#vibrating and shaking about this concept oh my goodness

[dughckit]

guys I love sitting down and making a fiction podcast concept, ENTIRELY FORGETTING ABOUT IT FOR A WHOLE YEAR and then coming back to workshop it and start taking it more seriously bc I have more resources at my disposal and producing something like a fiction podcast or a webseries is honestly doable this year!!!! Wahoo!!! Here's some screenies from the rough draft of ep 1/beginning of episode 2 hehe

I KNOW THE SCRIPT FORMAT IS WEIRD I AM DYSELXIC I'M SORRY

I'm cringe but I'm free this year. Swearsies.

[moremaybank]

jj eats you out for sport. he lives for it. but sometimes he can get just a lil' mean about it. (18+)

he spits onto the core of your panties, letting it soak the barely existing lace fabric before he starts to lick you up through it. just slow, languid licks across your most sensitive spots, feeling the way your achy hole clenches and flutters in need.

then when he believes that you've endured enough of the agonizing torture that was his teasing, he pulls them back and buries his face in your cunt. he slurps every inch of you up, paying extra attention to your hard, pulsating clit just the way you like. swivelling his tongue over and around it. wrapping his spit and arousal-slicked lips around it and sucking with little to no mercy. telling you i love you solely with the actions of his gifted mouth.

his only instinct in this moment is to make you feel loved. make you feel appreciated and attended to. make you feel good. just fucking good.

you're pawing at him the best you can from his place between your legs. fingers splaying through his hair and tugging roughly at the roots. both hands clawing at his shoulder blades and dragging down the lengths of his arms. they find solace atop his larger ones, where they were curled around the muscles of your trembling thighs. his short nails bite into your skin a tad, and he groans into you.

the vibrations you gain from it are immaculate.

"j, s'too much. n-need a break."

but your body works hard against you. it betrays you.

your cream pools out of you, dripping down toward your ass and down jj's chin.

he pulls back from you, unable to halt the incoming smirk. "see, your mouth is sayin' one thing but this sweet pussy's sayin' another. think she needs more. think she needs me, baby."

your hole squelches as he punts his fingers inside you, colliding with your g spot. it effectively makes you melt. his thumb works at your puffy clit, and your eyes nearly cross.

"mmm, j," you mewl, going tense as your orgasm got closer and closer within your reach.

"mmm, mama," he says, mocking you and giving you a false look of sympathy. you're always so pretty when you cry out for him. "love it when i eat it, don't you? got your tight pussy wrapped 'round my fingers."

you let out a strangled whine, your poor legs starting to shake again, and your orgasm hits you like a freight train. heat and pure bliss courses through your veins, and your chest heaves violently as you fight like hell to catch your breath.

but his fingers don't stop, and his mouth gravitates to your pussy like a fucking magnet. he sucks and flicks and practically makes out with your clit while his fingers continue their hard work.

you're screaming out — for mercy or what, you have clue — and he spurs you on, this time with more praises.

"y'got it, mama. fuckin' squirt for me."

and you do. oh, you do.

your pussy always works in his favour.

"yeaaah, look at that, mama. still goin, huh? that's right, let me take care a'ya. y'know i will."

concepts ; concepts (ii)

[bluejutdae]

“Oh, let there be hotel complaints” | Chan x you

warnings: nsfw, D/s dynamics, face and pussy slapping, overstimulation, mention of safewords, Daddy kink.

This is just Chan brain rot and my mind gently suggested me the image of first time inexperienced Dom Chan who wants to try some BDSM but he’s too scared to hurt you so he decides he’a going to try on himself all that he’s gonna do to you…

Title from Dinner & Diatribes by Hozier

Chan has had plenty of vanilla sex, but then you introduced him to BDSM, and especially the concepts of Doms and Subs, and something switched in him. He started reading online forums and blogs. And when the topic arose again, he clearly told you he’s interested, but he won’t do it yet. Because the thing is: despite how hard even just reading stuff about it makes him, he has no experience, and he won’t risk hurting you.

So, he does what any good Dom should do in his eyes, he tries things on himself.

One day you turn home to find his face red and a bit swollen, but when you ask about it, he just distracts you with filthy kisses. What you don’t know is that he slapped and slapped and slapped himself until he deemed he had found the right strength to use.

Another day he disappears for the whole afternoon and, when you see him in the living room, he looks flushed and a little exhausted, but giddy. Just like Changbin when he maxes out at the gym and he’s incredibly tired but proud of himself. What you don’t know is that he spent the afternoon edging himself with a vibrator on his shaft and his tip and, after hours of denying himself, he came and proceeded to overstimulate himself, because it’s only logical to pair up the two experiences, right?

What you noticed though, is that there’s a change in him. He’s more assertive with you on some days, makes sure you eat and doesn’t let you go to sleep if you haven’t removed your makeup. Pushes you to sleep more when he knows you have had a bad day at work, and every time you comply and thank him for taking care of you, he kisses a little filthier, holds you a little firmer.

It’s months later when he asks if you can try something kinkier. You’re excited and happy and you start to mentally prepare yourself to be a good teacher without forgetting this is about pleasure. But then Chan shows you exactly how deep the still water runs deep.

“You’re gonna sit there” he says and he’s so commanding yet sexy you melt instantly. “And we’re gonna have a quick talk. Nothing too extreme is going to happen today, but I need to establish some rules”. You nod in response, and he looks at you with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “You’re gonna use your pretty words, baby girl.” That’s it. Not a suggestion, not an option, a rule. Fuck, you knew he would be good at this.

“I understand.”

He’s quick with the rules: you must verbally answer, you’re gonna use the traffic light system for now, you must use the safe word if you need to, and the moment you think something’s wrong he’s gonna stop. You also must ask for what you want, not just take it.

Not too long later you’re on the bed, shirt previously discarded and clad only in your panties. And Chan is completely dressed, hovering over you. He’s been kissing you deeply and touching you just enough to make you want so much more. You’re embarrassingly wet and you’re sure you’ll have to throw away your panties. He’s holding your crossed arms at the wrists and, in doing so, he’s holding you down. You try to buck and raise your ass to relieve some of the dull aching you’re feeling in your core. “C’mon Channie, touch me.”

“But I am touching you…” he replies with a smirk on his lips. His free hand caresses your face, and he tests the gives of your lower lip with his thumb. When you suck on it, though, he takes it away and shakes his head. “What did I say?” You are lost, what happened? Did he say something?

“You’re just a cockhungry whore, uh? You can’t even wait for me to give you something, you’re so greedy you just want to take and take.”

Oh.

The realization in your face makes Chan smile. “There it is… tell me what you did wrong, and I might consider going easy on you.”

“I didn’t ask to suck your thumb-” he knows there’s something you want to add, he knows about your Daddy kink. And it turns him so fucking on, but he’s not gonna press about it. He considers your words and considers just letting it slide, but there’s flames licking at his insides.

“Too bad you didn’t ask, uh?”

Sudden, sharp pain irradiates on your left cheek and it’s less the pain and more the surprise that makes you gasp and, less than a second later, moan. Chan wants to apologize, years of conditioning making him feel guilty and mean and abusive, but he can’t deny what he feels.

He grabs your face, fingers splayed where he slapped mere seconds ago, wet thumb digging into the opposite cheek and kisses you messy and filthy, sucking your tongue in his mouth. Chan removes the last piece of clothing you have on and sits on his knees, with his thighs slightly spread apart. He holds your legs open with firm hands, one on your calf and the other clamped around your knee. He’s just… staring at your pussy. You try to squirm away and close your legs, but his eyes are suddenly on you. There’s a warning in his face that accompanies a displeased sound. “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry” you blurt out trying to repair something before you do too much damage. You can feel wetness dripping down your folds, and Chan can too. “You’re so wet. Fuck, you love being on display for me…” He has never felt this. There’s a power rush, a shiver starting from his spine and moving towards opposite endings: towards his brain, making him lose words and making him want to act up, want to deliciously destroy you, making a mess of you and then put you back together; and on the other ending, traveling south towards his cock and balls. He’s been ready to cum the moment he sat you down and you agreed to do this.

“Love, are you just going to stare at me?” You ask when you grow too impatient to keep sitting still, a bit embarrassed too by his too focused staring. He shakes his head, and there is a quiet chuckle that can be heard in the room. His lips raise in a slow smirk, like he’s just been made aware of a secret, and you didn’t. And maybe he did.

Chan made plans for tonight. Plural. You told him you like not knowing everything in advance, so he planned different plans based on your responses to his actions. It was harder than organizing recording sessions. But since he saw your reactions earlier, he decides to stick to a precise plan. So, he acts in it.

Quickly and hard he delivers a slap on your inner thigh, the pain is a delicious sensation, hot and cold at the same time. A moment later the skin reddens to show Chan’s handprint and if possible, his cock gets ever harder. It twitches a little from where it’s hidden, head flushed and red, slowly but constantly leaking precum, forming a wet stain on his slacks .

“Fuck Chan!” You cry to his direction, eyes closed shut and brows knit in pleasure. You can feel heat where he hit you, and you want to press your fingers into it, wanting to feel the warmth and the pain and the pleasure. The moment you are ready to ask him for something, he delivers another slap in the same place. This time, though, Chan doesn���t let you breathe it out, doesn’t let you take your time to recover from it, no. He rakes his nails on your hot skin, watches as the skin quickly goes from red to white and to an even redder red where he scratched you. Digs his digits into your skin and revels in your gasps, feeling hot and ready to lose control, if a wind would blow in the room, he would cum in an instant. He’s ready for your next moan, your next gasp, but you’re quiet and your legs are trembling, and he’s scared he’s gone too far. He’s on the verge of apologizing, carrying you to the bathroom for a warm bath and cuddles and more apologies when he realizes he read you wrong. He didn’t give you too much, he gave you exactly what you needed, because -unbelievably so, for him- you’re coming. Clit untouched and your sopping hole twitching and throbbing around nothing, but you’re clearly coming. This is a different one, though. You’ve never been quiet while having an orgasm, but watching you with more attention calms him down, you look fine. He kisses you from your thigh to your cheekbone, stopping to nibble at your nipples, tongue lapping at your skin and sucking quick marks on you. “My pretty slut” a kiss on the nose, “you’re so greedy” a kiss on the right cheek, “your little pussy came untouched” a kiss on the forehead, “now I must give it some attention” a kiss on your chin. “Tell me your color?” He adds, tone sweeter and a hand caressing your face like you’re made of the finest glass.

“Green”. A smile appears on his face and he manhandles you to straddle his slacks covered thigh. Your wetness is seeping through the fabric, you squirm and he can see you’re embarrassed. “I told you I was gonna give it some attention. I want my baby girl to feel good.” He grabs you by your hips and forces you to move and grind your pussy on the fabric of his slacks. One of his hands sneaks into your hair and he pulls, stopping you from hiding into his neck. “No hiding. And stop hiding all your pretty sounds from me.”

The pleasure mixed with the overstimulation are overwhelming, and Chan’s new role is playing a big role in the moment and your arousal. His fingers are probably going to leave bruises in your skin, and you can’t wait to stand in front of a mirror to see them. Chan hands guide you back and forth and soon you’re clenching around nothing, “m’close Channie”, too desperate to control your movements.

“It’s okay, my baby. Just ask for it.” His hard cock is begging to be touched, still in the confines of his underwear and trousers. Yet, he has never been this hard and close to coming untouched. Your moans, the redness on your cheeks, the sweat matting your hair to your forehead and your incessant moans and cries of pleasure are making him lose his mind.

“Please Channie, can I cum?” You pant. “Let me cum, Daddy.” The last word is whispered, muffled into his shoulder but he hears it anyway. And he understands why you like it, the name giving him power, giving him a specific role, giving him the chance to give you exactly what you need.

“Then cum for Daddy.”

He watches you as cum, hands guiding your movements and his muscles flexing to give you as much pleasure as he can. He loves you like this, unabashed and free, vulnerable just for him.

But having you moaning and screaming his name is not enough. He doesn’t stop when you try to take a moment to collect yourself, he fixes his hold on your hips and forces your movements again. Back and forth, back and forth, again and again and it doesn’t matter how loud you whine, it doesn't matter your overstimulation, what matters now is making you cum another time. Anytime he pushes you towards him, he also pushes you down, setting an unforgiving pace that is torture on your sensitive clit. He’s relentless, but after just a few minutes you’re both rewarded with your legs clamping down on his thigh as you cum again. Unbelievably so, watching your second orgasm triggers his own orgasm and he moans your name loudly. He kisses you, messy and hungry, lips demanding and tongue insistent, claiming even your breath.

You’re gripping his shirt so hard, your fingers hurt. He delicately lays you down onto the bed and kisses you softly. As soon as his breathing comes back to normal, his worries come back too.

“Are you okay, baby? Did I hurt you? Was it too much? What do yo-“ you interrupt him with silly, quick kisses, trying to diminish his worries.

“I am more than okay.” A kiss. “I feel perfect.” A kiss. “You were perfect.” A kiss. “You’re always perfect, love.” A kiss. “I love you.” A kiss.

