i'll do the rest of the work. you just sit there and be a really pretty toy, make pretty noises, and i'll do the work'

'i'll make use of that cock of yours, make us both feel good? and all you have to do is behave, and let me admire those muscles of yours that you don't even use, okay?'

and he nodded, flushing every time you complimented his body, the shy smile on his lips as he reached his hand out, shakily undoing the first of the four buttons you had managed to do up on the shirt.

'one.'

he wasn't prepared for you to count, to challenge his ability to even undo buttons on a shirt, but that the fact you were made him whine. somehow, despite all his muscles, you made him feel so so small. and it was this thought that passed through his head as he undid the second one.

'two.'

you say, smirking, looking down at the way his hands struggled with the fabric, before succeeding again.

'three.'

you leaned forward placing your lips at his ear again as you felt the last button give way and the shirt fall off your shoulders.

'four.'

'such a good boy. so impressive'

you giggle, getting off his lap long enough to set his cock free of its confines before positioning yourself over him, underwear pushed to the side. changbin notes that it is, in fact, matching red lace, and it made you look delicious. taking the tip and running it over your wetness, up and down, past both the clit over and over again; teasing both you and him. he whined, looking up at you, pouting.

'ask nicely, binnie, it's only polite since you're going to be doing nothing as i take care of you'

'p-please, i... please' the last word coming out as a whisper, him quieting down as you stick your thumb in his mouth. quieting the moans that erupted from his mouth as you sat down on his length; the expected stretch was delicious.

fully seated, you look at him in the eyes, feeling the way his tongue danced around the thumb in his mouth, as if it were your clit; desperately trying to do anything to please you.

'it's silly really, you having a cock this big if you're not going to do anything with it'

'at least it'll be a good toy for me now, yeah?'

'all mine to use'

you say, emptying his mouth, waiting for him to agree - not moving an inch until you heard the confirmation of this newfound relationship leave his lips.

'all y-yours to p-play w-with, y/n, f-fuck'

and with that you started riding him, nails gripping into one of his shoulders, marking the muscle as you try to balance on his lap; leaning back slightly so the fat head of his cock would hit that gummy spot inside you that made your head spin.

it's then that you notice his hands are still at his side and have been this whole time; triggering another laugh from you at his submission.

'not even touching me, binnie, what you waiting for?'

'you want me to say it's okay? fuck, such a dumb toy, need to be told to do everything'

'only good for this cock of yours, i swear'

'i'll be nice, you can, fuck, touch'

and his hands instantly reach out to cup your ass, each palm swallowing up a cheek, grabbing with force as you continue to ride him.

't-thank you, thank you, th-'

you lean forward and kiss him, shutting him up with an aggressive meeting of your lips. with tongue and biting and want, so much want from both of you; months of frustration leading to this point. pulling away again you say;

'toys don't f-fucking talk unless told to'

'you can answer questions or tell me you're close, that's it'

'all i want to hear from that pretty little mouth of yours is whines and moans or my name, or if we need to stop, okay?'

and he silently nodded, triggering you to bottom out and sit completely still. reaching out to roughly grab his chin in your hand.

'that was a fucking question binnie'

's-sorry- i-'

you increase the strength of your hold, feeling the bone of his jaw through his cheeks.

'not what i want to fucking hear'

'y-yes y/n'

and suddenly your hand moves back to cup at his chest, enjoying the weight of the muscle in your palm as you smile, starting the pace back up again.

'good b-boy, j-just need a l-little training, t-that's all'

'we h-have plenty of t-time to train you, w-wanna use you a-all over t-this apartment - fuck'

opening your screwed close eyes, you see him, panting and biting at his lips - feeling the way his hands somehow grip even tighter on you. and that's when you realise, smiling at him and speaking slightly softer;

'oh, the pretty boy wants to c-cum?'

's-sorry, i- s-'

'not the question binnie, and i'm sure you don't want me s-stopping now'

'now, i asked, does my pretty little boy want to cum? want to fill me up? want to ruin me for everyone else, yeah?'

'y-yes p-please please, y/n pleeaaassseeee' he pleads, as you kiss the top of his forehead.

'go ahead binnie, fill my pussy up, make a mess'

'you've been so good, want it dripping out of me'

'look at me when you cum in me, binnie, want to see that pretty face of yours'

and he does, just a second later, feeling the warmth spreading inside of you, slowing down the pace you had into the long and hard thrusts to make sure you fucked all of his cum deep into you - before stopping, completely full of him again. reaching out you go to cup his cheek before he turns, catching your thumb in his mouth, sucking on it as he looked at you. you chuckle.

'such a good boy for me, look so pretty filling me up'

'where are you manners though, binnie?'

and he suddenly looked worried, starting to speak around the weight on his tongue;

't-thank y-you y/n, thank you'

'good boy, and you can make it up for me'

'i'm going to ride that pretty face of yours until you've cleaned up this mess you've made, and you're ready to make another one'

'because, binnie, i plan of using this new toy of mine all over this apartment'

'every single place you got hard because of me but didn't do anything'

'because you're just a dumb little toy, so so pretty for me'.

[appledew]

Topaz is all set!

made for  lemoncakes42 on Instagram!

Topaz is made of minky and custom dyed minky; there is ball jointed armature in the plush as well. Topaz stands at about 19 inches from the top of the head to the bottoms of the feet, 23 inches including the ears. The face, and some markings on the body are machine embroidered and appliqued. This sweetheart is posable and can stand up on their own with support of the tail!

PHEW! This little one was a handful! ^^;

So starting off with fabric picking; I did have to dye 2 colors. The two brownish/grey colors were dyed but I kept running into issues with the dye running after washing. :/ A few extra washes helped immensely but some of the color did end up fading a bit. This wasn’t too huge a deal since it felt like the colors were at least close enough, but I’m still a bit said that I couldn’t get the gorgeous colors I was anticipating after the first washes.

Before all of this, patterning was going on. I attempted to avoid handsewing as much as possible since i was expecting to have to do a bit of that with the gems. In the end, I did have to remake the front of the neck floof on the front since it came out a bit small. I do wish i could have had a better understanding on how the shape the back a little better, but oddly, I just couldn’t figure out HOW to make the back puff up as nicely as the front, mainly how the join the front and back at the side for a more seamless transition. I do absolutely LOVE how the front looks though!

On the HUGE plus side, I was able to recycle Andi’s longer neck pattern for Topaz! The original plan was to keep them the same proportions as a regular teddy, but I think the longish neck to make room for the floof adds a nice touch! ^u ^ More changes were planned, but were scrapped because it wouldn’t have had the chubby teddy look. 

