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buckyseternaldoll · 15 days ago

Text

eighteen hours.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Weeks apart on separate missions leave you and Bucky Barnes aching, desperate, and one heartbeat away from unraveling. The reunion? Eighteen hours of pure, breathless release.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, multiple rounds, overstimulation, edging, mutual desperation, shower sex, window sex, kitchen counter sex, use of restraints (soft), masturbation mention, lingerie tease, squirting (f), super soldier stamina, mild teasing from tb* members

It started like any other assignment.

A sharp morning. Polished boots. Steel chairs arranged around the Watchtower’s mission table. The kind of day where even the light felt clinical—too white, too bright, too final.

Valentina entered with a clipboard in hand and that usual glint in her eye, the one that said she already knew something you didn’t want to hear.

“Barnes, Yelena, Alexei, Bob—Bucharest first. Bogotá by week three. Rotating safehouses. No crossovers.”

You stiffened.

“Walker, Ava, and…”

She looked straight at you.

“You—Algeria. Then east through Istanbul. Targets on the move. You’re expected to stay mobile and out of range.”

The silence afterward said everything.

That pause before your name wasn’t a slip.

It was surgical.

Across the table, Bucky’s jaw tensed. He didn’t look at you, but his shoulders rolled tight. His metal hand flexed once, resting flat on the table like he was physically grounding himself.

This wasn’t routine.

This was designed.

The room shifted. Teams gathered their gear. Orders confirmed.

But neither of you moved.

Bucky brushed your fingers beneath the table—the kind of small, hidden touch that wasn’t meant to say goodbye. It was a promise.

We’ll find each other.

However we can.

—

Packing was mechanical.

Weapons, suits, coordinates, clearances.

Everyone was buzzing around the hangar level, focused on countdowns and jet fuel. But Bucky caught your wrist with a glance that made your breath hitch—then gently steered you down a side corridor.

He didn’t stop until you ducked into a quiet auxiliary room—once used for archive storage, now mostly forgotten. The lights were dim. A narrow bench ran along the wall. A few old mission files sat boxed in the corner.

He shut the door behind you.

“Just for a minute,” he said, voice low. “Just wanna be where you are.”

You barely nodded before he pulled you into his chest. He held you like he needed it—not tight or desperate, but complete. His warmth poured into you as you buried your face into the space between his neck and shoulder.

You ended up straddling his lap on the bench, both of you half-armored, half-undressed—hands roaming like you were trying to memorize every line, every scar, every breath.

“I hate this,” you muttered into his neck.

“I know.” His voice was steady. Anchoring. “But we’ll be okay.”

His mouth found the slope of your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then lower—teeth grazing before lips closed around your skin and sucked.

You gasped—part surprise, part pure heat.

“Bucky—”

“Gonna leave a few. Let ‘em wonder how many more are where they can’t see.”

He left another. And another. The bruises bloomed warm beneath your skin—high enough that your tactical suit wouldn’t cover all of them.

When he pulled back to look at you, his pupils were blown wide, lips kiss-bitten and breath ragged.

“You’re mine,” he murmured. “Even if they split us across the damn planet.”

You ran your hands up under his shirt, nails scratching lightly across his ribs—grounding yourself in the solidity of him.

“You’ll text me when you can?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if it’s just one word?”

“Even if it’s just a photo.”

You smirked. “Of what?”

He grinned, leaning back like he had all the time in the world—even though you both knew better.

“I’m waiting for boob pics, love. Minimum one per timezone.”

You laughed into his neck and kissed his jaw, soft and smiling.

“You’re such a menace.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

When the comm finally buzzed for final departure prep, you lingered another moment, forehead pressed to his.

“We’re good?”

“Always.”

And then you slipped out—his warmth still clinging to your skin, and his hickeys hidden beneath your collar like the loudest secret in the world.

—

The first few days weren’t unbearable.

Busy hours blurred the worst of it—briefings, drone recon, field scans. The kind of missions that demanded your hands stay full and your focus sharp. You told yourself it helped. That staying in motion kept the ache at bay.

But the nights were something else entirely.

By the third night, sleep wouldn’t come. The cot beneath you was too narrow, too cold. You rolled over instinctively and reached for the other side—empty. Your palm flattened against the mattress like it could summon him there.

It didn’t.

You’d already stripped out of your tactical suit, skin flushed from a lukewarm shower and a restlessness that refused to settle. The mirror over the sink caught your reflection just as the last of the sun dipped beneath the window—warm dusk light casting gold across your damp collarbone, your bare shoulder.

You grabbed your comm. Lifted your phone.

Pulled down your undershirt just enough to let the neckline dip low—sweat clinging to the curve of your breasts, a faint bruise from his mouth peeking out beneath the edge of the fabric.

The angle was deliberate.

Head tilted back. Lips parted. Not a full reveal. But it said everything.

Still thinking about the way your hands fit around my waist.

Bet you’d wreck me if you were here.

You hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

—

His reply came six hours later. No text. Just an image.

The lighting was shit—whatever rooftop he was on barely lit by the glow of city spill—but it didn’t matter.

He was shirtless.

Dog tags heavy and low over his chest.

Hair a little messier than usual, as if he’d just run a hand through it before taking the shot.

But the part that made your thighs press together?

His sweatpants.

Slung low. Way too low. Obscene, really—the waistband clinging just above the vee of his hips, and beneath it? A thick, unmistakable bulge pressing upward. Not subtle. Not suggestive.

Hard. Veined. Heavy. Angry.

Like he’d taken the photo mid-thought, right before palming himself. Like maybe he had.

Your name was probably still on his tongue when he snapped it.

You sucked in a breath, cheeks hot, and held the screen to your chest like it could warm the parts of you he was supposed to be touching.

This was manageable, you told yourself.

Just teasing. Just playing.

It would pass.

—

It got worse.

What started as playful—just a little edge, a little fun—turned into something raw. Unbearable. Every picture, every breathy message only twisted the knife deeper.

Bucky cracked first.

The signal finally held long enough for him to send a voice note.

You were mid-gear check when it came through, tucked into a corner of the safehouse with your earbuds in.

“Woke up with my hand around my cock,” he rasped, voice low, wrecked. “Thought it was you at first. Swear to God, I could feel you there. Your breath on my neck, your legs wrapped around me. Then I realized I was alone again.”

A pause. A harsh exhale.

“And fuck, baby… I nearly lost it.”

You played it three times.

Nearly dropped your comm on the third.

—

You didn’t just tease back. You retaliated.

The next photo was a mirror shot—deliberately filthy. You stood in the dim light of your bunk, chest bare, your breasts fully visible this time, no shame. One hand was sunk into your panties, fingers clearly pressing against the soaked fabric. The other held your phone steady, angled to catch the full view: your messy hair, parted lips, heavy-lidded eyes, and the slick glint of sweat on your chest. No caption. Just raw hunger in pixels.

This help you sleep tonight? Or should I take more?

He didn’t respond immediately. But when he did, it was short.

You’re not playing fair.

My cock’s been hard since sunrise. Haven’t touched it. Saving every second of this for you.

You sent a quick clip later—just a few seconds long. You didn’t even speak in it.

Just six seconds. The camera angled low—your hand slipping beneath the blanket between your thighs. No real view, just the movement. The blanket shifted slightly with every circle you traced over your clit. Soft moans escaped—broken, breathy, like you were trying to stay quiet. Then a whimper—his name, trembling from your lips. No skin shown. No climax caught. Just the sound and the hint and the promise of you falling apart.

Bucky watched it on repeat like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

—

Then came Ava.

You’d crashed hard that night—exhausted, sweaty, and stripped down to just your lingerie. The maroon lace set he liked. The same one he’d picked out. It had become a habit—wearing it when you missed him. A reminder. A tether.

Ava had been reviewing footage by the window for perimeter movement when she caught it.

The camera was focused outward. But the mic had picked up your sleep sounds in the background.

She wasn’t trying to be cruel when she played it back.

She just raised an eyebrow and pressed play—a grin tugging at her lips as the soft moans filled the air. You were murmuring his name. Restless. Breathless. Like you were dreaming of him—no, feeling him.

“Mmh… Bucky—please… inside me… deeper—oh god… please—”

Your voice cracked on the last word, a sharp gasp like you were right on the edge.

You could’ve died.

“Jesus,” Ava had laughed, not unkind. “Want me to send it to him? Y’know, for motivation?”

You didn’t answer fast enough. She already hit send.

—

He didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even text back. Just disappeared for a few hours.

Locked himself in the bathroom of the Bogotá safehouse, palms braced on the sink, sweat dripping from his temple to his jaw. The floor was cold. His cock throbbed painfully in the tight grip of his tactical jeans, already slick with precum from the sound of your voice in his ear—played over and over again like a goddamn drug.

He groaned low, forehead resting against the mirror as he finally undid his fly—reached in and freed himself with a hissed curse.

Hard. Angry. Red at the tip and twitching. His hand flexed uselessly beside him, trembling from restraint.

He closed his eyes and whispered, “Fuck, baby… what are you doing to me…”

But he didn’t stroke.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Not without your hands.

Not without your thighs tight around his hips.

Not without your voice whispering that he could let go.

So he tucked himself away again—biting down hard on the side of his fist until it bruised, his pulse roaring like a storm.

Later, when the signal held again, he finally texted:

This was supposed to help.

All these videos. These fucking pictures.

It’s making everything worse, doll.

I need you so bad, I swear I’m gonna lose my mind.

—

He stopped sleeping properly.

The circles under his eyes were darker now, sharp enough to draw questions if anyone had the nerve. His mouth was constantly pressed into a tight, agitated line. The usual post-mission calm he carried—that calculated, steady presence of command—was cracking.

Every time he sat down to write up route plans, his hands twitched. His left hand—the metal one—wouldn’t stop flexing. Clenching. Releasing. Like he was trying to ground himself in anything that wasn’t your voice moaning his name.

The last time he tried to issue orders midbriefing, he nearly snapped a comm tablet in half.

“Safehouse Delta’s too close to the highway,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll reroute south. Four klicks. We’ll—”

He trailed off.

Everyone stared at the map table, then at Bucky—who was clearly no longer looking at anything but the wall. Or rather, through it.

His jaw clenched again. He tried to redirect.

“We’ll send Bob first to—”

But Bob was already looking sideways at him.

“You gonna pass out?”

“No.”

“You look like your brain’s buffering.”

“I said I’m fine.”

But his voice had cracked. Just slightly.

Yelena leaned back in her seat with a dramatic sigh, chewing on the end of a protein bar like this was better than Netflix.

“Alright,” she announced loudly, “I’m just gonna say what everyone else is thinking.”

Bucky didn’t even turn his head.

She kept going.

“You’re clearly about three days from spontaneously combusting from blue balls. You’ve been staring at walls, misreading maps, and grinding your teeth like it’s a fetish. Which—respectfully—gross.”

Alexei smothered a laugh. Bob coughed loudly into his fist.

“You need to jerk off or jump off a building,” Yelena finished, deadpan. “Pick one.”

Bucky finally looked up.

His eyes were bloodshot. His voice was tight when he replied.

“I’m not jerking off.”

That shut them up.

Yelena blinked. “…Okay. That’s not where I thought that was going.”

“I’m saving it. All of it.” His hand twitched again. “She deserves every goddamn second of it.”

A pause. The silence stretched—not awkward, just charged.

Even Alexei nodded solemnly, as if that was the only acceptable answer.

Yelena rolled her eyes but muttered, “Romantic. Disgusting. Continue suffering, I guess.”

—

Later that night, Bucky paced the rooftop alone. Fingers twitching. Breath uneven.

He pulled up your last photo again.

Your hand between your thighs. Lips parted. That little text below it:

I’d spread for you right here on this cot if you were with me.

He groaned into his palm.

Pressed the heel of his hand against the painful bulge in his pants.

Didn’t move. Didn’t stroke. Just gritted his teeth and endured.

“You better be ready for what I’m gonna do to you,” he muttered into the dark.

—

It was just after 7:00PM when the jet touched down.

The sky above the Watchtower was bruised in golds and fading gray, clouds curling low like dusk had rolled in too early. Your shoulders ached. Muscles stiff from too many hours strapped in gear, too many days sleeping with one eye open.

Your boots hit the floor with more weight than usual—the kind that didn’t come from exhaustion alone. It was something else. Something thick in your chest, pressing behind your ribs.

Inside the compound, it was unusually quiet.

Operatives passed by in pairs. Brief nods. No chatter.

Ava veered off toward medical, threw a wink over her shoulder, and mouthed, “Go get your man.”

You didn’t smile. Not yet.

Not until your fingers brushed the key panel of your shared room, and the door clicked open beneath your touch.

Something shifted the moment you stepped inside.

The air smelled like candle wax, clean linens, and something warmer underneath—musk and sandalwood, with a trace of vanilla. The room glowed gold in low light. Flickering candles burned on the desk, by the bed, and one small one beside the bathroom mirror.

It was quiet. But not empty.

He was there.

And the second he saw you, his face lit up.

“Hey,” Bucky breathed, already halfway to his feet. His voice was low but clear, as if speaking pulled breath right back into his lungs. “You’re home.”

That ache—the one locked in your chest—snapped clean open.

You dropped your duffel just as he reached you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, your cheek pressed against his collarbone. He smelled like soap and steel and something distinctly him—warm skin, freshly showered, a hint of cologne that clung to his shirt.

He didn’t devour you. Didn’t grope, didn’t rush.

He just held you.

One arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head. His lips brushed the top of your hair.

You clung back like it might hold you together.

His hand ran slowly down your spine. You could feel the control in it—the way his chest rose hard against yours, like he was barely keeping the rest of him contained.

“I changed the sheets,” he murmured softly. “Lit a few candles. Put your shampoo out. Thought maybe you’d want a hot shower first.”

Your heart cracked, melted, rebuilt itself.

You nodded against him, cheek brushing the curve of his neck.

“You remembered.”

“Of course I did.” His smile touched his voice, even as his hand lingered low on your back. “You always say you wanna feel clean before we get dirty.”

That earned a small laugh from you—quiet, but real.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, cupping your cheek in one hand. His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye, like he was checking you for damage.

“I missed you,” he said. “Like breathing stopped.”

You kissed him, soft and slow—lips barely parting, just enough to feel the warmth of him beneath the quiet.

“Missed you more.”

He didn’t rush you when you stepped out of your gear. Just watched with quiet reverence, helping peel the layers off your shoulders and arms. He kissed your shoulder once—right over the old bruise he left weeks ago—and whispered:

“I’ve been thinking about this moment for 36 days. But I’m not rushing it. Not until you’re ready.”

Then he took your hand, kissed the inside of your wrist, and nodded toward the bathroom.

“Go on. I’ll be right here.”

—

You hadn’t even closed the door behind you.

The steam was already thick, curling from the shower where hot water slammed against tile. You peeled your clothes off slowly, shaking the last of the travel dust from your skin, limbs heavy from the mission—but your chest felt lighter. He was here. You were home.

You stepped into the spray and let it hit you.

Heat flooded your shoulders. Rolled down your spine.

The ache you’d ignored for weeks cracked wide open across your bones.

You arched slightly under the pressure of the water, fingers dragging slowly down your stomach. Your thighs pressed together at the memory of his voice—his lips on your neck, his hands gripping your hips like they belonged there.

You knelt briefly to grab a bottle you knocked over. Bent forward. Stretched.

And then—

“Mmh…”

Just a sound. A breath.

But it came from somewhere deep—unconscious, raw, and aching. It slipped from your throat like his name was caught beneath it.

The floor creaked.

You turned, startled—and everything inside you tightened.

He was there.

Bucky Barnes. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom like something ancient and carved from firelight. His chest rose fast, hard, like he’d sprinted across the room. Hair damp with sweat, not water. Shoulders tight. Fists clenched at his sides.

And he was naked.

Completely.

You hadn’t even heard him undress. But there he stood—broad, solid, his cock achingly hard and already slick with precum, flushed dark and twitching with every strained breath he took.

His eyes drank you in.

Steam wrapped around his body, clinging to every line of him. You watched his jaw twitch, chest heave. His cock twitched again—another thick drop of precum beading at the tip.

“Baby…”

His voice cracked. A breath. A prayer. Hoarse and wrecked.

“Please…”

“Please stop torturing me.”

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

Like he was waiting for your permission—even now, even while unraveling at the seams.

You reached for him.

One hand. Simple. Open. You pressed your palm to the center of his chest—felt the hammering heartbeat beneath it, the way his breath hitched.

He whimpered.

The sound broke from his lips like it had been fighting its way out for days. He stepped forward, cupped your waist, then your jaw, thumb trembling against your cheek.

“You’re real,” he whispered. “Fuck—you’re here.”

You smiled softly. Nodded.

He stepped into the shower with you—no hesitation this time.

The water soaked him instantly, but he didn’t care. He was already soaked in you. The scent. The need.

His hands were everywhere. One warm, the other metal, both reverent. They dragged up your spine, gripped your hips, held your face like it was holy.

“Missed you,” he rasped between frantic kisses.

“Missed your mouth. Your voice. Your thighs. The way you sound when I’m inside you—fuck, baby, I’ve been dying.”