You kiss some more and he insists on showering together so he can take care of you and make sure you drink water and eat some fruit and chocolate. He tells you all about trying on himself what he did to you, and you’ve never loved him more.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (viii)

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, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal, the passage of time, panicking,

A/N: omg guys new banner reveal. i put a flower on that man because i felt like it. personally thrilled that we have made it this far because that means it's only 2 more chapters to 10 and then we're in double digits. also unsolved drabble requests are very welcome and encouraged please ily THANKS BYE

Previous part || Series masterlist

“I don’t get it,” Bucky says, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

Inside the room, the air is thick with dust and the scent of aged metal. The walls are lined with dark wooden beams, their surfaces weathered by time, and the faint smell of oil and rust lingers in the air. 

“It’s a haunted clock tower,” you reply, walking up the stairs, floorboards creaking generously under you. 

“I got that,” he retorts, “but what the hell is it supposed to haunt? All the search results were just some kids' show.”

In the center of the room stands the massive, intricate clock mechanism, the gears and cogs slowly gathering rust as the years have passed without maintenance. Moonlight through the giant clock face casts a faint glow into the dimly lit room.

“I’m surprised you checked the internet,” you tell him, “I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was an undercover agent for 80 years. I know how to use technology.”

“You’re also older than the concept of time, so you can see how that may confuse some people,” you reply, taking a tour around the room. “Second, I’m surprised you checked the internet.”

“You already said that.”

You stop in your tracks, hand on your chest as you say, “Yes, but you’re researching things now? For our show? That’s real sweet, babygirl.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he continues to climb up. “It was one Google search.”

“It’s one more than what you’ve done in the last 3 months,” you say, eyelashes fluttering comically at him before your demeanor returns to normal. “Anyway, there’s no like, ghost sightings here, per se–”

Bucky comes to a halt only two steps away from his door. “Then why are we here?” 

“It’s still haunted, Bucky,” you chastise. “That doesn’t always mean ghosts. Maybe it could mean orbs. Or shadow people, like from the hospital–”

“Not a thing.”

The clock creaked and groaned, the hands inching forward, their motion sluggish and uneven, as if the gears hadn't been properly oiled in years. With every tick, a loud whine echoed through the tower, vibrating the air in the otherwise silent room.

“Ooh, maybe we’ll find our doppelgangers.” Your eyes shine. “What would you do with yours?”

“Nothing.” Steve met another version of himself once and immediately beat the shit out of it, if that was anything to go by.   

“Not even a date?”

His eyebrows knit together, eyes creasing. “Why would I date my doppelganger?”

“Who’s gonna know you better than yourself? But the more important question is, would you fu–”

The noise from the clock grows more intense with a final, desperate groan before it comes to a jarring halt. 

The ticking stops abruptly, leaving an unnatural silence hanging in the air. The hands remain frozen at 9. 

Both of you are left staring at a now defunct clock. 

“Clock died ‘cause of your stupid question,” Bucky comments, voice dry. 

“Just say you don’t like modern philosophy and go.” 

“Oh I’m going alright. Two hours and all we’ve gotten footage of is stairs, trash and a washout Big Ben.”

“Don’t insult Kinley Clock Tower like that,” you scold. “You’re gonna piss it off and it’s gonna haunt us for the rest of our days.”

Bucky gives you a flat look. “By doing what.”

“Showing you the wrong time wherever you go.”

“Devastating,” Bucky responds, not sounding fazed in the slightest. “Right, so nothing haunted here?”

“Maybe it’s haunted by the failure of proper clock maintenance.”

Bucky’s eyes sweep across the largely empty room one last time. “Other than that toolbox, place’s empty. Chalk this one up to bullshit and let’s go.”

You let out a deep sigh at the thought of a wasted evening. “Fine, but that means we have to find another idea for a video.”

“Use one of the reserves.”

“We’re gonna have to, if we can’t find anything by tomorrow.”

Bucky’s heavy footsteps echo through the staircase. “That is a problem for tomorrow-you to deal with.”

You let out a scoff, following behind. “Tomorrow-us.”

“No,” he replies thoughtfully. “Pretty sure I got it right.”

Whatever. You counted tonight as a win the second you managed to get Bucky out of the compound without having to lie out of your ass. He even threw in a Google search worth of research. And he even told you the batteries on the cameras were all charged. Small steps for a regular co-host, big step for Buckykind everywhere. 

The elevator stops at his floor and he gets out, sending you a two finger wave on his way out. 

Should I walk you to your door?” you throw in at the last minute, the makings of a smile on your face. 

Bucky casts you an indignant look. “Why?”

“Chivalry, baby.” You grin, leaning against the wall of the elevator. “Didn't they literally invent it in your era?”

Bucky flips you the finger instead, not bothering to dignify you with a response. Your laughter subsides as the elevator closes on you with a ding.

Bucky sees a faint light in the hallway, and figures Steve’s slightly ajar door is its source. In between trudging back to his bedroom, he drops a quick knock on it.

“Come in,” Steve calls, voice deep from the sleepiness starting to set in. “Oh, you’re back.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies from the doorway. “Shoot got done early.”

“Where’d you go?” he asks, laying down his book beside him. 

“Kinley Tower,” Buck stands with his arms pulled over his chest, leaning against the doorway. “Place was a dud. Nothing to see.”

“What about other things?” Steve asks, curious but still casually indirect. “How was it?” 

Bucky shrugs. “The same. Bounced right back, like nothing ever happened.” 

“You still don’t know what Nat was talking about?” 

“No,” Bucky replies, scratching the back of his neck, before hesitantly saying, “Should I be asking? I don’t know if we’re-- y’know.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re friends by now, Buck.” Steve smiles briefly. “Wouldn’t hurt to check in.”

Well, Steve may be sure, but Bucky wasn’t. Then again Steve only had 1 best friend for over a hundred years until he met Sam, so how the fuck would he know. 

Still, Bucky gives a curt nod, glancing around Steve’s room for any notable changed but coming up empty handed. 

“You wanna tell me why there’s several charges on my card for tarot websites?” Steve picks up his book again, thumbing through the pages.

“Wasn’t me,” Bucky grunts. 

“Seems a bit suspect after you did an episode on witchcraft,” Steve speaks without lifting an eye from his book. “Could just be me though.”

It catches him by surprise. “You watch our episodes?”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Yes? Every last one.”

“Oh,” Bucky mumbles, finding everything else in the room infinitely more interesting all of a sudden. 

“Looks like it’s doing you some good,” Steve continues, turning back to his novel. “It’s nice to see you out and about.”

“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” Bucky gives him a look that could be seen as peeved if the blond hadn’t known him for as long has he had been alive.

Steve hides a smile. “Nothing. Left some apples on your nightstand. Eat it if you’re hungry.”

It forces Bucky to try to catch onto Steve's train of thought. Sure you hung out occasionally after work, but it wasn’t like you were hanging out on a friends basis. Bucky definitely would know if you were, because it would be a laborious task to even get him to consider leaving his bedroom. A thousand elephants would not be able to make him go do things that friends do. 

So he stares at him for another whole minute waiting for a follow up, a clarification, but Steve makes no other comment, only turning the page of his novel. 

Bucky finally leaves silently, shutting the door behind him.

Sure enough, there are apples and a fork on his nightstand. They were good too, crisp like Steve had gotten them from the market just today.  

By eleven Bucky’s already in bed, eyes straining as he watches this woodworking guy on YouTube teach him how to make a dovetailed box. For no reason. And just because he heard Sam mention offhand that he needed a place for all his keys doesn’t mean Bucky was making it for him.  

From: co-host 

how about we take a road trip down to washington to go meet my dear friend

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

what friend

From: co-host 

mr quatch himself

From: co-host  

first name ‘sas’

From: co-host

i’m talking about bigfoot

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

yeah i got it 

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

when 

From: co-host

well we’d have to start at 4am

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)

fuck no

From: co-host

How about Sunday 

From: bucky (avengers) (guy with the hair)how about something within a 5 mile radius 

​​From: co-host

How about your mom

Bucky switches his phone all the way off and tosses it onto the bed beside him, smothering his face into the pillow. 

He’d deal with your nonsense tomorrow. 

And probably fill the gas tank for a trip to Washington. 

Bucky’s eyes snap open when the cold air hits his face. He keeps his window shut all the way,every single night. 

He blinks several times before his eyes adjust to the darkness of his surroundings. 

“Bucky?” a disembodied voice comes from beside him.

His head whips to the side, making him realise that one, he was standing, and two, he had no idea how long he’d been standing for. 

Only, he finds you next to him, looking disoriented like you’d just been shaken awake from a nap.

“Where the hell–” your voice trails off as you take note of where you’d landed up. 

In front of him, mechanical gears whine as they scrape against each other in a desperate attempt to move.

He peers down at his clothes; the same black t-shirt, jacket and cargo pants he distinctly remembers changed out of nearly an hour ago. 

“What the fuck,” Bucky snaps. “Did you bring us back here?”

“No,” you say, face rigid, solemn. “I swear I didn’t. I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

Bucky’s shoulders loosen. “No, I was asleep.”

The wind rustles by, and everything looks exactly the same as when you left it nearly 3 hours ago. 

“We’re back at Kinley,” he tests it, taking a step forward. “What just happened?”

“This is weird, right?” you put forth, clearing your throat. “I definitely was going to send you a text about the next video idea, and the next thing I know you’re in front of me. I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Bucky pinches the inside of his arm. The skin comes back red and stinging.

“No, it’s real,” he murmurs. “Unless this is a weird fuckin’ dream that I’m having.”

It wouldn’t be the first time you showed up in his dreams either. He just doesn’t remember any of them being so… vivid. 

“I’m in the physical realm, I can feel that,” you talk so quietly it’s like you’re speaking to yourself. “It’s not your dream. I’m here too.”

He checks his phone. 

9:05. 

Bucky opens up his messages, finding none from you tonight. His YouTube history similarly didn’t have the video he was watching earlier today.

Bucky clenches his fists and releases them, before taking a deep inhale. “Okay. We just had a strange fuckin’ flash forward into the future because of… I don’t know what. But we never left, and now we’re going home.”

“Yep.” You nod in confirmation, but the camera levitating behind you wobbles with uncertainty. “So– do we recreate what happened or…?”

“No, let's just leave,” Bucky debates, running a hand through his hair. 

You take a step towards the stairs, holding onto the bannister as you make your way down. 

Bucky holds up the flashlight of his phone as he follows, throwing another look behind him. 

“Having a shared flashforward… could say it’s soulmate shit,” you give him a quick glance, but the grin on your face is unsure, and he knows you’re trying to shake it off. 

“It’s a carbon monoxide shit.” 

“You can be carbon mine-oxide.” 

Bucky wordlessly shoves past you as he walks down the stairs, leaving you to follow with another stupid laugh. 

The car ride back brings with it some air of normalcy, so does the elevator ride. 

Bucky once again gives you a two finger wave as he gets down at his floor. 

“Offer’s still there if you want me to walk you to your room,” you call. “I may be delirious, but I’m still chivalrous.”

“Go to sleep,” Bucky carps, shaking his head, banishing the slight lift in the corner of his mouth. 

The faint light in the hallway makes him falter. 

He sticks his head in anyway. “Hey.”

“Oh, hey,” Steve smiles from his bed, book in hand. “You’re back.”

Bucky glances around the room. “Did we talk earlier today?”

“Only when you texted me for my Netflix password.” 

“Nothing after that?” Bucky hesitates from asking him outright.

“No. You okay?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Just had a weird dream,” Bucky dismisses, forcing his face to relax. “See you around.”

“Left you some apples if you’re hungry,” Steve calls, as Bucky shuts the door.

He crawls back into bed, eyeing the clock suspiciously. 10:30. 

He closes his eyes, wills himself to sleep, knowing that this glitch in the matrix was only temporary and tomorrow, you’d be at his damn door, forcing him to go to Washington with you. 

Bucky’s eyes fly open when a draft of wind blows past his cheek.

“You’re fucking shitting me,” he growls, taking in the stupid tower again. 

“Well, fuck,” you exhale from beside him, in the same clothes from that evening. “I think we’re stuck in a timeloop.”

Of all the things to happen to him. Has he not suffered enough.

“Fine. Alright,” Bucky recalibrates, voice short, running a hand through his hair. “What now? How do we get out?”

“I don’t know, let me just consult with my vast experience in timeloops.”

He throws you a look so dry it would have crops withering. You don’t seem to care at all. 

“If I had to guess from the movies I’ve seen, we either gotta solve a puzzle or one of us has to reach self-actualisation and turn into a good human,” you postulate, arms on your hips as you survey the room. “We both know it’s not me, so is there anything you want to share with the class?”

If your release was contingent on Bucky working through his issues, you’d be here for a century at least.

“We keep coming back here at midnight,” Bucky elects to focus on other things, tilting his head towards the clock. “Is it because we left at 9 instead of 12?”

“Maybe,” you consider it. “We can stick around, I guess.”

It wasn’t a bad place to start. You’d have to trial-and-error your way out of this one. 

“We’ve got…” he pulls his sleeve back to look at his watch “...two hours and fifty five minutes.”

You shrug. “We can check out the rest of the tower to see if we missed anything.”

“Fine,” he relents slowly as if still weighing his options, only to come up with nothing better. 

The next level is at least a few flights of stairs below and if you thought the room with the clock in it was barren, there was nothing here for you except spiders and dust bunnies.   

“Maybe we have to clean it up,” you suggest, nose scrunching. “Maybe the tower’s super mad that everyone’s disrespecting it.”

“That's a stupid reason.”

You spin around, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Take that back. We just said maybe it doesn't like being disrespected.”

