#twitch con 2024

[sprinklesharkie]

JOEL AND HIS TINY ETHO

[powcreations]

❗️THE PIRATES SMP PANEL STARTS IN AN HOUR AND A HALF❗️

We're extremely excited to see you all there!

If you're watching at home, the panel should be live on the link below vvv

[xavierrayblog]

We here at Twitchcon!! 😊😊

[mrkapao]

Your Toy Boyz are back from SDCC 2024! So that means it's time to get your toy news on 'TOYZILLA LIVE!' with MrKaPao and Dahveed!

Get your weekly dose of toy talk LIVE on TWITCH (www.twitch.tv/toyzillanetwork) at 6PM PST!

[konigsblog]

OCTOBER 2ND — RAPIST!SIMON. You should've known better. Walking around with an ass like that in such a skimpy, revealing dress... What were you thinking?

2024 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. (DAY 2)

TW/CW: NON-CON.

Prey. Simon couldn't hold back on his selfish, abhorrent urges. You were a sight for sore eyes, drunkenly stumbling out of a pub all alone with no-one to shield or guard you, your tiny and skimpy dress exposing and revealing your soft, addictive body. You could feel Manchester's harsh, bitter wind against your skin, raising goosebumps on the surface. You winced with each dreadful step as you weakly wandered through the city, your vision quickly becoming impaired, worsening with the toxicity of the drinks. Therapy wasn't enough for someone as debauched and ill as Simon. He couldn't pry his watchful and predatory gaze from your weak and confused figure, the depraved voice in his rotten mind only encouraging him. Go on, Simon. This is your only opportunity...

Control, something he yearned for, desperately tried to grab a hold of. His grip was firm on your delicate anmd gentle skin, much softer than his, with scars littering his body. His hold was tight and threatening enough to leave deep, agonising marks. His sinful touch left imprints along your thighs as he pried your legs apart with the intent to violate you with his disturbing desires, with one finger pressed against your lips, slowly wiping a wandering tear away while silencing you with the sheer, brutal size. You winced and cried out, drowned out by the distant traffic noises in the far distance. The intense ache only worsened — intensified, and grew with each deep, relentless thrust. “Filthy slag. You want this. I know it.”

Despite the horrified and intoxicated pleas that dripped from your lips, your cunt only reacted to his actions despite how deranged and immoral they truly were. Simon longed, and dreamt for this moment. Now, here he was, finally taking authority over a vulnerable and drugged woman who was too hypnotised by the alcohol and its effects to defend herself. Helplessly clawing at him for survival through his ruthless attack. He stuck three thick, calloused fingers down your warm and velvety throat, earning himself a broken and mortified gag. Your tight and slick hole oozed around his thick and growing shaft, with pearly drops of your sweet, sweet ecstasy coating him. Oh, it wouldn't hurt to snap a few photographs of your misery, would it?

“You were askin’ for it. Look at the state of you, Doll.” He spat, his eyes darkening and narrowing in on you, admiring the crimson that dripped and rolled down his lengthy cock, the way he speared and prodded you with his twitching and pulsating cock. You trembled violently, with the Autumn rain kissing your cold, bruised skin, slowly washing away his sinful touch and the blood that stained your thighs.

It would be cruel to leave you all alone, bleeding uncontrollably between your filthy, dirty legs in an isolated alleyway, wouldn't it? He'll just take you home, chain you up, and keep you as his own personal meat.

[fear-is-truth]

𐙚 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 ── kyle spencer

℘ ꒰ tags ; mature content. mdni. frankenkyle. fem!reader. somno. dry humping. dub con. thigh fucking ꒱

kinktober day one : somno

KYLE SPENCER is growing increasingly restless. his brow furrows, as something inside him begins to stir — something he doesn’t fully understand. he rolls over, staring at you in the near-darkness and he knows it’s wrong to do this while you’re still asleep, but the thought of waking you makes him hesitate just a second longer. fingers graze lightly on your waist as he takes in the softness of your skin beneath the thin blanket. his touch lingers, testing his own restraint.

he knows he shouldn’t, that this isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen, but the ache in his groin is unbearable. you don’t stir, still sound asleep, chest rising and falling gently under the blankets. kyle lets out a low groan, frustration bubbling up inside him, hand shaking slightly as it moves lower, grazing your thigh.

the image of his cock disappearing in and out of your slippery cunt like a magic trick simply doesn’t leave his mind. a pavlovian response stirs, and his rapidly swelling cock is starting to fill in his pants. even in his resurrected, uncoordinated state, he is hyperaware of your presence — the soft, pillowy feeling of your breasts pressed against him, twin peaks of your nipples poking through the fabric of your shirt is enough to pull a needy whine from his throat.

he’s torn. the rational part of him—the part that knows right from wrong—fights against the primal urge to take what he wants, but it’s so hard to think clearly. his mind is foggy, jumbled, and the sensation of your skin under his hand makes it worse. he doesn’t want to wake you up, doesn’t want you to see him like this—desperate, confused, out of control—but he can’t stop himself.

clumsy fingers grip at the bedsheets, twitching with the urge to feel you. slowly, kyle’s hand creeps down your body, grazing your bare leg. when he reaches the hem of your booty shorts, a low grunt escapes him as the uncomfortable pressure of his pants grew.

then he gets an idea.

hands fumble the band of his pajama bottoms, a few frustrated noises before successfully tugging it alongside his boxers down to his thighs. his angry, stiff cock spring up and hits against his stomach. carefully, he slots his shaft into the space between your thighs, relishing in the heat of your still-clothed cunt. he starts grinding against you, the leaking precum from his tip slicking your thighs. hips rutting like a dog in heat, his movements become a bit rougher now, less controlled, but still trying to be gentle. the mattress creaks underneath, and you’re squirming and making soft little noises which only pushes him off the edge.

it isn’t until the next morning when you discovered your soaked panties that you realised what might have happened.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (x)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, conventions, mediums,

A/N: this chapter is 9k words long. next one? who knows.

Previous part || Series masterlist

The stupid cat is plotting something. 

There’s no outwardly indication but the vibes are there. She’s evil. Plotting comes with the gig.

Bucky knows this, accepts this, but refuses to bow to tyranny.

She stands in his doorway. Unmoving. Unblinking. Blocking his exit like she pays rent.

She takes a slow, calculated step forward. A warning.

He blocks the doorway. A counter-threat.

She glares at him. He’s fairly certain he’s going to be late to meet you, because Bucky, never one to pick his battles wisely, glares back.

It’s a western standoff.

There is no reason she should be sauntering into his room the second he has to leave. None. Therefore, it would be wise to assume she has untoward ambitions. 

“What are your intentions?” he asks.

Alpine narrows her eyes.

His phone buzzes. Another missed call. 

Fifteen minutes late.

Bucky does not have time for this.

She knows he does not have time for this.

She takes a daring step forward. He steps back, blocking the doorway.

"Do not rip my pillows again," he warns. "I made you a scratch post. Use that. Or I will drop you fifteen miles away from the house."

She blinks at him, slow and deliberate. He swears she scoffs, but at this point he’s not convinced whether it’s the confirmation bias of you telling him she can speak because she was hexed, or that he was losing his mind. 

His fingers twitch at his sides.

The second he takes a step over her, she immediately brushes past him, slipping into his room like she was just waiting for an opening.

Bucky turns around just in time to see her jump onto his bed. Like she owns the place. 

Like she won.

The door slams behind him, cutting off his irritated growl.

The hotel is overrun.

The lobby? Packed. The hallways? Worse. 

Every inch of this place is crawling with ghost enthusiasts, cryptid fanatics, and people who are way too comfortable walking around in full Victorian mourning attire.

A few months ago, Bucky would say that he hates it here. Now he’s grown a sort of indifference to it all. Begrudging acceptance, even. 

But it doesn’t help that he and you are stuck there for two days, thanks to Maya “Budget Cuts” Reyes, who apparently decided that ParaCon didn’t warrant separate accommodations. 

Bucky’s grateful that at least you had different rooms, because can’t imagine how you were going to be after hanging around a convention full of people who were furthering your agenda. 

He wonders if you know there are two rooms booked, considering that you’ve plowed your way into his instead of going to yours, which was literally across the hall from him. 

“This is so exciting,” you say, flopping dramatically onto his bed.

He supposes this is where Alpine gets it from. 

Bucky, standing in the doorway, stares at the strange hotel decor and the suspicious stain on the carpet.

“This is hell,” he corrects. “And you’re in my room.” 

You wave a dismissive hand. “You’ve survived worse.”

He drops his bag onto the nearest chair, then holds up the massive brochure he had thrust into his hand in the lobby the second he entered. 

PARANORMALCON 2024: EXHIBITS, PANELS, AND SPECIAL GUESTS!

“Give me a rundown,” he says, flipping through the pages, scanning the many pictures and standard haunted font. 

You stretch out on his bed but he’s already gotten over it, phone out as you scroll through the con schedule. “Alright, so there’s three main areas. The exhibit hall where we’ve got cursed artifacts and overpriced ghost-hunting gear. The panel rooms where people talk about their haunted houses, near-death experiences, or whatever. And the main stage, which is where they do the big interviews, and stuff.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, processing the information. “And is there any particular reason they decided to hold it in the dead of the night instead of the day like normal fucking people?”

“Witching hours, Barnes,” you tsk. “It’s a paranormal convention. You gotta commit to the bit.”

Decidedly terrible. 

“We’re also live streaming for both days, so we gotta hit all the big stuff. Maya said if we don’t get enough footage, she’s making us do another investigation next week, and I am not getting locked in another basement with you.”

Bucky’s lip curls up inadvertently at the four hours you spent blindly stumbling around together after your flashlight ran out of juice. “You think I wanted that?”

“I think you pray every night to get locked in basements with me.” You sit up and grin. “Also, you’re fine with suffering in silence. I, however, am not. We’re making content.”

Bucky does not suffer in silence. His favourite thing to do in the world is whine and bitch. 

“Do I have to be on camera?” 

You squint at him. “One of us has to hold it because I don’t want to freak out a bunch of trigger happy ghost hunters with a floating recording rig, so I guess-”

“I got it,” he interrupts. “I’ll hold it. Love holding cameras. Love it.” 

You raise an eyebrow, but there’s a smile on your face. “I have a feeling you’re gonna have a great two days.”

Bucky doesn’t feel the same, but he doesn’t not feel the same. 

He’s right. Well, half right.  

Bucky knew this was going to be bad.

He did not, however, realize just how bad it could be, considering he’d always skipped out on large conventions and gatherings. Those were more Clint and Sam’s speed.

If he thought the hotel was packed, the convention center is even worse. Crowded hallways, groups of people huddled together, debating ghost sightings and cryptid encounters. There are panels happening in three different rooms, vendor booths stretching as far as the eye can see, and a worrying amount of sage in the air. 

Some guy in a trench coat brushes past, carrying a full-sized Ouija board under his arm like a briefcase.

Bucky holds steadily onto the camera gimbal.

“Welcome to Day One of ParanormalCon!” The announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeakers, followed by a loud screech from the microphone feedback. 

Bucky visibly recoils.

The guy continues regardless, “We have amongst us today enthusiasts of the supernatural, the supernatural themselves. Be sure to check out all the exhibits, the panels, the mystery, and of course, our special guest speakers!”

A wave of polite applause across the convention from whoever was still listening. He’s sure the guy made the announcement hourly. 

Bucky checks to make sure he had fully charged the camera, and checks his pockets for extra SD cards and batteries. 

“Don’t miss our exclusive panel with the author of best-selling ghost erotic novella Ghost Lusters--”

He exhales sharply through his nose, especially considering a copy of the book lay on unread on his nightstand. A very unwanted gift from you, signed and with a note addressed to him on the front page so everyone knew it was his.

“--and, of course, tomorrow’s highly anticipated panel with the stars of The Graveyard Shift, the latest paranormal sensation!”

There’s another round of applause.

Then there’s Bucky.

“What?”

It’s loud. It’s too loud. Several people turn to look.

You make a noise in the back of your throat and step slightly to the left, creating some distance like you don’t know him, still peering into your phone. 

“What do you mean ‘special guests The Graveyard Shift?’” he demands. 