Your back hit the tile with a dull thud. His body pressed into yours, all solid heat and desperation.

His cock bumped against your stomach—hot, heavy, leaking.

He gasped. “Touch me… please, just—let me feel you.”

You did more than touch.

Your hand curled around the base of him, felt him throb in your palm. He swore low against your neck, forehead pressing to yours as his hands skimmed lower, between your thighs.

“Jesus, sweetheart—”

His fingers slid through the slick between your legs.

“You’re soaked…”

He groaned. Slid two fingers inside you.

You gasped, walls clenching hard around the intrusion.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Tight… tighter than I remember. You really waited for me?”

You bit his jaw. “I didn’t even let myself finish, Bucky. You ruined me.”

That was all it took.

He gripped your thighs, lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing, and pinned you to the shower wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, arms around his neck.

“Hold on to me,” he breathed. “That’s it… Good girl.”

He lined himself up. Slick head pressed against your entrance. And then—

He sank in.

One thrust. Deep. Full.

You both cried out—voices echoing in the tile and steam.

The stretch. The heat. The sudden, perfect fullness.

He fucked into you with short, desperate thrusts—buried all the way, hips snapping with precision. You met him every time, nails clawing his back, gasping against his mouth.

Your orgasm ripped through you without warning—sharp, wet, loud.

“James, I—I’m coming!”

“I’ve got you. Let go. Soak me, baby.”

You did. You clenched so hard around him he almost collapsed.

He followed seconds after—buried deep, groaning your name as he came hard inside you, hips jerking, forehead pressed to your shoulder. His body trembled with the force of it. He held you there, still wrapped around him, his cock twitching inside your pulsing heat.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Not letting you out of this room for days.”

You kissed him through the fog, smiling against his lips.

“Good. I’m not going anywhere.”

—

Your legs were still shaking when he carried you out of the bathroom.

No towel. No words. Just the heat of his arms around you, the steady thump of his heart against your ribs, and the way the air between you still crackled like static. You smelled like him. He smelled like you. It wasn’t over. It had only begun.

He laid you on the bed like something sacred.

Candles glowed around the room, casting golden halos over damp sheets and flushed skin. The maroon lace slip sat untouched where he’d left it—delicate, sheer, wicked.

You reached for it with trembling fingers.

But Bucky caught your wrist gently. “Let me,” he said.

His voice was lower now. Hoarse. Reverent.

He lifted the slip over your head slowly, letting the lace fall like a whisper down your body. It hugged your hips, clung to your breasts just enough to tease—translucent and sinful. His lips brushed your spine as he adjusted the straps, hands shaking.

“I thought about this every night,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder.

“Fantasized about it. About you, straddling me in this. Had to lie there with my fists clenched, cock aching, just—breathing through it. Didn’t touch myself. Not once.”

His voice cracked. “Didn’t want to waste a single drop that wasn’t for you.”

You whimpered.

He hovered above you now—fully naked, flushed, his cock already hard again. Veined and glistening, twitching with the pulse of how badly he needed to be inside you.

But he didn’t rush.

Didn’t even move until you cupped his jaw and pulled him down into a kiss.

Mouths met softly, then harder.

Tongues sliding slow.

His body sinking into yours, heat to heat, heartbeat to heartbeat.

You grabbed the back of his neck and whispered against his lips, “Come here. Let me ruin you.”

He groaned, deep in his throat, and you flipped him onto his back, straddling his hips with shaking thighs. The lace slip rode up your thighs, leaving nothing in the way when his cock pressed hot and heavy against your dripping heat.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped. “You’re soaked through.”

You leaned down, your breasts brushing his chest, and ground your hips against his length. “You did this,” you whispered. “With every text. Every picture. Every breath.”

He was gone. Let you take full control.

You gathered the hem of the lace slip, just enough to bare yourself to him, and guided him in—sinking down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

Both of you moaned, raw and open, mouths slack with need.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, head thrown back, fists clenched in the sheets.

“Still so tight, baby. Still fucking perfect.”

You started to move—slow at first, grinding your hips in deep, lazy circles that dragged the tip of his cock right against your most sensitive spot. His hands clamped hard on your thighs, trying to keep his control, but you didn’t make it easy.

“You gonna come again just from riding me?” he asked, breathless.

You nodded. “Already close.”

He groaned, slipping one hand between your bodies to rub firm, precise circles over your clit.

“There you go… let me feel you. Let go for me.”

And you did.

Your second orgasm hit like a goddamn wave—crashing through your spine, stealing your breath, squeezing around his cock so tight he choked on a moan.

He didn’t last much longer.

You kept grinding, whispering filth into his ear—how full he made you feel, how wrecked you were for him, how you still weren’t done.

That tipped him.

He came hard with a strangled moan, cock pulsing deep inside you, hips jerking as he flooded you for the second time. His arms locked around your waist as he gasped into the crook of your neck, trembling from the force of it.

You stayed like that, slumped against his chest, bodies stuck together with sweat and slick and heat.

“You alright?” he asked, voice scratchy.

“I’m feral,” you whispered back. “And I’m not finished.”

He chuckled, still panting. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not tapping out anytime soon.”

—

Later.

The wine sat untouched on the desk.

The lace slip lay discarded in a crumpled pile on the floor.

The candles had burned halfway down, wax pooling thick at the base.

And you?

You were flushed. Sweaty. Trembling.

Knees sinking into the mattress as you straddled his thighs once more, this time with your back to him—hips hovering, your whole body tingling.

He leaned against the headboard, sweat shining on his chest, watching you like a man possessed.

“You sure?” he rasped, voice ragged and frayed.

You didn’t answer.

You just reached back, gripped his cock at the base, and lowered yourself onto him slowly—inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt inside you.

Both of you moaned. Loud.

Deep.

Almost pained.

Your hands braced against his shins behind you for leverage, thighs spread wide as you rode him hard—your ass slapping against his hips, slick and flushed with every bounce.

“Oh, fuck—”

His hands gripped your waist like he was anchoring himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart—you’re still so fuckin’ tight…”

You started to move—slow, heavy grinds, rolling your hips like you needed every inch of him rooted inside you. Bucky gasped behind you, his hands traveling from your hips to your thighs to your breasts, groping, squeezing, completely feral.

“You ride me like it’s the only thing keeping you alive,” he growled.

“Look at that ass—fuck, I can see it bounce every time you fucking slam down.”

You moaned—head tilted back, chest rising and falling—sweat glistening between your breasts.

And then—his fingers slid between your thighs from behind. Two of them, circling your clit with ruthless precision.

“I wanna feel you come again, baby. Let me feel you fucking gush on my cock.”

Your thighs trembled. Muscles locked. Your core started to spasm.

“Bucky, I—I think I—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Do it. Come on, baby. You’re dripping, you’re so fucking close—let it happen.”

You broke with a cry.

Legs shaking. Hands digging into his thighs.

Your pussy clamped down hard, and then it hit—

You squirted.

Hard.

Hot wetness sprayed between your thighs, down over his cock, soaking the sheets. Bucky let out a strangled moan, clutching your waist like he was going to lose his mind.

“Goddamn—fuck, look at you. You’re gonna make a fucking mess, aren’t you, baby?”

He didn’t stop.

He snapped his hips up into you, relentless now—grinding deep as your soaked cunt fluttered around him, so overstimulated your vision blurred.

“Still want more?” he panted, thrusting up again, angling perfectly.

“I can feel how much you need it. So greedy for me—so fucking full of my cum, and still not satisfied.”

You couldn’t answer. You just moaned, nodding wildly, nails dragging down his thighs, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot on your shoulder as he leaned forward, one hand now wrapped tight around your throat.

“You gonna come for me again? Gonna make a mess on my cock one more time?”

“Yes—James, please—”

And you did.

A second wave slammed into you.

You screamed, back arching, body locking as you squirted again—wetter this time, gushing down over his balls, onto the sheets, soaking everything beneath you.

Bucky lost it.

“Shitshitshit— I’m coming—fuck, baby—I’m—”

He grunted, jerking up into you with three final brutal thrusts as his cock pulsed deep inside you, filling you again, so hot you felt it flood your walls.

You collapsed forward onto the mattress, his arms catching you just before you slumped completely. He held you tight from behind, your body still twitching, both of you covered in sweat, slick, and release.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, voice dazed, completely gone.

“You just… soaked me, baby.”

You half-laughed, half-whimpered. “I couldn’t help it. You broke me.”

“Good,” he growled, kissing your neck. “You can break me next.”

—

You should’ve been done.

You should’ve been shaking, satisfied, breathless from three rounds and nothing left to give.

But you weren’t.

The ache still lived in your bones.

The emptiness still throbbed between your legs.

And when Bucky’s lips brushed your temple—slow, tender, trembling—you felt it in him too.

He needed more.

You both did.

The sheets beneath you were damp. Your thighs were slick. Your chest rose with every sharp breath, nipples flushed and sensitive, body still twitching from your last orgasm. And still… the hunger hadn’t dulled.

“You okay?” he whispered against your throat.

“No,” you rasped, voice cracking.

“I need you again. Right fucking now.”

Bucky exhaled a shaky breath. His cock twitched against your thigh—already stiffening again.

“Jesus, doll… you’re insatiable.”

He kissed your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Then he shifted—slow but deliberate—and suddenly, your wrists were gathered above your head. You gasped at the motion, but his grip was careful, tender. He reached for the discarded shirt at the foot of the bed and looped it around your wrists—soft, warm, not tight.

“Just wanna keep you here,” he murmured, kissing your palms one at a time.

“Let me take care of you.”

Your stomach fluttered. Your thighs clenched.

And when he dropped between your legs, your breath hitched so hard your back arched off the bed.

“James—”

“Shhh,” he purred, brushing his stubble along the inside of your thigh.

“Gonna keep you right here, sweetheart. Gonna make you come until your body forgets what rest feels like.”

His tongue dragged through your folds—slow, warm, filthy.

The first flick over your clit sent your hips off the bed—but he was already holding you down, fingers firm, spreading you open like he was fucking home.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled into your cunt, voice rough with disbelief.

“Jesus, baby, you taste like both of us… fuck. You’re perfect.”

He devoured you.

Long, slow licks that lapped up his own cum still leaking from you. Wet, obscene noises filled the room—every slurp, every moan against your pussy like it was the only thing that ever mattered.

You whined. Cried out. Legs trembling.

His mouth worked faster, tongue flicking your clit with maddening precision—soft then hard, gentle then firm, always changing, always knowing exactly how to ruin you.

“Bucky—fuck—baby I—”

Your voice broke.

Your hips bucked.

You were so close again, already, already—

He pulled back.

“Not yet,” he rasped, lips wet and eyes dark.

“Not until you beg for it.”

You sobbed—from the overstimulation, from the ache, from how badly you needed to fall apart.

“Please—please, baby, I can’t—just let me—let me come, please—!”

That broke him.

He groaned, deep and guttural, and latched onto your clit with his mouth wide and relentless—tongue flat, dragging fast and rough, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs.

You exploded.

A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm hit like a strike of lightning—your whole body shook, fists clenched, toes curled, thighs trembling. You gasped so hard your ribs ached. The headboard thudded behind you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice soaked in reverence.

“One more, baby. Just one more for me.”

You didn’t even get to respond.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because his tongue never stopped.

He kept sucking—soft at first, then harder—until another wave curled sharp behind your ribs. You sobbed his name, pulled at the binds, tried to run but couldn’t move.

You came again.

Harder.

Legs seizing, slick gushing between your thighs, soaking his face, your body curling from the sheer force of it.

He kissed your trembling thighs through the aftershocks.

Pressed his forehead to your belly.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“I don’t even know where I am,” you panted.

“And I think I like it.”

—

Later—

Maybe thirty minutes.

Maybe five.

Time had stopped meaning anything.

It warped, curled, bled together beneath the hum of overstimulation and breathless ache.

You lay curled on your side, one leg bent, sheets tangled around your calves. Sweat cooled on your skin in sticky rivulets. Your breathing had started to even out, but your body still pulsed from the inside—too full, too stretched, too tender to be still.

And then—

The mattress dipped behind you.

You felt his warmth before you felt his hands.

He slid in close—chest to your back, thighs pressed to yours, breath curling against your neck.

His lips brushed your shoulder.

“Still want me?” he asked, voice soft as fog.

You answered with a sigh. Reached back without looking, your palm wrapping around the hard length of him, thick and hot and already twitching against your fingers.

“Always.”

You rocked your hips back, slotting yourself perfectly into him.

He kissed your spine.

Tucked his face into the crook of your neck, and whispered like a man undone.

“I’ll never stop wanting you.”

One hand lifted your top leg, just slightly—fingers gliding over your thigh. His other arm wrapped low around your waist. You felt the weight of him, the warm press of his tip teasing at your entrance—slow, so fucking slow—until he finally pushed inside.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, as if the heat of you had burned him.

“You’re still tight. Still fluttering around me.”

You whimpered.

He thrust deep.

Steady. Gentle.

Every movement an unspoken prayer.

No rhythm. No pace. Just a rolling, molten motion—his cock dragging deep and slow, slick with everything you’d already shared, stroking right against the spot that still trembled.

“I could live here,” he breathed. “I want to live here.”

Your hand gripped his forearm where it wrapped across your middle. He pulled you back against him with every gentle thrust, grounding you in the heat of his body, his breath stuttering where it ghosted along your neck.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmured. “So fucking good.”

“Still feels like a dream,” you whispered.

“Then don’t wake up. Just… stay right here. Let me have you like this.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. Tears stung, soft and sudden. It wasn’t pain—it was too much pleasure. Too much love. The way he moved inside you like your body was a temple. Like every inch of you was his.

“Tell me you’re mine again,” he whispered, voice breaking.

You choked on a moan.

“I’m yours, James. Always.”

You came first—slow and quiet. A gentle quake that rippled from your core outward, your body trembling against him as your inner walls clamped down tight. You gasped softly, a sob in your throat, your hands fisting in the sheets.

“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder.

“Let go, doll. Let me feel you.”

He wasn’t far behind.

He buried himself deep, groaning low into your hair, his whole body taut as his release surged inside you again—slow and warm, his cock pulsing deep as he held still, hips locked to yours.

You lay there, body slack and soft, his cock still inside you.

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

His fingers traced lazy shapes on your belly, his lips pressing soft, almost absent kisses to your damp shoulder, your neck, your cheekbone.

“You okay?” he asked eventually, voice quiet.

You nodded.

“I think I’m in love with you again.”

He smiled against your skin. “Good. I never stopped.”

—

Your body was trembling again.

Not with the sharp, writhing spasms of climax—but the deeper, low-grade tremor of exhaustion.

The kind that came after too many orgasms and too little rest.

Muscles fluttering, breath short, limbs weak. You felt boneless and heavy, like your body had melted halfway into the mattress.

And yet—

Your core still throbbed.

Your nipples still ached.

Your cunt still ached for him.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Bucky sat back on his heels beside you, eyes trailing over your form with something like worship—something like worry.

His hand reached out slowly. Brushed your sweat-slicked hair off your forehead. Pressed a soft kiss there.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice gentling. “You with me, sweetheart?”

You nodded once, eyes glassy. Your throat was too dry to speak right away.

“Breathe for me. C’mon.”

His thumb stroked your cheek.

“You look wrecked.”

“I am…”

Your voice came out hoarse.

“I’m so tired.”

That broke his heart a little—you could see it in the way his brows creased. His jaw clenched like he was trying to talk himself down from his own feral hunger.

“Then let’s stop, okay?” he offered softly. “Let me clean you up, hold you for a bit. You need rest.”

But your hand was already moving.

Shaky, slow—but determined.

You reached between his legs and wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock.

Still hard.

Still thick and flushed and leaking at the tip like he’d never finished.

His breath caught.

“Baby—”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, tears suddenly springing to your lashes.

“Please, don’t stop. I need you.”

He looked stricken.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he murmured. “I don’t wanna take too much.”

“Then be gentle,” you gasped, stroking him slowly.

“But don’t pull away. I need more. I want you again. I want you.”

His restraint cracked like glass.

With a low, ragged sound, Bucky leaned down to kiss you—soft, shaky, like a prayer being answered. He whispered against your lips.

“Tell me when to stop, baby. Or I won’t.”

You nodded.

Wrapped your arms around his neck.

Pulled him into you.

He guided your legs open with reverent hands—watching your face the entire time, watching for any flinch or hesitation. You were sensitive. Sore. Spent.

But not done.

“I love you,” he said quietly, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“So much it hurts.”

You barely had breath left to answer.

“Then have me,” you whispered. “Take what’s already yours.”

His cock slid into you slow—so slow—inch by inch, the stretch deep and aching, but your body welcomed him like he’d never left.

He moaned into your throat.

“Fuck, baby… still so tight. I can feel your pulse around me.”

He moved gently. Just the slow grind of his hips, the full drag of his cock over soaked, sensitive walls. His hand slid under your back, pulling you flush to his chest.

“You tell me when to stop. You hear me?”

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Just keep giving me all of you.”

And so he did.