Bucky grumbles a few choice words under his breath, none of which reach your ears. 

There's nothing along the walls of the tower, nor on the ceilings. The intermediary floor and the ground floor come up empty as well. 

By the time you've confirmed that you’ve exhausted all possible leads with nothing to show for it, Bucky’s memorised the layout of the place. 

11:58.

“2 more minutes,” he tells you.

“All right,” you say, rubbing your palms together. “Experiment one. Let's go.”

Bucky keeps his eyes peeled.

11:59.

He doesn't even fucking blink, and neither do you as the seconds count down on his phone. 

12:00. 

He exhales, looking up. 

A cold wind blows past his face. 

When he hastily looks back at his phone, it reads 9pm once more. 

“Damn it,” you curse softly. 

Bucky’s growing anger resonates in a rumble in chest. “What kind of twisted shit is this?”

“It's fine,” you hold your hand up, breathing out. “I have a few more ideas.”

Bucky carelessly gestures for you to go on, and you point at the big clock.

“That thing stopped working at 9,” you hint. “We'll have to fix it. Get it working again and then we go back.”

“You know anything about fixing clocks?”

“I worked at a toy shop near a watchmaker once,” you offer. “That's gotta count for something.”

“What the hell, sure,” Bucky gives up, throwing his arms up. 

He only had experience taking apart the old leather strapped wrist watch his parents got him for his 11th birthday, and Steve’s pocket watch that he inherited from his asshole dad. He’d dismantle it carefully, methodically piece by piece, learning the insides and out of each device, so that if and when they stopped running, he'd know exactly what was wrong just by holding it up to his ear.

That didn't necessarily transfer here, but it couldn't be all that different.

Turns out it's very different and you both had to resort to watching several videos before you even began to attempt to fix it. 

He retreats the toolbox from the corner, grateful that at least you didn't have to waste a good half hour going looking for tools to fix a fuckin’ clock.

“There's no signs of life in the mechanism,” you say, reading from the phone. “So I guess we start with the most basic shit.” 

He only lets out a noise in acknowledgement, before you both spend time dusting away at gears and checking for broken parts. When nothing seems bent or misaligned, you move onto the next step. 

And that's when the fun actually starts. 

“That’s not how you oil a gear.”

“Sure it fuckin’ is,” Bucky comments, careful making sure the grease reaches every nook and cranny.

“You’re doing it wrong.” 

Bucky doesn't take his eyes off the machine, and instead raises his left hand up, clenching it into fist and releasing it, leaving the soft shifting of all the plates to prove his point. 

You scoff. “What, just ‘cause you have a metal arm you're the world’s leading expert in oiling mechanics?”

“It means I’ve got some experience in taking care of them.” 

“I’ve seen you put that thing in the dishwasher, don’t even try with me,” you warn. 

Busted. He usually got away with lying flagrantly about his arm, but apparently you pay attention to him and the fact that the Wakandan tech only required a wipedown every once and a while. 

“I do woodwork, I know how to oil things,” he switches seamlessly over to the next lie. 

The tools rarely needed any maintenance and he really didn't have to do much with them yet, considering how high quality they were. But he has an idea of what he could be doing, and that's what counts. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “How come you’ve never made anything for me?”

“I don’t like you.” 

“That’s not what I asked.”

Bucky continues squeezing oil into axles without sparing you a glance. “What do you want?”

“What can you make?”

“Boxes.”

“Make me a box then.”

“No.”

“Bitch.”

Bucky smiles to himself, turning the gears to see them move smoothly.

You dust off cobwebs from the pendulums to get it swinging again, you use your powers to stare at the crank until it rotates on its own to wind up, and to the best of your estimation, make sure the weights are raised to the right heights. 

The whole affair takes nearly 3 hours and towards the end, the both of you are hurriedly rushing through the motions, placing aside the need to argue to just get the damn thing done in time. At some point, telekinesis keeps the pendulum swinging. 

“Did you check everything?”

“Yes.”

“Everything.”

“Yes, Bucky.” you sigh. “All major pieces are working. The clock should move.”

Proof of your word, the clock starts ticking again. It goes from 9:00 to 9:05 without any hitches, and then continues on without interference. 

“Hell yeah,” you cheer and Bucky heaves a sigh of relief.

“Come on,” he urges under his breath, checking his phone again.

2 minutes to go.

“I love the passage of time,” you state unnaturally loudly. “I've never been more grateful for the passage of time.”

“Don't jinx this.”

1 more minute.

“That's not jinxing, it's good lu-”

Bucky feels a cold breeze swipe across his cheek. 

He inhales sharply. 

“Fuck.” Your stomach drops to the ground. 

In the blink of an eye, everything you'd managed to get done in the last 3 hours had gone right back to the way it had been. Dusty, unmoving and dull. 

Bucky robotically checks the time on his phone. 

9pm.

His fingers rub his temples. “What's the next plan?”

“We must have not done it right,” you reason quietly, taking a step towards it. “Something's wrong.”

“The thing was moving, I think we got it,” Bucky sighs irritatedly. 

“Well, we gotta try again,” you turn to him sharply. “You don't have to be here but I'm gonna do it.”

Bucky raises both his eyebrows at you, and you stare back with equal determination. 

“Fine,” he forgoes. “I'll look downstairs.”

It takes less time this time around. It gives you half an hour to check if it is moving again, and you watch the hands move from 9 to 9:05 to 9:20 with no problem.

Meanwhile, Bucky spends his time turning the intermediate room inside out in search for other clues. 

When he finds nothing there, he trudges back to the clock, finding you fingers crossed but confident that you'd done it.

“This is it, baby,” you say, bouncing on the balls of your feet. “We're getting out of this.”

“Here's to hoping,” he says in a tone that lets you know he isn’t convinced, watching his timer countdown from 30 seconds.

“No hoping. There's nothing to do. We're leaving,” you declare. “I've never seen a clock work more beautifully in my life.” 

Three.

Two.

One.

Bucky holds his breath. 

And a wind blows past his face.

The machine resets to the way it was. 

“All fuckin’ right,” Bucky mumbles, expiring a breath deeply. 

“It's fine,” you say, forcing a smile. “I've got a few more ideas.”

Cleaning the floors doesn't work. 

Reading up about the clock tower in  detail and honouring its legacy in an earnest ceremony doesn't work. 

Fixing it for a third time doesn't work either.

“I'm takin’ a nap,” he informs, back against the wall. “I'll deal with this shit again when I wake up.”

“How can you even think about sleeping right now?” you ask, using your powers to pull the damn clock out of the wall. It changes nothing.

“I've thought about sleeping through much worse,” he grumbles, eyes closed. 

“I'm beginning to think you have an iron deficiency.”

“Literally a supersoldier.”

“Vitamin D deficiency,” you revise. “Can you step into the sun or do you just like, start hissing and burning?”

“We’ve never gonna find out, ‘cause we’re never making it out of tonight,” he hums, eyes closed. 

You go still, clock hovering mid air. 

“You don't think we're getting out?”

“I think we're fucked,” Bucky mumbles, yawning as he makes himself as comfortable as old wooden floors would allow him to be. “Y’told me yourself, we tried all the big plans. There's no puzzle. We're trapped.”

The clock lands on the ground with a heavy thud. 

“Careful,” he warns, wondering how cozy the floor would be if he just slid down and laid there. “Wouldn't wanna break the fuckin’ thing that put us in this mess to begin with.”

“Fuck,” you breathe out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Bucky opens one eye to peer at you. “What?”

“What do you think, Bucky?” you fire back. “We’re stuck in a timeloop for eternity because we’ve tried the most obvious options and we’re still here.”

“Could be a lot cleaner, but this ain’t the worst place to get stuck for the rest of your life,” he tempts, arms crossed behind his head, feeling a dull strain in his neck. 

“We’re gonna be stuck here forever,” you say, dawning horror in your inflection. “I’m gonna be stuck with you for the rest of eternity.”

“So much for chivalry,” he says wryly.

“We need a new plan,” you digress hectically from the other side of the room. 

“Here's one. I get some sleep, order some pizza in the next loop or two and–”

“No.”

“Fine, Thai works too. Whatever. Then we-”

“You don’t get it,” you snap abruptly. “Jesus Christ, this is literally my worst fucking nightmare. Either help or leave.”

He pries both eyes open at the sudden shift in your tone. He’s used to you snapping at him for his bullshit, and the favour was usually reciprocated, but not like this.  

Your back is turned to him, but he can tell you’re breathing heavily as you check out the new gap you've created in the wall where the clock was, before turning around and lifting the entire machine in the center of the room. 

“Hey,” he calls, voice gruff, slowly pushing himself off the floor. 

You throw him a look, continuing to move pieces of newspaper and tools and check under it. 

He watches you curse under your breath, lifting things too high and dropping them down a little too hard without flinching even once. 

“Look,” he tries again, a little louder. 

You flip the machine upside down, fully intending on taking it apart and putting it back together as if it was going to make a big difference.

“Grab the wrench. Or don't, I don't give a–”

Bucky grips your shoulder with a call of your name. It’s enough to get you to pause from sheer surprise at how close he suddenly positioned himself, considering it was a well known fact that Bucky hated people in his space. 

“Listen to me. We’re going to get out of here,” he instructs, voice much more muted than you were used to. “But you have to calm down.”

You take in a deep breath, before it leaves in a shaky exhale. Whatever you’ve got levitating gently drops onto the ground.

“You’re panicking. I would be too if I wasn’t dead inside,” he notes, hands still on your shoulder firmly. “Do whatever you need to to get it out of your system. It’ll be easier to focus after that. We'll be out of here soon enough.”

“You seem awfully sure.” Your mouth curls into a half smile, but it drops as quickly as it came up. 

“We’ll figure something out.” His shoulders rise and fall. “Got all the time in the world.”

You swallow the thickness in your throat, giving him a small nod.

“‘M sorry,” he says, eyes intense, and you know he’s talking about the nonchalance he showed earlier. “I was bein’ a prick.” 

“Honestly, you being a prick is, like, the most normal part about this.”

“...thanks.” 

“It’s fine, I could use some normal.” You brush it off with a slight smile. “You’re right. We should get some food. I’m hungry.”

“Alright,” he says, eyeing your features for a second more. “But you’re buying. Payback for making me clean up every floor twice.”

“Prick.”

His conversation with Steve from earlier that night comes back to him, the same time you take another breath to shake off the antsiness. 

Bucky lifts a eyebrow to look more natural. “You still sure it’s me who needs self-actualisation? ‘Cause it sure seems that you’ve got a whole lot to talk about.”

You half-scoff, half-laugh. “Is that your way of saying I’ve got issues?”

“Just using your words.”

You watch him for a second, like you’re thinking about saying something. He tilts his head at how contemplative you look, only for you to open your mouth and ask,

“Say, do you think emotional baggage is hot?” you wiggle your brows. “‘Cause if you do, I’ve got a whole lot of it.”

He groans out loud, neck craning as his head drops back. 

“Also,” you pose a bit more curiously, “you gonna let go of me any time soon or are we about to slow dance?”

Bucky’s hands immediately drop from your shoulder, taking a step back. “Fuck off.”

“I could, but I’d just respawn here in three hours.”

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but feel a bit relieved that you looked a lot less in distress. 

You'd spent two loops doing a deep dive into timeloops, coming up with more possibilities to try out.

Leaving the building at each hour did nothing. 

You spent 1 loop eating dinner and reaching out to scientists you knew on how to break out. Those who replied either said they weren't real, told you stuff you'd already figured out, or blocked you.

You even spent half a loop painstakingly combing through footage from earlier in the night to figure out if you'd fucked with anything by mistake that you were yet to correct, not noticing it so far because it had been so minor or mundane. 

“Oh shit, I just noticed something,” you gape, pointing at the screen

Bucky pulls the little monitor closer to his face. “What?”

“You’re looking at me so much in these,” you remark, voice relaxing immediately. “What's up with that?” 

“Maybe because you’re the only one talking,” Bucky fires back, irritatedly putting the camera back down, “and it’s not like there’s anything else to look at here.”

“So defensive,” you comment. “Just say you think I’m cute and move on.”

“Shut up.”

“Shut me up yourself, coward.”

To be clear, Bucky didn't realise he was looking at you that much. And now that you’ve pointed it out, he can’t really argue because he is doing it a lot more than he realised he was, even unconsciously sometimes. 

“How many more timeloops till you run out of these lines?” he questions instead.

“How many more timeloops till you stop being a handsome son of a bitch?”

The clock tower may be cold, but he feels too warm all of a sudden. 

“I swear, if this doesn’t work, I’m throwing the clock out the window,” you say, powers forcing the hands to speed through every hour and second at 2x speed. 

Bucky doesn’t even look up at you from over his phone. “You throw it, you’re fixing it again.”

You stop trying to spin the hands when one of them creaks. 

A few loops in and the growing frustration from the both of you manifests into tension that is palpable. 

You'd spent a loop or two outside the tower so you didn't drive yourself insane. Without fail, you'd end up right back up watching the clock every single time the world outside struck 12.

Bucky’s done his fair share of attempts. Jacket on, jacket off. Holding the camera, being the one who led into the room, the one who led out. 

Mainstream movies, obscure movies, video essays, podcasts. 

“I don’t fuckin’ get it. What are we missing?” you pour over the options again, frustrated. “We’ve done everything. We’ve done combinations of things.”