“Hmm, yeah we’re scheduled for a panel discussion,” you correct, not looking up at him.

Bucky turns fully toward you now. “What the hell does that mean?”

You squint at the screen, scrolling through messages. “Apparently that’s why Maya sent us here.”

His stomach drops.

“And when,” he says, voice carefully level, dangerously calm, “was anyone gonna tell me that?”

“Mmm.” You tilt your head. “They weren’t. To me either, apparently, because he didn’t trust me to not tell you. Because then you’d make a run for it.”

Bucky stares.

“Yeah,” you add, scrolling further. “They literally said, ‘Don’t tell Bucky, or he’ll make a run for it.’”

Bucky hisses like a feral cat. “I am not going on that stage.”

Your face pulls into exaggerated shock. “You’re really gonna send me up there alone? In front of a bunch of people who clearly know more than us?”

“Without a doubt.” 

“Wow.” You shake your head, letting the disappointment sink in for all of two seconds before your face resets like nothing happened. “Yeah, no, I figured. I already texted Maya and told her I’d do it by myself.”

Bucky blinks.

“Oh,” he says.

“She wasn’t happy about it.”

“Rarely is, when it comes to me,” he mutters.

“I’m heading down that path too, it seems.” You pocket your phone. “Anyway. Vlog time. This camera should last us the whole day, but you got your phone in case?”

“It’s on 20%.”

“That’s fine, no one’s calling you anyway.” You clap him on the back.

Bucky exhales slowly.

It was going to be a long 2 days. 

The con floor is something out of his nightmares.

People are everywhere, packed shoulder to shoulder, moving in clusters, stopping without warning in the middle of walkways like NPCs with broken pathfinding. Someone in a full Slenderman suit glides past, which is just fantastic.

Bucky follows behind you, camera held up, watching you navigate the space like you were born for this. You’ve got a big smile on your face as you point out artefacts and people with an explanation for each. He may not be the most comfortable but hearing you prattle on about lycanthropy makes it oddly better. 

You move through the crowd easily, glancing between the camera feed and the con map on your phone, while he keeps an eye on the strangest people in the room. Which is most of them.

He doesn’t even mind them. He’s not made one comment so far, which is a personal record.

It’s just that most of them stare at him the second he walks past like he’s got a neon sign hanging above his head pointing out that something is strange about him and his presence. Which could be because he was generally off-putting and weird, but the way they were staring at him makes him believe it was something else entirely. 

"You know, this is kinda fun," you say, stepping around a guy holding up a ‘Bigfoot is My Dad’ sign.

Bucky does not respond.

You laugh, undeterred. “Already got you to one, it’s only a matter of time.”

He hates that you’re right. 

A speaker crackles overhead, making both of you glance up as another announcement rings through the venue.

“Attention attendees! The séance demonstration will begin shortly in Hall C. Please remember- do not antagonize the spirits.”

Bucky stares at the speaker. . “What the hell does that mean?”

You grin. “How does it feel, knowing you could absolutely get possessed in the next twenty-four hours?”

“I’m not joking,” he warns. “If anyone even touches me with an incense stick, I’m leaving.” 

“Good, keep that energy. Makes for a great thumbnail.”

In a split second, you snap a picture. He blinks. 

“I’m keeping this one. You look especially handsome when you’re mad,” you note, observing the picture. “No wonder everyone’s all over you in our comments. I got competition.”

He watches you very calmly stuff your phone back into your pocket and start walking ahead like nothing happened.

For the first time that day, Bucky already knows this is going to piss him off. 

He just doesn’t know how much yet.

“What are we walking toward?” 

“There’s a guy that says he can astral project himself.”

“What?”

“His consciousness leaves his physical body and travels to the astral plane, but in his case, we can actually see his conscience separate from his body.”

“So there’s gonna be two of him?”

“Well, apparently this is just his astrally projected self.”

His eye twitches. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t think his physical body is here,” you say, scanning the crowd ahead.

"His physical body isn't here," he repeats, deadpan.

“Yep.”

“Then how the fuck is he here?”

You grin, already relishing how much this is going to ruin his day.

The crowd is way too excited about this.

You and Bucky push toward the front of the roped-off area, where a dramatic announcer in a cape stands next to a spotlight-covered chair.

Bucky doesn’t like any of this.

“Welcome,” the announcer calls, hands clasped together, “to the extraordinary phenomenon of astral projection!”

People oooh and ahhh. 

“Before we reveal one of nature’s most unexplainable wonders,” the announcer continues, “we ask that you refrain from crossing the barrier. Touching the astral projection is strictly prohibited.”

The spotlight clicks on.

“Behold.” She sweeps an arm toward the display. “Mr. Astro himself.”

A man sits in a chair. Motionless.

Eyes closed. Hands on his thighs. Pale, glowing blue. His skin shimmers faintly under the stage lights, like a goddamn glowstick. He is shirtless but wearing pants, rocking a thick mustache, looking very, very peaceful.

The audience gasps.

Bucky looks around, watching them stare in awe.

He leans closer to you. “What are they all looking at?”

“That,” you whisper.

“What?”

“That he’s astrally projecting.”

Bucky squints. Hard. “Where?”

“Right there,” you say, motioning toward the man. “Can’t you see it?”

Bucky turns, eyes narrowing at the guy. “It’s just a guy sitting in a chair.”

“Exactly.”

Bucky blinks, processing. “What?”

“You see him,” you say, nodding like this is the most profound thing in the world. “Which means you can see his astral projection.”

Bucky’s brain actually stalls.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I see him because he’s right there.”

The guy next to you shushes Bucky loudly.

“This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen,” he whispers aggressively.

“Behold,” the announcer repeats. “His physical body is at home, resting.”

Bucky fucking hates it here.

"Just touch him," he says, voice low and dangerous.

"Sir," an attendant immediately warns, stepping closer, "you are not allowed to touch the astral projection."

Bucky’s head snaps toward him.

"The what?”

“The astral projection,” the attendant repeats. “It is strictly prohibited to make physical contact.”

Bucky looks at the guy. Then at the attendant. Then back at the guy in the chair.

“Just touch him,” Bucky repeats, growing increasingly frustrated. “He’s right there.”

“Sir, you need to move along--”

"Fucking Christ.” Bucky runs a hand down his face, physically forcing himself to walk away before he loses whatever is left of his patience.

As he moves past, the guy cracks one eye open, looking directly at him.

Bucky glares.

The guy closes his eye again.

Bucky exhales violently, one second away from walking into the woods and never returning.

“Good job, Buck,” you say, clapping him on the back. “You totally ruined his astral projection with your bitching.”

“He was sitting there in blue paint like a fucking Avatar, that’s not astral projecti--”

Bucky is still muttering under his breath about Mr. Astro and his bullshit astro body glitter when you drag him toward the vendor booths.

There are stalls selling everything. There’s even a guy doing aura readings in the corner, staring at people way too intensely.

He’s barely recovered from the last stunt when you veer off-course, pausing in front of a booth displaying protection sigils and tattoo designs.

“Oh,” you say, voice casual, flipping through a binder. “Would you ever get a tattoo?”

“No.”

“You answered that real fast.”

“Because it’s a hard no.”

You hum, still flipping through the pages. “What if I designed it?”

“Even more of a no.”

“How rude.”

“Why did you think that would work?” 

“Because,” you say smoothly, “people in love often get tattoos together.”

“Commonly a garbage decision,” he asserts. 

“Speak for yourself.” You scoff. “I’d get this one right now if you agreed.”

He rolls his eyes at the random design you hold up. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You’d actually get a tattoo with me?”

Your eyes barely flick up. “Why is that your question? Why didn’t you question the ‘in love’ part?”

“I’ve developed this thing where I automatically filter out most of the shit you say.”

“Oh, have you? That’s romantic, you know.”

“Give it a rest,” he says, picking up a tattoo design and pretending to be interested in it just to avoid looking at you. “Besides, everyone knows you’re in love with me. No point acknowledging it.”

Your entire face lights up.

“Bzzt, wrong,” you say loudly. “Everyone doesn’t know. Only most people.”

“You better get right on that.”

“I’m trying to get on that but you’re not letting me,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

Bucky looks to the heavens for patience.

“What tattoo do you want to get together?” you push, grinning.

“I don’t.”

“Stick to one answer, you flip-flopping son of a bitch.”

“Fine.” He pauses, then settles on a firm, “No.”

“You hurt me so much every day.” You clutch your chest dramatically. “All I do is be nice to you--”

“You’ve almost broken my window several times.”

“From feral longing. All I do is show you kindness--”

“You tie-dyed my shirt.”

“You have seventy-five black shirts, pick another one and cry about it.”

“Wow,” Bucky deadpans. “Kindness.”

“Just say you don’t want me and put me out of my misery.”

His eyes narrow, instinctively snapping back, “Never said that.”

You stare at him, waiting.

Bucky just stares back, expression unreadable the second it leaves his mouth. 

“Oh my god.” Your mouth drops open when he doesn’t add anything else. “Are you saying I have a chance?”

Bucky turns on his heel and walks away.

“Excuse me?” you yell after him, immediately discarding what you were holding. “Come back here and explain yourself. I love you.”

Bucky walks fast.

You walk faster.

“You know, there’s a playground behind the hotel. Be a big boy and play with the sand instead of my feelings.”

Bucky does not respond. He picks up his pace, determined to lose you in the crowd, but it’s no use.

You’re tenacious. Like a bloodhound. A very annoying, very persistent bloodhound.

“Come here, loverboy,” you yell, finally catching up. “I demand clarity.”

“No.”

“I think you love me.”

Bucky exhales so hard it should’ve put out a small fire.

Before you can continue your line of attack, a voice interrupts.

“Oh, what a tormented aura,” someone says.

Both of you turn toward the source.

A woman sits behind a booth stacked high with charms, protective amulets, and little glass vials of salt. She wears dark clothes, and so much jewelry.

She locks eyes directly with him.

“You,” she says, leaning forward. “You are not alone.”

“Excuse me?”

Her expression darkens. “Something follows you. Always in step.”

“Yeah, can’t you see this pest?” he asks, jutting a thumb towards you.

“You just said you’re in love with me.”

“I did not,” he bites. 

“No. Something not in this realm,” she says, voice low. 

You slowly turn to Bucky. “Oh, this is fun.”

He glares at you. “Shut up.”

The vendor ignores this. She tilts her head, scanning him with an intensity that is deeply uncomfortable.

“They have strong emotions,” she murmurs. “It is almost like torment.”

Bucky’s entire face locks up. “What?”

“You are not the only one carrying your burdens,” she continues. “You have a presence that lingers with you.”

“Holy shit.” You turn to him immediately. “You’re being haunted?”

“I am not.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes wide with delight. “This is the best day of my life.”

“I am not being haunted,” Bucky repeats, teeth clenched.

The vendor nods gravely. “He is.”

Bucky gives her a look.

She does not falter.

You clap your hands together. “I cannot believe you were gonna hide this from me.”

Bucky looks like he wants to walk into traffic.

“Oh, what’s the ghost like?” you ask, practically vibrating. “Is it vengeful? Does it like to follow you around? Does it ever like, I don’t know, whisper ominously in your ear at night?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Do you ever see it?”

Bucky rubs his temples. “I am not talking about this.”

“Oh, you’re absolutely talking about this. I think I deserve to know if my boyfriend is being haunted.”

“Not your boyfriend.”

“You literally just said you wanted me, you-”

“This will protect you,” she says, reaching nto a box and pulls out a small charm. “Twenty dollars.”

Bucky stares at her.

Then at the charm.

Then back at her.

“You should buy it,” you say immediately.

Bucky glares. “I should punch you in the throat.”

“You should absolutely buy it.”

He does not. He turns on his heel and walks away, towards Mr Astro and his not-physically-here body, because he prefers that over feeling very attacked from every direction.

The guy is still sitting in his chair.

Some of the blue near his hairline is smudged off, beads of sweat glistening under the bright stage lights.

He looks mildly uncomfortable.

Bucky, standing a few feet away, free arm crossed over his chest, deeply suspicious, narrows his eyes at him.

The guy cracks one eye open.