With every thrust, he kissed you. With every shift of his hips, he whispered your name. His fingers stroked your side, your hip, your waist—every inch of skin he could reach. You shook beneath him, moaning soft and high each time he bottomed out.

“You’re incredible,” he rasped. “You’re still taking me like it’s the first time. My perfect girl.”

Your orgasm crept in like fog, soft and wet and overwhelming.

You came with a shuddered cry, barely able to hold him, but your body squeezed around him tight—fluttering, spasming, claiming him all over again.

“That's my girl,” he whispered, voice shaking. “So fucking good for me.”

And then he followed—hips stuttering, forehead pressed to yours as he groaned your name like a benediction. His cock throbbed deep inside, spilling more warmth into the mess already flooding between your legs.

He collapsed next to you, immediately pulling you into his arms. Your body was trembling. His thumb stroked your cheek.

“No more unless you ask,” he murmured against your hair.

“I’ll only give you what you want.”

—

The sky was beginning to lighten.

A dusky indigo bled into grey, softening the skyline behind the Watchtower’s windows. But inside the room, time was a blur of candlelight, heat, and the thick, dizzying scent of sweat and sex.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d fully caught your breath.

Your whole body felt glass-thin. Shivering. Sensitive. The sheets clung to your skin with sweat, and your legs barely worked. But the ache was still there. Nestled low. Pulsing. It didn’t fade.

Bucky’s palm slid over your thigh—soft, slow, as if testing your response.

His voice came a moment later, raspy and hesitant. “Sweetheart… we can stop. You need rest. I can wait.”

But you turned to him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Your fingers found his, laced through them.

“I want more,” you whispered. “Please… take me there.”

He exhaled like you’d just saved his life.

Guiding you gently toward the windows—your legs shaky, but moving—he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “I’ll be gentle. Just let me see you.”

The whole room swam around you, golden in candlelight and glimmering sweat.

The skyline stretched before you. Towering buildings, distant lights. No eyes. Just your reflection—flushed, ruined, hair damp and tangled across your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Bucky exhaled when he saw you.

“Look at yourself, baby. Look what I’ve done to you.”

You braced your palms against the cool glass, breasts pressing to it as your body arched. The contrast of heat and chill made you gasp. Bucky moved in behind you, spreading your thighs with his knee. One hand on your hip. The other wrapped around his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds.

“Still dripping,” he muttered. “Even now. Jesus, you never stop, do you?”

“I need it,” you whispered. “Still need you.”

He didn’t make you wait.

Not this time.

He slid into you with one deep, brutal thrust—your bodies colliding with a smack so loud it echoed off the glass. Your moan fogged the window instantly, your hands flattening harder against it.

“Bucky—fuck—”

He set a hard rhythm, pulling your hips back to meet every thrust, the wet sound of your bodies filling the room. You could barely stand, legs shaking, forehead pressed to the glass.

“That’s it. Just like that,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect like this. My girl. My pussy.”

His hand slid around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding. His mouth hovered by your ear.

“You were made for me,” he said. “Fucking built for this.”

“Harder,” you begged. “Please—please don’t stop.”

“Look at your reflection,” he rasped. “Look how good you look. Look how you’re taking me.”

You opened your eyes—and the sight of yourself, cock-stuffed, sweat-slick, wild-eyed, flushed and wrecked against the window, nearly sent you over the edge.

He thrust harder. Faster. Your thighs trembled violently.

“Gonna come,” you sobbed. “Can’t—Bucky—I can’t hold it—”

“Then don’t,” he growled. “Come for me, baby. Come with the whole fucking city watching.”

You shattered.

Legs giving out.

A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm slammed through you like lightning. Your vision blurred. Your body buckled. Bucky caught you before you hit the ground—arm locking around your waist as he kept moving, groaning into your neck.

“Fuck—fuck—gonna fill you again—”

His hips snapped hard, once, twice—and then he came with a guttural sound, spilling inside you with a heat that pushed out around the edges. His head dropped to your shoulder, body shuddering as he emptied himself again.

You stood there for a long time—pressed to the glass, panting, twitching. Your hands limp against the windowpane. Bucky held you like you were breakable.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded faintly.

“Good. ‘Cause we’re not done.”

—

The sun was climbing now.

Pale gold spilled across the Watchtower skyline, casting long streaks of light onto the floor like it was forgiving the sins you were still committing.

Your whole body ached—but not in the way that begged for rest.

It was a deep, needy pulse. Faint, but still there. A hunger that wouldn’t let go.

You stumbled barefoot into the kitchenette, still bare, still slick between your thighs, wearing nothing but Bucky’s hickeys. Your hair was tangled. Your lips were swollen. Your legs trembled with every step.

Your hand landed on a protein bar. You peeled it open with shaking fingers and leaned on the counter for support.

“You better be looking for food,” you said over your shoulder, breathless and hoarse.

You heard the footsteps.

But they didn’t head for the fridge.

Bucky’s body pressed into you from behind—solid, burning hot, and still hard. He slid one arm around your waist, the other reaching up to gently move your hair aside so he could press a kiss to your neck.

“I am hungry,” he rasped, his voice low and feral.

“Just not for that.”

“Bucky,” you groaned, half-laughing, half-destroyed. “I can’t even feel my legs—”

“Good,” he whispered. “You don’t need ‘em.”

Before you could blink, he bent you over the kitchen island.

Your palms slapped down on the cold countertop, and you gasped as your bare nipples brushed the smooth marble.

You didn’t even get the chance to speak.

He lined himself up and pushed in fast—no prep, no warning, just the slick glide of his cock stretching you open again, sliding back into your wrecked body like it was home.

“Fuck, Bucky—!”

“Still so wet,” he growled behind you.

“Still squeezing me like you want more.”

His hands slid to your hips, gripping tight, pulling you back against him with every hard thrust.

This wasn’t slow.

This wasn’t tender.

It was filthy, frantic, barely-in-control fucking. Not because he didn’t care—but because he still needed you that badly.

The sound of skin slapping echoed in the tiny space. The sticky squelch of your soaked cunt taking him again and again filled the air. Your moans bounced off stainless steel and tiled walls.

You dropped your head onto your forearm.

“We… already did this—eight times,” you whimpered.

“I know,” he growled, fucking into you deeper.

“And you’re still fuckin’ perfect. Still taking it all.”

“You’re gonna kill me—”

“Then what a fucking way to go, sweetheart.”

He slid a hand around your front, fingers seeking out your clit, stroking with maddening precision. The way he touched you was still worshipful—even in this chaos.

Your whole body clenched.

“You want one more?” he asked, voice thick, rough, hungry.

“You got one more in you for me, doll?”

“Yes—yes—please—just one more—!”

You came hard. Your scream was ragged, echoing through the kitchen, and your knees nearly gave out from the force of it. The overstimulation blurred your vision with white-hot static, but your body still took every inch of him.

Bucky groaned deep and low, hips jerking as he spilled inside you one last time—his cock pulsing, his chest pressed to your back as he moaned your name like a blessing.

He didn’t sag against you. Didn’t drop.

He stayed upright, body still buzzing, cock still twitching inside you. You could feel him—full, ready again. You were the one shaking. Not him.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered. “You’re still hard.”

“Told you,” he murmured, breath warm against your ear.

“I could do this for days.”

“James…”

He slid his arms around your waist from behind and pulled you upright, holding you there with his cock still buried deep.

“I’ll stop if you need me to,” he whispered.

“Just say the word.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, heart thudding weakly.

“…I think my soul already came twice.”

Bucky laughed softly. Kissed the crown of your head.

“Rest, baby. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Hard as a fucking rock.”

—

You didn’t know what time it was when you finally woke.

Only that the light outside was warmer. Honey-gold, slipping through the windows in slow streaks. The world felt distant. Blurry. But the weight behind you wasn’t.

Bucky’s arm was still around your waist, his chest pressed along your back. Warm. Steady. His breath ghosted over the back of your neck in a soft, familiar rhythm.

Your body ached in the best ways—sore thighs, puffy lips, bruised hips—but it was the ache in your chest that hummed the loudest.

You blinked. Shifted slowly.

He stirred.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice still sleep-rough.

“You okay?”

You turned to face him—carefully, slowly—and found his eyes already open, watching you.

“Mhm. Everything hurts,” you whispered. “In a good way.”

Bucky smiled. Just a little. One of those soft, private smiles he saved for no one but you.

“Told you I’d wreck you.”

“You did. Multiple times.”

He chuckled, then leaned forward to kiss you.

No tongue. No hunger. Just warmth. Lips brushing yours with slow reverence, like he was re-learning your taste now that the storm had passed.

You melted into it.

Pressed your forehead to his.

His fingers traced lazy lines across your spine, slow and aimless.

“Missed this,” he whispered. “Missed you.”

You whispered it back. Quiet. Honest.

Then let the silence settle over you both for a while—safe, sacred, slow.

Eventually, after a second nap and a shower where no one tried to fuck anyone against the tiles (God bless you), you both managed to drag yourselves into clothes and make your way toward the common area.

Bucky wore a black tee and gray sweatpants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. You were in a loose hoodie and biker shorts—though judging by the soreness between your thighs, sitting might be a challenge.

His arm was around your waist the whole walk.

Your legs still wobbled slightly, and he adjusted his pace to match yours. Not a word about it. Just his warm palm pressing steady against your hipbone like a grounding wire.

—

The squad was already gathered around the Watchtower’s long dining table.

It was pasta night.

Yelena sat at the end, spooning pesto onto her plate with war-like intensity. Ava nursed a glass of wine. Bob looked half-asleep. Alexei was double-fisting garlic bread.

John Walker looked up the moment you stepped into view.

“Oh look,” he said dryly. “It lives.”

You flipped him off without stopping.

“Someone got their back blown out,” Ava added sweetly, raising her glass.

“We heard everything,” Alexei boomed. “Whole floor shook.”

“I had to wear my noise-canceling headphones,” Bob mumbled, half amused, half scarred.

Yelena didn’t even look up from her plate.

“I placed eight rounds in the pool. I win. Pay up, losers.”

You covered your face with your hands.

Bucky didn’t blink.

Just leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear, voice low and smug.

“We could’ve made it nine.”

You choked on your wine, burst out laughing, and slapped his chest as he grinned like the devil himself.

And when his hand slipped onto your thigh under the table—warm, firm, possessive—you didn’t move it.

You just smiled.

And yeah…

You weren’t done.

💜 @iamthatonefangirl @sonja-blayde

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky x you #bucky barnes one shot #જ⁀➴ by elle #mcu!bucky fic #mcu!bucky

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kpmeat · 1 year ago

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lrt setting up a NAS is so much work, esp for a tech beginner. if you want to back things up just have an offline RAID array on your desk, hell, even just have a single portable ssd. it's easier to understand as 'big thumbdrive'. it takes about 20 minutes to make it so windows automatically syncs folders any time you connect to it, and because it's offline it's way harder to fuck up your security.

bonus: depending on the type of storage and your home netowrking situation it's significantly faster than uploading/downloading from a NAS, which matters a lot for large files like art and photography.

i think jumping from using google drive to setting up a NAS securely is a lot to ask of somebody. one of the biggest selling points of gdrive is that it's accessible to people with limited computer proficiency, so i'd expect anybody who uses it as their only word processor would have to learn a lot of basic hardware and networking concepts first. definitely not impossible it would just take a long time and be a pretty discouraging experience. it's like going from a tricycle directly to a dirtbike. you know.

#op #computers #like idek if this is the best option for home file storage unless you have multiple computers #i really prefer offline and airgapped storage

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marvelwitchergilmore · 29 days ago

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Compromised Positions

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and Bucky find yourself in one too many compromised positions, not that he's complaining.

Disclaimer: Steamy moments with a slight hint of smut towards the end, swearing, multiple undercover kisses, he fell first, she fell second, he fell harder. Mentions of domestic disputes, criminal neighbours. Bucky ties Reader's heels, shirtless Bucky, him in joggers, a lot of physical touching (innocent...at first). Gala kiss, undercover as a married couple, Bucky admires Reader's nails. Not Proof Read.

“Guys, you’ve got like, two minutes until they’re gonna notice you’re gone.”

“Relax, little Falcon, we’ll be out in time.”

You heard Joaquin sigh over comms. “That nickname,” he groaned. “I’m the Falcon, now.”

Bucky smirked. “Whatever you say, Big Bird.”

You all heard Sam chuckle as a groaning whine left Joaquin. “Not you, too.”

You nudged Bucky’s arm and pointed at the room. “In here.”

He closed the door behind you both before he joined you in the search for physical evidence. Pictures were taken on his phone whilst you looked for the file.

“Jesus, have they never heard of organisation? What the hell is this?”

Bucky just looked at you. “Seriously? The chaotic organiser is judging their organisation skills.”

“At least I know where everything is.”

It was another thirty seconds before your anxiety kicked in. You considered it to be the same kind of anxiety mother’s got before their kids threw up in the middle of the night. And Joaquin’s voice confirmed your suspicion.

“Guys, they’re back early.”

Bucky looked around the room. There was one exit and that would mean running right into them. “We can’t-”

“I’ve got a plan.”

Instantly, you grabbed Bucky by his henley and threw him over to the sofa as you removed your own jacket. The room wasn’t exactly an office – it was more of an overflow of actual office stuff. A storage closet.

There was a chance your plan would work better than you both being compromised.

“What the hell are you-”

You held Bucky down by his shoulders. “Just shut up.”

The footsteps out in the corridor were getting louder. They were getting closer. So, strandling Bucky’s thighs, your knees digging into the worn sofa in the middle of the room, you kissed him just as the door unlocked.

Considering you and Bucky had gotten through the building door pretending to be members of the society, it wouldn’t seem odd that two new-ish members were in a room they had been told about.

Your hips shifted as Bucky’s legs moved, his hands putting just the right amount of pressure on your back to make the whole thing look believable.

There were strangled noises from behind you both which quickly disappeared with a soft click of the door, whispered awkward voices and then quick footsteps leaving down the other end of the hall.

It took Bucky a moment to get his breath back.

“Good…good thinking.”

You smiled. “Thanks. Now let’s go, before they come back.”

Neither of you mentioned how you managed to avoid a confrontation with top members of the group. You didn’t talk about it either. It was a kiss that saved you both from a compromised position, nothing more.

Until it happened again.

Three months later, you were on a – meant to be – solo mission.

An undercover identity built through a long career at Shield meant you still maintained the yearly invite to a rather pretentious gala on the Italian Coast. And, since words had been brewing around another multi-million dollar deal over a key to a vault that protected certain secrets of yours, meant you had to go.

However, somewhere between the extra security, extra guests and a faulty switch, you’d almost gotten caught.

Almost.

The third round of security was about to turn down the hall to the faulty security alert just as a hand came to the small of your back. You were about to say something until you recognised the face it belonged to.

“Bucky?”

“Just trust me.”

That was all he said before you found yourself pressed against the prestinely polished wooden door frame a few feet away. His steady right hand lay on your cheek, tilting your face to his whilst his left softly skated down the length of your body, over the dip in your hip and to the top of the slit on your dress.

Your breath was taken away as his lips were pressed against yours, his tongue being granted permission to taste you properly.

Somewhere behind the thrumming in your ears, the two security officials joked quietly in Italian before flicking the warning light off and moving on down the hall.

When you finally caught your breath, you asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re welcome,” was what he replied.

“Bucky-” you warned.

“Sam called me. Joaquin ran those checks you asked for and I was in the area.” He said it as if it was nothing. Like turning up, not only technically saving your ass but kissing you like that was nothing more than an average Tuesday.

That night you swore to yourself that it would only be a second one time thing. But apparently that was just another lie.

A few months later, you had been put onto a mission. You were monitoring the supposed harmless janitor of the building. ‘Supposed’ as there had been warning’s flagged over his involvement with an elite terrorist group that had been targeting undercover Shield agents.

And, despite knowing you were safe enough, Sam had provided you with a ‘boyfriend’ cover.

And that boyfriend just so happened to be Bucky.

He came to your apartment every few days. Stayed at least two nights a week. And helped you do laundry…

Even when you were both fighting.

“I don’t need someone watching my every move, James. I’ve been in this job a lot longer on my own. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never not done it before.”

You were sitting on top of the empty washing machine as your bedding was spinning around in the dryer. Bucky was folding the second piles of clothing considering they were his that he’d left overnight.

“What if something had happened? What if you’d gotten caught?”

“I nearly did,” you told him. “When you came charging inside like some fucking-”

There were slow and heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. Without saying anything, Bucky reached out for you as you pulled him to stand between your legs.

He leaned forward, his hands pulling you in by your hips as your hands pushed through his hair. Your mouth opened almost instinctively as his tongue swiped forward. A quiet groan left him and his fingertips gripped a little harder onto the soft skin exposed at your hips, before the door opened up.

Sam rushed inside. “It’s just me.”

You and Bucky moved away from each other quicker than you’d come together. Bucky moved back to the laundry pile and wiped his lip as he thought about something other than the feeling of your legs hooking around his own and holding him in place.

You wiped your own mouth, trying to hide the slight embarrassment as Sam stopped, realising what he, sort of, walked into.

But there wasn’t time to question it.

“Can you break your window?”