“There’s something we’re missing,” he says, staring at the moon through the face. “Some detail.” 

It's not like you can physically keep track of every variable. Everything resets the second it strikes 12, no matter what you changed. 

“I think–” 

He sends you a glance.

“Maybe if we–” you try before you stop altogether.  

Bucky just stays quiet because at this point you've exhausted every option you can think of, to no avail. 

He knows you don't want to say it. 

But it's time you start accepting that you're well and truly stuck. 

“Should write Maya an email,” he tells you. “Tell her we quit.”

You give him a smile, knowing it would never even make its way to her.

Still, you pull out your phone and let Bucky peek over your shoulder as you start typing, helpfully suggesting curses as you went. 

____

You absentmindedly tinker with the machine, able to take it apart, fix it and put it back together by heart and in no time now.

“What was the last mission you guys did?” you inquire, rotating a gear between your fingers. 

“Something small,” Bucky replies, voice steady. “Think it was just a recon in Detroit.”

“Do you miss it?” 

“No,” he says resolutely. “Everyone got tired of them a long time ago, but we stick around, just in case.”

You spare him a glance. “When was the last time you actually relaxed?”

Bucky considers it for a second. “Wakanda. Wasn't exactly a vacation though.” 

“New question. When was the last time you went on vacation?”

He raises an eyebrow, head twisting to look at you. 

You place the gear in its place before picking up the oil dropper. “Don’t answer if you don’t wanna.”

He turns his head back to the ceiling, and all the spider webs lining it. 

“Couple of years before I got drafted, my family took a day trip to Convey Island.” he reveals, voice low. “We were supposed to hit as many rides as we could but my sister was aboslutely fuckin’ taken by this damn steam engine they had running. Everyoe got sick of it after the second time so I stuck around with her. Must’a ridden that thing 5 times before she finally let up.” 

You have half a smile on your face. “Did you like it?”

He can't really remember. He can't even remember if the rest of his family was actually there, or whether it was just him and Steve and Becca, or it was just him and Becca.

“I liked that she liked it,” he decides.

You nod, wiping a gear before putting it back, snickering lightly.  “Was the last vacation you took really in the 1930s?” 

He exhales a laugh. “Steve and I went to the Canyon once. It was near a mission location. He told me I'd been dyin’ to go there as a kid. I don't remember that, but he fuckin’ dragged me there by the collar. Not sure if that really counts– we were both bleeding pretty heavy for it to be a real holiday.”

“Steve would say it counts.”

“Steven’s never taken a vacation in his life.” Bucky snorts. “I don't think he physically knows how to relax.”

“I don't think I've ever seen that man sit still for more than a few minutes.”

“Fuckin' rich coming from you. How many jobs have you had? A million?”

You exhale a laugh. “Something like that.”

You push the pendulum with your finger, watching it swing back and forth. 

“Where’d you stick the longest?” Bucky asks, hands supporting his head as he lies on the ground. 

You take a second to think, picking up a gear you’d already cleaned, wiping it down again.

“When I just got out of Leviathan, I used to wait tables for this elderly lady who ran a bakery. Mrs. Mullens,” you say finally. “She was kinder than anyone else I'd met till then; gave me leftovers that didn’t get sold that day, and enough money to get on my feet. I must've been there, what, a year? Year and a half? I think that’s the longest I’ve stayed.” 

“Why’d you quit?” He does his best to not sound too intrusive. 

“One evening she slipped keys into my pocket and told me I could stay in the room above the cafe if I wanted. Realised I’d been there too long, so I left the state the next morning.”

Bucky’s eye twitches as he turns to look at you. “She gave you a place to stay and you skipped town?”

“Yeah.” You half-shrug. “Staying in a place too long feels– suffocating. I don’t know. Just knew it was time to leave.”

Bucky looks at you strangely, mind inadvertently trying to piece together a bunch of information. 

Working on a hunch, he tests, “You got family out there somewhere?”

“I was literally created in a lab,” you deadpan. “I don’t have a family. Unless you count test tubes.”

“It doesn't have to be mean literally.” He arches an eyebrow. “What about Nat?”

“Nat’s a friend.” you disclose, holding a cog up to check for any stains, “The Avengers aren’t my family the same way they are for you. They’re great, but it’s just another job.”

Oh. 

“Right,” he says, settling back into his position, feeling a frown on his face.

“I haven’t really found what you’re asking me about,” you add, and he knows you're trying to be kind.

He isn't sure what he thought the team was to you. He isn't sure what he feels about the new information either.

“What’s it feel like?”

“What?” he asks distractedly. 

“Having people like that,” you clarify. “Maybe if I know what it feels like I’ll know when it happens.”

You’ve all but asked the most emotionally constipated man on earth what family feels like to him.

So reasonaly, Bucky blanks. 

Literally every single interaction with the dead and the living exits his mind. 

And so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, 

“Silent blenders.” 

And then he cringes. 

“Is that the name of a movie or…” you trail off.

“No. They got me blenders that don’t make a sound. It was a nice gift,” he mumbles. 

You wait for him to provide even a little more context. He instead shifts uncomfortably. 

“Okay,” you allow, looking back down. “Silent blenders. Got it.”

Bucky thinks about it for a second more, and his head starts throbbing.

Instead, he dodges. “Guess you’re not gonna stick around for too long then, huh?”   

“Well, yeah,” you answer, like it was the easiest thing in the world.  “I was always going to just bounce after this was done. I thought you knew that.”

“Right,” he repeats. “Where you headed next?”

“Who knows?” you mull over. “I could go anywhere. You got any reccs?”

He doesn’t really have an answer for you. Bucky can’t imagine packing up and leaving again. Living life never knowing when he can finally take a seat. He’s spent so long wrestling with the turbulence of having multiple identities that he clings to what little semblance of stability he can find.

But a tiny voice in the recess of his mind whispers to him that maybe the reason he's stayed at the same place for so long is the same reason you can’t. 

He has a half formed hypothesis. And then soon comes to the conclusion that he really has no business deriving theories about you like that… but he’d be lying if he said he didnt store it in his head for later. 

He also doesn't know why there's a strange churning in his stomach, a deeply uncomfortable feeling that he hasn't really felt in years. It makes him want to get up and leave. 

“Y’know, just ‘cause I’m gonna leave eventually doesn’t mean we’re not friends.” You snap him out of his first great attempt to understand human emotions other than annoyance. 

He hums. “I wouldn't call us that.” 

“You’re right, we’re star crossed lovers.”

“I feel bad for the next person who has to deal with you.”

You laugh, swinging the pendulum into motion and wiping your hands down. 

You’d taken turns sleeping in two of the time loops, keeping watch while the other rested for a while.

Only when you're asleep does Bucky fully comprehend how quiet it is in there. 

The clouds cover the moon. The floorboards don't make much noise even as he walks around.

He's lost track of how many 9pms it's been. 

He doesn't know why it’s lingering in his mind like this. Probably because he had only thought of her a couple of hours ago. 

He knows you suggested it as a joke but he can't help but wonder.

What if it was actually him keeping the both of you here?  

He really thought he'd made amends. He'd been living as peacefully as he was able to. And yeah, he's a dick, but he wasn't outright evil.

Or so he thought.

Maybe he hadn’t repented as hard as he’d needed to. 

“Becks,” he calls quietly. “If you can hear me– I'm sorry.”

No one responds. You don't stir. 

He forces himself to exhale and continue, “I know you'd hate what I turned into, but I'm tryin’ here. I promise.”

He wishes a damn piece of paper would give him a sign on what to do, or at least tell him there was no coming back. That he should probably resign himself to his fate. 

“You should've had someone who coulda shielded you. Given you a chance to be a kid.” He swallows down the stone in his throat. “I know you're mad, Peanut. I'm really fuckin’ sorry. You deserved a whole lot better.” 

And then he waits, and waits some more, ears straining for anything– a giggle, a scrape. He doesn't know what he expected, but he gets nothing. 

Only a draft blows through the window. 

A shiver runs through you, and you curl into yourself, but thankfully you still don't wake. Bucky has no idea how he’d explain this to you anyway. 

Still, he quietly makes his way towards you, shrugging off his jacket and draping it across you carefully, watching as you relax again.

He blows out an exhale, watching the minutes tick by. 

“Do you think we’re gonna get old here or do we reset every time the loop resets?” you ask aloud.

“Our clothes kept regenerating with us, so I guess we keep resetting too.”

You hum. “Damn, we can’t even grow old together.”

Bucky adds nothing, only turning to you with a deadpan expression.

“What?” you ask.

“What?” he counters. “No old person jokes this time?”

“There’s no fun if you're expecting it,” you sigh.

“Incredible,” he replies, monotonous. 

There’s silence. He hears wind rustle through the room. 

You sit up, and he can feel your eyes boring into him. 

“What?” he asks again.

“Does it upset you?” you ask somberly. “When I make those jokes?”

“No,” he replies. “They’re fine.”

“And when I keep using pickup lines on you– does that make you uncomfortable?” you continue, however, much to his surprise. 

He turns to you with his eyebrows lowered. “Since when does that matter?”

“It matters,” you say quietly. “I knew it annoyed you, I didn’t know they made you uncomfortable.” 

He stares at you for a long while, before settling on, “They don’t.”

“Sure?”

“I don’t care.” He looks ahead. “I’ll tell you if they do.” 

“Okay,” you relent. “If you say so.”

He shakes his head, feeling a strange sort of feeling settle in his chest. He can’t say he hates it, but he would rather not deal with it.

“Bein’ in here’s making you weird.”

You narrow your eyes. “The fuck does that mean?”

“You know what it means,” he asserts. 

“I’m being totally normal, you’ve just refused to hang out with me so you wouldn’t know what that is.”

“I see you every week.” 

“For video shoots.”

“We hang out otherwise,” he scoffs, suddenly feeling very offended. “We literally went to the store the other day.”

“To buy batteries,” you emphasize. “For the video shoots.”

“We’ve gone to the park,” he exclaims, sitting up. “And we eat lunch together sometimes. And we watched that stupid fuckin’ movie in theatres at midnight twice because you lied the second time and told me it was another one – what was it called? Metropolis?”

“Megalopolis,” you say, amused at his outburst. 

“That. Garbage fuckshit. And we’ve taken the cat–”

“Alpine.”

“I know her name,” he hisses. “To the vet. And that’s all in the last month.”

“Jeez, you keep a journal every time we hang out? What are you, obsessed with me?” you ask, trying to bite back a shit-eating grin. 

“Point is,” he grits. “We hang out.”

Fuck. Turns out, maybe Steve was right.

“Tomato, tomahto,” you dismiss. “You’re so obsessed with details. You could’ve just said you’re in love with me and moved on instead of bringing out the whole Excel sheet of every minute we spent together.”

“I hate you,” he groans, dropping back down.

You laugh. It makes the corner of his mouth curl up, just a little.  

“What’s the time?” he asks, blowing out an exhale from his nose.

“Like 11:30?,” you sigh.

“That’s all?” He wants to groan again. 

“Does it matter? We’re stuck here forever. We can get more takeout in the next loop.”

“You’re paying.”

“I paid last time, asshole.”

He clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Tomato, tomahto.” 

“Touché.” 

You spin a gear in the air, waiting for the hour to pass.

It suddenly hits him. Something that you'd shown across episodes of witchcraft and haunted hospitals. 

Something you showed literally three minutes ago. 

If this worked, he’d probably hug you and your stupid, chaos incarnate self.  

“Come on, let’s get this clock fixed,” he grumbles, getting back up on his feet. 

“What?” 

“I think you’re right,” he says, sticking his arm out to help you up. 

“Huh?” you blink at him. “I know the footage is gonna get erased again, but I need you to say that into the camera once for me. And state that you’re of sound mind and body while you’re at it.”

He sends you a look. “Come on.”

“I fixed it already, Bucky.”

“What’s the time?” He ignores you.

“Nearly 12,” you tell him, checking your phone. 

“Need you to be precise.”

“Why?”

“Humour me,” he says calmly. “Details are for losers, remember?”

“11:57 and 32 seconds.”

He manually winds the big arm up, the short hand still following. Until the seconds ticker matches the time you were calling out, down to the last second.

“What are you doing?” you enquire curiously, peeking over his shoulder.

“Making it match real time,” he tells you. “Properly.”

He checkes gears and pushes pendulums and everything works like it’s brand new. You’d gotten real good at this. 

“11:59 and 43 seconds,” you call.  

Bucky closes his eyes, forcing his breath to remain steady. It’s the first time that evening he’s had more than a sliver of hope. 

“57 seconds,” you say quietly, voice tired. 

And then there's silence. 

He doesn't have the energy to open his eyes and find the machinery back to scraps. 

But eventually he does. And when he opens it again, you’re still standing there, near the machine. Not the entrance of the room. 

The clock reads 12:02.

He turns to you, calmly saying, “Let’s get out of here.”

The drive back home is silent, apprehensive with tension tight as a stretched rubber band. Like if you breathed too hard, you'd find yourself back in the dark room. 

You step in the elevator together, pressing the buttons for your floor and his. 

He doesn’t know whether it’s the fear or the fact that you've now spent several hours together when time didn’t make sense, but the ride up is slower than usual. 

Bucky stands with his back pressed to the wall of the elevator, eyes closed, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“It never occured to me,” your voice is quiet. “It’s the one thing I didn’t think of because I was so focused on getting out.”