This is the first teddy I’ve added armature to, and I’m in love! They feel more like a soft action figure, but I absolutely love how poseable they are! There was a tiny issue with getting the tail length right, but that was knocked out and resolved fairly quickly.:)

Embroidery took no time at all! But I did have to rehoop the front body since I missed 2 markings on each sides of the legs (the small ones closer to the middle of the legs). Even embroidering the gems wasn’t too much of an issue. To be honest, all the gems on the tail are basically 3 different sizes with a vaguely similar design. All I really did was make one design of each side and just shift around the shines and line detailing! ^^;

Handsewing took a WHILE; I think at the end it was 12 hours. But it was well worth it! I dont recall how long it took to handsew the claws, but it’s also up there! On the bright side, the claws were sewn together using my embroidery machine, all i had to do was cut and handsew. ^u ^

Overall, this sweetheart took a while, but wow. I genuinely impressed myself! 

___________

More intimate WIPs can be found on my Ko-fi!  :)  https://ko-fi.com/appledew

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AppleDew_

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/apple.dew

Tumblr: http://appledew.tumblr.com/

Furaffinity: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/appledew

deviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/appledew

[4dtk]

have this absolute shameless drabble of sugar daddy gojo that i wrote in between requests. my fingers have never typed so fast im sorry this is literally self-indulgent at this point ARJGJFFJ.

disclaimer i honestly can't see anyone calling gojo daddy but just for this fic..... ill allow it..... and also bc sugar daddy gojo is just always residing in my mind. did you see how he transferred 10 mil to mei mei!!!!! i will never shut the fuck up about that scene. pls spoil me <3

warnings: praise, public sex, sugar daddy/sugar baby relations, breeding kink, pet names

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI

sugar daddy!gojo pushes you up against the window of the store, visible for everyone to see you getting fucked senseless. in the gucci store four floors up, it could work both ways. fortunate to be so high up, although people would be getting a treat if they happened to look up.

“you know what you’re doing, baby?” he grunts, hips rocking into your soaked pussy as the staff outside try to ignore the lewd noises coming from behind the curtains.

it was supposed to be a simple trip: get a dress for gojo’s event in a few weeks and get out. with a tight arm wrapped around his, you followed him around like a starstruck puppy, the edges of your lips curled up knowing he’d treat you a million times over if you just asked for it.

gojo wasn’t any different, either. sure, he’s had sugar babies in the past, but not quite like you who’s so easy to please and spoil, knowing you could never say no even if your life depended on it. with your desperate listing for the requirement of monetary assistance, gojo couldn’t resist taking up the offer.

he just hadn’t expected you to be so… pliant. you had taken it like a good little bitch, too, moaning out for everyone to hear because you liked it like that.

“you’re taking my cock so well, princess,” gojo muttered out, lips nibbling on your ear as he continued to pound you. his grin that you feel against your skin plagues your mind, wanting nothing more than to see how he enjoys ruining you.

the catchy, upbeat pop song playing above you seemed to provide some rhythm, the sultry lyrics fuelling you further.

"so needy that i had to buy out the whole store for an hour, huh?" the male slows his pace, delivering deep thrusts into your cunt with the precision of an expert.

all you can reply are in little pants, sentences incoherent from how deep his cock is in you.

"i don't even think an hour is enough to satisfy my pretty little girl, isn't that right?" gojo picks up the speed again, and you're brought back to the many times he's fucked over his counter, washing machine. to the times where he's eaten you out on his office table and in his sheets of his king-sized.

and now, you've got another memory locked away for nights full of loneliness and soaked underwear when gojo's just too busy for you.

a tongue to your nipples and a hand to your clit makes you choke out a moan, writhing against the glass just to feel more of gojo, more of his cock and more of his lips on your neck.

you're struggling to keep yourself up, finding the right time in between muffled moans and whimpers to ask for one more wish.

"daddy... p-please, i wanna see your-"

"what, baby? repeat it for me." goddamn, the man had no problem articulating his words, how much had he fucked you already?

clearly not enough if you're still able to speak.

"w-wanna see your face when you fuck me deep, daddy!"

your wish is taken away when you're already creaming all over gojo as your hot breath creates fog on the glass in a silent scream.

"aw, you're cumming so hard baby~ you didn't even get to see me yet," he coos, enjoying the gush of your juices that coat his dick and your thighs. everything feels sticky and dirty, but you don't hesitate to beg for one more fuck with your eyes.

gojo catches your drift immediately, hips twitching from the idea of pumping you full of his cum. after all, he hasn't come yet.

he grunts at the time with a quick glance to the clock above your head. without wasting any more time, he flips you over, the restraint to cum slowly reaching its limit with your lolling tongue and fucked-out face.

the male doesn't bother to hide the deep groan that rips from his throat when he drags his dick along your folds, strings of both your juices stretching out in a way that hypnotises gojo.

"n-need your cock, daddy! please!" you whine, grinding your hips against the tip to make sure gojo knows of your desperation. that he's the only one to fuck you so good that no one else can satisfy you.

he smiles knowingly before he sinks into you.

gojo knows that he's the only one that can make you feel this way as he picks up the tempo, hitting spots in you that you didn't know was physically possible.

gojo knows that he's the only one you call daddy shamelessly as he writes off his card to help you in your student debts and the sparkly dress you've been eyeing.

he could throw you away the second you're done with university, the second the media's off his ass about his love life but, the sweet, sweet moans spilling from your lips pull him back in every single time, eager to hear it for as long as your bank's empty and his is piled up with money.

"more! satoru, more, fuuuck..." you groan, shying away from the striking blues of his eyes the more he drinks in your current state.

he's barely holding on, not even minding the first name you called him. the short skirt he'd given you flipped up makes him go crazy, your panties moved to the side to receive the dressing room quickie you always wanted.

"you're so de..eep daddy! i need all your c-cum please...!" it's a mix between a whimper and a whine.

"yeah? 'course i am, baby. your pussy is sucking me in all the w-way," gojo's hips stutters at how you squirm in his tight grasp, locking eyes with him as yours fill with want. your pussy is throbbing, stretched out so much that you don't register the thumb playing with your clit.

"s' too much...! s' too much, d-daddy!"

"you're a good girl, aren't you?" the way you nod is pathetic, eyebrows knitted from being stuffed so full.

"pretty little thing- fuuck..." gojo's losing control himself, the way his balls slaps against your cunt resonates around the small space and nothing feels better than being inches deep in you.

you're a babbling mess by then, unable to even scream out as you cream his cock. with head thrown back, you're left frozen for a second as the orgasm washes over you and a violent shudders goes through your thighs.

"daddy has so much, s-shit- cum for you, doll," it isn't long before the other comes undone, a groan escaping his lips before he shoots his load deep into you.

your pussy is stained white from all the cum he's giving you, gasping from how much gojo is leaking into you.