Bucky asks wearily, “Do you even want to be here, man?”

The guy shuts his eye again.

_______

Bucky is starting to get tired of people trying to sell him things for his strange aura. 

It’s also nearly midnight, and you’ve been here hours already. He thinks he has seen everything the con has to offer and more. Perhaps he could even skip the next day. 

Which is exactly why you drag him further into the con chaos.

"C’mon, Buck, you’re missing out,” you say, weaving through the crowd like this is your natural habitat.

“I am not missing out,” he mutters. “I’m actively avoiding. There’s a difference.”

You ignore him, because of course you do.

Bucky trudges behind you as he always does.

To the left, there’s a booth with ‘Genuine Werewolf Hair’ in tiny glass jars. Suspicious.

To the right, some dude is holding a full exorcism consultation like it’s a casual business transaction. Deeply concerning.

Ahead, a vendor is selling extremely cursed-looking mirrors, each one labeled with ominous tags like “Do Not Look Into This At Night” and “Object May Contain Attached Entity.”

A guy in a Mothman costume poses for pictures near an exhibit about unsolved disappearances.

And then, of course, there’s the die-hard conspiracy theorists.

Bucky should’ve expected them.

"Oh shit, Bucky, look." You point toward a makeshift stage area, where a man in a wrinkled suit is gesturing dramatically at a whiteboard with a detailed diagram of the moon.

"The moon landing was faked,” he declares, voice booming through a barely functional microphone. “And NASA has been covering it up for decades.”

Bucky’s face twitches.

You immediately pull out your phone. “We’re watching this.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

You both end up standing there for ten full minutes.

It is a mistake.

By minute two, the guy is ranting about shadows and camera angles. By minute five, he’s talking about secret government bases on the dark side of the moon.

By minute eight, he’s making direct eye contact with Bucky.

"You there, sir!" he calls, pointing. “You look like a man who’s seen the truth!”

Bucky stiffens.

“Would you like to share your opinion on NASA’s involvement in the biggest lie in American history?”

Bucky slowly opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Reopens it.

Then at last--

Bucky turns and walks away.

The guy blinks.

You burst into laughter. “Stop, you’re ruining your chance at being on Fox News.”

"You’re the worst person I’ve ever met,” Bucky mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“No, I’m your best friend,” you correct. “And that’s so much worse for you.”

After two hours of wandering the convention floor, being forced to look at ghost-hunting equipment, and listening to the guy in the Mothman suit explain his spiritual connection to the cryptid, Bucky grows sort of interested. Which is worse than actually being done. 

You're thriving.

"Alright," you say, scrolling through the event schedule. "We’ve still got some time before we have to stream at the main stage, so where do you wanna go next?”

Bucky looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You think I wanna go anywhere?”

"You haven’t left yet, have you?” you challenge, still looking at your phone. “Alright, well, there’s a panel on spirit photography, a paranormal VR experience-”

“Absolutely not.”

“--or we could go to the past-life regression hypnosis booth.”

Bucky pauses. “What?” 

You grin, flashing him your phone screen. "Says here they’re doing a free group session.”

"Not a chance in hell."

"Oh, come on," you say. "It could be fun. What if we find out you were, like, a 16th-century poet or some shit?"

Bucky stares at you.

"I’ve died before. If I go, it’ll tell me I was me,” he deadpans. 

You scoff. “Okay, but what if it says you were like, a farmer before that?”

"No."

"You are so boring," you groan.

“You just tried to drag me into a fake hypnosis session.”

"The poster says it’s legit scientific!”

“Oh, then by all means, they must be right.”

"You literally came back from the dead and you’re still doubting past lives? You just don't wanna go because you're scared it's gonna say you were a moth or some shit."

Bucky opens his eyes, deadpan, ready to retaliate when a voice interrupts.

“Wait, so you guys really are just like that in real life?”

Both of you turn.

A group of con-goers stands nearby, staring with mild fascination.

You blink. “Us?”

“Oh my,” one of them breathes. “You both are so much worse in real life. We only get the edited version.”

And just like that, it happens.

The first person notices you. Then another. Then another.

It starts as a trickle, just a few curious looks, but then the recognition spreads.

The group grows. People start turning, whispering.

And then, like a goddamn avalanche you’re swarmed.

“Holy shit, are you guys filming right now?”

“Do you guys actually believe in ghosts or is it just for the show?”

“Are you guys dating?”

“Who wins in fights more?”

Bucky clenches his jaw.

You, on the other hand, light up like a fucking Christmas tree.

And then you do the absolute worst thing you could do in this situation.

You start feeding into it.

“Oh, boy do I have answers for you,” you say, grinning. “You wanna know who wins in fights? Me, obviously.”

“That is a fucking lie,” Bucky responds immediately. 

“He’s haunted, by the way,” you tell them.

Bucky’s head snaps toward you. "I am not."

And then your phone buzzes.

And then it keeps buzzing, frequency only increasing until you’re concerned that someone has actually died.

It goes absolutely wild. 

You finally whip it out, holding a hand up to the crowd for a quick pause, turning away for a second to check what the fuck was going on.  

Bucky barely registers it at first, still caught up in his escalating war with the growing crowd who wanted to know whether he actually saw a cryptid or was it just a prank.

But then you freeze. Your entire expression shifts.

Bucky’s brain takes a second to catch up. He sees the way your shoulders stiffen, how your posture goes rigid as you look at your screen.

And then he sees it.

The onslaught of notifications you ignore as your phone screen floods.

Bucky only catches a glimpse of it, but it’s enough.

There’s a headline, all caps, stretched across your phone screen. 

His eyes snap to yours, but you’ve turned on your heel, shoving your way through the crowd.

Bucky reacts immediately. “Wait-”

You don’t answer. You’re already moving fast.

Bucky moves to follow, but the crowd’s already lost one part of the crew, and they certainly were not going to lose the second.  

More people push in, asking questions, talking over each other, swarming.

Bucky grits his teeth.

You disappear into the crowd.

Bucky stares after you, and then at the livestream camera, still rolling.

How the fuck does he turn this shit off. 

It takes ten full minutes for Bucky to dig himself out of this mess.

By the time he manages to break away, there’s already a thread of frustration curling tight in his chest.

The livestream is still running.

Bucky stares at the interface, clicking through random buttons, trying to find the off switch.

The camera flips.

Shit.

Now it's just his face, tired and unimpressed, staring directly into the lens.

He exhales slowly. “Fucking-- whatever.”

He clicks something.

The screen goes black.

After Maya’s third ignored call and just letting his phone die so it would stop buzzing, and after shoving his way past the last group of people still trying to ask him questions, he heads straight for the hotel floor.

First he checks his room, but no dice. So he turns his attention to the room across the hall. 

His knuckles rap against the door, firm and quick.

No answer.

He knocks again, harder this time, ears straining to hear any signs of life. 

Then finally, he hears footsteps. The faint shuffle of movement before the door unlocks and swings open.

You stand there, leaning against the frame, already out of the clothes you wore to the con. 

Expression calm. A little tired. But you look fine.

Bucky doesn’t say anything right away. Just scans your face, looking for something, anything.

“You okay?” he asks finally.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

He doesn't know how he knows, and quite frankly, why it’s a bone-feeling when a few months ago, he didn’t even know who you are- but he can tell the answer is too easy. It’s too quick.

Bucky doesn’t quite believe you. But he doesn’t push.

“Alright.”

You shrug, stepping back inside. “Maya’s freaking out.”

Bucky exhales through his nose. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

You shuffle, throwing yourself onto the bed. “Shit happens,” you mutter. “It’s whatever. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

There’s a part of him that wants to call bullshit.

Wants to ask questions, press for details, push until you actually say what’s on your mind.

But he doesn’t.

So instead-  

“Alright,” he says again, turning to leave. “Get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, already pulling the blankets over you. “You too.”

He hesitates at the door, but you’ve turned away from him.  

So he just leaves. 

Bucky doesn’t sleep.

He remembers the trials by court and media, remembers how anything he did made headlines for month. It was easier to slink back and stay away from people than to feel like he had to justify every move he made in public. 

Every new discovery in court of leaked Hydra documents, of testimonies from informants, all eager to know exactly what had happened to him, what he had done as if he wasn’t a fucking person. Like he didn’t have a right to keep some things to himself. Like he was just a stone-cold, barren cadaver ready to be dissected. 

He turns in bed, ratty sheets feeling too hot all of a sudden. 

He didn’t want people to talk to him. He doesn’t know if that’s what you want.  He doesn’t want to assume because plenty of people are assuming things on your behalf right now. 

From Buck:

awake?

From Steve:

Are you guys safe?

From Buck:

yeah. we’re at the hotel.

From Steve:

Next steps?

From Buck:

do i just pretend like nothing happened

From Steve:

Is that what you want to do? 

From Buck:

i dont know 

He pauses, letting his fingers hover before he types. 

From Buck:

no 

From Buck:

i dont want to overstep

From Steve:

You’ll know if you are. You know each other.

Bucky swallows back a tightness in his throat.

From Steve:

Let me know how it goes. 

And so he hastily shoots you a text, asking if you're up. 

He waits for a response to  a text that would in any other circumstance have you asking if he was booty calling you. 

The message doesn’t even say delivered. 

It’s past 1am when Bucky’s knocks to your door get no response. 

He presses his ear to the door like before.

There’s nothing, not late night sounds of television, not sheets rustling, no air conditioner hum. 

You’re not in your hotel room.

And you’re not even in his hotel room, which is more worrying than the last.

And so he starts looking.

At first, he thinks maybe you just needed a walk. Something to clear your head. But when he circles the floor twice, the side entrance, the lobby, and there’s still no sign of you. 

He knew you had to be somewhere away from the noise. 

He doubts you’d have gone back to the convention. There was no library in the hotel, he checked. You couldn't have left because he knows you would have told him. 

Right? 

The more he thinks about it, the more the uneasiness settles in because you never actually told him if you’d ever waited to say bye to the places you’d left. 

He shakes it out of his head and instead zeroes in on raking through his memories of the day. 

Any sort of clue, anything about the center, the hotel-- until something finally clicks. 

Bucky cuts through the lot, past the street, toward the small stretch of open space behind the hotel.

An empty playground, just far enough from everything to be quiet.

The cold air of the night does nothing to help soothe the nerves that are building, and the lack of any people around admittedly makes it worse, but he’s daring to hope for once that maybe he’s right, and Steve was right and he knows you enough that--

And there you are.

You’re seated on one end of the old metal see-saw. The only movement around is the slow, steady rhythm of the old metal structure shifting up and down. Except there’s no one on the other end.

You’re moving it with your mind. A small push, just enough to tip your weight, then another to pull yourself back up. A slow, mindless repetition. Like you’re not even thinking about it.

Bucky exhales through his nose. Forces himself to unclench his fists and loosen the tightness in his chest. 

Finally, he steps forward.

You don’t look up. He doesn’t force you to.

Instead, he walks toward the see-saw, before crouching slightly. 

Then, without a word, he presses his palm against the other end and pushes.

The motion is smooth. Subtle.

The second he adds his own force, you slow your own down, letting him take over.

The see-saw goes up and down. And repeats and repeats and repeats. 

It’s quiet for a long time, except for the mechanical whine from the rusted playset. 

“You’re up late,” Bucky says at least.

“I’m always up late,” you reply, voice almost a hum.

“Y’mind?”

You don’t answer right away. Just give a small, half-hearted shrug.

He takes that as permission and keeps his hand pressed to the see-saw, moving it up and down, keeping the motion steady.

A few more beats of silence. He lets it play out the way it wants to.

“I’m fine, you know.” Your voice is carefully even.

Bucky doesn’t respond.

“I mean,” you continue, and then under all the calculated responses, he hears that tiredness he’s been expecting, “I knew this was coming.”

“That what Nat was talking to you about?” he asks. “The other night?”

“Yeah.”

The see-saw creaks softly.

“Yep,” you reply. “She heard from sources that people were looking into it. It was just a matter of when.”

Bucky shifts his weight, keeping the rhythm smooth. “It’ll die down.”

You let out a slow breath.

“After Nat leaked all of SHIELD’s files, it was madness for a while. And look where everyone is now,” he continues.