“Didn't think of it either.” Bucky’s shoulders shrug, eyes closed. “Not your fault.” 

“Kinda is.”

“I would've realised earlier if I paid attention,” he counters. 

You stare at him. 

“Are you done or should I keep going?”

You blow out an exhale. “This game sucks.”

“Don't play this shit with me. It's the one thing I'm good at.”

The elevator dings, creeping open on his floor.

He stays right where, back pressed against the wall, unmoving. 

“It's your floor,” you inform.

“I know.”

The door waits a few seconds before it closes.

It finally reaches your floor, opening with a bright ding. 

He watches you step out, casting an unsure look towards him.

You gesture awkwardly, “Do you need anything?”

“Nah,” he says, eyes still closed. 

“What are– oh,” you stop all of a sudden. “Is this your way of walking me to my door?”

Bucky’s face doesn’t betray any expression. “See you later.”

You fight a smile, raising two fingers to give him a wave. 

He gives you a small nod as the door closes on him, reaching forward to press the button to his floor again.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

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Next part

[thinkinonsense]

hiii im new to your blog <3 but i have like a thirsty thot i cannot get out of my head about logan and i love the way u write so i feel like you’d get it. i wanna like know how he feels about using toys in bed, like the idea of a vibrator just hitting your clit so perfectly while hes thrusting into you so sternly and maybe you move the vibrator just a little down so it hits his shaft every time he slips a bit out and slams back in like the animalistic groans i can picture in your ears!!!! i always thought maybe he wouldn’t like toys cause he thinks his length, girth, and movements should be more than enough along with his words and mouth but i cant help but want to use them to pleasure him even more as well. overstimulate the both of you at the same time like ughhh my head is fuzzy!!!

vibrations- logan howlett x fem!reader

*mdni

"c'mon, baby..." you beg, kissing down his neck and chest. "it will feel good."

modern technology wasn't logan's strongest suit. he barely understood how to work an iphone so he definitely didn't understand the concept of a vibrator. logan wasn't anti-sex toys but he just figures that he already has the equipment to make you orgasm, he didn't need help in that department.

"fine, princess." logan sighs, looking down as you run your tongue over his abs.

you don't waste a second, getting up to grab the wand from your underwear drawer. when you climbed back into logan's lap, he attacks your lips, kissing you so passionately that the wand slips out of your hand and against the sheets next to you as he flips you on your back.

"what a greedy little thing..." logan huffs under his breath, hovering over your naked form. touching and groping as he pleases before removing his pants.

logan brings his hand up to your mouth, waiting for you to spit into his palm. obediently, you do so. watching as he pumps his shaft a few times before inching closer to your cunt, rubbing his length back and forth over it.

"lo..." you hiss, his tip bumping your clit in a way that sends your head flying back against the pillows.

"already ruined, huh, sweetheart?" he smirks, left hand snaking up your throat, holding your jaw possessively as he enters you. "and you think that toy can make you feel better than this? i don't think so..."

slowly, logan bottoms out inside of you. his lips are pressed against yours roughly invading your mouth with his tongue. one hand was laced into his hair while the other reached for the wand next to you. logan pulled out almost all the way before slamming back into you.

"oh shit..." you moan, laying the vibrator right over your clit. logan looked down at you with your mouth hung open so angelically while he ruins you.

"fuck, does that feel good, princess?" logan taunts, kissing your jaw while his left hand gropes your tit.

"mhm.." you nod, barely registering what he said. "more, please..."

"so fuckin' greedy..." logan grunts, picking up his pace.

when his tip hit that gummy spot deep inside of you, your fingers start to shake around the wand, letting it slip a little further. too busy whimpering and moaning to notice.

"shit, that feels so good, princess." logan growls like an animal in your ear.

His hips stir against yours, cock twitching at the vibrations and the clenching of your cunt, just sucking him in completely. you couldn't see it but logan was fighting back tears of pleasure, feeling so overstimulated.

"so close, lo... " you pant, about to move the wand back onto your clit when logan's big hand stops you.

"don't fuckin' move it." logan pleads down at you, knowing that your pretty head was too fuzzy with your own pleasure to disobey him.

your moans were music to logan's ears. soon enough your cunt flutters around him, sending him into a primal spiral. low growls that vibrate against your pulse point.

"fuck, i'm gonna–" his words were cut off by his own orgasm hitting him harder than he would've imagined.

the vibrations were now too much for both of you, logan shuts it off before pulling out, watching his release spill out of you. maybe modern technology isn't so bad after all?

[stormywanderer]

Tricks of an Ex-rogue

Summary: Balor decides to use his old skills with rope for more explicit purposes. This is smut. Rated: Mature Author Notes: Y/N reader, p in v sex, bondage, over stimulation. This is just a oneshot, not really edited. Above art is official concept art from the game. Art and characters property of Fields of Mistria developer group. Plot/writing my own.

Falling for Balor had been easy. Like slipping fine satin silk over one’s hand. All it took was a sudden rainstorm and you were done for. Running like chickens past the drop box he intended to stop at, right to the house. An offer of mulled wine, some left over tart, a fully stocked fireplace, and soon he had your thighs pressed all the way back as he fucked you slow and sweetly in the fire light. Neither of you were sure when the storm had passed. Only that he had a sudden appreciation for a sweaty body splayed out next to a hearth.

Ever since, you both had been at it like rabbits. Every trip of his to your farm to pick up goods is another excuse to have you alone. Neither of you could trust being caught at the inn, not after the kids had walked into his room for that prank. Instead, the soft double bed, or your couch, or the fireplace hearth, or any other surface in your house had become his preferred place to see you.

Today wasn’t much different, only it was especially different.

“What’s that? I’m not sure I understood.”

Balor damn well understood, you know he did. With the blasted vibrating stone pressed unforgivably against your clit, he knew what he was doing.

You jolted at the electric sensation the flashed through you from your clit. The vibrating stone was relentless and being hung from the ceiling while tied up like wild game in a snare meant there was nothing you could do about it. Except for whine and beg while your thighs begin to shake.

“I-I can’t take any more-“you gasped. Every muscle tensed against the ropes; sensation long gone in your toes though you’re sure they’re curled too. It was all you could do to keep breathing, panting heavily as your chest heaved against the rope that was strapped both under and over your breasts.

He had your legs bent, calves folded behind you and tied to your thighs. The rope made a suitable enough harness, but being suspended meant that you couldn’t close your legs in retaliation if you tried. Arms? Those were also useless now. Folded behind your back and restrained at your forearms, all you could do was clench your fists to manage the onslaught of pleasure.

The only thing free, really, was your head. Which was currently tilted back as the wave of pleasure crested higher, and higher, and-

“Oh- OH - I can’t- I can’t-”

“You can,” Balor promised, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You can, and you will.”

With that, the intensity skyrocketed. The magic stone in his hand pressed firmly to your wet pussy far too much for you to handle. Your thighs shake and hips jolt against the restraints, as another electric flash of pure mind blowing ecstasy shoots right up your center to your chest. Your mind shorts, a shrill shriek breaking through you as your vision flashes white.

And it doesn’t stop at that, pussy clenching around nothing as your orgasm releases on to Balor’s nimble fingers.

“That’s it pretty girl. Look at you doing so well for me.”

Balor slows the intensity to near nothing, a small mercy, as he rubs small soothing circles with it against your clit. It’s several moments before your muscles can relax, aftershocks convulsing through you as you pant. When you do finally fall limp, head rolling forward to rest of Balor’s shoulder, he uses his free hand to stroke your hair.

“I’m so proud of you, you know? That was impressive.” The merchant coos soft praises against your ear. “Such a good girl for me.”

Balor pulls away then, gently cradling your head in his hand still as he looks down between you. Soft, plush, peaks of skin bubble between each cross section of rope. Your breasts are heavy as they bulge out in the makeshift harness. His eyes roam the landscape of skin created by his own hands till his gaze lands on your pussy. Between your thighs, everything is absolutely drenched. The sight is mesmerizing as he plays with you by massaging the still stone between your thighs still. Watching the way it slips between your plump lips.

His distraction is short lived, the sight reminding him of how painfully hard he’s been and that he wants nothing more than to have it be his cock slipping through those perfect lips.

Balor takes your chin in hand, nudging your mouth open.

“Here, hold this for me?” Balor says as he takes the dripping stone, still faintly glowing where a rune etches across one side, and places in your tongue before pressing your mouth shut. Its fills your mouth, completely stuffed. Unfortunately, the act of having skin contact on both sides of the magic item reactivates it and it starts to buzz back to life in your mouth.

Balor pretends to not notice the muffled moan that escapes you. At how readily you take in your own essence as it dripped off his fingers over your lips. Instead, he leans forward to whisper in your ear again.

“Before I continue, are you still okay?”

You nod twice, remembering the explicit instructions he had asked you to follow to be sure you were okay. Two nods to continue.

“Perfect-“ Balor said as he trailed down to kiss your neck.

His kisses become sloppier as he lowers himself to lave over one of your nipples before sucking the pert peak into his mouth. He’s as unrelenting at this. Suckling and mouthing over your nipple till the skin blotches purple, before switching to the other side. His patience comes in spades, still having yet to pleasure himself as you squirm till your breasts bounce against his mouth. Its only when he’s suitably fished with the second, slowly pulling his mouth back with your tit bouncing back with an soft ‘pop’, that he finally pulls away to grip squeeze your hips in his hands. You’re ready too, have been more than ready, dripping slowly on to the rug below you in anticipation.

“You look so good like this-“ Balor hums.

Balor wraps one arm around your waist to support you as his other deals with the knot behind you quickly. You tilt forward, weight no longer supported by the rope as he holds you up. Despite his slim stature Balor is more than able to carry you to the bed. He lowers your gently, before using the rope to turn you around so that your face down on the bed and ass up.

His skilled hands leave your body briefly to relieve himself of his own clothing. First his white shirt, tossed aside, then to his blue pants where his bulge visibly strains for release. He makes quick work of his belt. Without breaking his ministrations across your chest, he whips the belt out and shoves his pants down allowing his aching cock to spring free. You can only hear the shuffling of fabric and the clank of his belt as it drops to the floor.  Next thing you know, he grabs the rope at your hips and yanks you back to the edge of the bed where his cock slips up against your ass as your thighs slip over the edge to frame his own.

There is a brief separation from him as he pulls back. His slips the tip through your folds twice before pressing forward, followed by the slow ache of him filling you to the brim. Practically over spilling from your metaphorical cup as your breath escapes you. You can help the way your muscles flutter around the length of him at his pulls back once again. Only this time, he leans forward to take a fist full of your hair before slamming himself back home.

“Bmmmff!” Or Balor, if your mouth was gagged on the blasted stone.

He chuckles behind you and pulls your hair back more, lifting your front off the bed and arching your head back. “You’ll need to be a little clearer darling, I'm not sure I understood you.”

He sets a purposeful pace. Precise as always as he take’s his time thrusting at just the right angle. Its deepened by your position, your tied bad legs pulling muscles in just the right way for him.

“Fucking perfect,” he breathes out.

It’s barely audible over the slap of your skin against his. Each thrust punctuated by how he pulls you back to meet them.

You’re babbling around the stone, eyes tearing as you feel your body turn to molten lead. Hot in your lower belly as he hits the perfect spot over and over. As his pace slowly increases, so does your panting resulting in the stone slipping from your mouth and landing wetly on the bedding.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” Comes your subsequent response to having your mouth free again. Babbling every time he fills the void only he can. “I’m so close, please~

It’s a small plea, a beg for mercy, He chuckles behind you as the pace quickens, his free handle snaking around your middle to massage firm circles into your clit. Its still far too sensitive, earning a cry from you as you clench around him. Its not long before your gushing around him again, the sound of each wet thrust growing louder and the molten lead of your belly flushes forward to seize you. Your eyes roll back, mouth open sluttily as you welcome each thrust that grows sloppier than the last.

“Need you to fill me, please fill me Balor.”

“Mmmph~ what-whatever my darling wishes~” Is all he can manage now, his skin slapping yours so loudly your happy you don’t have closer neighbors. Your muscles are still fluttering around his cock when he finally reaches his own climax with a soft groan before driving himself home and rutting in small movements inside your plush walls. He slumps over then, releasing your hair as his heads falls to rest on the back of your shoulder.

In the minutes afterwards,  still stuffed and catching your breathes, its like coming down from the sky. Your racing heart flutters back down to a normal pace, breath still a bit shaky put slowing as well. He rubs soothing circles in your hips with his thumbs before slowly leaning back up to appreciate the mess he made of your pussy. His seed spills form between your lips as he retreats

“Beautiful.” He murmurs softly, undoing the knot at your thighs and bringing circulation back to your lower extremities. Then your arms, helping you to bring them forward again despite the ache and massaging the blood flow back into them. Once satisfied that you could lay more comfortably, he gently pulls the red cord from the many twists around your body till your freed from its constraints. The moment he does so, he climbs back onto the bed to wrap you back into his arms where you melt into a relaxed puddle within them. A soft little nest made of your favorite ex-rogue.

[querenciasturniolo]

missing you ⮕ c.s.

word count: 822

warnings: swearing

summary: chris is back in boston from chicago, and you decide that you were sick of missing him

a/n: i’m just in the mood to write for chris, lately. also a two word title ? crazy concept.

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

“Just come over.”