"thank y-you, satoru..." you trembling has affected your voice, too, burying your head into gojo's neck while your body shivers from sensitivity.

"take all of it, baby," gojo whispers, the hand near your middle moves instantly to finger his cum back into you, fixing back your underwear over your pussy.

a cheeky giggle leaves your mouth as you untangle yourself from the embrace, welcoming a kiss from the man as he slowly begins to clean up himself.

"have you chosen a dress yet, sir?"

gojo's smile is mischievous, not missing the way your face flushes at having to face the embarrassed staff outside.

"we'll take everything, thanks," his eyes never leave you as he helps you off the changing room chair, tugging your body flush to his before leaving you with one more hungry kiss.

"you did so well for daddy, doll. i may just have to treat you tonight since you have a day off university tomorrow..."

even if it wasn't in the contract, gojo loved to spoil you, admiring your mettle when it comes to material items. although...

"you know what i mean," it's enchanting, the way his voice travels like silk, "i'll call in sick for work tomorrow, yeah?"

your mind goes to mush at what tonight might entail, losing all train of coherence when his hushed whisper of my baby's so cute reaches your ear.

in a second you're out of there, hand twined with his while you remain giddy with the thought of getting used by gojo until you reach your limit.

[trashytummiez]

I hope this is cool with you, can i request kinda a pov thing of rubbing killer croc's tummy after stuffing him to the gills with good food.

Discovery Channel had nothing on Killer Croc.

Watching him eat was a sight you couldn't look away from. When the reptile was gone you had gotten him every assortment of his favorite fast and heavy foods as thanks for him letting you stay in his lair. Burgers steaks and entire racks of ribs were all laid out on Killer crocs mattress with a tarp beneath it all for him to stuff himself. He was a messy eater the way he chomped down on everything he grabbed a hold of and shoved into those jaws of his. They'd tasted human flesh and swallowed men whole multiple times so even the thickest beef couldn't stand a chance against the apex predators jaws.

Killer Croc would take these massive bites that only took seconds to pulverize anything in his mouth. Then he'd swallow heartily which made grapefruit sized lumps wetly sink down Croc's thick throat with a visual ripple. It wasn't long before all that food began to flood his scaly belly. Crocs hard as steel abs stretched out along with his scaly tummy the more he filled himself up.

You watched him pig out and listened to all the greedy slurps and gulps he made in between his incredibly piggish open mouthed chomping of all that food. But his lack of table manners and the way he rapidly ate didn't gross you out like it would anyone else. It legitimately got you hot under the collar and fanning yourself. Especially watching that thick and muscular stomach extend into a glutted scaly beachball that weighed Killer Croc's already tight jeans down under its weight. He ate so much so fast that his pants button eventually snapped clean off giving his big scaly tummy extra room to push out the more he devoured.

Killer croc greedily scarfed down everything in just a few minutes. All that food was packed into his belly and gurgling heavily from his digestive tract making steady work of all that food.

"Unnnnngh man I'm stuffed..." Killer croc moaned then slumped back while his enormous belly sloshed like it was full of a really rich stew muffled behind his scales. Croc gave his swollen belly a heavy pat then he burped so loudly that the whole lair shook.

"...Excuse you," you said with a blush so intense that you looked as though you ate a red hot pepper.

Killer croc simply smacked his lips contently and leaned on an elbow while rubbing the side of his immensely bloated belly with one hand. "Mmmm what I'd give t'be able t'eat like that every day..." Croc mused. He smirked cheekily back at you and licked his scaly chops. "Bet ya'd wish fer the same thing huh."

"You'd go broke in a week if I fed you this much all the time," you said.

Neither one of you would've minded one bit.

Croc's teasing worked though. You eventually placed your hands on his bulging belly. The scales on his tummy felt softer and more stretched out than the rest of his coarse body. The way it churned felt and sounded like a washing machine with too big a load circulating inside.

The feeling and sight of it mixed with how noisy Croc's belly was made your knees weak.

Then you began to rub it.

Your hands smoothed over the vast scaly tummy riding up to the highest roundest crest of Killer Croc's stomach then slid down under the curve of his underbelly. His belly was so big that you needed to actually lean up against it so you could stretch your arms out wide enough to rub over all of it. Your hands roamed under Croc's ribs and over the thickest area dead center of his stomach. Those fingers of yours kneaded into that scaly churning tummy digging into them to ease whatever cramps you felt in his stomach muscles.

Killer Croc himself was enjoying every second of this. He groaned pleasantly and stretched his claws out with how relaxed your ministrations were making him. Then you stuck your finger inside of his belly button. It was thinned out and made a little more shallow from how stuffed to the brim Croc's stomach was but it was still deep enough that your finger went a ways in. Your finger fondled his navel firmly and sensually digging it around inside.

Even for a creature his size and appearance Killer Croc had a very sensitive belly button. And the treatment you provided it made hiis eyes roll to the back of his head as he moaned heavily at the sensational treatment you gave his tummy. He sighed heavily letting his warm dank breath waft over you as his clawed toes curled with euphoria.

"...God damn yer somethin' else..." he groaned pleasurably.

So was he the way he could eat just so much in one go and leave you with so much belly to love.

Your finger traced out of his navel while you leaned in closer and kissed it. Then you continued lovingly and idly stroked his prominent girth in an intimate sort of way. Your hands cupped the sheer heft of his weighty underbelly and pushed. Croc's tummy folded into itself slightly as you jiggled his engorged belly up and down.

You shuddered at the feeling and sound of Croc's belly sloshing so thickly as you jiggled it around. All that jiggling was also circulating a lot of gas in Killer croc's tummy as well. Croc winced when he felt a great deal of pressure brewing in his chest. Then he smacked his chest with a meaty fist and expelled a booming burp that echoed throughout the whole sewer system surrounding Croc's lair.

BBRRRUUUURRRRAAAAAUUURHP!!!!!

You shuddered as you felt that burp reverberate throughout your whole body from how powerful it was.

"Unf...oh man," Killer Croc huffed while his tummy gurgled thickly. He managed a grin back at you. "Heheh. Lots more where that came from, ya know..."

Like you needed any more incentive.

Still cupping his underbelly you gripped into its softest portions and shook his big scaly stomach around some more. Killer Croc savored the feeling of his tummy getting shaken around until more gas bubbled its way up. He threw his head back and gave a huge burp that roared out of him like a shotgun blast. The another rumbling burp rolled out of his mouth a second later followed by a choppier weaker one after that.

BAAAAAAUUUUUUURRRRROOOOOOOORRRAAAAAHP!!!!!!!

BBBRRREEEEEEEEUUUUUUUURRRRRRHP!!!!!