You glance at him.

Bucky continues to look only at fulcrum, a slight crease between his brows. 

“Did you read it?” you ask, voice quieter now.

“What? The leaked files?”

“The article,” you clarify. “About me.”

Bucky keeps the see-saw moving. Steady.

“No,” he finally admits. 

The seesaw comes to a halt, with you paused in air. 

“You didn’t?”

Bucky avoids your gaze, but answers steadily, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t think you’d want me to.” His fingers press a little harder into the see-saw handle, insistent. “Besides, what’s a fuckin��� article gonna tell me that being stuck with you every day won’t?”

Your lips twitch.

Bucky pulls the see-saw bar back up, watching you lower back down.

When he sneaks a peek at you, there’s a small smile on your face.

When you’re close to the ground, he pushes the handle back down so you’re lifted into the air again.

“Did you read it?” He clears his throat.

“About half.”

“What’d you think?”

You shrug. “It’s all facts. Don’t really have an opinion on it.”

Another long pause. Bucky feels like he should have more to say but he finds his mind blank. 

You push out a slow breath. “Got that panel tomorrow.”

“I remember.”

“Maya texted me. Told me to lay low, stay out of sight till it’s over.” Your lips pull into a straight line.

“What does lay low mean?” Bucky questions, still keeping his focus on the see-saw. 

“No leaving the compound. No interviews, no posting, no official statements, no videos,” you recite, voice dry. “Especially no panel tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, like he already knows where this is going. “But you’re gonna do it anyway.”

There’s a small pause. He wonders if he miscalculated. 

Your voice comes back slightly surprised. “I am.”

“Good.” He nods. “You got no reason to hide.”

“You think so?” you ask, voice lighter now, almost amused.

“Yeah,” Bucky says with no hesitation. “And I hate most of your ideas, so that should tell you something.”

You let out a small laugh.

It’s silent for a while as the see-saw moves up and down, with you seated on one end as Bucky maneuvers it from the other.

“I know what she’s saying is the logical thing to do,” you say eventually. “But I don’t know. I just feel-”

“Trapped,” he says simply.

You swallow the stone in your throat.

Bucky doesn’t look at you when he speaks. Just keeps his hand steady on the bar. 

He knows it’s why you jump from place to place. What happened at the clock tower may have confirmed it, but he’d picked up on every breadcrumb in the last few months whether you’ liked it or not. Why you left when the café lady gave you keys to a home. Why you didn’t like closed doors, routine, time loops. Why you hadn’t picked a new codename even though you’d been here months. Anything that makes you feel like you’re tied down, anything that makes you feel trapped again with no room to breathe.

The see-saw tips slightly.

You let out a long, slow breath.

“I just don’t want to feel the way I used to there,” you admit.

Bucky nods. “I know.”

“Every day was the same. And everything looked the same, and everyone was the same,” you say, voice quieter now. “Staying still leaves you exposed.”

“I know,” Bucky repeats.

“Not everyone does,” you say, staring at the sky. “I don’t leave a place because I don’t like the people there anymore-- but sticking around for too long feels like…”

“Another trap,” he finishes.

You glance at him.

He shrugs. “You got no reason to explain. I get it.”

Except, the reason why he’s stayed at the same place for so long is the same reason you couldn’t. Bucky liked stability. He likes being rooted. 

You exhale a small laugh. “Lived a thousand lives, huh.”

”And then some,” he says, pushing the handle down, slow and deliberate. “Maya’s just another person. Do whatever you want.”

You study him. The way his jaw flexes just slightly, the way his fingers press into the metal bar, like he’s already thinking about what comes next.

“There’s gonna be a lot more eyes on me now.” Your voice is careful, testing. “On you too, you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to end the show.”

“I’m aware,” he says again. “But ‘m fine. Got all these batteries I need to use somehow.”

He lets a hush fall between you as you contemplate your next words. 

“Do you ever get used to it all?”

His grip tightens, just for a second. Then--

“I didn’t.”

It’s a quiet confession. One that sits between you for a moment, stretching out into the cool night air.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s the same for you,” he continues. “You’ll figure it out.” 

Then finally he looks at you.

And he really looks this time. Not just a glance, not just a flicker of acknowledgment, but something that lingers.

Something weighty. It makes your stomach stumble and your breath catch.  

His mouth twitches, just barely. Not a smile, not quite. But close.

“Spotlight looks better on you anyway,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

The morning is quiet.

Not in the world outside, though. The internet is still on fire, messages still flooding in, theories spiraling out of control.

But in the hotel, it’s different.

The air in the room is still. Heavy, like static waiting to shock someone. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, scrolling through nothing, really. You keep opening and closing the same apps, flipping between blank notes and unsent messages.

Bucky watches from where he stands, leaning against the doorframe.

He knows that look. The anticipation before impact.

“You eat yet?” 

You glance at him. “Not hungry.”

He doesn’t push. Just nods. “You will be later.”

Your lips twitch, but no real smile.

Bucky doesn’t like the flatness behind your expression.

But he doesn’t call it out. Not yet.

Instead, he asks, “You sure about this?”  

You look at him. “I don’t really have a choice.”

“You do,” Bucky says, matter-of-fact. “Always do.”

You blink. Like you weren’t expecting that.

Your gaze flickers.

“Yeah,” you say, voice a little softer. “I know. But I feel like I owe it to myself.”

Bucky holds your stare for a second.

He pushes off the doorframe, straightening.

“You got time to kill,” he says. “You should eat something.”

You roll your eyes. “Bucky-

“You should eat something,” he repeats, firmer this time.

A pause.

Then, begrudgingly, you stand.

“Fine,” you mutter. “Whatever. You’re buying.”

“Absolutely not,” he remarks, as if wasn’t fully intending to before you even asked. 

“Dick.”

“You brought me here, you’re paying.”

He lets you lead the way, wait until you’re ahead of him to let out a small flicker of relief. 

_____

The hallways are buzzing.

Everywhere you look people are talking, whispering, staring. Some subtle, some not.

Bucky walks beside you, shoulders squared, pace steady.

The closer you get to the panel, the more the weight in your chest presses down.

It’s not fear. Not exactly.

It’s the knowing.

Knowing the eyes are on you. Knowing the second you step on that stage, this all becomes very real.

“Y’okay?” Bucky asks, voice low.

You exhale slowly. “Yeah.”

“Liar.”

You huff a small laugh.

Even as the crowd thickens, even as you near the panel doors, the noise rising, the air buzzing with anticipation, Bucky keeps a steady pace beside you.

Just in a way that says he’s around.

The second you step into the backstage area, a con staffer immediately moves toward you.

“Hey! Oh, great, you’re here.” They glance behind you, at Bucky, panicked like he wasn’t expecting him. “Is he--”

“Not on the panel,” you say, quick.

Bucky just shrugs. “Not on the panel.”

The staffer nods, relieved. “Okay, cool. Just making sure.”

They move to adjust something on their headset, then glance at you again. “Uh-- how are you feeling?”

“Grand.”

They nod again. “Okay, cool. If you need anything, let us know.”

You give them a smile, and they move away.

Bucky watches you for a long moment.

“What?” you ask, feeling a bit squirmish under the intensity of his stare.

“What?” he asks right back. “Don’t lie about me out there. I’m not haunted.”

“The truth. Got it. So I should say you’re in love with me.”

“You can get your own ride home.” Still, it makes him feel better that you’re still somewhat okay. 

You throw a smile on, shaking the nerves out of your shoulders and standing more straight. “I should go.”

Bucky nods. “See you in a while.”

You take one last breath, and step onto the stage.

The lights are bright.

Clearly, there are more people than had attended the con yesterday because the front row is entirely stuffed with people with mics and notebooks. The seats in the crowd stretch farther than they should, a sea of people watching, waiting. 

The air is thick with attention, the hum of voices settling as the moderator clears their throat and leans into the mic.

You drop into your chair way too casually, tossing a leg over your knee, leaning back with the complete ease of someone who has zero fear.

The moderator glances at you, vaguely unsettled by your energy because they clearly had not prepped for the absolute hellfire that is Maya dealing with a PR nightmare. You had no doubt she had put the fear of God into that man the morning of, vetting and then re-vetting every single syllable that was to come out of his mouth. 

“Well,” he says, clearly trying to find footing. “We, uh-- we’re really excited to have you here, especially after everything that’s been going on.”

You grin. “What’s up?”

The moderator visibly stumbles. “You-- you mean, regarding the article?”

“Oh,” you say. “That. Yeah, wild week.”

He pauses.

“…Yeah?” he tries, attempting to meet you where you are.

You just blink at them. The audience is completely silent.

You shrug. “What about it?”

“Well,” he presses, clearly hoping for something, “given everything it exposed--"

“Sure.”

Another pause.

The moderator glances at his notes, clearly flustered.

“Oh-kay,” the moderator says, regrouping before quickly saying, “You know what, let’s open it up to audience questions.”

A ripple of excitement moves through the crowd as the first person grabs the mic hastily and stands before anyone even gets a chance to fight for it.

“Hey,” they say into the mic, clearly hyped. “Love the show, love your work. Just wanted to ask- does any of this change what you’re doing? Like, do you think your past is gonna affect the future of the show?”

You hum, taking a long break before finally, you go, “Nah.”

Some people in the audience laugh. Others are still unsettled. 

The moderator looks like he’s breaking out into a cold sweat. You don’t even know what he’s so nervous about, unless Maya had held him at gunpoint the night before and threatened him. 

The next question comes.

“So, like, do you- do you regret not saying anything before?”

You tilt your head. Squint at them. “…Saying what?”

“About your past. About everything.”

“Oh.” You pause, nodding thoughtfully. “Nope.”

Maya was going to kill you, you think, unless she didn't die from a hemorrhage. 

Then, someone stands up, clearly a little hesitant. "Okay, so, uh- sorry if this is a weird question, but, like…"

They shift awkwardly.

“Did Bucky know?”

The room stills. Not in a bad way, not tense. Just expectant.

You tilt your head, raising your eyebrows slightly. Like you hadn’t considered that being a question.

“Bucky?” you repeat. 

“Or any of the Avengers really,” he adds quickly.

You reponse comes out slowly as you think, “Well, I don’t want to speak for him-" 

The crowd instead drowns you out immediately. A loud ripple of noise in surprise, excitement, recognition.

You blink, whipping our head to see where their eyes had diverted. 

You snort loudly when the fool steps into view, a scowl on his face and shoulders stiff like he would rather be literally anywhere else. 

“Oh,” you say, leaning back. “Look who decided to show up.”

Bucky doesn’t sit.

Just sweeps the mic off the moderator, turns toward the person who asked the question, and tilts his head slightly.

“Did I know?” he repeats.

They nod.

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah.”

The room buzzes.

He leans into the mic slightly.

“I mean,” he says, flat as anything, “we literally live together. What, you think I found out from Twitter?”

The audience laughs, tension in the room dissolving.

You grin.

The person with the question nods slowly. “Right. That makes sense.”

Bucky hums. Moves the mic away.

Then he reaches down and tugs a chair closer, flipping it around.

“Move, would ya?” he grunts, face slightly flushed. 

You silently move your chair to give him some space. 

He drops into it, not even bothering to look at you.

He doesn’t even say anything else, just sits. 

Close enough that his knee bristles with yours.

“Uh, good morning.” The moderator stares at him, shuffling through cards rapidly as someone hands him another mic. 

“Morning,” Bucky says, voice gruff.

“We weren’t expecting you.”

“I’m in the show too.”

“Well, yes, but-”

“So ask me questions too,” Bucky grunts.

You glance at his knee still touching yours. Then at him, expecting him to pull away.

Instead, Bucky just shifts, adjusting so he’s comfortable.

He doesn’t move away, just sends you a curt nod, clears his throat and looks straight ahead. 

It brings a stupid big grin to your face. 

The whole thing goes by quickly, question after question, answers delivered with just the right balance of stupidity and earnestness. 

Bucky had sat beside you the whole time, occasionally muttering some dry remark into the mic, mostly just letting you take the lead.

Things feel good. Not as heavy as the world did the night before. 

The moment you step off stage, you exhale sharply, shaking out your hands.