You looked at Sam confused. “What?”

“I need you to break a window in your apartment and call the janitor up. Joaquin is gonna come to ‘fix’ it. Eventually, he’s gonna have to sign papers in the office and we’ll be able to tag his desk top. It’s so old, Torres can’t hack it.”

“Jesus, really?” You hopped off the washing machine, ignoring the dull ache in your underwear.

Sam nodded. “This dude is working with something from, like, the 90s.”

“For the amount that they charge for rent?”

Sam nodded.

Three hours, two struggling-attempts at a fitted sheet that decided for today to be the day it didn’t want to comply and one shattered window pane later; Joaquin had tagged the computer and you had a fresh window installed.

Apparently, that mission was the catalyst for the next undercover assignment you received. Or rather, the undercover assignment both you and Bucky received.

A new-ish wedding couple that have been house hunting for six months and had finally found the perfect one to try and start a family in. It just so happened to be across the street from a few different couples you would be quietly surveilling.

Some for money laundering for elite underground teams that missed the idea of outfits such as ‘Hydra’ existing, some for potential involvement in weaponry sales overseas and some for recruitment to both groups.

The other neighbours, however, were completely normal.

Which seemed to be harder to deal with than the potential criminals living across the road.

Considering you and Bucky had already made out more than once before, physical affection seemed to come a little easier than you had thought. It was still a little awkward, but overall, not as bad as it could have been.

A week after moving everything in, you and Bucky agreeing to separate bedrooms, you’d gotten an alert one morning from the security camera doorbell.

Someone was coming up the path.

And you and Bucky were right in the way of the door.

Still in your pajamas, bickering over which neighbour to start with, Bucky stepped forward and held onto your hips. He lifted you before your legs wrapped around him and you kissed him as if your life depended on it.

Between each kiss came laughter to mask both the awkwardness and the fact none of it was real. It was all an act. It’s all it could be.

The doorbell rang, then someone knocked on the window beside the frame of the door. You and Bucky pretended like you’d just been caught in the act.

Your body practically slid down his as he let you down but kept an arm around your waist. As you answered the door, he remained fixed beside you. You opened the door enough to frame yourself and Bucky to the nine am neighbour who was holding a pie dish.

As time went on, the affection became a little more subtle. Hand holding, open car doors, a helping hand down the front steps of the porch when you wore heels.

Then, a few months later, you were both invited to the street BBQ.

You were standing in the slightly open planned hallway, trying to get the buckle of your heels to play along. That was when your husband came jogging down the stairs in dark jeans, a fresh shirt and a brown jacket.

“Need some help?”

He didn’t wait for your answer after hearing you sigh as you lowered your foot, frustrated at your shoe.

Bucky didn’t hesitate in bending down on one knee as you leaned against the back of the sofa. His hand gently holding onto your ankle, he lifted your heeled foot to rest on him. He did the same with the next one, his thumb rubbing beside your ankle before he let you place it on the ground.

His gaze didn’t leave yours as he stood.

“You look incredible,” he told you.

A sundress, softer block heels to match and a smile that knocked him dead on his feet the first day he met you.

“Ready to go?”

You nodded. “Let me just grab the food.”

“I still don’t see why we have to bring food to a BBQ we were invited to.”

“Because it’s good manners.”

“You know most of these people are criminals, right?” He asked you as he opened the door for you.

You shrugged. “To them, we don’t know that…yet.”

Bucky locked the door before helping you down the porch steps. It was a short walk a few houses down. As one of the women ran over to you, holding your hands and complimenting your outfit, Bucky kissed your lips quickly before being ushered towards the buffet style table where the other husbands and partners were standing.

But despite involving himself into the conversation, his eyes barely left you the entire night.

Long after food, you found yourself sitting in your husband’s lap on one of the chairs. There were only a select few left, including you and Bucky. Which also meant chairs had become few and far between.

You had planned to stand beside him, but without worry, Bucky had put his hand onto your waist and pulled you across until you were sitting comfortably.

Your arm remained fixed on his shoulder and as the night went on, you started to get more and more tired. Your body practically melted against him as the faint buzz of alcohol took over and laughter passed between the remaining people, awake enough to hear the story.

It was a little after midnight when you both returned home. Bucky pulled you into his side a little as his hand grazed over your hip and he kissed your head.

“Go shower,” he told you. “You’ve still got sunscreen on.”

You nodded as you molded into his touch once again. “I know.”

“Give me them,” Bucky whispered quietly as he took the leftovers from your arms. “Go on, I’ll be up in a minute.”

By the time you had gotten out of the shower, you found a set of fresh pajamas on your bed. They definitely hadn’t been there in the morning. As you got dressed, you hesitated in the hallway for a second. Bucky’s room was just a little further.

Yet, you stopped in your tracks when you saw his partially naked body through the crack in the door.

He was buttoning his shirt on the hanger whilst he stood by his wardrobe door, jeans hugging his hips and the muscles a little tense in his back.

It wasn’t like you’d never seen him shirtless before. But in those moments, he’d been hurt. You’d been cleaning a wound he couldn’t reach and wouldn’t let Sam touch since he considered him, “Too heavy handed.”

There was something far more intimate about how you were seeing him at that moment.

Yes, he technically was your husband. And you were living in the same house. But, it was a mission. It was a cover. It wasn’t real.

You’d thank him for the pajamas in the morning. After the feelings in your stomach had died down and the fictional image of you walking over and kissing the dip between his shoulder blades had disappeared.

You tried to make it as casual as possible. And he accepted it as casually as possible. And you both very quickly moved on. A job still needed to be done.

However, a few nights later, those lines blurred again.

You’d been awake for hours, unable to sleep. Bucky had gone to bed an hour before you had, but you were the only one to wake up after having a rather intimate dream about your marriage partner.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t push the image of him away. So, with a sigh, you’d dragged yourself from bed and gone downstairs. You’d kept the TV volume low as you turned it onto a rerun channel.

Only, as Dorothy hit Blanche on the head with a newspaper, there was a knock at your door.

You muted the TV and reached for your phone to check the camera.

You waited to the side of the front door until they knocked again. “Y/n? Are you awake?”

You rushed forward, shoving the hidden gun back into the security draw of the hallway stand.

“Suzie?”

You unlocked the door to find one of the few women you’d become friends with in the last few months. She was one of the ‘normal’ neighbours. Only, it wasn’t normal for her to be standing in her casual clothes, sopping wet from the rain, outside your door at almost half one in the morning.

“I’m so sorry,” she said with puffy eyes. “I-I saw the shine behind the curtains and I just…I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Come on in,” you pulled her out from the wet just as the familiar sound of Bucky’s feet came down the stairs.

“Is everything okay?”

The sight of him shirtless in nothing else but joggers was doing nothing to put a stop to your imagination. Considering he usually slept in his underwear – a fact you’d learned one morning when your kitchen fire alarm had decided to let its battery die at five in the morning – it shouldn’t have shocked you the way it did.

“Everything’s fine,” you assured him quietly as you met him halfway. A hand landed on his chest over his heart as you leaned up and pecked his lips. He kissed back. “Go back to bed. It’s just Suzie.”

Bucky’s tired eyes opened wide enough to recognise your neighbour in the light of the TV. He looked back at you and you just nodded.

“I promise,” you told him before kissing him again as you felt his hand at your hip.

He just nodded. “Okay. If you need me-”

“I know.”

You watched as he turned around and went back upstairs to bed before you turned back to Suzie. “Let’s get you some fresh clothes.”

“Oh, no. It’s okay. I-I can just-”

You shook your head, taking her hand in yours as you dragged her to the laundry room. You grabbed her a towel from the dryer before picking out an old paint-flicked T-shirt and some wide-legged joggers.

“Put these on, I’ll make us some tea.”

“Thank you, Y/n.”

You just nodded as you slid the laundry room door shut. She reappeared a few moments later, dressed and drying her hair with the towel, her eyes stained with tears once more.

“What’s going on?”

“Me and Johnny had a fight.”

For the next two hours you sat with her in the kitchen as she cried her way through the story of how her and her boyfriend of three years had started their fight and how it had ended.

“You can stay here for tonight. I don’t want you going back there.”

Suzie sniffled, “Thank you.” She hugged you tightly. “You’re such a good friend.”

Leading the way, you showed her the bathroom first which gave you time to tidy up the guest bedroom, as well as your own across the hallway – which just so happened to already look like nobody had been sleeping there.

By the time you reappeared, Suzie hugged you once more before you led her to the room and closed the bedroom door behind her. A few minutes later, you walked down the hallway towards Bucky’s room.

He’d left the door ajar for you.

Walking inside, you gently pulled the covers up and shifted under them until you were laying beside Bucky. And just as you thought he was dead-asleep, his arm came to lay across and pull you closer.

As your hand ran up his arm and you settled against the mattress, you felt his nose brush against the crook of your neck.

“Everything okay?”

You swallowed a little before nodding. “Yeah. Her and John had a fight. I put her in the guest room. Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“My bedroom. You tidied it.”

Bucky had a hint of a smile on his lips. “You’re my wife. You shouldn’t be anywhere else but right here, beside me.”

The use of his words, with his deeper morning voice was a pairing that would be haunting your ovulation dreams for a good while.

By the time you both woke up in the morning, you leaned over to check the time on his alarm clock. It was a little after nine. You’d both slept in.

“Suzie and I are gonna have a girl’s day today, so I might be back late.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay. Need me to do anything?”

You shook your head. “I’ll handle John.”

You leaned on your side as you watched your husband stand from the bed in his boxers and pull on his jeans, before zipping them up and buckling his belt. Then he sat back on the bed, his arm caging you in.

“Are you sure? Because, you don’t have to.”

You looked at him curiously. “Have you ever seen yourself mad?”

He then looked at you, curiously. “What?”

“Because, though you might not be him, you still have that glint in your eyes.”

“Glint?”

You nodded. “You know, that I’m gonna kill you and not regret it, look. I don’t think John needs to be threatened by the Winter Soldier look…yet.”

Bucky relaxed and nodded. “What happened?”

“It’s little things that became one big thing. What they both need right now is some space.”

“If you need me, call me.”

You smiled, before watching him pull a henley down his body. “I know.”

However, when the back of his t-shirt became stuck, you leaped up and onto your feet rather than watch him struggle for the next five minutes.

“Here, let me.”

Suddenly, the room became a lot more quiet. Bucky felt your fingers lightly graze his bare back as you fixed his shirt and helped pull it down his back. And for a moment, he felt you lean against him. Or maybe he’d leaned into your touch so much, his knees had gone weak.

“You know,” his voice was low as he spoke. “I like waking up to you with me.”

He didn’t know where the sudden confession came from considering less than two minutes ago, you’d both been talking about something completely different. All he knew was that it was the truth.

Your breath hitched. “So did-”

Before Bucky could fully turn around to face you, there was a sound of a lock opening down the hall. Suzie was awake.

“I better get breakfast started.”

Bucky nodded, his hands rubbing up and down the top of your arms as you leaned into his chest. He pressed his lips to your head. “I’ll go and check in on Sam.”

And for a few moments, you were left standing alone, his voice circling in your head.

I like waking up to you with me.

The rest of the day ran swiftly. Having pancakes for breakfast before driving out to the local shopping mall and cafe. From where, you both got a manicure before ending up at a diner on the edge of town; John had been racing around town to find his girlfriend.

Following multiple threats – both spoken, and silent – and constant apologies, Suzie and Johnny made up. But his actions were definitely going to be watched closely by you. Though nothing terrible had happened during the fight, and you doubted John would ever lay a hand on his girlfriend, he’d still hurt her.

Which put him in your bad books.

By the time you got home, John still providing Suzie the space she needed, you’d dropped Suzie off at home before pulling into your driveway, where almost instantly, Bucky had come outside and was standing on the porch waiting for you.

“Where’s Suzie?”

“She went home,” you said as you locked your car and climbed the steps of the porch, Bucky taking your hand in his. “John apologised. I’m still gonna be watching him, but they’ve made up.”

Bucky smiled. “Good. You got your nails done?”

“Oh, yeah.” Between the diner and the long conversation home, you’d forgotten. “Like ‘em?”

Bucky nodded. “Looks great.”

You smiled to yourself before looking back up at your husband. What followed was a debrief of the day, before you both collapsed onto the sofa with some desert you’d brought back home from the diner.

As whatever show Bucky had found for you both was about to flick onto the next episode before a pop-up ad came on asking if you wished to continue, you both took a break. Meanwhile, you pulled the blanket from you and stood before taking both empty bowls into the kitchen and laying them in the sink.

And you took a breather for a second.

For the last two hours, Bucky’s presence had been overwhelming – in the best sense, if the marriage had been real. But considering you were still trying to stuff emotions and images down into a box you kept meaning to lock shut, his presence was becoming more difficult to be normal around.

That fuzzy line officially broke a few weeks later.

The feelings had been growing stronger and more noticeable. The way he held you, the way he kissed you – even if it was quick. It left you wanting more. You’d also been spending more time sleeping in with him beside you than on your own.

First it had been the night Suzie had stayed. Then it had been the sofa, waking up on his chest with your back against the sofa cushions. A few sleepless nights after that, he slept beside you, holding you close to him.

After that, it became…normal…to wake up with him so close to you. His legs tangled with yours, his arm over you or around you, his steady heartbeat calming your own erratic one.

Then, one night, you couldn’t sleep.

You’d carefully peeled yourself from his arms and padded downstairs into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. But after standing at the sink for a few minutes, your own thoughts too loud for you to notice him behind you, Bucky’s hands came to lean on the sink counter.

His hands were on both sides of you, caging you in.

“You okay?”

You jumped a little. Bucky noticed, his hand coming to rest on your hip for a moment. Somehow, it calmed you.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just…couldn’t sleep.”

Bucky stayed quiet for a second before asking his next question. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

You lowered the glass from your lips and swallowed the water in your mouth. “What?”

Bucky watched the side of your face, your lips freshly wet from the cold water, your mind spiralling and distant.

His right hand came up to your left side to pull the hair away from your neck. Carefully, he called you back in before he leaned into you, his nose gently running up the length of your neck.

Your breath hitched a little as you leaned against his bare chest but still held onto the glass as it balanced on the edge of the sink.

“You’re tense,” Bucky said before he pressed a feather-light kiss to your exposed skin. And for a moment, he felt you relax. “Nightmare?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

“Then what is it?”

For a moment, you refused to face him. You were yet to know feelings that went away on their own when they ran as deep as they did, but maybe it was a fluke.

Then he kissed the crook of your shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“It’s you.” The words came out a quiet sigh as your eyes closed. As his lips left your shoulder, but his arms didn’t leave the space he’d created for both of you, he looked at you.

Your eyes opened. “It’s you, Bucky. You’re in my head and my…”

Heart.

“And no matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of you. It feels like somewhere between that first kiss on the sofa and…waking up beside you, you’ve seeped into my bones. And I…I don’t know if I want that to stop.”

Bucky’s gaze roamed over yours and for a long time, he was quiet. But his arms never moved.

“That’s why I can’t sleep.”

The silence continued for a moment longer until Bucky finally spoke.

“Your name has been tattooed on my soul since the first day I met you, doll.”

You looked a little puzzled, because you were. So he explained, “The first time you smiled at me, I’m pretty sure I got knocked off my feet. And that day you kissed me…I was thinking about it for weeks until I saw you in that dress. You looked fucking stunning. From then I knew my feelings for you would never leave, not that I tried to make them. You’re tattooed on my soul, doll.”

Your gaze narrowed playfully. “Are you really having a feelings competition?”

Bucky shrugged, a smirk on his face. “Maybe. But I know I’ll always win.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because I’ve got you,” Bucky answered sincerely. “You’re more than I could ever dream of. And that includes ‘dream’ you.”

You chuckled, “Such a romantic.”, before leaning in and kissing him with a smile. But as the softness moved away for a moment, the kiss became something more. Something deeper.

Bucky stood a little taller as he moved his hands from the counter and held onto your face. The glass in your hand clattered into the sink as the water fell down the drain and you turned to step into your husband.

Placing an arm around your waist, he lifted you up and onto the island in the kitchen before he held your face again, his tongue swiping at your lip before you granted him access. He felt your legs lock around him as he pulled his mouth from yours, letting his wet kiss trail under your jaw before catching at your pulse.

You breathed deeper as his hand came to your thigh, his fingers pushing under the hem of your shorts, the ache in your underwear growing more needy.

Making it halfway up the stairs, you held onto the handrail as Bucky dropped to his knees and trailed his tongue on the inside of your thigh before tasting you like a man starved of his final meal.

By the time the sun rose, the sheets had been changed and the tile markings on your knees had settled down. But Bucky’s arm remained fixed around your middle, his fingers tracing up and down your spine.

“Promise me this isn’t a part of the mission.”

Bucky’s eyes opened to meet your tired gaze. “I promise this isn’t a part of the mission. I meant what I said last night; I don’t plan for this to stop when we move out.”

The memory of Bucky on top of you, his gaze locked onto yours as he inched himself into you slowly, floated over you. You smiled.

“Good.”

Leaning forward. Bucky kissed you lightly before rolling you onto your back, his arms wrapped around you as his kiss moved from your lips to your neck and collarbone.