HOOOOOOUUUuuuurrrr-UUUUUuuuuuuurrrrrhp!!!

You bit your lip and suppressed a moan of your own. It drove you wild how unbelievably gassy this reptile could get when he was so full.

But nothing made you weaker than Killer Croc grunting and slapping his hefty belly as hard as he could to work up this massive rumbling burp that caused every bone in your body to vibrate with its sheer power.

BBBWWWUUUUUUUUUUUURRROOOOOOOOORRRAAAAAAAAAHPPP!!!!!!!!!!!

Croc groaned breathlessly. He was so relieved to get that one out that he flopped lazily onto his back and let his massive tummy sway above him.

"Gruuuoooooaaahhh mmmmaaaaaan that was a good one..." Killer Croc mused breathily.

"...You're telling me," you replied in a tone that made it impossible to hide how unbelievably aroused you were.

You crawled over Killer Croc sitting on his lap and leaning against his giant pillowy tummy while rubbing into it. Croc hummed contently to himself while you tended to his tummy. Occasionally you pressed down on his belly making Croc burp a few more times.

"Thanks for this Waylon," you finally said.

"Uh? Thanks fer what? Yer the one who's rubbin' my belly after fillin' it with a meal fit fer a king," Croc replied.

"You know...for giving me a home," you said then more intimately you traced your finger across his belly button again making Croc moan some more. "And for...indulging me a little with all this." You gave Croc's tummy a few pats for emphasis.

Killer croc hiccuped at the pats then smirked at you. "What makes ya think yer the only one into this?"

He folded his muscular arms behind his head and arched his back with a big beastly yawn that made his belly stick out more in your face.

That was as subtle a way of telling you to "keep rubbin'" as you were gonna get. So you continued rubbing the stuffed noisy belly of Killer Croc well into the night and beyond.

[impaladolan]

Home Alone - Grayson Dolan

summary: after a long week of work, y/n needs some sort of relaxation and relief. although, her outlook on relieving her frustrations isn’t what grayson had in mind...

warnings: tid bit fluffy, swearing, vibrator use, & smut

a/n: been in my unfinished drafts for a bit..

"Are you sure you don't want to tag along, baby?" Grayson longingly questioned, his brows crinkled and his lips almost forming a pout.

"I haven't been able to do laundry all week. God knows it won't get done unless I do it now." Y/N chuckles, balancing a full basket of freshly dried clothes on her hip, watching her lover wrap his fist around the front door's handle.

Every other weekend, at the Dolan residences, the two brothers, and sometimes their wives, would gather with some of their friends and watch their favorite football teams. And later on, they'd play board games or watch some movies. Normally, Y/N would be the one begging Grayson to hurry up and get ready to attend the biweekly event, except this time.

Y/N has different plans...

It had been a brutal week at work, her boss was currently taking out her "divorce emotions" on her employees and Y/N was getting the rougher end of it. She was relieved when it was finally the weekend and she could stress clean, calm her nerves in some sort of self efficient way and relax after a tough couple days.

She hadn't even had the thought of a sexual release, until she had dreamt multiple naughty scenarios just last night during her deep slumber. She couldn't exactly pinpoint what all she had dreamed, but she remembers waking up with a dripping arousal and a sore ache at her very center. And though her husband was laid right next to her, perfectly capable of satisfying her womanly needs, she decided using other resources would be a better fit.

Don't get her wrong, she loves being pleasured by the only man who knows exactly how to, but she felt embarrassed. She didn't want to come across as a sex-crazed women to Grayson, even though it would never make a difference to him.

They're married, for goodness sake.

"I can stay back and help out. We could even have our own little movie night if you wanted," He began, releasing his hand from the door and taking a few steps toward Y/N, whose lips turned into a cheesy smile as he drew closer to her.

"Just you and me," He took the basket filled with clothes from her hip and set it on the floor, intertwining his large hands with her smaller ones, eliciting a short laugh from Y/N. He brought her closer to his frontside, creating a ballroom dance-like formation and began shuffling around with her in his arms. Like an old married couple, they slowly danced around the room, him twirling her in his grasp while Y/N admirably gazed upon him.

Her cheeks were rosy with admiration, finding his little act of affection adorable. "You get easily distracted, huh?" Y/N grinned, resting her chin happily on his shoulder, his minuscule beard hairs tickling certain parts of her neck.

"Well, you looked too pretty over here by yourself," He softly explained against her ear. "And I wanted to dance around a room with a beautiful woman like you. So, I am." He lowered his hands beneath her and slew her into a romantic dip, planting a sweet kiss upon her lips. She returned one back, feeling her heart grow two sizes larger, much like the Grinch movie portrays, if anything.

"Grayson, I know how much you enjoy football, especially with the boys," She was only making excuses, but he had tempted her to just cuddle on the couch all day and watch plethoras of movies and munch on various snacks. But the low rattle in the depths her core was motioning her in a different way, and she just couldn't survive the rest of the day without fixing her little problem.

"Hmm, you're right. But when I get back, we're ordering take out and watching movies. Got it?" He chuckles, bringing the both of them back up into a standing position.

"M'hm, be safe." Y/N smiles, planting another kiss on her lover's lips before leaving his warmth. She waved goodbye to him as he left their abode, sweetly grinning as she went back to finishing up the laundry before the real reason she was staying home, would begin.

Though the couple's intimate relations seemed innocent and loving, they each had a different side to them, specifically in the bedroom.

The two never shied away from new experiences and would most certainly dabble into different areas of the "sex world," if you will. They, of course, had their preferences and different kinks, but Y/N seemed to be more open and freeing for that sort of stuff.

For the different occasions that they felt a bit more lustful and yearning for one another, they kept a locked trunk of knickknacks in their closet. You see, that's the one Grayson knows about, but Y/N keeps a smaller one, filled to the brim with all of her own toys, in a section of her closet that he never really pays attention to. If he had any idea that she kept self-pleasuring items for her own uses, he'd be absolutely ballistic.

Thankfully, he doesn't...

The moment Y/N threw the last bits of dirty laundry left, into the washer, she practically sprinted to their shared bedroom. After rummaging through the trunk filled with "accessories," she found a nice, pretty pink vibrator to do the trick, as well as a black silk blindfold to shield her own eyes. She was already rid of her clothes and sprawled across the wide bed in an instance, tying the piece of cloth over her eyes. 

Though, unbeknownst to Y/N, Grayson was already on his way back home. As soon as he had pulled into his brother's driveway, they had called to cancel— a certain emergency about something Grayson didn't really pay attention to listen to. He was thrilled that he didn't have to leave Y/N at home, all by herself to do chores all day. And luckily, their houses weren't too far apart from each other, so Grayson was back home within fifteen minutes of leaving it.