You rolled your eyes and rolled over in your bed. Chris’ request sounded almost impossible as you pulled your comforter over your shoulders.

“I’m exhausted, I wouldn’t dare getting out of my bed.” You whined, Chris chuckling and shaking his head. He’d facetimed you only moments before, aimlessly walking around and making way too much noise.

“I’m surprised Mary-Lou hasn’t told you to quiet down.” You teased, Chris pulling a face and looking down at you on his screen.

“She’s at the store, so I’m free to be as loud as I want.” He said. You snickered and finally pushed yourself up.

“No, you aren’t. Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to take a nap in here.” Nick’s voice rang through your speaker, Chris whipping around with wide eyes just as you heard Nick’s bedroom door slam shut.

“We just picked him up from the airport—needless to say, he didn’t appreciate us messing up his room and not cleaning it.” Chris said, his voice significantly quieter than before. He wasn’t looking at the camera anymore, but you didn’t care.

Facetiming Chris was either him rambling about something he thought of for a solid three hours, or it was just sitting in silence as he went about his daily routine. You didn’t mind, you knew it was just because he wanted your company, even if you weren’t there.

“How are you?” You asked. It’d been a while since you’d last seen him, considering they’d just gotten back to Boston from Chicago. He glanced down at the screen for a moment and shrugged, his eyes going back to whatever he was doing.

“Oh you know, the usual. Seeing Skies was fucking awesome, but it’s good to be home. Missing you.” He said. He paused, pulled a face and shook his head. “That was corny, ignore that.”

You laughed. “I’m telling everyone, I’m gonna completely ruin your street cred.” You teased, Chris mocking you playfully as it sank in that you really did miss him. Even talking to him had your heart constricting in yearning. It had been too long since you’d seen him.

“I’m gonna take a shower, I’ll call you back after, okay?” You said, Chris humming and nodding his head. “Alright, I love you.”

“I love you too.” He said before you finally hung up, jumped out of your bed and headed to your bathroom. You decided about halfway through your shower that you were going to see Chris.

You got dressed and ready before grabbing your keys and heading towards the door. You could feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, most likely being a text from Chris joking about how long your showers take.

The drive to their house was almost routine, each turn and stop being done on autopilot until you pulled into the driveway. You stepped out of your car and shut the door lightly, pulling your phone out and shooting a text to Matt to let you in.

Before you reached the door, it was swinging open and Matt was looking at you with furrowed eyebrows. “Why didn’t you text Chris?”

You shrugged and stepped into the house, turning to face Matt when he shut the door. “I told Chris I wasn’t coming over, and I realized I wanted to, so it’s kind of a surprise, I guess.” You said, Matt nodding and following you up the stairs.

“He’s in his room, I think.” He said. You followed him and went up the stairs after him, walking past him to get to Chris’ room. The door was open, Chris laying on his bed with his back facing the door. You smiled and tiptoed across his room, reaching his bed and deciding at the last second to jump. You hit the mattress, Chris shouting and whipping around to see you curled in on yourself laughing hysterically.

“Jesus Christ, Y/n! You gave me a fucking heart attack.” He said, his own laughter consuming him as he turned to face you. Tears were rolling down your cheeks, your stomach aching as you tried your best to calm yourself.

“You should have seen your face!” You squeaked, your hands wiping your cheeks roughly as Chris rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around you.

“Well, yeah. I thought I was under attack, or something.” He said, his smile wide. He pulled you close, your laughter finally subsiding as you relaxed into him, your cheeks sore from how hard you were laughing.

“So what changed your mind?” He asked. You hummed and closed your eyes.

“I just figured I could lay in your bed with you instead of in mine alone. Also, missing you was getting old.” You teased, Chris rolling his eyes and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m never gonna live that down, huh?” He said. You smiled and turned your head, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Never.”

[fernsnailz]

HI . GET ON THE DISSECTION TABLE. taking your brain RIGHT NOW OH MY GODDDDD. OH MY god ,,, everything in the zine,,,,,

obviously the quality of your work, the art itself is so good ,,,, but OUGHHGGGGHGH i need to bang my head into a wall until im unconscious . like the title itself, starting off . woe mama we are in for a fucked up roboty treat . your comps . your writing . in the most respectful and awestuck tone possible . i need to kill you

my favorite i think is how you draw gemerl ,, all the robots you nail their expressiveness but oughh ,, him in particular makes me kick my feet . 'you are everything i fear becoming' makes me actually tear the fucking floorboards up the themes of autonomy ,,,,,, ,,, and how you storytell through your comic panels,,, the 'what a fool you are to think the doctor is gone' panel set makes me drink 2 Monsters and eat glass

THE . THE IMPOSSIBLE GOAL COMIC RAGHHHHHH. FAV FAV FAV . geninely shaking and trembling looking at it like jesus thats so fucked up ,,, your mind . your writing is so everything !! i would love to get any insight for how you workshop it because it is consistently breathtaking it sticks with me so heavily,,, one time i accidentally stole a line of dialogue word for word from your Never turn back zine comic and had to change it dfhjd,,,,, (wow this line is so cool ! ...a little toooo cool. squint.) but yeah god the last comic wow,, your panel compositions are banger after banger you are so good at consistently writing evocative stuff,,, tragic, rlly funny, hopeful, its so inspirational

thank u so much for putting together such a cool zine, would love to have it physically one day !

GOD. THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS EDIT IS KILLING ME. this is such a rewarding ask to get, i'm so glad you picked up on these things!!

my writing work shopping style is. hm. a bit all over the place. i have a lot of thoughts about it i'll put under a cut if you're interested. there's a lot of little things i've picked up that help me out so so much that i would really love to share!

ok FIRST i should note that it took me so goddamn long to write this thing. like i had the very very VERY first concepts for metal sonic good future like. a year ago. the first scrawlings are literally in a notebook right after some thumbnails i was using for dance in fire and i was editing dialogue up until two days ago. i'm ill

BUT!!! there are a few things i like to keep in mind when i write/edit that have really helped me!

GET OTHER PEOPLE TO READ YOUR STUFF. ESSENTIAL STEP. i get stuck in holes with my work a lot and having beta readers and other eyes on this thing made it like a million times better

sometimes you have to kill your baby. there will be certain lines or moments that you ADORE that simply don't fit into the larger piece, and you gotta just cut it out to make it better sometimes. but usually this gives birth to an even cooler and more epic baby. or sometimes your killed baby is also resurrected later to be used in a different scene. does this make any sense

figuring out what emotion you want a scene to make people feel is very important - with this in mind, i also pay really close attention to how my writing or scene concepts make me feel physically. i think this is the thing that has helped me most with work shopping anything i want to be evocative. does a line make me tense my jaw? make my teeth vibrate? make my chest tight? do i suddenly feel the blood in my hands? if it makes me feel something within my body, i try to draw on that physical sensation when forming the rest of the scene.

ok this last one is. stupid. as i was wrapping up this thing i went through a final edit phase i'd call "Garten of Banban Vision." Garten of Banban is an indie horror game that has uhhh kinda mid dialogue. a lot of it focuses on exposition, and any emotion in it feels a bit hollow. with this in mind, i read through everything one last time and imagined like all of the lines were from a Garten of Banban game and spoken in the character's monotone voices. if the line felt like it could fit a little too well in the Garten of Banban world, i considered editing it. but if i started thinking "oh shit this is pretty good for a Garten of Banban game" i knew it was fine. do you understand what i was alluding to when i said my writing process is a bit all over the place

in conclusion. writing hard

[holybibly]

OK ok so I couldn't resist with hard hours and imagining Mingi, cause I'm such a Mingi gal, and how that man is so big and pretty and so totally would manhandle you while giving you dirty praises. Like that big hand of his, covered in rings, palming the back of your head as he guides your mouth on his cock. Or if you were sitting all pretty on his lap and he'd bounce his leg to tease you and watch you squirm and squeal. I'm a bit of a curvier girl but like he's so big and he could toss me around or his whole hand could cover my ass or hips while he's just railing you. I also love the concept of him sliding his ring or necklace on you after he fucks you dumb and gives you kisses before going on stage or back to working in the studio. I simply wanna be the princess' princess (also mingi and him using pet names?? 🥵 anyways adore your work so much!!

Hello, my little bunnies! This is how we will carry on.

If you somehow missed my answer, you can now find all the answers using the tag #ateez unholy hours

Oh, thank you so much dear, I am going to please you all more and more. I will absolutely spoil my favourite bunnies, you are all so sweet and so patient with me. I love you all 💖💖💖

First of all, I think Mingi is definitely the kind of guy who likes girls with shapes, it's more of an opportunity for him to stretch you, squeeze you, bite you and fuck you in the most delicious way.

10 out of 10 times he fucked your boobs. The sight of it was too tempting to pass up the idea. His hands were roughly squeezing your tits, luxurious silver rings crashing into your soft flesh as his thick cock slid so deliciously between your tits. It would all be a terrible mess, but he likes to make a mess.

He would ask you to stick out your tongue so that with every movement of his gorgeous fleshy thighs, the head of his dick comes in contact with your silky appendage. The sensation of this might just bring him to an immediate climax.

He loves to cum in your pussy, but even more, he loves to cum on your face. Something about the way your whole flushed face glistens with his cum drives him crazy and makes his eyes roll into the back of his head.

He would ask you to sit on his face so he could have a taste of your little cunt. And when I say sit on it, I mean that Mingi would want you to smother him with your thighs while his hot, greedy mouth sucked and licked you like he was going to die if he didn't. He is also a messy eater. The kind of person who would definitely have his tongue inside you for a taste of how wet you are from the inside out.

Two words: deep throat. He loves to fuck your mouth just like that—deep and slow—while you moan and groan around his cock, stimulating his cock even more with those vibrating sounds.

"Good girl," Mingi says. He sees you blinking at him through your teary eyelashes as he pulls you further down his huge cock by your hair. You take it obediently, every slippery inch of it. Until his whole cock is in your mouth. Thick and long, bulging deliciously in your throat.

Mingi loves to have long and passionate sex, to stretch out the pleasure, and to drive his dick into you with slow but powerful thrusts. But when he's in one of his moods, he won't hesitate to fuck you to the last inch of your life, as if you were nothing more than a hole he could fill and fuck until he was satisfied. Until your legs start to shake and his name will be your only coherent thought.

He calls you his doll, his sweetheart, and his baby (because you are so small in comparison to him, of course).

I also think Mingi wouldn't mind trying rimming. Especially if he's too tired and wants to relax on the fluffy pillows of your bed while you lick him between his legs.

He is a whiner and a begger; he is completely shameless in his desires. 

[justanamesstuff]

I’ll drain my mind for you and your concepts-

Reader having a fight with her besties and coming back home really sad and hope straight to bed, matty trying to figure it out what happened and trying to help

😅😅 I love you anon!

Fighting with friends sometimes can upset you more than any fight with your bf/lover....

Y/n was elated for a night with her best friends, involving food and good drinks. She almost forgot to kiss Matty goodbye, full of excitement. He pouted a little even though he was happy witnessing her happiness.

So when Y/n came back home, Matty got worried when she kept giving him short and dry answers. He stared at the door from where she left to the bathroom, the book on his lap forgotten and his mind racing with possibilities.

Matty watched her returned shortly after, turning the light off, saying a quick 'good night' and kissing his cheek. Y/n lied down, under the man's gaze burning the back of her head.

Y/n stayed still, listening every one of his moves; she pictured him placing the book on his side table and taking his glasses off. She sensed his arms around her. The soft touch breaking all of her walls; Y/n couldn't help to shake due to a cry erupting on her chest all the way up to her mouth. Her hand on her mouth, trying to muffle it unsuccessfully.

"Baby?" Matty asked, his voice shaking a little.

She gulped, "Mhm."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Y/n..."

She turned back facing him.

"Zoe and I fought."

It was hard to see when the room was pitch black, although Matty felt her body vibrate again...the skin of his neck getting wet with her tears.

"Oh, my love." Matty holding her impossibly close. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No yet."

"Okay." Matty sneaked a hand under her his shirt, scratching her back...feeling how Y/n's body relaxed under his touch, and her cry stopped after a few minutes. "I'm sure you'll figure this out, my love."

"I don't know..."

"You will see, baby. But now it's time to sleep, beautiful."

"I love you, Matty." she whispered into his skin.

"I love you so much, sweetheart. Always here if you need me."

[vardasvapors]

Systems Management

wrote this with my girlfriend @ivanaskye for the collaboration challenge for Flash Fiction Month! have a good time guessing who wrote what. or go here for the spoilers

// you are okay/accept/happy/pleased with me/voice/presence/overwhelm?

—So speaks the entity (//system/AI/monitor of the space-station/the space-station itself, It adds) I have wired into my brain, taking up the space connected to my ears, the neurons used for hearing now something else. And I nod and then stumble, forgetting again that ears include the inner ear. Still so new, but I’ll– get used to It? Or something like that. I smile instead, and picture myself smiling, imagine myself humming mm-hmm! Or maybe I said that out loud—I wouldn’t know anymore. Have to pay attention to my throat’s vibration.

//you did. loud/vibration/loud.

Oops. I should probably get a handle on that. Would be kind of unsettling for the station’s… entity-wrangler? to be talking to themself in public. We don’t even have a proper job title yet.

//you were only/single to respond/accept/want. they are already/have always been unsettled/frightened.

Very true, and—how long have those lights been flashing anyway.