“That was fun,” you say.

“For you,” he responds dryly.

“That’s why it was fun.”

You glance at him as you walk, stepping through the side exit toward the quieter halls behind the venue.

People glance your way as you pass. Staff, attendees, lingering eyes that recognize you now.

Bucky doesn’t like that.

Doesn’t like the sharp shift in the air, the new weight of attention that seems to cling to you heavier than before.

But you’re still walking easy. Still comfortable in your own skin.

Not because it surprises him. But because it makes him feel something he can’t quite name. 

He didn’t even think he had feelings like those anymore. It makes him deeply bothered that he doesn’t immediately hate it. 

A staff member nods at you as you pass. "Great panel."

You flash them a grin, throwing up a lazy thumbs-up. "Hell yeah, it was."

Bucky shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. "You're insufferable."

"You love it."

"Not even a little."

"Liar."

Bucky doesn't immediately deny it.

He just keeps walking.

You catch it, smirking slightly but let it slide.

A few more turns, and the noise of the main venue fades into a distant hum.

Bucky watches you roll your shoulders, adjusting slightly, as if releasing the last bit of energy from the stage.

Channelling the last bit of insane energy from the last day, he says-

“You looked good up there.”

You freeze mid-step. Just for half a second.

You turn your head, slow blink, slow grin. "Oh?"

Bucky regrets it immediately.

"Ohhhh?" you drag, delighted.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line. Keeps walking. "Forget I said anything."

"Oh, no, absolutely not." You catch up, shifting to walk backwards in front of him, grinning the whole time. "Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen. Giving me a genuine fucking compliment."

Bucky looks to the ceiling like he’s begging for an escape.

“Truly, a rare occurrence,” you continue. "I gotta savor this moment. Hold on, let me memorize every word. Can you repeat it, but this time do it way slower."

"You are the worst person I've ever met."

"Say it again."

"Absolutely not."

"C'mon, one more time."

"Nope."

"You looked good up there," you mimic, voice dramatically low and serious.

Bucky shoves you. You laugh, almost tripping over your own feet.

When the teasing fades slightly, he catches you looking at him for real this time.

Bucky shifts slightly. Looks away. 

"Hey," you say, voice lighter now. "Thanks."

Bucky keeps his eyes forward. 

"Yeah," he mutters. "Whatever."

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to those who comment and tell me what u think-- i love u. ur the sole reason i haven't abandoned this lil fic. thank u for everything mwah <333333

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Next part

[pandj0ra]

© uvuyai 2024. . . ~ ღ

–tw. Fem reader, of course this'll be ooc, bondage, mentions of public sex, humiliation, manipulation, gaslighting(???), cockwarming, size difference, suggestive by why call it that when this is just straight up smut, choking, cervix fucking, basically punishment sex, yan Sunday(?), stockholm syndrome, breeding kink/pregnancy kink, presumed non-con(?), dub-con, somnophillia, dacryphilia,

ღ ~ 𝑀𝑒𝑎𝑛!𝑃𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟! 𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑦! Who shows you off in public as his wife/girlfriend. Having matching charms to further prove it. Some females would be jealous of how you managed to pull the one and only Sunday. He's all prince charming. Taking care of your injuries if you fall. When he lets you speak to other people, he may forget he let you talk to them which leads to him placing a hand on your shoulder and his fave darkening with a smile then dragging you away. He shows you off to hos family as if he had won the lottery or gotten new jewelry. But you are his precious pearl anyway,

𝑀𝑒𝑎𝑛!𝑃𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟! 𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑦! Is really cruel. He only cares about the humiliation he finds funny from you. Wrapping you up in red or black ropes. Tugging on the rope that rubs on your cunt, making friction on your clit to further drench the ropes. He would punish you even if it was the smallest mistake or thing ever. Let it be just closing your eyes due to exhaustion and overstimulation he would be quick to wrap his hand around your neck, squeezing at it as he rams himself deeper into your pussy, the tip of his dick hitting home into your cervix.

𝑀𝑒𝑎𝑛!𝑃𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟! 𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑦! Is a big fan of public sex. Cock warming would be at the top of his list. Just to see you shudder and get embarrassed as you let out unwanted whines and moans as his cock twitches and brushes up against that one spot.

𝑀𝑒𝑎𝑛!𝑃𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟! 𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑦! Likes to tease you. In restaurants, he would have a vibrator in your panties and pressing down on your clit with it. He only lets you wear skirts or dresses even if you don't prefer them. At home, he lets you wear shorts as it's an easy way to fiddle or fuck up into your pussy.

𝑀𝑒𝑎𝑛!𝑃𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟! 𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑦! Is really a pervert! If you're just minding your business, he'll just force make you get into some suggestive position involving the both of you. If you're just walking past him, he'll just trip you purposely and move his head beneath your skirt. He'll even use your dirty panties and show you your cum stained panties, blaming you for making him dirty them in the first place.

��𝑒𝑎𝑛!𝑃𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟! 𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑦! Who has a breeding kink/pregnancy kink. He wants you to be plump and fully with his child inside your womb walking around his room barefoot. He fucks you around the house everyday in every inch of the place. Once he's done he'll just plug you up with a vibrator to keep all of his seed inside. He likes mating press and doggy style when breeding you. He likes it because he can easily tower over you and get easy access to your face just to lick your tears away and kiss you deeply.

𝑀𝑒𝑎𝑛!𝑃𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟! 𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑦! Is very sneaky:3. When he breeds you non stop and when you finally get the strength to move around, he places birth control pills around the room. But it's really prescribed sleeping pills. He uses this as an advantage to breed you in your sleep. The pills would have you out like a light as when he fucks, you show no sign of restraint.

𝑀𝑒𝑎𝑛!𝑃𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟! 𝑆𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑦! Is very cheerful on the inside when you start looking at him lovingly and with hope in your eyes. He knows he's broken you down to the girl he wanted you to be. It's not like he kidnapped you. He still gives you punishments here and there. It would be less harsher as he would fuck you softly but still overstimulates your ass. He loves to see you get worked up when you feel like you've done a bad thing and start crying. In response, he just lets you ride him till you collapse. He gives you a soothing aftercare and makes you agree that you are his, it's a small world for a small little adorable thing like you. Anyone could just crush you under their feet and just leave you there to wither in pain.

He just needs you to stay with him and you'll be safe. Just with him and the life in your stomach.

. . .

DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, COPY, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY POST.

[rainrot4me]

Rain’s Kinktober 2024 - 13

Slenderman x Female Reader - Choking/Prisoner

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Prisoner, dub-con, choking, gagging, blowjob, tentacles, suffocation, monster fucking

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 1.8k

He kept you hidden away, somewhere the others wouldn’t dare to stoop. 

You didn’t know why it had to be you, the cryptid didn’t need a reason- he had no one to answer to except himself. He kept good care of you, always making sure you were attended to- but that also meant you had to repay him for his ‘kindness’.

His personal use, tucked away in the cellar of the basement, the only entrance from the backside of the mansion. Your wrists were worn, and red with irritation from the handcuffs that sliced into your skin. You were hooked onto an old drain pipe, your arms hanging in an uncomfortable position. The concrete of the floor hurt, legs bruised and worn, weak with the lack of good food or movement. You felt so weak all of the time, but that was exactly how he wanted you- pliable and useful. 

The rumbling of the cellar door opening was always the first thing you heard—it didn’t matter if you were dead asleep or throwing up from nausea—that noise had you sitting up perfectly straight in seconds. Like a dog to a bone, you were always eager to please.

His loud footsteps come thumping down the old stairs, creaking from the weight until you felt your head pounding with that irritable static. It was the feeling of your brain weighing in on itself, waves of nausea sinking in, and having to close your eyes from the dizziness. It was always his signature, no matter where you were you would know he was near, and the proxies testified to it themselves.

You sat up, digging your knees into the cold floor, trying your best to ignore the sting as you dared your eyes to the doorway. Slenderman pushed through, dipping his head low to avoid the banister, before standing with such presence before you. You kept your eyes low, quick glances at his dress shoes that planted themselves inches away from your knees.

“Stand.” It wasn’t a spoken word, you still weren’t even sure how you ever heard him in the first place, his mouth never moving behind that icy veil of skin. The noise bounced in your mind, pressing against the back of your neck as you climbed onto your feet, the socks doing little to save you from the cold.

You still refused to look at his face, head hanging as tentacles slowly coiled around your ankles, winding their way up your shaky legs. Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear the low cracking and controting of his muscles, long, grotesque tentacles writhe their way out, push out behind him like obscured angel wings. He held such a presence, a terrifying one, but electrifying nonetheless.

You heard the small jingle of the key unlocking the handcuffs, your wrists flexing out of the metal as you rubbed them, arms whining from being released from that contorting position.

His cold tentacles moved quickly, pushing your grimy tank top over your head and shimmying down your shorts, skin freckling with goosebumps at the damp air of the cold basement. The tendons drew you closer, grappling at your back to push you against him, a claw resting on your waist as you pressed your hands against him.

Even this close, he still towered, having to look up to even see the muscles contort and strain behind that smooth skin, a stern look on his face.

“Go on, little thing.” He nudges in your mind, tentacles curiously curling around your thighs and around your waist, rubbing and prodding against your bare skin. It made you shudder, giving him an understanding glance as you reached your anxious hands out. 

Fidgeting with the button of his slacks, you could already see it- the outline of his cock pressed firm against the top of his thigh, twitching gently when you tugged the zipper down. You could feel your heart thumping, breathing caught in your throat when a tentacle pushed your hand out of the way, reaching in and tugging himself out, length so heavy and long- terrifyingly so. He was big. Ridiculously.Gaudy with thick veins running down the side, glistening with precum.

You waited expectantly, hard to tear your eyes away as it twitched and throbbed, Slender’s expression unwavering as he stared down at you. 

The dark tendrils moved again, this time with intent. They pressed between your shoulder blades, between the plush of your thighs, and rounding the underside of your tits- curious little things pushing themselves wherever they could. 

It was the sudden push forward that had you off guard, a silent chuckle from the cryptid towering above when you gripped onto his suit. Was it terrifying that you were eye-level with his waist, yes. But Slender couldn’t get enough of it.

“Open up. C’mon now- don’t pretend like you don’t know what to do.” This time you did hear his voice in your ears, jaw straining to speak as you glanced up at him, nervously picking at your hands. You nodded, a deep wave of heat flooding your face, the static behind your eyes ever present.

Saliva builds on your tongue, spreading your pretty lips as you watch the tentacle gripped around his base nudge up, holding his tip to your mouth. You feel his intense gaze on you as your mouth wraps around his thick head, inching down slowly, and stretching your lips obscenely. You’ve done this dozens of times, the soreness in your jaw a reminder of that, but it doesn’t make the task any easier.

“As far as you can… There you go.” He coaxes, the tentacles slithering up to wrap around your throat, tips of the tendrils pressing against your jaw. Your tongue presses hard against the underside, eyes fluttering shut as you feel like you already can’t breathe. It’s so overwhelming, hands moving to grip against his hips- until those dark tendrils are wrapping around and hauling them behind you, gripped tightly together on your lower back.

It’s hard not to groan, your throat tensing as you try not to gag, the heavy weight of his tip pulsing against your tongue. Eyes tensed shut, you take a shaky breath, glancing up at him through tear-glistened eyelashes.

That’s what does it. He loves when you act like you want it.

With a static groan, his hips thrust forward, your eyes widening with the rush. He pushes his cock down your throat, bulbous veins throbbing against the roof of your mouth as he a steady, merciless pace fucking your mouth, your weight shifting uncomfortably as you stand. The tentacles wrap around your throat, tightening themselves as he pushes deeper, tip bobbing mercilessly against the tightness. 

You’re gagging, the loss of air making you dizzy. Grip searing on your neck, Slender groans and huffs as he fucks your face till his cockhead hits your poor, abused throat. His claws move to cup the sides of your face, moving you in time with his hips, seeing just how far in he can get himself before your eyes roll back. You could nearly feel the electricity crackling in the air, the pressure against your mind so overwhelming- you felt your body go limp, exhaustion heavy as the tendrils wrapped themselves tight, holding you up.