He didn't feel the need to text Y/N, she was probably busy anyway and possibly wouldn't respond. He figured she would hear the garage door open and expect that he was already home.

Little does he know...

As soon as he was parked and out of his vehicle, Grayson was trudging down stairs to the laundry room, in search of Y/N. He was surprised that she wasn't there, but he figured she might just be folding on the couch, trying to get ahead on one of the TV series the two were drawn into.

Grayson chuckles as he makes his way back upstairs, though his brows curtly furrow, his ears almost perking at the muffled sounds coming from the hallway.

Their shared room, to be precise.

With a pondering look upon his face, he kicks off his shoes and makes his way towards his bedroom, quietly twisting the door handle and pushing it inward. He opens the door wide enough to secretly look inside, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness that enveloped the entire expanse. The noises he had heard only seconds ago were more prominent, and his eyes had fallen on the object creating the aroused sounds;

Y/N.

She was laid out on their bed, legs wide open and shaking while her hands were constantly pressuring a fucking sex toy against her soaked pussy. Grayson froze, pure anger washing over him and turning his face a turbulent shade of red, washing away his pleasant mood. He almost stormed in there, ready to rip the stupid machine away from her hands and show her what a real orgasm feels like.

But he somehow contained himself, and instead, watched the scene play out in front of his very own eyes, vexation spilling from his entire countenance.

Y/N didn't hear the garage door open and close, or even the beep of Grayson's truck when he locked it.  She hadn't even heard his feet stomping up and down the stairs, or his lingering chuckles. She was so caught up in how she was feeling.

The artificial vibrations that buzzed upon her core made the world around her so euphoric and heavenly. She'd brush the toy upon her clit, forcing her entire body shake with deep pleasure and a soft moan to emit from her mouth. It felt so nice, and she was so close to the brink of releasing.

She was already feeling better, and naughty. If Grayson were to find her this way, masturbating  freely in the open and satisfying herself, she would never live to see another day. But she didn't care at this point, she just wanted to finally cum.

And she was extremely close.

Her hips began to buckle, while her backside rose from the bed and her free hand twisted at the sheets beneath her. "Mm- just a little more—" Her entire core was pulsating, so fucking close to just letting go.

So close..

"Don't fucking cum yet, slut." Grayson's voice boomed throughout the room, making Y/N's movements freeze in terror and shock. Before she could think of some sort of explanation or reasoning as to what she's doing, her blindfold is ripped from her eyes, while the vibrator that was once nuzzled up on her pussy, was taken away as well. Now, she felt so empty and wanting, edged to an almost release.

"Jesus- You're fucking dripping, for fucksake." His tone was harsh, and Y/N felt like crying. She held onto her tears as she watched him examine the drenched vibrator, still buzzing in his hands. Out of the loss of contact, she began to whine, squeezing her thighs together to create at least a little bit of friction.

"Grayson, please—" She began to huff, but her shuttering voice was interrupted by the aggravated man pacing in front of her.

"I don't think I fucking asked you to talk, did I?" He glared at her, though just the sight of Y/N's exposed body made him shudder with a tinge of want.

Against his wishes, Y/N continued her whines, her breathing still ragged and finally her own hand traveling down to her soaked heat. She didn't care if she'd be in more trouble, she just needed to unravel the knot inside her, whether she'd pay for that mistake later or if not.

She didn't get far, because Grayson caught her wrist before it made it all the way down to her center, and brought it up to the headboard. He wrapped a leather strip around both of her wrists, mumbling incoherent spews of anger, doing the same with her ankles against the bedposts.

"I-I, I thought you were gonna watch football.." She began, but a low growl sounded from Grayson, and the blindfold was placed back over her eyes, while a different type of cloth was shoved in her mouth. Y/N feels the numbing slap across her thigh before hearing the connection's sound, an exasperated scream muffling out of her filled mouth.

"I'd stop talking if I were you. Unless you want to be choked by Daddy’s fucking cock, darling." His voice rattled her insides, and she dared not to make another sound, already dug far too deep in a hole anyway. "Get ready princess, m'gonna edge the fuck out of you. Maybe then, you'll remember to ask me for permission to use your fucking toys." His voice soon faded from her ears as a higher vibration than before was nudged right up against her swollen clit, making her figure convulse in imploding pleasure.

It took an entire hour for Grayson to edge Y/N twelve fucking times. She was a mess, sweat droplets dotting her hairline while her pussy remained in slippery shambles. He didn't say a word, and Y/N held her tongue from shouting profanities after the several losses of contact. She hadn't came yet, but if she didn't soon— she would find a way to get out of her restraints and finish off what she had started herself.

It had been several minutes since Grayson had pulled her to the brink of an orgasm, and she was starting to think that he'd never come back. She had heard the sound of a zipper earlier, and she couldn't tell if he was doing something to ease his own pain while she laid there, so high strung and breathless. She was about to call out his name, but the warmth of his tongue wrapped around her bundle of nerves and she let out an exasperated sigh, pulling on the cuffs tied around her wrists.

He slipped his tongue in skillful motions, his hands pushing up underneath her thighs as he lapped up her liquids. Y/N was so sensitive to touch, anything that remotely stroked her could heighten her arousal and make her lust for more.

Within seconds, her hips were shaking and her back arched above the mattress, her toes curling under the pressure. And his voice finally sang the heavenly words she had been waiting for the entire time;

"Cum, princess."

Y/N released all over his lips, a high-pitched scream sounding from her mouth as she finally unravels, her legs bucking against their restraints. She spits out the cloth from her mouth and heavily breathes, murmuring praises to the man between her legs.

"I'm sorry, Grayson."

a/n: did this completely suck? i haven’t really written in third person in awhile, so i need honest opinions..

[shorkbrian]

I wasn’t sure where to go with this, I’ve never dabbled in microphilia but I have been THINKING

(Warnings - obvs microphilia, very NSFW, unsafe sex, noncon. pls do not read if any of the squicks you out)

so like tinker bell quirk? You is small, maybe like the size of a hand (6-7 inches mebbe?). You can turn small for 2-3 hours at the most, but depending on your energy level you’ll stay small no matter what (even if you want to be big) for like an hour. It’s inconvenient in fights, and you wish you were able to turn small AND big at will, but it is what it is.

So I can really only see Bakugou being this depraved (You’re right about Kiri having big thicc balls, but he wouldn’t be this mean). Bakugou would catch you during moments where you were stuck waiting to turn big again, tucked into a corner, hiding away in your room after training - it’s not like you can hangout with everyone or study when you’re this small.

He’s attentive, and since his focus is almost always on you, so it’s impossible to sneak away without him noticing. He’ll go looking for you, searching in corners and small places you might’ve scurried off to. When he finds you, you’re getting snatched up immediately.