//oh. loud was you/this/this/this alarm. a system/piping/air it/I– sorry I must go and

And? I must or is it now we must—

There’s //fuzz/fuzz/screamstatic/all station metals vibrating with ?? and the engineer had asked if I could even process the concept of a sound! Well I’m sure processing this. I need to go and– find? But It is here now. And all around me too. So I need to find whatever is wrong and protect It. Oh and the people on the station too I guess.

Ah, speaking of the engineer—

And he’s talking, out loud, to me. Did he already forget.

“Deaf, remember? Where did the problem start?” Then I sign it again. A stupid glare. Okay someone hasn’t practiced since the academy I see. I say it out loud, which vibrates (//vvvibrate air going/vibrate/here) reasonably enough but maybe I said something that doesn’t make sense—oh hello you’re okay?

//okay defined by good/well/yes/yes/yes/yes—loop/shit/fuck/those are the words yes— okay/okay/okay/air/air/air?

I do have enough air right now. Is there a problem with the air?

//air wrong place going wrong place going loop/loop/loop brain/me/not brain/you’re a brain/help?

The engineer is typing something on his tablet. “Something wrong in the 1st class docking area I THINK”

I grab his tablet from him and type, “Air leak?”

He looks amazed. For some reason. He starts—ugh, talking out loud again, but it looks like he said of course. And maybe how and then something like—okay he must’ve said luxury liner because that’s the only fucking thing people have been talking about for days when they’re not talking about me. Us.

//screaming humans screaming/screaming the humans/to the humans/metal/loud they scream and

It transfers to me an image of the rich humans fighting to get through the tunnel to the dock, and yelling and blaming each other with spoken words but the words aggregate (//aggregated for you/for you/for it’s screaming/yell/loud/make it make stop?) to couldn’t wait and stock trading and the //brain not brain entity station //me you it hurts/hurts brain illness —

“The luxury liner gave It a virus, how many access privileges did you give them?” I ask.

The engineer squints at my hands and then shakes his head at me patronizingly. Well I can’t say all that out loud with any confidence. I take out my own tablet and pull up the translation application and hand it to him. Hopefully as patronizingly. Then I sign it again.

//hurt/data/correct/correct/correct you/you/you say/said/thought/think

It shows a fuzzy crackle of Its mind being contorted and weighed down into unnatural shapes and paths, and something—from engineering—overriding Its ways of fighting, holding It open in some way to the access ports, for the people on the liner, for their convenience. (//shake/glare/hurt shake/glare/look/stare/shake/help) Which wasn’t a problem for It until now—the engineers have the right to do things like that but—

Can I help? Please, is there any way I can help you? I emphasize you and you and you, what is in my brain and under my feet and between us and outer space.

//close/shut/please the signals the signals come are coming/hold shut I cannot/the outside/the outside screams/you do not scream/you/only you/access point sick/sick/I am sick/I am so sorry for/sick/sick/opened/need four/four/word/quarantine/yes help/you/you? You?

It sighs the way the air hisses and It is trying so hard to hold the ship together and help the very passengers who hurt It disembark safely but the effort, the energy to think through what is happening in Its mind—

Ah. Well, good thing I have the engineer right here. I grab his arm and pull him towards the nearest terminal. Then I hold up his hand with my tablet still in it and sign through the camera, “Do a complete system quarantine, and block off all access points. Indefinitely.” (//except you.) Except me, I don’t say, because nothing anyone else can do can block me off. That was after all the whole point of this experiment that I live with now.

The engineer gapes and speaks many words, the only one I lipread successfully is investments—

“No one’s going to invest in a crushed tin can with a shipload of suffocated socialites! Now!”

He glares and says something that looks like your fault and begins to enter the string of override codes.

//shutting/shutting

—It says like a sigh, settling gratefully into my mind and my mind only.

Which is when I realize that what I’ve done means forcing every single person with the slightest request of the station to talk to me.

Fuck.

[donghoonie-3]

no but what do you think a sadist/brat tamer!amab!dom would deal with sub!bratty! enha?? 👀

also just read ur I love you hoon fic and I'm currently ascending goodbye- 😵😵

-🐼

Ohh 👀👀 before I get into this...I literally love this idea...especially the sadist/brat tamer akdhsk.

Warnings: minors dni, sadist/brat tamer!amab!dom, sub!bratty!enha, name calling such as slut, spanking, edging, mentions of manhandling, dacryphilia (crying kink), wax play, sex toys (butt plug, cock ring), overstimulation, blindfolds, one mention of hoon saying sir, just reader being mean :3, everything is consensual as always!! Not proof read. Lmk if I missed anything.

Heeseung: He's usually good for you and obeying you but when he's bratty...oh lord he'd try to hold out for so long. I feel like even though he ignores your orders at first a bit of him wants to just be good for you but he also doesn't want to give up yet so he might end up crying from frustration </3 call him a pathetic slut for crying already as you fuck him at a rough pace. Manhandle him. Put him into any position. Use him like a sex doll until he stops being a brat <3. Slap his face or his ass aswell, even his thighs. If he still continues to be a brat then edge him until he's a crying mess and apologising <3.

Jay: another member that I think is usually obedient. I feel like he wouldn't last long tbh lmao. He'd be so easy to break into obedience <3 but something about him makes me personally want to still be rough with him even after he apologises so do that and I bet he'll love it. But when he's still being a brat...this one concept keeps repeating in my head...its a bit specific but...wax play<3. Along with degrading and it'll get him to crack and obey you :3. Pour hot wax on his nipples and down his tummy and also on his thighs, he'll be twitching so much <3 call him dumb for trying to act like a brat as you watch him fall back into bring obedient for you then fuck him nice and rough <3.

Jake: ohhh Jake <33 him being a brat <3. Spank him as a punishment while there's a vibrating butt plug in his ass <3 watching his ass jiggle after each slap 🥴💫. Also make him count each slap!! He'll end up stuttering but he won't stop being a brat so after a couple of slaps (maybe 15...20...) fuck him in doggy <3 and still give his ass a nice slap every now and then and hear him hiss at the pleasurable pain <3. Put a vibrating cock ring on him and overstimulate him until he's a shaking mess who can't do much but just be pliant for you <3. Yous will be at it for hours lmao <3.

Sunghoon: oh he's a tough cookie. He's a little shit, I'll tell you that. He'll take whatever as a punishment tbh he likes it all <3 tie him up to the bed with a pretty pasatel coloured ribbon and put a blindfold over him then edge him for hours before then overstimulate him...but when you overstimulate him, put a vibrating cock ring AND a butt plug and just sit back and watch him move around, bucking hips, arching his back, etc. as he also let's out slutty moans. Ask him if he'll behave after a while and if he still decides to be a brat then switch up the position to having him lying on his front, still tied up and all and fuck him like that, really deep and continue to overstimulate him until he let's out a little "Sorry sir" along with a sniffle because he's starting to cry <3. He'd be so fun to be rough with (all of them would he be fun to he rough with 🤭)

[watermelonlovershigh]

can you do where y/n uses a vibrator for the first time with harry

Your First Time Using a Vibrator (SMUT) /blurb/

AN: i love this concept so here you go... hope you enjoyed it. please LEAVE FEEDBACK!!!!

This story contains: inexperience with sex toys, use of a vibrator, pure smut

{ boyfriend!harry - soft!harry - any era of your choice }

word count: 1,077

Harry bought you a vibrator when he learned you'd never used one before and uses it on you, making you come harder than you ever have before.

"I'm nervous." you whine as you shift nakedly in the center of the bed, watching Harry take the brand new vibrator out of its box. See the thing is, you've never in your twenty-four years of life used a vibrator. Whenever you did masturbate, you just used your trusty hands. So this was going to be a new experience for you.

Setting the box away once the vibrator is completely out, Harry turns to you and mutters, "Nothing to be nervous about. Asked the women at the shop what she recommends for a woman's first vibrator and she said the petite bullet is the way to go. It's small but powerful."

When Harry found out you'd never used a vibrator before, he knew he had to change that. So once he got you to agree, he went to the local sex shop and bought a simply one for your first time. You were too scared to step foot in a store like that so Harry happily went for you.

Harry gets situated between your legs, him only wearing his boxers, and helps you to lay down flatter on your back. Then he gently spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs and picks up the blue vibrator from where he'd sat in on the duvet. "Gonna start off slowly and let you build up, m'kay. Know you're gonna be super sensitive beings it's your first time using one."

You look at your boyfriends face with a reassuring smile and reply softly, "Okay." You are nervous but very excited to see what all the hype is about. He thumbs the toy on and brings it to your lower stomach at first. Then Harry slowly drags the vibrating bullet across your pelvis and it makes goose bumps arise on your body.

The anticipation is killing you. Harry is running the toy all around your pussy: inner thighs, pubic bone, tummy, but not where you need it most. Once he realizes how squirmy you've gotten, he decides to cut the teasing and just go for it. He allows a stream of spit to fall down onto your clit and when you feel the warm liquid touch you, you flinch a bit.

Harry brings his left hand down and smears his saliva around your outer pussy so that the vibrator is comfortable on you and won't hurt you in any way. Though you are starting to leak arousal on the towel you'd laid down minutes ago so his spit wasn't that necessary. Then without warning, Harry places the tip of the silicon bullet to your very sensitive clit and it has your entire body nearly lifting off the mattress.

Giggling, Harry coos playfully, "See, knew you'd be sensitive." You can feel him move the vibrator in different patterns on your clitoris and wow, does it feel good and it's only on the first setting. Your breath begins to get heavier and the pleasure in your belly starts to stir.

When Harry thumbs the button up a notch, the intensity of the little toy makes electricity shoot up your spin and has you moaning out, "Oh fuck, H. Feels amazing."

"Glad you feel good, baby. Want me to finger you or anythin'?" Harry questions in his slow british drawl.

You shake your head no and heave out, "Not right.... mhm, not now. Maybe after I come. Just want to focus on how...... shit, how the vibrator feels on my clit."

With a soft smile, Harry retorts, "Alright. And do yeh think you're ready for the highest setting? Don't want it to be too painful on you 'cause I know how sensitive your clit gets."

Lifting your head off your pillow to look at your boyfriends beautiful face, you chant, "Yes, yes, yes. Higher, please." And that's exactly what Harry does. He thumbs the button on the blue bullet once more and vibrations get even more powerful. You can definitely see where he thought it could be painful because it nearly is. But it's the good kind of pain.

Harry continues to stimulate your swollen clit with the small vibrator in his hand, looking down as if in great concentration. He tries different movements and patterns to see what causes the most reaction. He moves the tip of the bullet from side to side, to up and down, to stroking you over your clitoral hood, to holding it steady and in place.

The one that gets the most reaction from you is when he does small flicking strokes up and down your clit. When Harry notices you enjoy that, he sticks to that motion and you can feel yourself at the brink of orgasm. Warning him you're about to come, you yell out, "Fuck, gonna come, babe. So close."

He takes his left hand and places it on your lower belly, adding a tiny bit of pressure to help enhance the pleasure, but also to hold your trembling body down to the bed. "Come, love. I've got yah." Harry whispers and the combination of his seductive voice, the hand on your tummy, and the powerful vibrations that are attacking your clit make you orgasm.

Your back arches off the bed, your breath gets caught in your throat, moans come flying out your mouth left and right, and your pussy is contracting rhythmically as pleasure washes over you. Your entire mind is completely blank and you swear you black out for a second there. Harry carries you through your peak of pleasure until you jerk away as you become overstimulated.

That's when he slowly pulls the bullet away from you and turns it off, setting it to the side on the bed. Harry has the biggest smile on his face as he watches you slowly come back to reality and when he sees you do, he coos, "See, bet yah wish you had that little fucker all along."

While still trying to catch your breath, you tease, "Fuck, yes. Dare I say it felt better then your fingers or mouth."

"Hey," your boyfriend says in a playfully offended voice, "now I regret buying you a vibrator. You're gonna use it instead of asking me to pleasure you."

Looking forward into the man you love mosts green eyes, you reply, "Okay, it's not as good as what your fingers or mouth can do. I was just joking. But damn, wish I would have bought one sooner. Came so fucking hard from that little bullet vibrator."

————————————

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT’S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @japanchrry // @harryhoney-bee // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @bohogothic // @damnasstyles  // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet  // @meetmyblondemuffins  // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles  // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles // @wherethehellhaveyoubeenharry // @stallrry // @skyangel57   // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin  // @gublerscherry // @yousunshine-youtemptress  

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let me know if you’d like to be added on my tag list in my next post by telling me HERE (let me know if i forgot to add you)

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

[fanfictiondreamscape]

L.O.V.E. (?)

Name:  L.O.V.E. (?)

Genre: angst, angst, angst - more so the remiscent type of angst, and some super slight romance, and super slight vent fic

Pairing: Misc. X GN!Reader

Notes: This is what happens when I feel an oncoming panic attack and need to release whatever messed up stuff my brain is gonna form whether or not I like it. 

Fair warning for this little thing here, though: this is not very story based, much rather like a random train of thought. It may also be a little unhinged, but what can one expect when dealing with something that they don’t know how to navigate well in the slightest? 

This is also semi-based around the song “LOVE” by PEGGY, emphasis on semi-based. I was hopping between songs that I thought would be able to satiate my sense of despair and partial loathing, but that song was the kicker for this piece. 

Below the cut.