“Don’t go passing out, little one. It’s no fun.” He hums, muscles clenched so tight as his claws pressing into your temples, shocks of nausea running through you. 

It’s so messy how saliva builds on your lips, glistening in the dim light of the basement as they wrap tight around him. Saliva and precum drip down his length, dirtying the pants of his suit. Tears streak down your cheeks onto Slender’s wrists, cheeks so ruby red against his milky white skin. Pressure roars in your ears, choking at both the throbbing cock and the tentacles blocking your airway. You let your jaw go slack, loud gags and choking sounds fueling the cryptid to just go deeper.

It was so fucking messy.

You’re so easily broken, he thinks, unraveling the tentacle around his base and pressing it into the corner of your mouth. You can’t even register it, thick tendril pressing in with his cock to abuse your throat further, the stretch of your lips such a pretty sight.

“Such a talented mouth, you can almost take it all.” You can feel tears searing down your hot cheeks, thick droplets of spit dripping from your chin. It’s the taste of salty precum that shoots excitement through you, eyes flashing open to stare up at him, eyelids heavy with dizziness. His jaw is clenching, a snarl etched onto his face- his tell.

With as much strength as you can muster, you’re pressing your tongue on the bottom side of his cock, slurring the muscle across his gaudy veins with strangled moans. With an appreciative groan, the cryptid’s thrusts become erratic, movements growing frantic.

He doesn’t like to show you how much he wants to cum, but you’re always able to coax it out of him. You’re his, he deemed it so, and in turn- you’ve learned when he’s about to fall apart.

You rub your thighs together desperately, relaxing your throat more, refusing to let the darkness creeping into the corners of your eyes win. The tentacles are sporadic, flicking and gripping against your skin, their own extent a reflection of Slender’s state. You let your eyes close again, weak body so ready. “Hn- There we go-”

His tight grip on the sides of your head pushes you back, pulling you off his cock. Your lips pop free, leaving his sensitive head exposed to the cool air. Gasping for breath, your chest heaves as you try to regain your composure, your throat so sore and raw you don’t know if you’ll be able to eat.

The tentacle wraps around the base again, long, hefty strokes as you pant. It doesn’t take one beat of your pretty eyelashes before thick, warm stripes of seed paint onto your cheeks, Slender snarling above you as he presses the divot of his tip against your lips. You let your tongue snake out, the salty taste melting against your tastebuds.

Pure pride swells at the sight, Slender tangling his claw into the back of your hair, gripping the strands as he bends down. You tense, heart beating so fast as you hear the cracking and tearing of his skin.

By the time he's at face level with you, his blank face has separated at the mouth, jagged skin forming a terrifying smile. His long tongue comes snaking out, the wet muscle pressing against your cheeks, lapping at his own finish.

“Let’s see how much this can take next, alright?” You shudder at the tentacle that swipes between your folds, glistening with the wetness of your cunt. You can’t respond, he doesn’t let you when that tongue is bullying its way into your mouth, pressing on the sore spot at the back of your throat.

At least it gets you out of those damn handcuffs.

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[littlest-w01f]

Dreams

Incubus!Eris Vanserra x Reader

For @erisweekofficial

Eris week 2024 Masterlist

Day 6: AU

Summary: Eris is thirsty for sex from his travels, for the energy it gives him, yours is the first house he finds

Cw: Dub-con Somonophilia every warning that comes with the fact that Eris is a demon who sneaks into houses to fuck unsuspecting sleeping women, Eris gives you sex dreams so you can enjoy yourself too, you do enjoy it, fingering, choking, oral!F receiving, Smut 18+ MDNI

A/N: Based on this poll. Thank you to everyone who voted 💕 Tails and horns, like I said.

Eris Vanserra materialized on the mortal plane with an intense hunger gnawing at his core. His crimson skin glowed faintly in the dim light as he surveyed the quiet neighbourhood, searching for signs of life. Travelling always took a toll on him, and he needed the recharge.

The first house caught his eye, its windows were dark but the house looked so innocent and bright as a whole, he hoped the resident was just as sweet. Eris approached the front door, his movements fluid and predatory. With a wave of his hand, the intricate lock clicked open, granting him entry.

Inside, the house was still, but Eris could sense the presence of someone nearby, his tail curled around him in excitement. He followed the trail of pheromones up the stairs, his anticipation building with each step. At the end of the hallway stood a bedroom door, slightly ajar. Eris pushed it open slowly, revealing the sleeping beauty within.

You lay in bed, covered by your sheets, deep in sleep. Eris smiled wide, inhuman like, at the sight of you, you were naked under the sheets, as if you were prepared to be taken by him

Eris stepped closer, his crimson eyes glowing brighter in the darkness. The scent of you filled his nostrils. Your body called to him, beckoning him to explore every curve and valley. His hands reached out, fingers tracing over the soft fabric of your bedsheet, feeling the warmth emanating from your body beneath.

He leaned down, inhaling deeply, savouring the unique fragrance that was yours alone. His tail swished behind him in eager expectation, his cock twitching with desire. Slowly, he peeled back the sheet, exposing your bare skin to his hungry gaze. You were perfect, every inch of you was made to be worshipped, adored, and claimed. His hands roamed over your hips, gripping tightly as he pulled you towards him.

You groan slightly in your sleep but Eris sends you further into it, to not wake you. In your dreams, you find yourself under a man, mirroring Eris' movements.

Eris watched you intently, a smirk playing on his lips as he sensed the stirring within you. He pressed himself against you, his warm, hard body pressing down on top of yours. You felt enveloped by him, cocooned in his arms, yet also consumed by his raw, unbridled lust. His muscular thighs parted yours effortlessly.

His hands roamed over your body, mapping out every dip and swell, committing your curves to memory. His touch was both gentle and possessive, exploring the contours of your breasts, squeezing them firmly before pinching your hardened nipples. A low moan escaped from his throat, vibrating through his chest and onto your sensitive flesh. You writhed underneath him, lost in your erotic dream world, but also responding to his every move.

Eris's long, dexterous tongue flicked out, licking a hot stripe up your neck, tasting your skin, feeding on your arousal. His sharp fangs grazed your pulse point, sending shivers down your spine. You arched into him, craving more of his touch, his taste, his everything. His horns brushed against your forehead and temples, the cold surface starkly contrasting with the heat radiating off his body.

One hand slid down your stomach, dipping between your legs. His fingers found your slick folds, stroking along your slit teasingly. He circled your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and buck your hips. Two fingers plunged inside you, curling against that sensitive spot deep within. He pumped them in and out, setting a steady rhythm that had you panting and writhing beneath him.

You moaned, as in your dreams a man did the same, touched you the same, kissed down your body, moves echoing Eris' as he teased your breasts. Responding in your dreams and in your bed.

Eris chuckled softly, his voice rumbling against your skin. He lavished attention on your breasts, kneading the soft flesh, tugging at your nipples until they were stiff peaks begging for more. His mouth descended, taking a nipple between his teeth, biting gently before soothing the ache with his tongue.

Your moans echoed in the room, filling the silence with the sounds of pleasure. He continued his exploration of your body, his fingers moving in and out of you at a relentless pace, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your closed eyelids. His thumb replaced his mouth on your nipple, rolling and pinching it mercilessly.

"So responsive..." Eris growled, "So gorgeous." He pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them back up. He had never seen someone fall under this quick, or be this responsive.

Eris brought his soaked fingers to his mouth, his forked tongue darting out to lap up your essence. "Mmmm, delicious," He purred, savouring your taste. "I've never encountered such a delectable bite before. So willing, so eager to please."

He positioned himself between your spread legs, his face between your thighs, "Let me taste directly."

Eris grinned wickedly, his forked tongue flicking out again to tease your swollen clit. His hot breath washed over your most intimate area, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. His hands gripped your thighs, holding them apart as he leaned forward.

With a loud slurping sound, he buried his face between your thighs, his tongue delving into your dripping entrance. He explored every fold and crevice, lapping at your juices like a starving man. His tongue danced across your clit, swirling and flicking until you were squirming beneath him, pleading for release in your dreams.

Eris hummed happily as you instinctivly reached for his hair, gripping onto his horns to pull him closer, being a moaning mess. He kept checking to make sure you were still dreaming.

Eris's tongue worked overtime, driving you closer and closer to the edge. His hands moved up to grip your ass, pulling you harder against his face as he devoured you. His nose rubbed against your sensitive clit, the roughness sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

Your hips bucked wildly, grinding against his mouth as he ate you out relentlessly, his curling horns scraping your inner thighs. The coil inside you tightened, ready to snap at any moment. Eris seemed to sense your impending climax, doubling his efforts. He sucked your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud as he thrust two fingers deep inside you.

Your body tensed, your muscles quivering as Eris drove you closer to the brink. He could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, your breathing becoming erratic. He increased his efforts, determined to push you over the edge into ecstasy. His fingers pumped faster, curling to hit that special spot inside you that made your toes curl. His tongue lashed at your clit, alternating between firm strokes and feather-light touches.

"Come for me," He growled against your body, the vibrations adding to the overwhelming sensations consuming you. "Let go, my sweet little human. Give yourself to me completely." His words, spoken in a language that sounded like sin itself, wrapped around you like a sensual caress, urging you to surrender to the pleasure he offered.

The sensation of his horns grazing your sensitive folds sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. With a scream torn from your throat, you came undone, your body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Eris lapped at your spasming cunt, drinking in every drop of your release like a man possessed. He still held your dreams, pleasuring you there too so that he could feed on you better.

As your body trembled through the aftershocks of your intense orgasm, Eris continued to lap at your sensitive flesh, prolonging your pleasure. He revelled in the way your body responded to his touch, the way you cried out in ecstasy, completely at his mercy.

Eris drank in your cries of pleasure, savoring the taste of your release on his tongue. As your body slowly returned to normal, he gentled his ministrations, licking and kissing your tender folds until you were relaxed and content. He withdrew his fingers from your still-quivering cunt, bringing them to his lips once more to relish the last drops of your essence.

In your dreams, the faceless man, now with horns above you brought you to the brink once more. Eris fed on your pleasure, his power growing stronger with each passing second. He could feel the energy pulsing through his veins, invigorating him, fueling his hunger for more.

"Eyes open," Eris commanded, his voice low and commanding. "Look at me as I take you again." he smirked when you opened your eyes, you were still dreaming, but like this, it almost felt like you were awake for it. He'd never fucked a woman with her eyes open, but seeing your sleepy eyes gaze up at him, send another surge of pleasure through him.

His fingers returned to your cunt, pumping in and out, coaxing another climax from your quivering form. Your cries of passion filled the air, mingling with Eris's groans of satisfaction as he drank in your essence.

You felt weak, limp in the bed as Eris positioned his cock at your entrance, shoving his cock inside you in one hard motion. He pushed into you, burying himself to the hilt inside your welcoming warmth. Your cunt fluttered around him, trying to adjust to his size, to accommodate his girth.

The sensation of being filled so completely, stretched so perfectly sent jolts of pleasure coursing through his body. He began to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace. Each thrust drove deeper, harder, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist, urging him even deeper if possible.

You could barely catch your breath, each movement of his hips pushing you closer to the edge. You felt lost in the pleasure he gave you. Suddenly, he flipped you over, positioning you on your hands and knees. From this new angle, he could plunge even deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every stroke.

Eris grunted with primal satisfaction as he pounded into your warm, wet cunt from behind. His thick cock split you open, stretching your tight walls around his girth with each powerful thrust. The new angle allowed him to drive even deeper, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with every stroke.

Your moans and whimpers filled the room, echoing off the walls as you surrendered to the relentless rhythm of his fucking. He reached around to rub your clit, the added stimulation sending shocks of pleasure racing through your nerves.

His claws dug into your hips, holding you steady as he pistoned in and out of your body, his tail wrapped around your neck and head, making you look up to the mirror in the room, looking into the haze of lust in your eyes. No one had enjoyed him the way you were doing. No one else's dream also held him like yours did, most would have a different form of man, but for you, your dream was of him in all his glory. You were moaning for him in your dreams. How fortunate for Eris that he found a human who wanted to be fucked stupid by a demon prince.