The first time it had happened, you’d screamed loud enough to make Bakugou flinch. It was useless, the man only had to threaten to squish you under his shoes if you didn’t behave to make you go quiet as a mouse. You had to do whatever he said.

And Bakugou made it clear; If you refused him, there’d be hell to pay. Would you like to get tossed into a washing machine, with no way out, just waiting to get big again? It’d hurt when you did, all scrunched up in the now too-small machine, waiting for someone to come along and help you out. Or maybe you’d wanna get locked in a freezer, turned into a popsicle for him to suck on?

At least he hadn’t threatened to flush you down a toilet yet.

He whisks you away to his room, stuffing you in his pants pocket if he passes anyone in the halls.

Once in his room, Bakugou isn’t afraid to get creative in how he uses you. Because, well, he doesn’t give you a choice in anything, and you’re only there to serve one purpose to him. You’re there to get him off.

Maybe he’ll sit down at his desk, get all his things out so he can study, then cruelly shove you down into his sweaty boxers. It’s dark, musky, and it smells gross, plus you’re pressed up against his half-hard dick. You cry the first couple of times. Bakugou just pats his crotch (you’re buried in there somewhere, he knows) and tells you to shut up and get to work.

It’s impossible to get him off like that.

Sometimes, he’ll strip completely, lay down on his bed, and drop you onto his chest. As you stand and try to get your bearings, he's pushing you with his middle finger down towards where his dick lies hot and heavy against his belly button. You’re instructed to suck him off - well, essentially just lick and drool and fondle his giant dick with your tiny body. If he’s feeling especially mean, he’ll bark at you to take off your clothes, then pick you up and place you on the flat underside of his dick, holding the tip down with his hand - tells you to rub yourself off on him. It’s humiliating.

Worse is when he deposits you onto his desk, strips out of only his pants, and stays standing. The desk is at the prefect height for him to use his cock to mess around with your small size. He uses his dick to push you around, makes you wrap your hands around him and vigorously jerk him off. Makes you play with his balls too, sits them down onto the desk top and instructs you to give ‘em some love.

You didn’t know what he wanted you to do the first time, so you got a vicious pinch to your ass that you swore left permanent damage. Bakugou wanted you to slobber all over them, push and pull with your hands, slide over them, even get up and try to walk around over them, whatever. Just something. The man wanted stimulation.

Because honestly? He’s not super interested in getting off when you’re this size. Even when you’re regular sized, he isn’t desperate to cum. No, for Bakugou, it’s more about the feeling of power he gets. You’re so small and helpless, he feels like a god when you scurry around, trying to achieve whatever he commands. It’s how obviously humiliated you get whenever he makes you do something - that’s what gets him going.

A couple of times he’s even told you to lay down near the edge of the desk, just so he could gently drop his ballsack on you, watch you almost disappear underneath it. He’d laughed at that.

Bakugou plays with you until you turn big again. 

Once you’re big, that's when he finally gets his rocks off, tired of being edged for however long you’ve been small. He wants to cum, and you’re gonna get him there.

He always ends up fucking you, because even when you're “big”, compared to Bakugou, you’re still tiny. His cock makes your tummy bulge out on each thrust, and he presses his thumbs over it while he holds you by the waist. It’s his favorite.

The man has only blown his load when you were itty-bitty once. You had been suckling on the head of his cock, laving over the tip, sinking your tongue deep into his urethra. You had pulled back, decided to be mean for once, and boldly lined up your entire arm with his slit. You had seen porn - men had plus that they shoved in here all the time, right?

Bakugou’s rough, hoarse shout when you shoved your arm inside him was satisfying. It was less satisfying when he pulled back, and your arm fell out of slit covered in precum. Apparently, the shout had been one of pained pleasure, not pure pain like you had hoped.

It was disgusting when his hand flew to his cock, stroking at it furiously as it began spurting out thick cum. The liquid splashed all over you, and at your current size, you almost drowned. It was horrifying. You choked on the amount that shot into your mouth, crying at the taste and viscosity. it settled low in your stomach.

After Bakugou finished cumming his brains out, he smirked down at you, slipping and falling and crying in a puddle of his cum. He was always nice enough to only cum when you were big, were you trying to change that?

You begged him to keep it that way.

So Bakugou only came when you were your regular size. Unfortunately, he never pulled out, too caught up in seeing the way your body stretched and bulged when he filled you up with his thick seed.

He never offered to clean you up, or even help you cum. This was all for his pleasure, and you couldn’t do a thing about it. It was awful.

You could only throw on some clothes, waddle to your room, and cry as you cleaned his cum out of you in the shower.

And if you got yourself off after that, frustrated by Bakugou’s refusal to make you cum while he violated you? That was between you and your showerhead.

You knew it would happen all over again tomorrow, might as well relieve some tension now.

[skellebonez]

SO, remember that thing you wrote a while back, about Monkey King and Mk time traveling back to the JTTW time period?

Link to said thing: https://skellebonez.tumblr.com/post/647766968590581760/18-for-present-wukong-and-mk-to-accidentally-time

THIS? RIGHT WELL, I HAVE HAD IT OPEN IN MY TABS FOR A REALLY LONG TIME AND WOULD LIKE TO GIVE YOU AN OPENING TO CONTINUE WITH IT IF YOU'D LIKE: PROMPTS 34 and 41

So. Time travel is funky. This is set post-Special, immediately pre-season 2. But has spoilers for events up to S2E7. For reasons. Side bar: sometimes time travel comes with some fun side effects. Fun for the viewer. Less fun for the people experiencing them.

Truth be told, I forgot they were even here./Can you teach me how to do that?

"Won't this cause some kind of... I-I dunno, time paradox?" MK asked in a harsh whisper as they followed the traveling group at the back of the line. "Or is this gonna be some kind of 'you changed one thing and now two timelines exist' kind of deal?"

"I genuinely have no idea," Wukong said with a sigh, digging at the uncomfortable but familiar feeling in his ear and trying to keep his voice down as much as possible. He was honestly surprised that it had taken MK this long to ask this particular question, but then again... they had other things to worry about. "I don't remember this, but that may not even matter. I've around for centuries, Bud, but even I have no idea how thing works for us."

"That is not a comforting sentence."

It had been a little over two days since the mentor and student had found themselves thrown backwards in time a few centuries away from home. And Sun Wukong could tell that MK was starting to get more and more frustrated as time had gone on. To be fair, they had made little progress. And there was... another reason... multiple other reasons. But most importantly, there wasn't exactly a power source they could plug the machine into that would give them enough juice to send them home, at least not unless they chance by a demon with lightning powers that Wukong didn't remember. No, instead they had to wait until they hit a storm.

One that was more than another two days walk away.