He heard you giggle softly as he did so. “We’ve got work to do.”

“It’s Sunday, doll.” Bucky told you, before leaning down and kissing your bare skin. “Work can wait.”

3K notes · View notes

mssishipi · 3 months ago

Text

say cheese — pjs, sjy

— in which jake and jay capture the most beautiful, fucked-out masterpiece on film.

warning: explicit content (smut), threesome (rough dom jay, soft dom jake, sub reader), blowjob, deep throating, facial, unprotected sex, multiple sex position, hentai like expressions, picture taking, some mxm scene (don't like? don't read), double vaginal penetration, straight up porn. MDNI.

note: this is rotting in my drafts, i really need to clean since my storage are full (128 gb is not enough for my fucking files lol)

"I can't believe you spent a hundred dollars on a Polaroid camera."

You huffed, arms crossed as you stared at Jake, who was grinning ear to ear while unboxing his parcel. Across the room, Jay chuckled, his fingers absentmindedly adjusting the tuning pegs on his guitar.

Jake barely acknowledged your complaint, too absorbed in peeling away the tape and lifting the lid of the box. His eyes practically sparkled as he gently pulled out the camera, running his fingers over its smooth surface.

"I've been jealous of my friends showing off their Polaroid pictures—sticking them on their phone cases, tucking them into their wallets, pinning them to their walls," Jake explained, turning the camera over in his hands. "I just had to get one for myself. Besides, Polaroid film is so aesthetic. I wanna start a collection."

You scoffed, unimpressed. "We have a printer, you know. I could literally edit a photo with a Polaroid frame and print it out for you. Same look, less money wasted."

Jake shot you an incredulous glance, his nose scrunching slightly before he turned back to the instruction manual. "It’s not the same," he muttered, flipping through the tiny booklet.

Jay, who had finally set his guitar down on its stand, stretched his arms before strolling over. "You know what’s so special about Polaroid photos?" he mused, plopping down beside Jake and watching as he struggled to insert the film. "It’s the fact that it’s a one-time shot. No retakes, no backups. That exact moment, captured forever in its rawest form. And because there's only one copy, it's yours alone. It makes it feel... special."

You raised a skeptical brow, watching the two of them fumble with the camera like a pair of kids assembling a Lego set.

"It's called being practical," you said, holding up two fingers in a peace sign to emphasize the word.

Jake finally managed to snap the film cartridge into place, and the camera let out a satisfying click. He gasped in delight, shaking Jay’s shoulder. "It’s in! It's ready!"

Jay grinned, leaning back on his hands. "Then take a test shot. Let’s see if it works."

Jake eagerly lifted the camera, aiming it at you. Your eyes widened. "Wait, no—"

Click.

A soft whirring sound filled the room as the camera ejected the developing photo. Jake snatched it up, waving it in the air with excitement. "Ohh, this is gonna be so good."

You groaned, covering your face. "I wasn’t ready!"

"That’s the beauty of it!" Jake beamed. Jay laughed, watching as the image slowly began to take shape. "If you hate it, just take another one."

You shot him a deadpan look. "Defeats the whole ‘one-time special moment’ argument, don’t you think?"

You leaned in to get a better look at the Polaroid in Jake’s hand. The moment your eyes landed on it, your mouth fell open in horror. Your expression in the photo was atrocious—wide eyes, lips slightly parted, caught mid-protest.

Jake, instantly reading your mind, grinned wickedly. Just as you reached to snatch the photo, he yanked his hand up, holding it high above his head. "Oh-ho, no way! This is a masterpiece!" he cackled, his laughter echoing through the room.

"Jake, give it!" You lunged, but he danced backward, still laughing, the Polaroid waving mockingly in his grip.

"Throw it away, fuck you!" you huffed, but instead of complying, Jake grinned and tossed the photo to Jay.

"Catch!"

Jay snatched it midair, immediately taking off across the room. Your eyes widened. "No—Jay, don’t you dare!"

The room erupted into chaos. You bolted after him, but before you could get close, Jake grabbed you around the waist, locking his arms around you in a tight hold.

"Not so fast!" he teased, holding you back as you squirmed in his grip, your feet kicking wildly, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to break free.

"Give it!" you shrieked, voice pitching with sheer indignation. "I’ll let you guys take another one—just give it to me!"

Jay stood on the couch, tilting the Polaroid in his hand as he examined it with an amused hum. His gaze flickered toward you, still trapped in Jake’s arms, your face twisted in frustration.

"I need a Polaroid to display in my wallet too," he mused casually.

You rolled your eyes and marched toward him, reaching for the photo, but Jay smirked and lifted it just out of reach.

"You can take a picture of me anytime and display it however you want," you huffed, stretching on your toes. "But not this one."

Jay watched, clearly entertained, as you finally managed to snatch the photo from his hand. You immediately scowled at the image.

"We need a lot of photos with you," Jake chimed in from behind. Ignoring them, you dropped onto the couch, still glaring at the Polaroid.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I just need to fix my hair first before we take another one."

Before you could move, Jake suddenly wrapped his arms around you again from behind, pulling you close against his chest. You barely had a second to react before he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, his warm breath ghosting over your skin.

"No need for that, love," he murmured, his voice low and affectionate.

You stiffened, gripping the Polaroid tightly, heat rising to your face. Jay raised an eyebrow, watching the two of you with a smirk.

“Tongue out, baby,” Jake groaned, gripping his cock, his one hand holding the camera as his eyes locked onto your flushed face.

You knelt before them, naked, skin damp with sweat. The heat of their gazes burned into you.

Obediently, you let your tongue slip out, and beside him, Jay let out a low groan, his fist working himself faster at the sight.

The sharp click of the Polaroid camera echoed through the room, the flash blinding for a second. Before you could even register the moment, Jay’s fingers tangled into your hair, yanking you forward.

A startled gasp left your lips before his cock pushed past them, the thick weight of him filling your mouth. You choked out a moan, hands gripping your knees, keeping still as his grip tightened.

"Fuck—just like that," Jay hissed, forcing you down further, his other hand fisting his base as he watched you struggle to take him. His grip was rough, tugging you back only to shove you down again, setting a ruthless rhythm.

Tears pricked your eyes, spit dribbling down your chin as you gagged around Jay’s cock. Beside him, Jake smirked, watching intently, his own fist gliding lazily over his length.

Click.

“Fuck,” Jake groaned, lowering the camera slightly, his gaze trailing over you—your swollen lips stretched around Jay, your flushed cheeks stained with tears. "So beautiful."

Jay chuckled breathlessly, his grip tightening in your hair as he angled your face toward the camera. “Yeah? Then let’s give him another good shot, baby.”

Without warning, he pushed deeper, his cock sliding past the tight ring of your throat. You gagged, body jerking, but Jay only moaned, holding you there, forcing you to take it.

“Holy shit,” Jake exhaled, capturing the moment with another click. His eyes darkened as he watched your lashes flutter, the way your throat contracted around Jay. “Hold it, baby. Just a little longer.”

"Me too, please."

Jake grabbed your free hand, guiding it to his cock, groaning the second your fingers wrapped around him. He was hot and heavy in your grip, pulsing with need, and as soon as you started stroking, he let out a low whine.

“Ahhh, you're so fucking sexy,” he breathed, hips twitching upward, fucking into your fist as he snapped another photo.

The Polaroid films were scattered across the floor in messy disarray—blurry flashes of you on your knees, your lips stretched around Jay, your eyes glossy with tears, your hand wrapped around Jake. Each moment captured, each one more obscene than the last.

Jay let out a sharp breath, his grip in your hair unrelenting as he started thrusting into your mouth. Your throat tightened around him, gagging as he pushed deeper, his groans growing desperate. Jake wasn’t any better, fucking into your palm, his breath coming out in ragged pants.

You forced your head back, Jay’s cock slipping from your swollen lips with a lewd pop as you turned your attention to Jake. His breath hitched, eyes blown wide as you wrapped your mouth around him, tongue swirling over the tip before sinking down.

"Fuck—" Jake groaned, head tipping back, his grip tightening on the camera as he barely managed to snap another photo.

Your hands worked them both—one stroking Jay’s slick length, squeezing just right, while your tongue alternated between them, switching back and forth, keeping them both on edge.

Jay hissed, hips twitching into your grip, his thumb swiping over your cheek, smearing spit across your flushed skin. “So fucking greedy,” he muttered, watching the way you licked up Jake’s shaft before turning back to him, taking him down again.

Jake cursed, his free hand gripping the back of your head, guiding you down further.

Jay shifted, slipping from your grasp, moving behind you instead. Your mouth slipped from Jake’s cock, a needy whine escaping you as Jay manhandled you into position.

"I need to fuck you so bad," Jay murmured against your ear, his hands gripping your waist.

You hummed in response, too focused on the way Jake kneel to adjust and tugged you back toward his cock. Obediently, you opened your mouth again, tongue flicking over the head before sinking down. Your head bobbed eagerly, taking him deep, and both of them chuckled at your desperation.

“Such a good girl,” Jake groaned, brushing your hair back to get a better view.

Behind you, Jay spread your ass cheeks, groaning at the sight of your glistening cunt, slick and ready for him. His cock pressed against your entrance, sliding slowly along your folds, teasing—rubbing against your labia, down to your clit, making you moan around Jake’s length.

Jay watched as your pussy clenched around nothing, making his cock throb. He let out a shaky breath, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses along your spine, trailing up to your nape before whispering filth into your ear.

“So fucking hungry,” he groaned. “Let me feed this needy little pussy.”

Then, without warning, he pushed inside.

A sharp squeal tore from your throat, body jolting forward at the sudden stretch, but Jake was there, his grip firm on the back of your head, keeping you in place.

“Stay still, baby,” Jake murmured, voice low and commanding. Behind you, Jay’s fingers dug into your stomach, trapping you against him as he bottomed out, your walls squeezing around his cock.

“Fuck,” Jay groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he felt you pulse around him. “You’re so fucking tight." His hands moved up, grabbing your breast, kneading the soft flesh with slow, deliberate squeezes.

Jake’s breath came in heavy, his cock twitching against your tongue as he shakily lifted the camera. His fingers gripped it tight, the moment too perfect to miss.

Click.

Jay smirked at the flash, looking directly into the camera, his cock buried deep inside you while his hands continued to toy with your body. Meanwhile, your face was a wreck, tears clinging to your lashes, cheeks flushed, mouth stretched full around Jake’s cock.

"Try to smile for the next photos, hmm?" Jake murmured, brushing his fingers over your cheek, smearing your spit and tears.

“Yeah,” Jay mused. “Give the camera a pretty little smile while we ruin you.”

Both of them started to move, fast and rough.

Their moans turned breathless, high-pitched with pleasure as they used your body, stretching you open, leaving no part of you untouched. Your tears kept falling, slipping down your cheeks as you struggled to keep up.

Jay’s hands roamed everywhere, gripping your waist, squeezing your breasts, trailing down to your stomach, pressing against the outline of his cock buried deep inside you. Meanwhile, Jake was losing himself above you, his head tilting back, jaw slack as his hips stuttered, his tip hitting the back of your throat over and over.

"Hey, give her mouth a little break," Jay gritted out between clenched teeth, his pace never faltering as he slammed into you from behind. His fingers dug deeper into your hips, anchoring you in place.

Jake groaned, looking down at you, watching the way your lips stretched around him.

He clicked his tongue, brushing damp hair from your face. “Tired already, baby?” he cooed, his thumb swiping over your puffy bottom lip. “Alright… but don’t think we’re done yet.”

With a final, slow drag of his cock over your tongue, he pulled out, tapping the tip against your cheek, smearing precum over your flushed skin. He sat back, stroking himself lazily as he watched Jay take over completely, his smirk growing as he reached for the camera again.

“Guess it’s time for some close-ups.”

You squealed as Jay’s thrusts turned brutal. His hand went to your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks, forcing your lips into a soft pout as he fucked you harder.

Click.

Jake adjusted his angle, the camera capturing everything—the way Jay was ruining you from behind, the exhaustion in your glossy eyes. His own cock twitched as he positioned himself between you both, rubbing the leaking tip against your flushed lips.

"Come on, my love. Smile." Jay’s voice was teasing as he whisper it.

You tried—forced out a tired, dazed smile, your mind was too hazy with the pleasure. Click.

Jay groaned at the sight, gripping your chin to turn your face toward him, pressing a hot, messy kiss against your parted lips.

Jake chuckled, the shutter clicking again. Click.

Jay growled against your mouth, his pace turning erratic, slamming into you even deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over. Your moans came out in broken cries.

Suddenly, Jay pulled away from your lips, his grip never loosening on your waist as he reached for Jake’s cock, guiding it into his own mouth.

Jake cursed under his breath, his thighs trembling as Jay’s lips wrapped around him, tongue flicking over the tip. You whined at the sight, leaning in without hesitation, your tongue trailing along the base, tracing every vein where Jay wasn’t covering.

“F-Fuck,” Jake gasped, his camera shaking slightly in his hand as he struggled to focus. His hips twitched, his body torn between watching and giving in to the overwhelming pleasure of both your mouths.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to steady the camera. Click.

The flash illuminated the scene—Jay sucking him off, your tongue lapping at his shaft, eyes eager with lust.

Jay pulled off with a slick pop, stroking Jake lazily. "Shit, you’re shaking already?" he teased, glancing up at him through heavy lids.

Jake let out a shaky breath, smirking despite himself. “Hard not to when you two look this good.” He ran a hand through his hair, barely holding back a groan as Jay flicked his tongue over the slit again.

Meanwhile, Jay’s thrusts never faltered, still driving into you, keeping you stretched around him. His free hand snaked back to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles that had you whining into Jake’s skin.

“Go on, baby,” Jay murmured, glancing down at you. “Make him cum.”

Jay pulled away, straightening his back, leaving you alone with Jake’s cock. You didn’t hesitate, immediately taking him back into your mouth, your lips wrapping around him as your moans vibrated against his length. The brutal pace Jay set behind you only made it messier, your body keening, your cries muffled as Jake groaned, watching you struggle to take it all.

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks when Jake decided to thrust deeper, fucking into your throat without mercy. Your gag reflex flared, but you took it, letting him use you, letting Jay ruin you from behind.

“Shit,” Jake hissed, his fingers tightening in your hair, keeping you in place as his hips twitched forward. “You look so fucking good like this—choking on my cock while he splits you open.”

Jay groaned, his head falling back, completely lost in the way your cunt clenched around him, sucking him in tighter.

"She's about to cum," Jay told Jake, voice breathless and strained. “She’s squeezing me so fucking tight.”

Jake gritted his teeth, looking down at you, he bites his lips as his stomach coiled painfully tight at the sight.

“Fuck—I’m gonna cum too,” he muttered, his hips jerking forward, his cock twitching on your tongue.

Jay let out a strained chuckle between moans. "Fuuuck, already? Goddamn," he whined, barely keeping himself together as he felt you pulse around him.

He pressed two fingers against your swollen clit, this time he rubbed it with ruthless, desperate circles.

"Come on, baby," Jay gritted out, his thrusts turning messy. "Cum for us—fuck, I wanna feel you shake."

Jake groaned as you whimpered around him, your body twitching violently, your thighs squeezing shut as the overwhelming pleasure took over. You couldn’t hold it back, your orgasm slammed into you, your walls clamping down so hard on Jay’s cock that it had him cursing, his rhythm faltering.

“Fuck—fuck, there you go, baby,” Jake grunted, watching your body shudder, the way your moans vibrated around his cock. With a sharp inhale, he pulled away, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. He replaced your hand with his own, stroking himself fast as he positioned the camera again, angling it just right to capture everything.

Your body still trembling from Jay’s relentless thrusts, but you forced your eyes open, letting your tongue loll out in anticipation.

"Paint me with your cum, 'Ikeu."

Jake cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering as his orgasm hit. Hot ropes of cum spurted across your face, dripping down your cheeks, your lips, your tongue—just as the camera shutter snapped.

Click.

Jay grunted, his grip firm as he pulled you away from Jake's arms, his hands cupping your breasts, pressing your back flush against his chest. He carried you effortlessly, not once slipping out of you as he moved toward the couch.

You whimpered, your walls clamping down hard around him. Settling onto the couch, Jay wasted no time—his arms slid under your thighs, forcing your legs wide apart, keeping you completely open for him and Jake to see. His forearms bracing your trembling body as your hands clung to him for support.

He slammed into you again. The force had you crying out, your back arching. Your vision blurred, as the tears continue spilling freely down your cheeks.

Jake groaned at the sight, his cock twitching as he looked around at the polaroids scattered across the floor—each one capturing every filthy moment, every ruined expression on your face.

“Take it, take it, take it!” Jay gritted out, his focus solely on the way your pussy clenched around him, sucking him in with every thrust.

Your breasts bounced with each movement, the force of his strokes sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He was hitting that spot—that spot—so perfectly that your screams filled the room once again.

Your dazed eyes locked onto Jake, who was fisting his half-hard cock, watching the two of you with dark, hooded eyes. The moment he noticed you staring, he smirked and raised the camera again.