"You're mine now, little human," Eris growled, his voice raw with lust. "Mine to fuck, mine to drain dry. I'll fill you with my seed, mark you as mine for all eternity."

Eris's thrusts grew more erratic, his cock twitching inside you as he neared his peak. He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back as his cock plundering into your cunt ravaged it.

He roared your name as his orgasm hit. His cum erupted inside you, filling your womb with his potent seed. He continued to pump into you, milking every last drop from his throbbing cock.

As his climax subsided, Eris collapsed onto you, his weight pinning you to the mattress. He nuzzled your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin. "You're perfect," he murmured, his voice husky with satisfaction. "My perfect little human, bound to me in dreams and reality alike."

He stayed with you all night, fucking you over and over, feeding from your energy, he let his hold go on you, and then you enjoyed his body fully conscious, Eris was smitten, the house may have been innocent, you were anything but. You rode his horns, let him choke you on his tail, and enjoyed everything he did to you, making out messily, sloppy touches everywhere.

As dawn broke, Eris finally pulled away from you, his body slick with sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. He laid beside you, with you passed out, his arm draped possessively across your waist, pulling you close against his side.

"You've been wonderful," He whispered, brushing a lock of hair from your face. His tail lazily swished between you two, occasionally flicking against your thigh in idle affection, sometimes shoving up any cum of his that excaped. "I think we might just have to do this again soon."

He kissed you softly, his lips lingering on yours for several long moments before he pulled away. As much as he wanted to remain buried inside you forever, the sun's rays filtering through the window reminded him of the time. Besides, he didn't wish to accidentally kill you, and you seemed too tired.

As he made his way outside, he stopped by in the kitchen, using his magic to create a lavish meal for you when you wake up with your energy, after all, you needed good food if you were to carry his half-demon spawn inside yourself.

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo}

{Eris Taglist- @fxckmiup @slut4acotar @secret-third-thing @shadowsingers-mate @fieldofdaisiies @st4r-girl-official }

[tangerinesgirl]

Pull Some Strings

** SPOILERS FOR ABIGAIL (2024) **

Fem!Reader x Frank/Adam Barrett (Abigail)

Word count: 1.1k

Rating: 18+, explicit

Warnings: smut, denied orgasm, GodComplex!Frank, JOI, degradion, Frank swearing a lot (as usual), pet names, vaguely non con if you squint bc mind control

Summary: You've been flirting with Frank the entire evening. He tests his new vampire powers and turns you into his puppet. Things get freaky.

Notes: this seems too good to not have been done before, I did have a search beforehand so I'm sorry if it does exist! We need more Frank smut ASAP! Also, reader has nipple piercings in this and there's use of Y/N.

You jump awake with a burning hot pain in your neck. You reach to touch the wound but you find nothing there. Memories start to play in your mind, how Frank willingly accepted the offer to be turned into a monster, while you sat on the floor helpless. You were heartbroken that he could turn into a traitor like that, after the two of you fighting so hard together, but the other part of you couldn't keep your eyes off him, seeing him covered in blood, moaning as Lambert gave him his new life. You watch in horror as he stakes Lambert through the heart, you try to grab the shelf behind you to get up, but Frank stamps on your arm, breaking it instantly. You scream as he pulls your hair, exposing your neck to him.

Frank whispers in your ear, "I'm going to make you my puppet, and we're going to have a little fun". You whimper as he pecks a little kiss on the side of your mouth, and dives his teeth into your neck. You can feel yourself getting colder, your body twitching as you loose consciousness.

*

"Y/N....you are mine"

The sound of Frank's voice lures you back awake. You're in a bedroom somewhere, but you can tell you're still in this god forsaken house. "Oh good you're awake". You look around the room instinctively trying to find the source of the voice.

"What's going on?"

"Keep up sweetheart, did you not pay attention to what happened to Sammy? Or were you too busy trying to get me to fuck your brains out?"

Your mind jumps back to how you flirted playfully with Frank the whole evening. The car ride where you were zipping your hoodie down to make your breasts pop out. When you brushed past him to open the door. The way you would look at his lips, and chew the bottom of yours every time he gave the crew orders. You found him very attractive, and the dominance was a huge turn on for you.

You sit next to him at the bar in the house, "You know, I'm very much into the hot boss scenario". Your hand brushes against his as you reach for your drink. In a split second, Frank pins your hand to the counter and grabs your neck with the other one, "You're really going to flirt with me when we have bigger fucking problems right now?"

Everyone in the group stares at you as you go bright red from embarrassment. You decide to roll with it, liking how agitated Frank is getting at your advances. Afterall you've nothing to loose, no one will know your true name after this. You moan loudly with a "oh yes, harder daddy". Frank lets you go in disgust. He spits out a "fucking whore" under his breath. You hear him and giggle, "only for you" and blow him a kiss as he walks away.

*

Your mind snaps back to reality. "I know how you like being told what to do, and I'm curious to see if this actually fucking worked first time... So...Frank says, take off your hoodie". You immediately unzip your hoodie without a moment's thought, "What the fuck?"

"Frank says undo your bra". You do as he says, part of you is very much into him finally reciprocating what you've been putting down the whole evening, even in these circumstances.

"Frank says play with your nipples". You moan as you grab your breasts and tug gently on your nipples.

"Wait I can feel something cold...do you have piercings? That's fucking hot... Frank says undo your belt". The belt clinks to the floor, you can somehow tell that Frank is doing the same, wherever he is.

"Frank says undo your buttons". You unzip your jeans, and dip your hand in further, you can feel the wetness growing in your underwear as you try and find some kind of friction.

"Frank says stop. Frank didn't say to do that now, did he?"

You shake your head.

"Use your words"

"No"

"No what?"

"No sir"

"Good girl. Now. Frank says to circle your fucking clit. Slowly"

You moan softly, it's painful for you not to do anything else right now.

"Frank says stop"

The slow orders are making you impatient, you need more of a release, "please".

"Please what?"

"I need more"

"Then you fucking wait"

You can feel Frank playing with his cock, it pains you that you can't see, but you can feel him growing hard, the pre cum on his hands. You can even hear his subtle moans as he palms himself.

"Frank says dip your index finger into your pussy".

You sigh in relief as your hand finally enters you.

"Frank says insert another finger"

You fuck yourself open, Frank can hear the sound of your wetness and swears under his breath.

"You sound fucking soaked, the sound of my voice gets you this wet huh? Now...play with your clit".

You start to do so and Frank laughs, "Frank didn't say "Frank says" now did he?"

You cry out in agitation, "Frank please".

"Nah ah, what do you call me?"

"Sorry, sir"

"That's better baby. Frank says touch your clit"

You can feel yourself getting closer, Frank can too. "I'm going to cum Fr-sir, please can I cum?".

"Frank says stop"

"No!" You whimper as you pull your hands out of you. Denying you of your orgasm makes Frank's come quicker, the power over you as well as being a newly turned vampire makes him feel like a God. He takes off his shirt as he starts to cum on his chest. You can feel the hot liquid on your chest too. Your hands feel around but there's nothing there. You're really pissed off, but still very much aroused. Frank moans as he continues to empty himself on his chest, it seems to last forever. As he finally comes to a stop, he lets out one last big moan. "Do you want to taste?"

Part of you wants to give him the silent treatment for the way he just used you, but you say "yes sir" like the good puppet you are.

Frank takes a finger of his cum off his chest and wipes it on his lips. He licks it up with his tongue. You can feel the taste slowly seeping into your mouth, you bite your lip and swirl your tongue around, lapping up every invisible drop. It's salty, with a hint of iron, but oddly creamy at the same time.

"I think that was a pretty successful test, wouldn't you say, Y/N?"

You finally find your backbone after Frank and his stupid voice turned it into mush, "Fuck you".

"Oh I will, right after I kill me a vampire"

[holylulusworld]

Serve your soldier (2)

Summary: The world order changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of character’s death, mentions of enslavement, implied past dub-con, dystopian world, kind of master/servant relationship, power imbalance possessiveness, jealous Homelander, cockwarming, violence

Kink: Collars

Catch up here: Serve your Soldier

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2024

Grunts, moans, and screams fill your ears. You hide your face in Soldier Boy’s neck, wishing you could just hide from the world.

“Hmm…feels so good being inside your wet little pussy,” he whispers in your ear. “No other hole made me feel like you do. I love fucking you, kitten.”

You wrinkle your nose at his crass words. You’re only a set of holes to him, you knew that already. But knowing hearing the words leaves his lips hit differently.

“I wasn't done talking to you!” Homelander just doesn’t get it. He plops down on the sofa next to your master, dipping his head to shamelessly stare at your stretched-out hole. “She’s got two more holes. Let me show her how a man fucks.”

“My orgy, my rules. If you don’t want to follow the rules, you can fuck off. If not, look for another hole to fill. She’s mine, and mine alone.”

“What if I split your skull?” Soldier Boy snorts at Homelander’s words. “She can find solace in my arms then, and I’ll stretch her holes so good she’ll forget about you.”

You whimper in your master’s neck. His cock twitches inside your cunt, and you fear, he’ll agree to letting Homelander touch you or worse.

“FUCK OFF!” Soldier Boy growls loud enough to make the room fall silent. Everyone stopped moving for a second to stare at their master. “She’s wearing a collar for a reason.”

Homelander scoffs. “That little ugly thing?” He grabs the collar around your neck, making you choke for a moment before he rips it off your neck. The little silver heart flies across the room, and you cry at the loss of it. Your safety, your protection is gone.

“Now she can be used by anyone,” Homelander chuckles darkly. “Let me be the first. Maybe we can share her from now on.” He hungrily stares at you. You’re shaking in fear, desperately clinging to your master.

“Do you honestly believe I’ll share my kitten with you? You’re nothing but walking STDs, you son of a bitch!” Soldier Boy growls at his opponent before he whispers something in your ear. You immediately get off his lap and kneel next to his feet.

Soldier Boy rises from his seat to size Homelander up. He hums and looks the supe up and down. “Ah, let’s start with her mouth then,” the blonde smirks when you shake your head. “A stubborn little bitch you are. Don’t believe you can get mouthy with me.”

“I said, enough!” Soldier Boy rams his fist into Homelander’s chest, sending the supe flying. He ends up breaking through a wall. “Homelander is banned from our herogasm for a lifetime. He broke the rules.

Everyone stares at you kneeling next to your master. They murmur something before going back to their orgy. No one cares about what happened. Neither would they have cared if Homelander hurt or killed you.

“Come, we will leave now. I lost my interest in this show.” Your master holds out his hand, smirking when you try to take it. He grabs you by your waist and throws you over his shoulder, laughing as his eyes land on Homelander lick some woman’s cunt.

Soldier Boy walks out of the room, and toward his penthouse at the Tower. He whistles a tune while you hang over his shoulder, scared and confused about what happened.

No supe ever hurt another supe for a mere human. They fight all the time, not to defend their pets. Cause that’s what humans are to them, nothing else—a toy or a pet to play with until they get bored.

You sniffle silently as he unlocks his home. He steps inside and slams the door shut behind him. “No crying,” he warns when he puts you back on your feet. Soldier Boy inspects your neck. You hiss but try to hide, Homelander bruised your neck. “He hurt you.”

Dropping your gaze, you nod. His fingertips carefully graze the bruises as if he wanted to memorize them. “I’m going to kill him if he ever even looks your way.”

“Why?” You meekly ask.

He huffs. “Because I say so, and he touched you. No one touches you.” Soldier Boy dips his head to press kisses to the bruises. “You’re mine, and I protect what’s mine. I’ll get you a new collar. Maybe one in your favorite color.”

“I don’t have a favorite color,” you murmur. All your life you got trained to serve the supes. Finding out which color you like was forbidden, just like everything else.

“Well, maybe we should find out which color you like then,” he whispers against your skin. “I’ll take you out for lunch, and we can look for a new collar.”

“What? I—” Speechless, you look at Soldier Boy. He must be joking, because you’re not allowed to leave the tower. It would be best if you stayed at his place like a good pet.

“New rules,” he cups your face, smirking. “I’ll show everyone my pretty kitten.” Soldier Boy presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Now, let’s wash that bastard off your body, and later, I’ll make you forget he tried to touch you…”

Tags in reblog.