The young man did his best to not let it show, however. Most likely because of who they were traveling with.

His younger self lead the group, pointedly not looking back at them and keeping a watchful eye for demons that the elder Wukong knew would not come. He dared not bring this knowledge up, though, not knowing if MK had a point about that paradox. He didn't seem to trust the completely, but there was someone else he trusted.

Behind him was his former Master. The monk Tripitaka, Tang Sanzang himself, on the back of the horse formed dragon Bai Long Ma. Bai Long Ma had said nothing, as they were wont to do, and seemed to mostly ignore the two of them unless they were loud. Mast- Sanzang. He had insisted that the elder Wukong and MK call him Sanzang. Probably to help differentiate who was speaking to him if he could not see the two immortal monkeys, and also because MK kept trying to figure out which title to use for the monk and he took pity on him. Sanzang, after a hour's long explanation and from proof via MK's phone and knowledge of past adventures none should know of (and one very interesting game of staff trading between the two monkeys for a moment where the younger Wukong realized it was indeed the same staff).

Sanzang had not mentioned his crying when they met. Neither had his younger self. Or MK.

Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing took up the rear. Wujing had not said much to the two of them, but he was nice enough. Suspicious of them, but nice. He put more faith in Sanzang and younger Wukong (perhaps he should call him something else in his head) than his companion.

Bajie didn't trust them as far as he could throw them, that was clear from the way he kept glancing back at the duo with daggers in his eyes. He was immediately unhappy with their new travel companions and... Wukong realized with a sad jolt that he actually missed that. At the time he only found Bajie's contrary nature to his own to be frustrating but now... now he hadn't heard that in 500 years and he could see that while it may have been misguided at times (many times) it was born of a sense of self preservation and a want to protest Sanzang.

Even if he contradicted himself at times as well.

"You two doing ok back there, older me and Kid?" Younger Wukong called back suddenly.

"Yup, just. Hanging." MK yelled back, tone as terse and done as it had been for the last day. "Not like I can do anything else." The second bit was muttered under his breathe, most likely in the hopes even his mentor couldn't hear him. He was wrong.

Wukong felt... bad. Because he was the primary source of this rotten mood.

The staff digging into his ear for the first time in centuries was a reminder of that. An agreement between himself and his student to not bring up any undue suspicion and questions that would take time they may not have to get back home. They'd agreed that the group would also call him Kid, since MK wasn't as fond of the others calling him Bud for some reason, and the name was just... a smidgen to close to Monkey King to not raise similar questions. It was also a reminder that Wukong had let slip in a follow up conversation, away from prying ears, about why this may or may not be really necessary that he had planned to leave the next day in present time.

MK hadn't been happy since. Not with him at least.

"Bajie, remember to ask them how they are doing from time to time. Please?" Sanzang insisted in front of them.

"Truth be told, I forgot they were even here," Bajie lied.

~

Bajie glowered down at Wukong, throwing the fruit and wrapped rice packages in his general direction and not caring whether he caught it or not. There was a soft and disappointed cry of his name from Sanzang from the other side of the camp.

"Master and the stupid Monkey may trust you," he snorted, ignoring the call and looking between Wukong and MK. "But I don't. If you even so much as set one little toe out of like I will re-"

"Rend our souls asunder with your mighty 9 Toothed Rake, yeah," MK sighed as he used some of the water from his cup to wash the berries thrown at him. "You're Zhu Ganglie, Zhu Bajie, Tiānpéng Yuánshuài, commander-in-chief of 80,000 Heavenly Navy Soldiers. You will kick our asses. We know."

For a whole second Zhu Bajie looked genuinely surprised and... kind of impressed.

Then he scoffed again and made his way back to the group of five and watched them from the edges of his vision with less suspicion and more curiosity than before.

"Mei was right when she said he was kind of like Pigsy," MK noted, popping a berry into his mouth.

"When was that?" Wukong asked, doing much the same.

His student froze, looking down at his hands for a moment as if trying to remember something. "... not important. Let's just eat and get some rest, like Sanzang told us to."

It didn't take a Great Sage to realize something was wrong.

Wukong said nothing.

~

"Kid, we told you to stay back with Master!" Wujing shouted as MK peaked his head around the rock he and the monk were taking shelter behind.

"I know!" MK snapped, growling as he ducked back down and presumably curled in on himself. "ARGH I feel useless!"

Wukong winced at his tone, feeling bad. MK wasn't useless, to be fair, but without his staff and no backup weapons he was fighting up a creek without a paddle as it were.

"You're not useless, and you're protecting Tripitaka!" He shouted, letting out a yelp as he narrowly avoided a hit from a demon that should not even be here. Or, some kind of time anomaly mockery of a large demon. An enormous smoke or shadow creature that was far too familiar for his own liking. Not the same, something possibly cobbled together from time itself.

"Wow, uh, future me you're not doing so hot!" Younger Wukong said with a raise of his eyebrow as he blocked a strike with much more ease. "Aren't I supposed to get better with age? Like a handsome fine wine?"

"I'm a bit RUSTY ok!?" He snapped, slicing off one of the shadow creature's cloth tassels to watch it flicker away. "Haven't been many demons to fight!"

He heard a scoff from behind the rock before he felt the giant fist punch him into it. And through it. A Wukong sized hole between student and old master. He realized too late that he had lost his grip on his staff as it flew into the air above them.

"Alright, that's enough!"MK shouted, and before Wukong could even move to stop him the Monkie Kid had jumped into the rock and reached up.

"KID DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH!?" Bajie shouted in horror as he made to rush back and tackle him out of the way. He hadn't moved fast enough either.

None of them had, before MK caught the staff as if it was as light as a feather and twirled it around himself before extending it and launching himself at the shadow creature with a scream of rage and frustration and landing what would have been the killing blow had it not clearly been something not living in the first place.

It dissipated much as the piece cut off before it did, leaving MK to... give a confused yelp and fall into a heap on the ground. The staff fell to his side as he clutched his head and yelled in pain from a source Wukong could not see.

"Kid!" Wukong screamed, moving faster than he had during the entire fight to his student's side. "Kid, shit, MK! What happened?"

"MK?" Sanzang and his younger self asked softly in tandem as Wujing and Bajie watched on, all moving closer. But not too close, giving the two room to move.

MK didn't answer. He sat up, holding his head in his hands as he breathed deeply and tried to keep from screaming again before everything just... stopped.

His sat on his knees, hand hanging limply at his sides as his true sight shone in his eyes and he looked on forward blankly.

"What's... who is he?" Younger Wukong asked slowly as he turned to his older self. "What is he?"

"The Hero and the Warrior were like the Sun and the Moon..." MK muttered softly all of a sudden, just loud enough for the group surrounding him. His voice was slurred, almost like he was in a trance. "Their light a protective glow shining upon the world..."