“Say cheese,” he teased, voice dripping with amusement.

Jay tilted his head over your shoulder, making sure to be in the shot, his cock still sliding in and out of you, the slick sound echoing in the air. Your body was trembling, overstimulated beyond reason, but somehow, you managed to raise a shaky hand in a peace sign, your eyes half-lidded, a ruined little smile tugging at your lips.

Jake grinned, angling the camera just right. Click. And by that time the flash illuminated, your orgasm hits.

“Ahh—fuck! Yes!” You screamed, your body convulsing as another orgasm ripped through you. Your walls fluttered, tightening so brutally around Jay that he nearly lost control.

Jay cursed under his breath, slowing his thrusts for a moment, trying to hold back the heat coiling in his stomach. Your pussy was gripping him too damn tight, milking him, begging for him to spill inside—but he wasn’t ready to give in. Not yet.

Still catching his breath, he smirked down at Jake. “Come here,” he panted, gripping your thighs tighter. “We’re gonna get a shot of you, too.”

Jake’s eyes darkened, his smirk widening as he give the camera to you. He knelt between your trembling legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he leaned in.

The moment his tongue met your clit, you jolted, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as fresh overstimulation crashed into you. Your fingers instantly tangled into his hair, pulling him closer as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking softly.

Jay groaned, feeling every little tremor of pleasure ripple through you, feeling the way your walls pulsed around him as Jake devoured you.

“Shit,” Jay exhaled, his grip bruising on your hips. “You better get a good fucking shot of this, baby.”

He grabbed your trembling hand, guiding you to lift the camera. Your fingers barely steadied around it before the flash went off—click.

The image burned behind your lids for a second—Jake between your legs, tongue out, teasing your swollen clit while Jay’s cock was still buried deep inside you.

A whimper left your lips, your body shuddering violently as the pleasure became unbearable. Your legs tried to close instinctively, but Jake was quick to push them apart again, palms against your thighs.

“Stay open,” he muttered, his lips brushing over your slick folds. “Let me taste all of it.”

A drawn-out moan escaped you as Jake trailed his tongue lower, licking along the outline of Jay’s cock stretching you open. The sensation sent a shiver up Jay’s spine, his head falling back as he groaned.

“Fuck, Jake—” Jay gritted his teeth, feeling the wet heat of his boyfriend's mouth so close to where he was buried inside you.

Jake hummed in response, the vibration making you both shudder before he dipped lower, his tongue sliding over the mess of your fluids dripping down. Then, without warning, he took Jay’s balls into his mouth, sucking lightly, his hands still keeping your legs spread wide.

Jay let out a strangled moan, his grip on your hips tightening. “Stop for a moment—I don’t wanna cum yet,” he gritted out.

Jake pulled away from Jay just to latch onto your clit again, sucking hard. The sudden jolt of pleasure made you gasp, your back arching as another wave of heat surged through your body.

Jay smirked at your reaction, his hands sliding up your trembling torso. His fingers found your nipples, rolling them between his fingertips before giving them a sharp pinch. You cried out, your thighs twitching against Jake’s face, but he only held you down harder.

Jay started moving again—slow, teasing thrusts that had you gripping the camera weakly, your fingers struggling to keep hold as your body trembled under their combined assault. Every part of you was being used, overstimulated to the point of madness, and you could barely process the sensations anymore.

“Jake, open up,” Jay breathed. Jake lifted his chin from your stomach, parting his lips obediently.

“Ready the camera,” Jay commanded, his gaze flicking to you. Your fingers trembled as you struggled to lift it, your body still reeling from their touch.

Then, without hesitation, Jay pushed three fingers past Jake’s lips, pressing them deep onto his tongue. Jake groaned, his lashes fluttering as he hollowed his cheeks around them. The sight had your breath hitching, your grip on the camera weak as you barely managed to angle it. Click.

Jay smirked, watching the way Jake took his fingers so easily, how his lips stretched around them, drool beginning to pool at the corners of his mouth.

Slowly, he pulled his fingers free, only to bring them down to your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles with the slick mixture of Jake’s spit and your own arousal.

“Up,” Jay ordered, “we’re gonna fuck her stupid.”

Jake grinned, licking his lips as he stood, positioning himself above you. His hands gripped your trembling thighs, spreading you wide as he lined himself up.

“W-wait—” you gasped, barely able to get the words out before Jake groaned, pushing inside you in one slow, agonizing stroke.

Your body arched, a broken scream tearing from your throat as your walls stretched around him.

Jay moaned at the sensation, feeling the press of Jake’s cock against his, both of them buried deep inside you, stretching you beyond anything you thought you could take.

“Relax, baby. I can’t get inside—fuck,” Jake groaned, his jaw clenched as he tried to push in deeper.

You whimpered, your breaths coming out in sharp, uneven gasps. The stretch was burning and your walls struggling to take them both.

Jay, still buried inside you, hummed against your ear, his fingers never stopping their relentless circles on your clit. “Just focus on this, baby,” he cooed, “It’ll feel good soon, I promise.”

Your fingers went slack, the camera slipping from your hands and hitting the floor with a dull thud, forgotten.

With a deep breath, Jake pushed again, his hips rolling forward, forcing himself inside inch by inch. Your walls fluttered desperately around them both, your body trembling as you tried to adjust.

Finally, he bottomed out, a deep groan escaping him as he settled inside you. Your head lolled back onto Jay’s shoulder, body completely limp between them. The stretch was overwhelming, but they fit—stuffed so deep inside you, pressed against each other, filling you to the brim.

Jake exhaled shakily, looking down at the way you swallowed them both. “Goddamn,” he muttered, he slowly starts moving inside you, his dick brushing on Jay's was making his mind lost it completely.

Slowly, he began to move, his cock sliding against Jay’s with each thrust, the tight space forcing every sensation to heighten. The friction and the heat was enough to make his mind go blank.

Jay’s jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your hips as he felt every movement, every shift inside you. Since he was underneath, his own thrusts were shallow, but the way Jake’s cock brushed against his still sent sparks of pleasure.

“F-fuck,” Jay groaned, “She’s so—tight—”

You cried out, back arching as the overwhelming stretch turned into pleasure. Every roll of their hips pushed them deeper, stuffing you so full that you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Ahh, ahh,” you moaned, your voice is so shaky.

Jake smirked at the sound, gripping your thigh to keep you open. “You hear that, Jay? She’s losing it.”

Jay let out a breathless laugh, pressing a kiss against the side of your neck. “Not yet,” he murmured. “She can take more.”

And with that, he bucked his hips upward, meeting Jake’s thrusts perfectly, filling you over and over again, stretching you to your absolute limit.

“Fuck, no matter how many times we stretch you, you’re still so fucking tight,” Jake moaned.

Your mind was lost, floating somewhere between pleasure and delirium, your body completely surrendering to them. It wasn’t just the way they fucked you—it was how perfectly you fit together. The way Jay’s girth stretched you open, making you feel so impossibly full, while Jake’s length filled every inch, reaching places that made you see stars. And the way they both curved just right, their tips pressing into every sensitive spot inside you, leaving you utterly wrecked.

Your lips parted, a choked sob escaping you.

“Hey, you still with us?” Jay murmured, his forehead pressing against yours. Jake chuckled breathlessly, his fingers gripping your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“She’s barely holding on,” Jake smirked, rubbing his thumb over your spit-slick lips before pushing it past them. “She's completely fucked out.”

Jay groaned, rolling his hips even deeper, setting a rhythm that made your entire body tremble. They moved in sync—when Jake pulled out, Jay drove in, and when Jay withdrew, Jake filled you again. The push and pull leaving you with no moment of emptiness, only the overwhelming sensation of being ruined.

Your moans vibrated around Jake’s thumb, eyes rolling back as pleasure consumed you. Your body was overstimulated, wrecked, yet you wanted more.

You always wanted more when it came to them.

Jay’s grip moved to your breasts, kneading them just the way he knew you loved, while Jake’s fingers found your clit, circling it with expert precision. They knew your body like it was theirs—knew how to break you down, knew exactly how to tear you apart.

And in this moment, the only thing your mind could process was their names.

“Jay, Jake! Fuck—fuck!” you cried, body arching between them.

Both of them were completely lost in you, drowning in the way you took them so perfectly. But still, their focus never wavered from your pleasure. Their thrusts turned rougher, deeper, until Jay’s movements stuttered first. With a deep, strangled groan, his hips slammed flush against you, spilling inside with a shudder, his hands still greedily kneading your breasts as he rode out his high.

Jake whined, his hips stuttering as he felt Jay spill inside you, the warmth of it making his cock twitch violently.

“F-fuck, that’s so hot,” he groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs as he chased his own release. “You’re so fucking full, baby, and you’re still squeezing me—shit.”

Jay hummed lazily, his grip on your breasts tightening slightly as he kissed the side of your neck, still buried inside you. “She’s greedy like that,” he mused, his voice husky. “She wants it all.”

And you were definitely going to get that.

Jake thrust into you harder, his fingers rubbing relentless circles on your overstimulated clit. The pleasure teetering on the edge of painful as he used you to reach his high. Your body can't stop trembling uncontrollably as your walls clenched down around him.

“Fuck, fuck—” Jake’s head tilted back, his mouth hanging open as his orgasm crashed over him. He spilled inside you with a deep, shuddering groan, his fingers still lazily circling your clit, forcing you to ride out every last wave.

You gasped, body going limp between them, trembling as the aftershocks wracked through you. Every nerve was on fire, your skin glistening with sweat, your mind lost in the haze of pleasure.

Jay leaned back against the couch, keeping you pressed against his chest, his fingers trailing lazy circles over your skin. He pressed soft, lingering kisses against your temple, whispering low, soothing words into your ear, grounding you even as your body continued to tremble.

Jake was the first to pull out, hissing as he did, still breathless. He reached down, grabbing the fallen camera from the floor, his fingers brushing over the discarded polaroids scattered around.

Jay shifted next, carefully lifting you, rolling you onto your stomach. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he watched both of their cum spill from your wrecked pussy, dripping down your thighs. His hands spread you open just a little more, admiring the mess they made of you.

Jake knelt beside you, his fingers carding gently through your damp hair, his touch soft and tender. “Last shot, baby,” he murmured.

You barely had the strength to lift your head, but you did, your fingers resting against your flushed cheek. Your hair was damp with sweat, your lips swollen, your eyes hazy—completely fucked out.

Jake framed the shot just right, both of them beside you, the aftermath of their work on full display.

Click.

The flash flared and faded, casting a fleeting glow over the room before leaving behind only the three of you. On the floor, some of the polaroid slowly developed, its edges soft and hazy, immortalizing the moment in perfect, messy detail.

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #jay x reader #jake x reader #jay smut #jake smut #jay hardhours #jake hardhours

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eikotheblue · 3 months ago

Note

How do you *accidentally* make a programming language?

Oh, it's easy! You make a randomizer for a game, because you're doing any% development, you set up the seed file format such that each line of the file defines an event listener for a value change of an uberstate (which is an entry of the game's built-in serialization system for arbitrary data that should persiste when saved).

You do this because it's a fast hack that lets you trigger pickup grants on item finds, since each item find always will correspond with an uberstate change. This works great! You smile happily and move on.

There's a small but dedicated subgroup of users who like using your randomizer as a canvas! They make what are called "plandomizer seeds" ("plandos" for short), which are seed files that have been hand-written specifically to give anyone playing them a specific curated set of experiences, instead of something random. These have a long history in your community, in part because you threw them a few bones when developing your last randomizer, and they are eager to see what they can do in this brave new world.

A thing they pick up on quickly is that there are uberstates for lots more things than just item finds! They can make it so that you find double jump when you break a specific wall, or even when you go into an area for the first time and the big splash text plays. Everyone agrees that this is neat.

It is in large part for the plando authors' sake that you allow multiple line entries for the same uberstate that specify different actions - you have the actions run in order. This was a feature that was hacked into the last randomizer you built later, so you're glad to be supporting it at a lower level. They love it! It lets them put multiple items at individual locations. You smile and move on.

Over time, you add more action types besides just item grants! Printing out messages to your players is a great one for plando authors, and is again a feature you had last time. At some point you add a bunch for interacting with player health and energy, because it'd be easy. An action that teleports the player to a specific place. An action that equips a skill to the player's active skill bar. An action that removes a skill or ability.

Then, you get the brilliant idea that it'd be great if actions could modify uberstates directly. Uberstates control lots of things! What if breaking door 1 caused door 2 to break, so you didn't have to open both up at once? What if breaking door 2 caused door 1 to respawn, and vice versa, so you could only go through 1 at a time? Wouldn't that be wonderful? You test this change in some simple cases, and deploy it without expecting people to do too much with it.

Your plando authors quickly realize that when actions modify uberstates, the changes they make can trigger other actions, as long as there are lines in their files that listen for those. This excites them, and seems basically fine to you, though you do as an afterthought add an optional parameter to your uberstate modification action that can be used to suppress the uberstate change detector, since some cases don't actually want that behavior.

(At some point during all of this, the plando authors start hunting through the base game and cataloging unused uberstates, to be used as arbitrary variables for their nefarious purposes. You weren't expecting that! Rather than making them hunt down and use a bunch of random uberstates for data storage, you sigh and add a bunch of explicitly-unused ones for them to play with instead.)

Then, your most arcane plando magician posts a guide on how to use the existing systems to set up control flow. It leverages the fact that setting an uberstate to a value it already has does not trigger the event listener for that uberstate, so execution can branch based on whether or not a state has been set to a specific value or not!

Filled with a confused mixture of pride and fear, you decide that maybe you should provide some kind of native control flow structure that isn't that? And because you're doing a lot of this development underslept and a bit past your personal Balmer peak, the first idea that you have and implement is conditional stops, which are actions that halt processing of a multiple-action-chain if an uberstate is [less than, equal to, greater than] a given value.

The next day, you realize that your seed specification format now can, while executing an action chain, read from memory, write to memory, branch based on what it finds in memory, and loop. It can simulate a turing machine, using the uberstates as tape. You set out to create a format by which your seed generator could talk to your client mod, and have ended up with a turing complete programming language. You laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

#software #cw: software #ori and the will of the wisps #randomizer #programming #stories #asks

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skywalkoverme · 30 days ago

Text

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

a/n: Rewatched the movie and got a new angle on him...

𐙚James Kelly x Fem! Reader 𐙚 18+ MDNI

Summary: James starts chatting with a porn star.

Warnings/contains: dom! male, sub! fem, reader is a porn star, oral (m recieve), car sex, raw sex, multiple orgasms, crying during sex, rough sex, online sex, meetups, choking (m recieve), long distance relationship, somewhat...proof read-- english is not my first language!

Word Count: 3.5k // More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

Present: October 2011

James spent the day cleaning. He washed his sheets and made the bed nicely, fluffed pillows and vacuumed his rugs. In the living room, he wiped down surfaces and dusted any and everything. After months of talking online, today was the day he’d meet you.

In March, James saved enough to buy a laptop. Something nice, sleek and compact; he drove home happily with the box in his passenger seat. The man excitedly ran into the house and quickly set up his laptop on the coffee table. Of course, he initially used it for its natural purposes: digital storage, videos on car maintenance, porn, etc. but he found himself on websites he hadn’t figured existed. Chatrooms and other social media sites.

CHAT WITH HOT GIRLS NOW

Naturally, he clicked the link and ended up on a lewd site with overstimulating images and large text. His face scrunched in disgust, and confusion but he scrolled through the message boxes. He’d seen stuff of this nature on his phone before, sure and he knew a bit about online viruses and how they spread but this site looked a bit different. Legit(?)

He went through the chat boxes, faces and more faces of women in layers of makeup, voluminous or cropped hair, piercings, some without; some dangling handcuffs and others bent in positions holding their undergarments between their teeth.

He switched away from the tab and caught his breath. This was too much. Sure, he was bit hot but none of these photos made him hard. It was too performative. James sighed and spread his thighs, letting his laptop sit on his thighs. He opened the tab again the website forced him to put a card on file. He rolled his eyes and did so. The man clicked the filter for his type.

CLICK MENU FOR MORE

*[Your Race/Ethnicity]

*[Your hair color]

*[Your height]

*[Amateur]

He had to admit, he was curious. Curious and horny. The man found a few women that fit the search and scrolled through the list before he came across your “name”. Princess. He knew it was a stage name, but as he stared at the “ACTIVE” icon, it didn’t matter. He read your short bio: “Video vixen” and proceeded to click ‘chat now’.

Maybe his cursor slipped or something of that nature, but his web cam turned on. He hadn’t noticed it was on as he studied the moving chat tab. You were texting him.

You: Hi, I’m Princess. It’s nice to meet you.

James: Hi, Princess.

You: What’s your name?

James hesitated. He shouldn’t tell you his real name but it’s so common, you’d never figure out his identity. You smiled from the other side of your screen, staring at his face in the corner of your screen.

James: James.

You: You’re very handsome.

James: Thank you. I’m sure you tell every guy that texts you that.

You: Not every guy actually shows his face.

James’ eyebrows furrowed as he read your message over again. I’m not showing my face. He thought to himself.

James: What do you mean?

You: ? Your camera, it’s on.