[chatterbox-73]

Kinktober 2024.

Day 10 - sleeping beauty.

Yuu Nishinoya x fem!Reader

This story is a smut story for Kinktober, I’ll be writing more characters x reader one shots for Kinktober and if you want to see a character please let me know...

You must be 18 years or older to read this...

🔞⚠️NO MINORS ALLOWED⚠️🔞

A/N: happy birthday Nishinoya…🎉

Summary: Nishinoya is quite an adventurous man and wants to try everything, today it’s using your sleep body and tomorrow it’ll be something else.

Word count: 780

CW: NSFW and adult content, handjob, masturbation, somnophilia (fake: reader is pretending to be asleep), non-con/dub-con (fake), shower sex, mentioned of threesum, mentioned of cuckolding, edging (Noya).

Nishinoya hummed as his hand pumped his member quickly as you laid asleep in the floor in front of the heater, “You’re so pretty… so damn pretty” he grunted as his hand faltered slightly, “my sleeping beauty” he groaned as he threw his head back and squeezed his tip, he sighed deeply trying to calm himself down.

Nishinoya had been at this for hours, he’d pump himself over your sleeping face, getting himself so close to completion before pulling back, and now he had pulled back completely, he moved around your body and settled himself between your legs, lifting your legs and pulling them over his shoulders, Nishinoya pulled your underwear to the side and began slowly sliding his tip through your lips, “fuck, you’re so slick and wet” he groaned and rubbed his tip over your clit in a few quick swipes, this caused you the shift and moan.

“You naughty little thing… I bet you want it all in at once” he sighed and rubbed his tip down through your folds, you stiffened slightly as Nishinoya’s tip caught on your opening, a hiss left both of you before Nishinoya very boldly pressed his hips into you.

Nishinoya’s hips snapped quickly into you, he grunted and held your hips tightly, you shifted slightly and moaned softly, however Nishinoya’s ground and rolled his hips upward into you, suddenly you sat up and grabbed his arms, “Yuu, please Yuu… make me finished” he smiled and kissed you lips, “you’re supposed to be acting like your asleep” he smiled and you whined as you wrapping your arms around his neck, “I can’t anymore… not when you started fucking this good” you cried out and Nishinoya’s grabbed the underside of your legs, before leaving you and pushing you down into the floor, “I’m so close…” you whined and Nishinoya nodded, before he grabbed your get arms and pulled you up to his chest.

You cried out and felt yourself cumming, Nishinoya’s grunted and snapped his hips a few more times before cumming, “that was good, you’re such a sweet little actress” he hummed and pressed his lips to the side of your cheek, you chuckled breathlessly and smiled, “it was just lying there, but you made it so damn hard when you started putting it in” you sat up and watched Nishinoya as he began pealing off the used condom, he chuckled and tied off the condom before dropping it in the bin, “you know when I did this was Asahi-kun he actually fell asleep and then yelled at me when I tried to wake him” he laughed and chuckled, before standing and walking over to the bathroom, “that’s pretty funny but Asahi-kun is pretty tough looking, it’s disappointing he acts so soft” you hummed and Nishinoya nodded, before making his way to the bathroom and grabbing you, he hugged you and pressed a kiss to your neck.

“Yeah but that’s what makes him likeable, he’s sweet and it translated into the bedroom” Nishinoya hummed against your skin before pulling you into the bathroom and turning the shower on, you both stepped in and began washing each other, you turned and allowed him scrub your back with your soapy washcloth, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me into bed with your best buddy…” you turned back and Nishinoya smirked, “I wouldn’t mind seeing that, watching him stretch you down around him” he hummed and you watched his cock twitched, “I think you’d enjoy a little room” you laughed and wrapped your hand around his hardening member, Nishinoya sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, you’re right… it’d be good to watch him take you, then maybe I’ll join in” Nishinoya spoke softly as you pumped his cock, he groaned and rested his head back onto the wall of the shower, “you really wanna watch another man, bend me over and have at it” you smiled and he groaned grabbing your arm before be began thrusting his hips quickly, “yeah, you’d take it like a desperate little slut… you put on a good show for your man, huh?” He grunted and leant forward before pressing his forehead to your shoulder, he became more frantic with his thrust and he gripped your arm particularly hard, Nishinoya groaned loudly into the steamy air as he got cum spurted on your stomach, “oh yeah… that it, watch him full your abused little pussy up before tossing you to me, so I can fill you” he chuckled against your skin and you hummed in approval at the idea before you closed your eyes and enjoyed the hot water running down your back.

Kinktober Masterlist

Day 9 - Katsuki Bakugo: Deep throating.

Day 11 - Yamato/Tenzo: Blissful rage.

[carnelianfoxx]

thinking a lot about my experience with furry.

for the longest time i always wanted to be a part of the furry community. ive always looked in on it from the outside. as a kid i wished i could express myself as someone who enjoyed furry, but i couldn't, because i never loved myself. not to mention it took me years to come to terms with being gay, there's no way i would've accepted my affinity for anthropomorphic animals at the time.

i think about its history and i get emotional. i look at where it's gone and im amazed. there's so much to love about furry.

but lately, and i can't believe im saying this, i think im scared of it now.

it's no surprise that if you've been following me around summer of 2024 you heard anthrocon was fucking awful. i think that left a huge scar. MFF that same year was amazing, but a lot of it was just healing from AC 6 months prior. i had a nightmare related to AC again a few days ago, which really caused me to relive some bad memories.

so factor 1: i had a traumatic experience at the largest furry convention of all time.

it's not just that. i still have to find my place in the furry community. im not known for anything furry yet. my youtube is for bionicle and halo, not much else. im trying to expand on twitch but it's hard to find time to stream.

when i look at the legacy of furry im paralyzed. so many big names, so many names that came before them... it's beautiful, but i still don't feel like i fit in. i still don't have enough close furry friends. i went to anthrocon with the closest one. look how that turned out.

ALL THREE CON EXPERIENCES I've had have made me feel like I'm absolutely nothing. The third was the best, but I still wish I was more comfortable! Nobody really knew me. I could name so many fursuiters and recognized SO MANY people. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling of being... nothing.

so factor 2: i still feel like a nobody in the community.

and you can say factor 3 is my own anxieties and fears that come from everything.

A friend of mine came back from furnal equinox a few days ago and I see him connecting with fans and having a great time. I want that too. Fuck, I want that so bad. I want to feel like I belong in this community.

When will that happen?

[konigsblog]

OCTOBER 14TH — SOMNOPHILIAC!KÖNIG. He uses your body to cope with the reoccurring, horrifying, and haunting nightmares he has, Liebling. Forgive him, please...

2024 KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. (DAY 14)

(NON-CON/DUB-CON, SOMNOPHILIA)

Sleeping beside a huge, greedy, and selfish pervert like König is risky from your past experiences. You've been awoken countless times due to his depraved touch wandering your bare skin, calloused fingertips slowly dipping into the hem of your tight, cotton panties to explore you further. You're always hushed to sleep again, with his hands retreating as he stumbles over an excuse, his breathing laborious and rapid.

Don't blame him, Mäuschen. The poor social recluse struggles with severe and haunting nightmares that traumatise his every moment, forcing him to relive these horrible memories he desperately tries to forget. He can't escape the horror of his violent crimes and the acts he's committed within his military life, the way his hands are stained with his gross and inexcusable sins. He can't scrub the grotesque and gory images from his ill mind. Touching you has become a coping mechanism. You don't mind, right? You'd do anything for your best friend, wouldn't you?

When König's dirty hands begin to wander your plush form in the middle of the night, he can't hold himself back anymore. Usually, guilt and shame keeps him from slipping his swollen, bulbous cock from his tight boxers to inch into your leaking hole. This time, the smell on your skin is hypnotising in a dangerous way. Your light breathing and the soft, quiet thrumming of your heart fills his ears. He can feel your pulse as he grabs your wrists tightly, his large hands dwarfing yours. He takes in a deep breath as he buries his face into your neck, his other hand working to remove your underwear. You're helpless and defenceless like this, too trusting of the pathetic giant beside you despite a past of being touchy-feely with your sleeping body.

“Forgive me, Mein Herz...” König mumbles through gritted teeth, preparing you for his brutality.

He presses himself against you, thick fingers wrapped around his raging boner as he spreads your creamy slit, using his own saliva as a lube to hopefully ease the splitting and horrifying ache you'll feel. You whimper quietly into your pillow as he nudges into your tight hole slowly, holding his breath as he forces his way inside your sloppy and drooling cunt. Your thighs tremble as he takes advantage of your limp body, using you to comfort himself.

Your reassurance isn't enough. He needs to feel you, to know he isn't dreaming, that he's safe beside you, even if you aren't safe beside him. His thrusts are deep and slow, and the twitching and quivering of your bottom lip tugs at his heartstrings, the voice in his rotten mind only encouraging him to continue. Fuck, he shouldn't be doing this. You'll wake up any moment now, it's inevitable, as the throbbing and pulsating ache continues and worsens.

“I’m sorry, Taube–Du weißt, wie viel mir das bedeutet.” König whispers, his fingers grasping at the crown of your skull, pushing it into your pillow as he quickens his pace, apologising profusely as you whine through confusion and drowsiness, your body writhing uncontrollably at the growing, agonising pain.

[mariamakeslemons]

Kinktober 2024: Day 30 Sex Pollen/Object Insertion

Warning: Reader is Gender Neutral, König is implied under the influence of something so mild Dub/non-con vibes retroactively

König pants heavily, his cock pulsing in his pants as he trudges through KorTac’s base. He needs to find you, his sweet little nurse. You can cure him, he knows you can. Only, when he arrives at the nursing station, he’s told you aren’t there. He huffs and leaves, not willing to let out the whine he wants to in public. Stomping through the halls, he hunts you down. König knows he’s being childish, he’s being the caveman you occasionally joke that he is. But he doesn’t care. He needs you, he needs you, heneeds you, heneedsyou,heneedsyouheneedsyouheneedsyouhenee-

“Oh fuck.” He stops, listening carefully. He’s rewarded by hearing you gasp, “Fuck, need more.” It takes him only a few seconds to figure out which room you’re in and he batters the door down.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Holy shit!” you yelp, covering yourself and sitting on the dildo you were using. It presses in your ass deliciously, but you can’t focus on it. Not with how König is panting in your room, his eyes wild under his hood as he prowls toward you.

“Need you, little nurse,” he rumbles, grabbing your leg and flipping you onto your back. You yelp again, only to moan when he fucks you open with the dildo still in your ass. He wiggles it around, opening you up and coaxing you into an orgasm. You cum, jerking and twitching as König drags the faux-cock from your abused hole. He thoughtlessly drops it on the floor before clamoring on your bed.

“Remember to breathe,” he orders, pulling out his terrifyingly proportionate cock from his pants. You pant and blink before screeching when he presses into your oversensitive body. König groans, dropping enough to hunch over you as hazy eyes stare blankly ahead.

“Fuuuuuuck,” you moan as König rambles in quick German, far too fast for you to really know what he’s saying. Something about ‘perfect’, ‘good tight’ and ‘wife shape’, your brain blurs it all together as just sensations that overload you.

“Take me,” König orders with a growl, one you only heard on the occasion you ended up on the field. This is no longer awkward wallflower König, this is Colonel König who knows exactly what to do. You whimper and pray that you’ll survive.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Waking to the sunlight entering the room, König furrows his brows in confusion. His room is internal, with no window and a dingy lightbulb that swings if he bumps against one of the walls even slightly. Opening his eyes, he realizes that he is not in his room. Especially when he looks down to see you cuddling against his chest.

“A-Ah! Little nurse!” he yelps, only to flinch when you smack his bare chest sleepily.

“You fucked me all last night, the least you can do is let me sleep in,” you grumble, cuddling even closer. König flushes, his brain running as he tries to figure out what exactly he did to you last night. All he really recalls is getting sprayed with something while on the field, stumbling on to the heli to leave, then a blurry flashing of color and thought. ‘Pretty’ among them, followed by ‘mine’. König crushes you against him with another whine, barely acknowledging your hand smacking at him for air.