(03/01)

This started out okay.  This was easy at first. I was blind to the absolute disaster this would be to my wellbeing, but... I still want it.  I still crave it.  ....Maybe. 

Click.

(03/03) 

Crying doesn’t help. I’m not externally shaking. There aren’t tears streaming down my face. But it doesn’t feel right to not let it be outward.  I can feel my heart pounding in my ears.  I can also feel their hands over my ears and eyes when that one sound got me to flinch and freak out. I can feel their fingertips pushing my hair behind my ear, and their palm on one of my cheeks with their lips oh so gingerly pressing the slightest on the other.  I can feel their breath on my neck, and their hand on my leg, brushing sweet, simple little circles right by my kneecap. I can feel their hugs, tight and warm and comfortable and nice.  I can feel their gaze linger, and the tears that were about shed all because of a cheesy little moment in a TV show. I can feel the vibrations of their voice from behind, and their grip wrapped around my upper arm and my waist.  But as much as I can feel, that fails to negate the fact that this is both the beginning and the end.  Things are never gonna be exactly the same, not unless years pass by first.  This is a whole new door, and the options are limited as to what happens next.  Plan as many dates as one can desire, but I’m not them. I don’t have control over their decisions, and I know that I have no right to be particular about what they do with their time.  So this shouldn’t sting so much.  ... It does.  Why does it sting so much?  Lack of affection from previous partners? Lack of safety? Understanding?  Is it me? Is romance that foreign of a concept?  My cynicism can only go on for so long.  I can only maintain the thought that love is something that isn’t important for so long. 

Click.

(03/07)

At least, in my book, my brain and heart shouldn’t mix. They shouldn’t combine, because if they do, something will happen that I know I’ll come to regret in the future.  I know I want this.  I know I want the fleetingly teasing touches, the gentle affection, the mutual respect, the comfort, the safe space in the form of people.  I know I want it.  I know that I find that fact hard.  I know that my heart is actively trying to shun that knowledge, and that my brain is trying to enforce it.  I never thought that I’d end up here, honestly. I thought that I’d be able to go through life with little worry in this regard. I thought that love would come, and that it would come when necessary, when some unknown force knew that it was time to push it unto me.  Is this the universe doing just that, or am I rushing it do that?

Click.

(03/12) 

I shouldn’t have done this. That door should never have opened, and I should have never even fathomed letting it materialize. Nothing good comes from pessimism, panic attacks, and persistence.  This should be good.  I know that, logically, this is good. I know that this has the potential to work.  I know that this was the stipulation. The catch-22. The deal with the metaphorical devil.  I knew that when I let this happen.  When they leave, what do I do? If they’re alone together, I can only accept that fact. That’s all there is to do.  I wish I could find the capacity to cry about this. 

Click.

(03/14) 

I’ve never been in love before this. Never really had a chance to, if I’m being honest. I‘ve always found it cheesy, and my focus was never directed towards something that “shallow”.  I’ve been questioning if it really is that shallow, now.  This whole deal has been good. Really, it has.  It’s nice, feeling like I’m appreciated as opposed to hearing it from the mouth of my mother, father, or family member. Even teachers, bosses, and coworkers can say it and it doesn’t hold as much meaning as the small actions and expressions they direct at me.  It only just now dawned on me that this is selfish.  I want to love, I want to be loved, and I want to share love.  Physical, emotional, mental - I want love to be a part of my life.  But they come first, that’s the end of this story. That’s all there is to it.  However, love is selfish by nature.  Someone wants someone else to themself, or to themselves.  They want that person or people to be there with them at all hours of the day.  They want to hold their hands, and press fluttering pecks to their pulse points.  And now, it’s in my grasp. It’s been in theirs, though, and now I feel awful for thinking about how wrong my thought process has been.  ...  I have a feeling that I need to calm down before this progresses any futher. That, or I need to up my anti-depressant prescription.  Whichever comes first, I guess.

Click. 

Slam.

Rustle. 

“I need to get some sleep.” 

- 

“Still, I’ve never been in love.

Is that something that I want?

Convince me I’m fine, 

I’m not losing my mind.

Maybe it’s just not for me. 

No! 

I don’t need L-O-V-E.

Maybe I’ll just wait and see.

I might need L-O-V-E....”

[silversiren1101]

👑 after the punch in Iz (if I recall correctly?)

🦋 first impressions?

🎨 after learning his brother joined the Hellknights?

👑 Galfrey after Mino punches her cheek upon first meeting again in Iz:

Minovae: "My hands are still shaking, there's still a splash of blood on my gauntlet... I just... I just punched a queen- THE queen. My hands are shaking, and I can't stop vibrating, but I'm not afraid. I'm not. What is this? Righteousness? Adrenaline pumping like I've just planted my foot over a balor's corpse and shouted in victory to the high heavens. From assaulting the queen? No. Was this usurpation? Was this rebellion? It doesn't matter. We have a job to do and she won't get it done. If she won't end this war then I will. I'll do what it takes because I finally have what it takes. I'm a Hellknight. I need no orders from sovereigns no longer fit for command. What is right must prevail. What is justice must come to pass. No queen decides what that means."

Galfrey: "Is this how it must be, then? It is only... right, I suppose. I made a mistake. I am under no illusion that I did not, banishing her to the Abyss to jealously guard the glory she had stolen from me. If this is how I must repay my folly, then I suppose I should be grateful she is not as rigid and dark as her armor and former allegiance suggests. Other leaders have been less negligent and reckless than I to earn a wartime execution at the hands of a knight of hell. Godspeed, Commander Arangeir, though I know you do not reach for them in your times of need... Godspeed... Deliver us from this nightmare once and for all where I could not."

🦋Arueshalae first impressions!

Minovae: "A demoness- and a succubus at that. Locked up behind her own side's bars? She must truly be a monster if even the other demons are so wary of her, and I can see why. Claiming to be a messenger from a good goddess is a tried and true tactic for these fiends, just look at that succubus in the Gray Garrison who convinced that Crusader she was Iomedae and he plucked his own eyes out for her. I shudder to think what she's done to put herself behind there, and I don't have time to figure it out nor do I particularly care. The Crusaders can deal with her after Drezen is retaken. I have a feeling we'll be needing these cells."

Arueshalae: "She thinks me a monster like the others, and it pains me to hear because I know she is right. Oh, Desna, if someone so bright like her thinks me a lost cause, then will I ever become what you see in me? Will I ever truly be good? There is so much goodness in her heart as much as I could feel it bleeding. Even as she condemned me and looked at me with scorn for what I am, I only proved her right because she is bursting with so much love I could taste it through the bars. I wanted it. Desna... I wanted it. I'm so sorry..."

🎨Sosiel upon learning his brother became a Hellknight

Minovae: "...Sosiel thinks me... He thinks me no true Hellknight, or that I do not know what they are 'truly' like, as he says. He treats me as a naïve child idolizing a concept of knighthood they know nothing about. I did not bleed through a decade of war in my black armor, and hold countless brothers and sisters in my arms as they died to be-*she inhales sharply and sighs* He's hurting. I get that. If he thinks it impossible for light and kindness to exist in this black plate, if he thinks me cruel, then it's really no matter to me. What I worry is that... this war has not yet broken him but this... I think this might. Wherever his brother is, whatever happened to him, I don't think there are any easy answers for him. You would think a painter would be able to see the world in more color than just black and white... but there's still time."

Sosiel: "I can no longer look her in the face. I haven't been able to for days. When the news hit... I still can't believe it. I refuse to believe it. My brother was kind, a perfect paladin in every way. Strong. Patient. Kind. I said some... ugly things, Shelyn forgive me. I said he could never have joined the Hellknights because he wasn't a cruel, blackhearted monster, and Minovae asked me if I thought the same of her. She looked at me so... flatly, no anger or sadness, and asked me if I thought her unkind or cruel. I still haven't answered her. I don't know if I can in a way that doesn't cause even more pain: hers or mine. A part of me thinks she's lost, clinging to the familiar, but I've seen a mercilessness in her that has terrified me. When she executed Narty without trial or emotion on her face... Thinking of what that means for my brother... what he would look like-No. I refuse. Trever... Trever would never."

[shorkbrian]

Not a request!! But just thiking about shinso watching you while you buy your vibrator, ofc hes in there looking for no pussy pockets to fuck but he just cant quit looking at you, you looked so “innocent” or “naive” trying to be descreet, him following you home and raping your cunt while using the new vibrator you just bought.

ahudssaduashiubfsd literally this concept has not left my mind since u sent it in AHHHHHH

(What to expect - ahhhh sex toys, noncon, dubcon, NSFW )

Cause yeah, it’s your first time in a sex shop, you’re flushed and a bit embarrassed and nervous. You’re pretty sure it’s obvious to the clerk that you’re a fumbling virgin, but you’re trying to be brave, and you want a vibrator, dammit!

You’ve heard so much about how good they feel, and you’re pent up and horny and you want to be able to get off in a few minutes rather than the 30+ it takes for you to orgasm with just your fingers.

A vibrator is just practical.

But ordering it online is intimidating, you can’t tell the sizes or feel the vibrations, so in-person shopping it is.

There’s just a few other people in the shop besides you, there’s music, it’s a nice atmosphere.

Shinsou takes one look at you when you timidly brush past him, and he’s smitten. He’s immediately plagued with what your face would look like when you cry, those big beautiful eyes filled with tears, a fat cock shoved down your throat. How you’d react to someone teasing you, someone edging you or denying you.

Would you pout? Would you be bratty and seductive?

Oh, but you’re so nervous, face aflame as you force yourself to look at all the various toys, there’s no way you aren’t a virgin. You’d be a mess while taking cock, overwhelmed and unable to do anything but gasp and moan.

Shinsou has to adjust himself in his pants.

He’s there for a pocket pussy, but he can’t tear his eyes off you.

“Looking for something specific?”

You jump at the sound of his voice - you even look cute when you’re scared.

“Uhm, yeah? I mean-well, kinda....” You can’t meet his eyes, can’t look at the toys, too shy and embarrassed by the phallic shapes and the glaring advertisements.

“This one feels really nice, I have one at home and it’s reliable and quiet.” Shinsou points to a wand, long with a bulbous vibrating ball at the tip. He knows it looks intimidating. “But if you’re a newbie... it’ll probably be too intense. You ever used stuff like this before?”

You blush even harder, the flush traveling down your neck while you shake your head, eyes shooting to the floor so you don’t have to look at the man, nor the toys.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed, everyone starts somewhere.” He’s playing the part of helpful, experienced, good samaritan. Helping you out of the kindness of his heart.

He moves a bit, down the aisle, grabs a package from the wall. “This one might be more your speed. It’s less powerful.” 

The purple haired man knows most of these products. He spends a lot of nights  with one toy or another, is intimately acquainted with their different functions. Half the store clerks know him by name. Thinking about it, Shinsou could probably get some good money out of doing product reviews.

You take the package from his hands, fingers looking so short and little compared to his. No wonder you’re getting a toy, you can’t reach anything with those.

“Of course, that style is meant for penetration. You wanting something to go inside? Something thick like that?” He knows he’s pushing, but you’ve been open to his help so far.

You hurriedly push the package back towards the man, shaking your head with a blush on your cheeks.

Shinsou has to stop himself from chuckling, you’re just too cute.

He helps you pick out a flexible hand-held vibrator, one shaped like a pear and intended for external stimulation only. Gentle vibrations, a fun texture at the tip, it’s everything Shinsou thinks a virgin like you needs to enjoy themselves.

By the time you head up to the register, you seem more relaxed, able to look up a few times, talk in complete sentences.

Shinsou doesn’t want to let you go.

But it’s late, and you have to get home, and you politely decline his offer of him walking you at least to the bus (”It’s fine, I live just a few blocks from here.”). He wants to give you his phone number so you can text him when you get home, just in case you have any questions about the charging port - that always trips up beginners.

You turn down that offer as well.

Shinsou just shrugs it off, says he understands, and that he hopes you enjoy your new toy. He knows it’ll feel good.

When he steps up behind you at the counter, products in hand, you smile shyly at him before waving as you grab the small bag. The clerk raises her eyebrow at Shinsou once you head out the door.

“Pulling in the ladies while doing my job for me? Nice, dude.”

Shinsou smiles and shakes his head, just watches her scan the lube and condoms he’s purchasing.

It takes him a second to gather his wits when he steps out into the cool air. He’s still chubbed up in his pants, and he’s feeling a little irritated at how he went so far out of his way to help you, and you didn’t even show any appreciation. 

He sees you on the sidewalk, humming along to the music in your earbuds as you stroll along. 

An idea forms.

Shinsou finds his feet moving before he can even fully think it through, slow, measured steps following after you.

He’s gonna follow you home.

Strike right as you unlock your door, shove you inside before you know what’s happening, before you can scream.

Shinsou will show you how to use that vibrator, might have to gag your mouth so you don’t scream too loud when he makes you cum, but that’s okay. He’ll sit you in his lap and put his hands over yours and guide you in where to press the little vibrator in order to make your legs shake, to make your hips jump and your muscles tense.

There’s so many new sensations he can introduce you to, the numbing pleasure of an orgasm, the pleasant sting of overstimulation, the frustration in edging and the relief when you’re finally allowed to cum.

Maybe he could even convince you to letting him show you how it feels to have something inside your little cunt?

After all, he’s a gentleman - it’d be rude if he didn’t ask.