James’ cheeks turned a bright cherry red before noticing the active camera. He shut his laptop and pushed it aside on the couch. “How embarrassing.” He grumbled to himself and held his hair, clutching the dark locks tightly. I’m so pathetic on that stupid site! How’d I not notice the camera was on?! “Shit.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. He was the first handsome man you’d seen in a long time on this site. It was a shame to see him go but there was no way to connect back unless he did it himself. You waited for the next user to show up on your screen before starting to chat with them.

James had nearly forgotten about the embarrassing accident as he smoked a cigarette and finished cooking his pasta. That was until he sat down on the couch and saw his black laptop on the third cushion. He sighed and flicked on the television; James leaned back and held his bowl of food to his chest, following the football game.

That was rude of me. She probably thinks I’m an asshole. Princess… I never meant to offend you.

He tapped his foot on his rug before opening his laptop. To his surprise, the tab was still open. He watched as the loading throbber spun. CONNECTING YOU TO ‘PRINCESS’ His heart raced as soon as he read the page. Instantly, he was connected back, his camera off this time.

James: I’m sorry

You: Hi! I’m Princess. It’s nice to meet you!

James’ eyebrows furrowed. Of course, this is anonymous. He thought.

James: It’s me, James.

You: Oh!! Hi again.

James: Hi. I want to apologize for leaving the chat like that.

You: It’s ok, I understand if you are busy.

James: No. I was just stunned that my camera was on.

You: If you want, we can both turn our cameras on.

Without much thought, James agrees.

James: Sure, Princess.

You turned on your camera and stared at your screen. It would be an understatement to say that he fell in love with you at first sight. You looked different from your photo but in the best ways. You bit the corner of your bottom lip as you sit in your spill of white sheets on your bed. Pretty pink lingerie covered your body, and a pretty collar held around your throat. He admired the way your hair fell over your shoulders and those large brown eyes that looked deeply at the pixels.

He nearly forgot to turn on his camera! James sat up and wiped any loose seasonings that might’ve been on his shirt. Again, you saw his handsome face and smiled. What a pretty smile. Your teeth aren’t perfect but still white, fitting for your lips.

James was surprised to hear your voice come through the speakers of his laptop: “James! There you are.”

He turned on his mic, “You’re stunning.” He stuttered more than he wanted to admit.

When you smiled this time, your tongue rests between your teeth, “Thank you!” You leaned forward and bit your lip, “Do you want to have fun?” He nodded mindlessly, unaware of his card that was being charged by the minute. “Can I see your cock, James?” Although he lived alone for now seven years, he looked around the room space, “Are you with company?”

He shook his head, palming himself through his jeans. “I- I live alone.”

“I live alone too. What would you do if you were here?”

He exhaled a trembling breath, “I- I’d take that off of you.” James stared at the frills of the lingerie. You undid the top of your lingerie dress and let it fall open. He pulled his hard cock from his jeans at the sight of your perky tits and hard nipples. “T- take it all off.” He stroked himself as you undressed, small moans escaping as you revealed yourself to him.

Day after day, paycheck after the next, he’d completely fallen for you. Eventually, you felt terrible for taking his money and decided to text/call him through your socials.

It was one night as he lay on his side, he asked: “What’s your name?” You sat up across the barrier of the screen and touched your lips nervously. “I promise, I won’t do anything bad…I just want to know.”

“…Y/n.” He smiled at your vulnerability and soon, you smirked with him.

It’s now October and the turning leaves began to gather in piles in front yards and along streets. You trusted him enough with your number, not only that, but he also made you his “girlfriend.” He called you on the way back from the corner store; a bag in his left hand and the phone pressed to his ear. “…I love you.” You said softly. He blushed, a pip in his step from the lovey feeling. This honeymoon-stage never ended. He’s fully and deeply in love with every aspect of you.

Present

Your legs trembled as you sat in the back of the Uber, holding your knees, you took deep breaths. The car stopped and you held your breath, staring at the man that walked around the car and opened the trunk. You stepped out, your eyes wide like a deer in headlights as James grabbed your suitcase and placed it on the sidewalk.

The car pulled away and you stood in front of him. “Hi.” He raised a hand to your cheek and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Let’s go inside.” You agreed quietly and he took your hand into his, “I, uh, know you like Italian so I made reservations for tonight…only if you’re hungry.” You looked around the space as he admired you in your pink tracksuit.

“We can stay in…” You shrugged and held your hands behind your butt. “If that’s ok?”

He scratched the back of his head and held his neck, “S- sure! Yes.” The man followed you as you took your own tour of his home, touching his belongings, opening drawers and smiling all the while.

“Who’s this?” You moved out the way of the photos on the media center.

“That’s my brother.” He said gruffly and walked past you towards the kitchen. “Do you want a drink? Water, or uh, tea? I bought lavender because it’s your favorite.” When he turned around, you were right behind him. “Oh! H, hi.”

“Hi…may I admit something?” You asked, your eyes ran up his tatted forearms

“Yes.” He held the counter that you backed him into.

“I did a background check on you.” He gulped and took a deep breath, “Can I know what you did to receive the charge? Aggravated assault with a deadly weapon?” He stuttered for a moment, “I just…want to be safe.”

“You are safe! I would never hurt you, Y/n. I hope you know that.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” You smiled, your hand rubbed his forearm and down to his hand. James’ fingers interlaced with yours, “Tell me.”

“Uhm, I went to prison a few years ago for robbing a bank. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone, I swear but the gun went off and this lady got hurt.” This wasn’t your first time dealing with an ex-con, but this was James. He’s nothing like them. “Do you want water?”

“Sure.” He quickly turned and poured you a glass of cold water before offering it to you. “It’s very clean in here.”

Yes! “I just tidied up some.” He shrugged.

“Right…” You chuckled, “Can I use your bathroom?” You’d never say it now, but you were sweating like never before beneath this top. He directed you to the bathroom and rest against the wall, his arms crossed as he began to overthink. Does she like the place? She seems hesitant. Well, I’m still a stranger. I hope she doesn’t think I’m trying to kill her! Shit, she’ll leave when I fall asleep. Damn. I can’t fall asleep or----

You left the bathroom and held your jacket over your arm. You were surprised to see him directly outside of the door, but you knew him as a clingy guy. He nodded and followed you into the living room. “Can I see your car?” The car he'd mentioned a million times by now.

“My car? Yeah!” He excitedly grabbed his keys, and you followed him. He unlocked the doors; however, you excitedly circled the car, careful with the black paintjob. “You like it?” You nodded and watched as he popped the hood. “I put in a turbocharger.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” He placed a finger over your lips, and you smiled. “I won’t tell.”

“Get in.” Without a second thought, you climbed into the passenger side. When James joined you, your hand rested on his thigh. “How about Hyde Park and back?” You agreed and heard the roar of his engine. He pulled away from the curb and peeled off down the street.

You rest your hand on the dashboard, feeling the soft rumble of the well-built engine. “…that’s sweet.” James blushes and holds the steering wheel with one hand.

“Thank you, Princess.” Your forearms rests on the window as you leaned out, allowing the wind to blow through the bundles of hair, pushing and tossing each strand around. “Are you comfortable?”

“I am.” After a minute of your shy admiration of his features, you began to undo his belt buckle. James’ expression clashed with surprise and confusion, “Is this ok?” He nodded as your hand found its way into his boxers. His legs naturally spread to your touch while he glanced between the road and your large, brown eyes. The man’s nerves spiked as your ran your tongue over his soft cockhead, the firm shaft in your small hand.

It'd been years since he felt the touch, the feel of a woman. But, never had he been with someone as beautiful as you. You pumped his shaft while slobbering over his cock; your fingertips carried the warm saliva down. “Fuck…” He moaned under his breath, his foot pressed on the brake as the car approached a red light. When he reached for your window’s switch, you bought his hand to your ass. “…Y/n.” He squeezed your butt firmly as he drove, ignoring passersby.

Your head bobbed on James’ cock, and he brought your head lower on his length. “Just like that. Shit, your throat is amazing.” James grunted as he tried to focus on the road. He took a sharp right turn at the avenue and rocked you to the side. “’M sorry!” You kept sucking his cock, seemingly harder than before. “A- alright, baby~ you’re such a good girl.” He sighed, doing his best to park along an empty street. His eyelids fluttered close as your cock buried in your soft throat. You were amused by the sounds that came from his mouth. He might bust right in your throat at this rate---

You stopped sucking and stroked his length at a tormentingly slow rate. You moved against him, your lips on his ear; suckling and pecking on the skin with your plump lips. “Fucking hell…” His hips thrust to your firm pumps around his shaft; a hand grabbed your hair, his fingers in between the tangles as you terrorized his body with these heavenly sensations. He guided your head lower and you continued to suckle kisses down his abdomen and back to his cock. “Sweetheart.”

You choked and sputtered as he gave you his full length, the thick head hit the back of your throat while tears streamed down your cheeks and onto his jeans. “Oh, baby~” His breath shook as your throat closed around him; your tongue swirled around his base. He panted; his head rested back while his hips jerked. You sucked him with renewed energy, your mascara running with every bob on your hair. He gathered the falling strands in his hand and used it to move your head. “I…I’m gonna cum.” James’ words trailed off into a moan. You felt his cock throb and pulse in your mouth.

He emptied himself into your throat, keeping your head down as the come spilled out of your mouth and onto his bush of hair. You gagged on his come and he pulled your head up; you coughed and brushed your tears away. He caught his breath and kissed your sweating forehead. She’s a fucking professional.

“Are you ok?” You asked him with a laugh.

“I- mhh.” He watched you swallow the last bits of cum around your mouth. “Yes.” James kissed your knuckles, “Let’s go home.”

“And do what?” Your finger poked your cheek.

James loomed over your body; his hand caught under your panties; fingers spread open as he rubbed your hip. Your skin is soft beyond belief against his toughened hands. He licked your neck with the flat of his tongue while the cross pendant around his neck pressed on your breasts. With ease, you wrapped your legs around him, your hands sunk into his hair, curling the short locks around your forefinger.

He took a moment to lay between your raised knees, his head on your welcoming bosom. The scent of you was exactly how he imagined: a creamy coconut, some lavender mixed in, bergamot. He didn’t know all that, but he could say that you smelled heavenly.

For a moment, he peered up at you with curious blue eyes through long eyelashes. Your finger ran over his soft cheekbones and his eyes shut under your touch. She’s real. His arms tightened around your bare waist, and he kissed your nipples, taking his time with either one. He rose up once more and captured your bottom lip into his mouth. His tongue pushed past your lips, deep into your mouth.

How was it that you looked at him with such love? He felt like he was violating some sacred boundary when he touched you. Although you’re no saint, without a doubt, you’re an angel. And him? Far from either.

His hand on your waist was gentle as it pulled your panties down and off. You enjoyed the pressure of his weight when he laid on you; he’s like a security blanket of sorts; you clung to him as he found your lips again.

A moan left James’s mouth while his fingers traced the folds of your pussy. He couldn’t help it, your little pussy fit right in his hand. James took a moment to admire the glistening pussy in his hand, already slick with need. His cock throbbed painfully against the confines of his shorts; his sensitive cockhead tortured itself in his boxers.

He pulled his cock from his boxers and let it rest over your warm pussy. James groaned and wrapped his arms around you, his lips on the center of your chest. He peered up at you and with a tender thrust, he filled the walls of your cunt. “Nghh~ P- princess!” James grumbled and let out a deep sigh. Your silky walls were gripping his length like a chokehold; James savored the moments he rests inside of you…each exhale on your breasts. Your hands trembled when he spreads your sensitive core wide.

Lust consumed your boyfriend as he began to move his hips; the force of his thrusts jostling the bed. His body grinds deliciously against your aching clit. Your pussy clutched him harder around his plundering shaft, wanting to draw him in deeper.

James hoisted your legs over his elbows and pressed your back to his headboard, your ankles rest over his broad shoulders. He breathes harshly out his mouth; “You’re so tight~” You hold his reddened neck in your hands, choking him as he drilled into your pussy.

“I know, baby~” His eyelids flutter closed from your grip. The pleasure sent straight to his shaft and heavy balls.

“Fuck!” His shaft fucked your suckling cervix, and your head fell back with the pace change. Your teeth clenched as your chest sunk with each deep exhale. His sweaty forehead pressed against yours as your bodies grind against each other. James’s hands gripped your hips tightly, you felt as if the skin would bruise from his hold. “…I can feel you cumming.” You licked your lips when he said that your orgasm mixed with his precum as he drilled into you.

His swollen cockhead pushed through your cunt; each stretch left you moaning with need. You gripped his throat tighter, your expression devolved into a helpless and needy look. But James couldn’t stop, not when you felt like this.

He turned you over on the bed, so you lay on your back in the mess of sheets. He captured one of your stiff nipples between his lips; a hand pushed one of your legs back beside your head. He licked the sensitive tit and kept it in his mouth while you cried out, your hands clung tightly to the covers.

James could feel his orgasm build in his crotch, the feeling stirred and mixed deep in his balls. He fought to hold back and drew his cock from your perfect heat. His swollen cockhead grinds against your hard clitoris. “A- ahh!” You screamed while your legs shook with pleasure. His cockhead finds the center of your clitoris and makes your head push back into the sheets; every muscle tensed beneath him.

“Cum for me, princess.” He grinds harder and leans over your spasming body. He kissed your trembling lips, “I know, baby.” He cooed and moved strands of hair from your face, his palm rests on your temple. He inhaled every harsh breath you let out and chuckled. “Let me hear you…”

Each torturous stroke made your eyes roll back. You couldn’t move, let alone speak. “You’re right there, aren’t you?” He kissed your lips and thrusts himself back inside of you. Your orgasm shot through your spine down to your core and across the sensitive nerves of your cunt. Your jaw slackened as your body came undone. “Good job~” He buried himself deeper inside of your spasming cunt, emptying himself against your pursed cervix.

a/n: this was a long one for me lol

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goofygubegubler · 3 months ago

Text

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 [𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏]

➤ [Good Graces] ➤ [Ending 2 – Fluff]

wc: 4.3k |F!Reader (Intern) x Spencer Reid (BAU) | cw: rough sex, semi-public setting, dominance/submission dynamics, overstimulation, consensual power play, possessiveness, hair-pulling, praise kink, degradation kink (use of “slut”), multiple orgasms, post-argument sexual tension, emotionally charged encounter, breath play (light), unprotected sex, workplace intimacy, reader is bratty/submissive.

Spencer pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "Shut up, for once."

You would’ve argued. You really would have. But then he kissed you again, and suddenly, there was nothing left to say.

When he finally released you, his breath was ragged, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them. The way he looked at you wasn’t calculating or hesitant. It was raw, irritated, charged with something so deeply frustrated you almost felt it buzzing against your skin.

His fingers still gripped your arms, grounding you. Or maybe grounding himself. “Do you have any idea,” he exhaled sharply through his nose, “how incredibly frustrating it is to like someone who is so—” he broke off, shaking his head. “You challenge me at every turn. You never listen. You push every single one of my buttons just to see how I’ll react. And worst of all, you enjoy it.”

Your lips parted, words balancing on the edge of your tongue, but Spencer’s fingers flexed against your arms. His control was hanging by a thread, and for the first time, you weren’t sure you wanted to cut it.

“You think it’s cute,” he muttered, almost to himself, “the way you mouth off, the way you get under my skin.” His head tilted slightly, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “But you don’t get it, do you?”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, fingers twitching at your sides, but you held your ground. “Get what?”

Spencer exhaled sharply, then, with a slow deliberation that sent heat curling low in your stomach, he released your arms. He smoothed his hands down the front of his cardigan, as if reminding himself of who he was, of who you expected him to be. Then, just as quickly, he shattered that expectation with one command:

“Get on your knees.”

You blinked. For a second, your brain didn’t even register the words correctly, and you didn’t fully compute that they had come from Spencer Reid of all people. The Spencer who buttoned his cardigans to the top. Who corrected people’s grammar mid-sentence? Who didn’t swear unless he was in the middle of a breakdown?

Your breath hitched. “Spencer,” you hissed, glancing toward the corners of the ancient file room, “we’re in a federal building. There could be cameras—”

“There aren’t.” His voice was steady, sure. “This room hasn’t been updated in decades. The Bureau’s too preoccupied with budget allocations to install surveillance in a storage closet no one uses.”

Your stomach flipped, heat crawling up your spine. "Still," you tried, but the protest was weaker now. "Anyone could walk in."

Spencer took a single step forward, closing the space you had barely noticed existed between you. His fingers traced up your arm, barely a touch, but it made your breath stutter. His lips curled, amused but still threaded with that same irritation that had been burning in his gaze since he first kissed you.

The lock had clicked minutes ago. There was no getting out until someone let you. The reality of it hovered, unspoken, thickening the air between you.

"I don’t think you understand," Spencer said, voice dangerously smooth, "how many times I’ve thought about shutting you up like this."

Your mouth went dry. Your pulse pounded.

Before you could even think of another excuse, another reason why this shouldn’t—couldn’t—be happening, your knees buckled. And then you were sinking, breathless, onto the cold tile floor.