"MK, where did you-" Wukong tried to ask instead of answering his younger self as he slowly stepped forward, cautiously, but MK continued on as if he had not heard him at all.

"Together there was nothing that could stop the two of them. Either in the Celestial Realms... or on Earth. As time went on, the Hero attained power beyond comprehension. As the Hero's light grew so too did his shadow and soon the Warrior was cast in that shadow. In the darkness, the Warrior was forgotten by the Hero..."

MK immediately slumped forward as he fell unconscious.

"MK!"

~

"His name is MK... and he's the Monkie Kid... My successor," Wukong finished as he laid a fresh cold wet cloth over his student's forehead. After he had collapsed it became obvious something was seriously wrong with MK, high fever burning him up quickly. They were only just close enough to a town for him to grab him and the staff and rush off with barely a shouted back explanation of "find us at the inn" to the rest of their group. "We thought that... keeping that a secret might prevent any kind of... weird time travel... stuff."

Wukong sighed. His explanation was weak even to his own ears. Excuses. Ways to make things easier for him.

He felt worse than he had just the day before.

His student laid unconscious still, fever burning even after the medicine from the town doctor had been given to him with water carefully. The only thing Wukong could think of was the staff. MK wasn't invincible like he was, maybe contact with it had caused a reaction from the time travel that couldn't affect the immortal.

"Why would you need a successor, Wukong?" Sanzang asked after they sat in silence for a moment.

Bajie handed Wukong the mortar and pestle he had been working with to prepare more medicine, something to add to tea when MK woke up. The pig demon had not questioned him once since they arrived, only grabbed what Wukong was trying to mix poorly himself and listened.

Bai Long Ma had changed into a human form, one he had rarely seen, and sat beside Wujing. They both also listened.

His younger self looked at MK in a mix of wonder and confusion and horror and Wukong could not blame him. The idea of a successor... he must have known himself what that meant even if no one else did.

"I hope I don't have to tell you," he said softly. He didn't look away from MK, even as Sanzang laid a comforting hand on his back. "And I don't want to risk what telling you might do..."

No one questioned him after that.

When Bajie prepared the next bowl of medicine for MK, Wukong took a chance he never had with the demon he once considered like his brother.

"Can you teach me how to do that? Properly?"

Bajie did.

~

"Monkey King?" Came the hoarse rasp of MK's voice ringing through the room, and Wukong shot up from where he was watching the stars in an instant.

"I'm here, MK," He said softly, still soft, not wanting to hurt his student in case hie head ached. "How do you feel?"

"Dead, but only from the neck up," MK groaned out, and Wukong let out a relieved sigh. He wasn't sick enough to not joke around at least. "Where are we?"

"The town we need to be in," Wukong answered, quickly working on adding the medicine into some now (sadly) cold tea. He had hoped MK would wake much sooner. "Storm is tonight... you've been asleep for a whole day. Hopefully getting you home with this medicine in you will make you feel better, you uh... you weren't doing so great before-"

"What happened to Macaque?" MK asked suddenly, looking for all the world like he had no idea why he would even ask that question to begin with. "Not the battle your younger you had. Before that. In the story. Sun and Moon. Please, I... I want to know. Just... just tell me something, for once."

Wukong froze, fur bristling and stiff and this was not the conversation he wanted to have with his student right now. This is not the conversation he should be able to physically have with his student right now because MK should have no way of knowing anything like this at all. But he had. He'd recited the story he'd heard before word for word from... Macaque.

This was not the time for easy outs. Not anymore.

"I've made a lot of mistake, MK," He started, lifting his student's head onto his lap to help him sit up for the drink. "And a lot of them are ones I didn't think you would have to know about. But Macaque... it's complicated, I know that now. I didn't back then."

MK sipped the tea but said nothing, only made a face at the taste of the medicine.

"We were friends, once. Back on Mount Huaguo before I went to the Celestial Realm, he became immortal in... other ways to my own. I was trapped for 500 years under a mountain without him, no one came to see me so... I guess he was never able to find me. Or he waited thinking I would eventually come back," Wukong tried not to think about how that meant he could have had trust in his friend and not for other reasons he had assumed for so long. "You know the story of the White Bone Spirit from our journey? How Bajie got me banished?"

Wukong couldn't help but chuckle. Oh, he'd been so mad at Bajie for so long for that. He still was, in many ways. But given what happened to him later on in the journey Wukong couldn't hold a grudge.

"Yeah you-" MK coughed a little, probably from not talking for a whole day and a sore throat. "You went back to Mount Huaguo."

"And to Macaque," Wukong continued. "For the first time in 500 years."

"I bet he was angry."

"No..." Wukong disagreed, shaking his head and thinking back. "No, he... wasn't. Not at first. He was ecstatic I came back. The Hero and Warrior of Mount Huaguo back together again, just like old times. But it wasn't like old times. I was already different, I knew how I treated others including the monkeys on my mountain hadn't been the best. And when Bajie came to bring me back... I couldn't help but wanting to leave back to the journey. Part of it was to get the fillet off, but part of it was because... I realized I cared for the others. I wanted to see the journey through with them."

"Macaque thought you were abandoning him," MK said after a moment, eyes widening. "That's why he took on your identity. He wanted... revenge? For you to have no reason to leave again?"

"I think he just wanted what we used to have," Wukong said with a frown. "I've been running from him for so long... over another 500 years. I've made so many mistakes in my life MK, but I think not trying to get him to come with us or trying to properly explain what I was doing... may have been the worst."

"... The warrior was never forgotten by the Hero after all," MK said softly before drifting back to sleep.

"No," Wukong agreed, though he knew he was not heard. "No, the Hero never forgot. The Hero never will, not completely. Even if it hurts."

~

The storm came on schedule. The machine was charged.

Over the day they came back their memories of the trip back in time faded into a distant thought, one that both mentor and student soon forgot to fear the loss of.

By the next day they had forgotten. Time had fixed itself.

But not completely.

The Hero never forgot completely, after all. There was something telling him in the back of his mind to check more on his student. He remembered a hand on his back that should not have been there. He knew how to mix something he never had before.

Neither did the Warrior, uninvolved in this adventure as he may be. He had plans.

And the one between them, with no title to himself, didn't completely forget either. He recalled feeling warm and safe. His head was on someone's lap. There were berries and someone not unlike one of his father figures.

The memories of what happened lingered, quiet, uncalled but emotions still there.

A short time later the one between felt that a play he went to was strangely familiar to him and needed to rush out before his head began to ache in memories he didn't recall.

"So um... what happened to him? The Warrior?"

The answer was somewhere in the back of his mind. If only he could remember.