Spencer watched you the whole way down, his control hanging by a thread, and for the first time, you wanted to pull it loose.

You inhaled sharply, staring up at him, the weight of his command pressing down on you like a tangible force. He was still breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in erratic bursts, but his hands? Steady. Measured. One of them reached out, fingers tilting your chin up so your wide, disbelieving eyes met his.

“Spencer,” you whispered, already knowing exactly what he wanted from you. But why give in so easily when pushing his buttons got you here in the first place? You blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “I mean… what do you even want me to do down here?”

His grip on your chin tightened. Just a fraction. Just enough to make your breath catch. His jaw clenched like he was wrestling with himself, with whatever was unraveling inside him. “Don’t e—” he cut himself off with a sharp inhale, eyes flickering with something wicked. And then he smiled. That smug, cheeky, infuriating smile you hated so much.

“Just unbuckle my pants, slut.”

Your breath hitched. Spencer Walter Reid just called you a slut.

Your stomach flipped, your core tightening at the sheer filthiness of it coming from him. It was shocking in the best way, the most exhilarating way, and the way his voice dipped into something almost guttural made you shudder.

Your hands moved, slow and testing, trailing up his legs before settling at his belt. The touch made him shiver—actually shiver—and you filed that knowledge away before pulling at the buckle. The clink of metal breaking apart in the silence sent heat rushing through you, and you took note of the happy little trail of curls leading below his waistband. You grinned, dragging your hands from his hips down to hook into his slacks, deliberately slow as you slid them lower.

“Don’t tease me,” Spencer exhaled sharply, his patience thinning as he kicked his pants off completely, his shoes following soon after.

You smirked up at him. “Come on, it’s not fair if you have all the fun.”

He ignored your taunt, already yanking off his jacket, then his tie, the buttons of his shirt slipping free in quick succession. It was so unlike him—so rushed, so desperate—that you could only stare as layer after layer was discarded until he stood bare before you.

Your brain short-circuited.

Spencer Reid was hiding that? That monstrous cock attached to his lanky, cardigan-wearing, statistical-fact-spewing body?

“Spencer,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes darted up to his in pure shock.

His brows furrowed. “What?” Then, as if realizing, he let out a low chuckle.“Oh. Right. Did you know only 3.9% of men are actually above seven inches? That puts me in a statistically rare category. Now open that mouth back up.”

Before you could so much as process another thought, Spencer’s hands tangled in your hair, tugging your head back as he thrust forward, the blunt tip of his cock pressing against your parted lips. The sound that left you was borderline obscene, but it was drowned out by the deep groan Spencer let loose as he finally—finally—felt your mouth around him.

You barely had time to adjust before he pushed deeper, his fingers tightening in your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted. He was relentless, hips snapping forward in controlled, measured thrusts, just enough to make you gag without giving you the chance to pull away. Spencer was watching you, his hazel eyes blown dark with something dangerously possessive, and the sight alone had heat pooling low in your stomach.

“You dirty whore,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice rougher than you’d ever heard it. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to see you like this?” He let out a strangled groan, his rhythm faltering for half a second before he forced himself back into control. “Teary-eyed, those pretty lips stretched around my cock, looking up at me like you were made for this.”

Your nails dug into his skin as his thrusts stuttered. He was close. You could feel the way his cock twitched against your tongue, the way his breath hitched, but still, he didn’t let up. Not until he had exactly what he wanted.

“Fuck—just like that, don’t stop.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, his fingers flexing in your hair as his hips snapped forward one last time. He groaned low and deep, his release spilling hot down your throat in thick, pulsing waves. The muscles in his abdomen trembled, his body shuddering as he rode it out, drawing in ragged breaths between each aftershock.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to watch, his eyes dark and fixed on your mouth as you swallowed, waiting—no, demanding—until you had taken every last drop. Then, with a slow exhale, he bent down, his fingers tightening around your chin, forcing your gaze to his.

“Swallow like a good girl.” His thumb swiped over your lower lip, his own lips curling into something smug and satisfied as he caught the last trace of himself there, pushing it past your lips. "Atta girl."

Your cheeks flushed under his intense gaze, heat prickling over your skin as he finally released you, waving you up with a flick of his fingers. “Come on,” he murmured, watching as you stood. His eyes flicked over your clothes, the short skirt, the button-up blouse that was already rumpled. “Take everything off.”

The demand sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, but still, hesitation flickered for just a second. You weren’t insecure, but standing fully clothed in front of a very naked Spencer Reid had you second-guessing everything. It wasn’t that you felt insecure—you liked your body well enough, but compared to him, standing there, all angles and sharp lines and unfairly proportioned perfection, you felt almost…plain. Not that Spencer seemed to agree, if the way his gaze darkened was anything to go by.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you unbuttoned your blouse, letting it slip down your arms, then moved to your skirt, pushing it past your hips. The simple bra you wore made you cringe—if you’d known this would happen, you would’ve worn something prettier, something delicate, lace-trimmed with little bows. And then there was your thong, which was almost comically opposite, tiny and black, a thin scrap of fabric that left little to the imagination.

Spencer tilted his head, eyes dragging over you. “Why’d you stop?”

You swallowed hard as he stepped forward, fingers hooking under your bra strap and tugging it teasingly. “I said all of it.”

Your breath hitched when he yanked the fabric down, just enough to let your breasts spill free. A choked noise left you, but he caught it with a kiss to your shoulder, his hands skimming your body before expertly unclasping your bra with a single flick of his fingers. The fucker was showing off. You rolled your eyes, but the effect was lost when a shiver ran down your spine the moment his fingers skimmed over your bare skin.

His lips trailed down your sternum, warm and wet, pausing to suck a bruise onto the soft flesh of your breast before his tongue flicked over your nipple. Your back arched involuntarily, a broken whimper spilling from your lips as he palmed the other, rolling the hardened bud between his fingers.

He didn’t stop. His mouth traveled lower, kissing down the slope of your stomach until he was crouched before you, lips hovering just over your clothed heat. His fingers traced the waistband of your thong, toying with the lace. “You’re a lot of fun, you know that?”

Then he pushed the fabric aside and pressed his lips against your clit.

The gasp you let out wasn’t delicate—it was guttural, ragged, a sound that ripped from your throat like it was torn from the deepest part of you. His mouth was sinful, devastating, all suction and swirling tongue, relentless in the way only Spencer Reid could be when he was singularly focused. He licked like you were a complex equation he’d waited years to solve, every stroke of his tongue calibrated with terrifying precision, every flick a calculated blow to your dwindling composure.

Your hands fisted in his hair, nails scraping his scalp as your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably. You couldn’t even summon the strength to form words—just half-sobs and desperate moans that echoed between metal and paper. One of your heels skidded against the floor, ankle buckling, and he growled low as he readjusted, both hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you'd slip through his fingers.

"Spencer—fuck—I can’t—" Your voice cracked, high and breathless, as you tried to twist away from the pleasure blurring your thoughts. You weren’t running from him—you were running from the edge.

He groaned against you, the deep vibration traveling straight through your core like an aftershock. And you shattered. The orgasm came like a freight train—no build, no warning, just pure, blinding heat crashing through every nerve ending. Your knees buckled, body convulsing, fingers clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

Still, he didn’t stop.

His grip tightened as he kept licking, working you through it with obscene, practiced precision. Your hips jerked against his face, body betraying you, wrung out and trembling—but still, he didn’t let up. He licked like he wanted to drown in you, to commit the shape and taste of your orgasm to memory. It was too much. Almost unbearable. But you didn’t beg him to stop. You couldn’t. You were unraveling, each nerve ending raw, frayed, and alive.

You were wrecked—and somehow, he still wasn’t done.

Your breath hitched sharply when the unmistakable sound of ripping fabric sliced through the haze. Cold air kissed your soaked skin, the absence of pressure where your thong used to be sending a new kind of thrill spiraling through you.

Your head dropped forward, blinking down in disbelief. Spencer sat back on his heels, holding the tattered remnants of lace between two fingers, his mouth and chin glistening. That same maddening half-smile curved his lips, cocky and amused, dark eyes glittering with mischief and heat.

“Spencer,” you breathed, incredulous, thighs still trembling.

He raised an eyebrow like he couldn’t possibly imagine what you were upset about. "What? It was in my way."

He shrugged. “What? It was obstructing my work.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the delirious laugh bubbling in your throat. "You’re insane."

“I’ll buy you another one,” he said simply, rising to his feet.

The shift was sudden—too sudden. One second, he was standing there, his mouth still slick with the aftermath of what he'd done to you, eyes half-lidded and wild, and the next, he’d spun you around like it took no effort at all. Your front hit the filing cabinet with a jarring clang, the cold steel biting into your overheated skin. The shock stole the breath right out of your lungs, the air whooshing from you in a grunt that was more startled than pained.

You blinked, disoriented, your palms splayed flat against the cool metal in a desperate attempt to stay upright. The drawers rattled from the force of it, the entire structure groaning beneath your weight. The cold surface did nothing to calm the fever scorching beneath your skin. Before you could fully catch your breath, he was there, pressing into you, all heat and muscle and intensity. His chest molded against your back, a furnace that made you shiver, and his cock—thick, rock-hard—slid against the swell of your ass in a way that made your knees knock together.

Your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. All you could do was brace yourself and try not to collapse under the weight of it all.

"Wait—Spence—"

“Shh,” he breathed, the sound hot against the shell of your ear, one hand sliding between your thighs to line himself up. “I’ve got you.”

He didn’t wait for permission. Just pushed forward, slow and deliberate, until the thick head of his cock breached you. Your breath hitched like you’d been sucker punched. The stretch was unreal—every inch a battle between pain and devastating pleasure. You weren't ready. You'd never be ready. But your body opened for him anyway, greedily, desperately.

Your forehead dropped to the cabinet with a dull thunk. “Jesus Christ,” you gasped, voice trembling. “You’re… huge.”

The groan he gave in response was guttural, low, and reverent, like you’d just handed him a Nobel Prize. “Statistically significant,” he murmured smugly. “Rare sample set. Very lucky subject.”

You let out a breathless, incredulous laugh—half delirium, half exasperation. “Spencer, I swear to God—”

“Yeah?” he said, his voice dark and playful. “Swear to me then. Say my name.”

Then he drove forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, perfect thrust.

You cried out, legs nearly giving out, your hands scrambling uselessly for purchase on the smooth, unforgiving metal. It was too much—he was too much. Your body felt split open, every nerve set alight. He pulled back and slammed into you again, harder, deeper, with the force of a man who knew exactly what he was doing and wanted you to feel every inch of it.

“Spencer—fuck—oh my god—”

He grunted, his hand weaving into your hair and yanking your head back just enough to arch your spine. “You can take it. Look at you,” he panted. “Already so fucking full.”

You whimpered, shaking your head in disbelief. “I can’t—It’s too good, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, punctuating each word with a thrust that had your eyes rolling back. “You’re doing so well.”

Your body was already trembling again, too close to the edge, that second orgasm clawing its way up your spine far too soon. Your muscles fluttered around him, overwhelmed and overstimulated. “You’re gonna break me,” you whispered, more plea than warning.

“That’s the idea,” he murmured darkly, voice like smoke.

Then he really started to fuck you.

No mercy. No hesitation. Just raw, focused hunger. The filing cabinet groaned under your weight, metal rattling in protest with every unforgiving thrust. Your fingers clawed at the surface, nails scraping against steel, desperate for something to hold onto as he drove into you like a man possessed.

Each sound that tore from your throat was louder, more desperate than the last—whimpers, curses, half-sobs laced with his name, all of it spilling out in a string of broken pleas and praises. Through it all, Spencer was relentless. Steady. Consuming. His hands bruised your hips, holding you in place, making sure you took every last inch like you were made for it.

You could feel everything—every inch of him dragging along your walls, every brutal snap of his hips, every filthy whisper ghosted hot against your ear. "You're taking me so well," he murmured. "So fucking tight for me."

You were unraveling, nerve by nerve, and he was watching it—fascinated, delighted. "That's it," he breathed, adjusting the angle just slightly, sending you crashing into a fresh wave of sensation. You gasped, back arching, vision swimming.

"Spencer—" you choked, teetering. “I’m gonna come again—”

“Good,” he growled. “Come with me. Let me feel you.”

And when you did, he followed—his rhythm faltering only slightly as he pushed as deep as he could go, his body pressed hard against yours, breath stuttering with every pulse of release. You cried out, twitching around him, body wracked with aftershocks. He groaned into your shoulder, still moving, just enough to keep you locked in that space where pleasure danced right on the knife’s edge of pain.

You whimpered, hips jerking away, but his arm around your waist kept you there. “Sp-Spence—too much—”

“Just a second,” he muttered, voice a wrecked mess of want and affection. “Let me have it. Let me feel you like this.”

When he finally stilled, breathless and heavy, you sagged forward, spent. Your forehead dropped to the cabinet with a soft thunk. For a beat, the only sound in the room was the echo of your panting.

“So,” you panted, voice raspy but smug, “it’s not morning yet, which technically means there’s still time for seconds.”

He chuckled against your back. “Is that so?”

You grinned, rolling your hips back with renewed mischief. “I mean… unless you’re too tired.”

That was all it took.

In a flash, he’d spun you again, lifting you effortlessly onto the cabinet this time, his eyes dark and dangerous. “You think you get to make the rules now?”

You tried to play innocent, blinking up at him with wide eyes. “Maybe?”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Not a chance.”

You leaned back slightly, a smirk tugging at your lips, fingers daring to trail down your own body, teasing the slick between your thighs with lazy defiance. "Then maybe you should remind me who’s in charge."

Before your fingers could dip too low, his hand was there—gripping your wrist tight and pinning it above your head, expression shifting from amused to ravenous in a heartbeat.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dark silk, “don’t start what you can’t finish.”

And just like that, he was inside you again, no preamble, no warning—just a brutal, possessive thrust that knocked the breath clean out of your lungs. The overstimulation hit instantly, your body already raw and sensitive, and you cried out, squirming in his grasp.

“Spencer—” you whimpered, caught somewhere between a sob and a moan, “I just— we just—”

“I know,” he growled, burying himself deeper. “I’m not done yet.”

This time, there was no buildup. No slow seduction. Just the sharp, overwhelming slide of him inside you, fucking you through your aftershocks with relentless, punishing intent. You were already too far gone, pleasure clashing with the sweet sting of too much, too soon.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but your body betrayed you, walls clenching around him with every thrust, the soreness only adding to the intensity. He was everywhere—inside you, over you, surrounding you.

“I can feel you fluttering,” he rasped, watching your face twist with pleasure. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?”

You shook your head, breath ragged. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered. “Come with me. Again.”

You shattered with him, again. Bodies locked, muscles clenched, everything crashing down around you in a haze of heat and noise and breathless, desperate movement. His name tore from your lips one final time as your world fragmented.

And then, at last, he stilled.

Both of you were trembling, gasping, entirely spent. Your body sagged against his, boneless and overwhelmed.

He brushed a kiss against your temple, breath tickling your skin. “Still think you’re in charge?”

You groaned, half-laughing, half-whimpering. “Spencer… it’s still not morning.”

He pulled back just far enough to smirk down at you. “Then I guess we’ve still got time for thirds, but only if you ask nicely this time.”. Through it all, Spencer was relentless. Steady. Consuming. His hands bruised your hips, holding you in place, making sure you took every last inch like you were made for it.

"Spencer—" you choked, teetering. “I’m gonna come again—”

“Good,” he growled. “Come with me. Let me feel you.”

You whimpered, hips jerking away, but his arm around your waist kept you there. “Sp-Spence—too much—”

“Just a second,” he muttered, voice a wrecked mess of want and affection. “Let me have it. Let me feel you like this.”

When he finally stilled—breathless, heavy, trembling just enough for you to feel it—you sagged forward, boneless. Your forehead met the cabinet with a muted thunk, the cool surface grounding you in the aftermath.

For a moment, nothing. Just the shallow, echoing rhythm of two bodies relearning how to breathe.

Then, your voice—raspy, smug, entirely too pleased. "So… it’s not morning yet. Which means, technically, there’s still time for seconds."

He huffed a laugh against your spine. Low. Dangerous. “Is that so?”

You grinned, slow and wicked, and rolled your hips back with taunting grace. "Unless you’re tired."

That did it.

In one swift movement, he turned you, lifted you like you weighed nothing, and settled you on the counter with a thud that echoed like a warning. His gaze found yours—dark, unreadable, but hungry in a way that made your mouth go dry.

“You think you’re calling the shots now?” he murmured, close enough that his breath ghosted across your lips.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed. Innocent. Lying through your teeth. "Maybe?"

He leaned in, voice a growl wrapped in silk. “Not even close."

But then—just for a beat—his expression faltered. The air between you shifted, charged in a different way.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he muttered, voice low but no longer teasing. "About you being reckless. About you getting under my skin. But I was out of line."

You blinked, startled by the sudden gravity in his tone.

He swallowed hard. “And for calling you a slut. For being too rough. You didn’t deserve that. Any of it. I—”

You silenced him with your fingers at his lips, the shift in you sudden, sharp. Not angry. Not hurt. Just... electric.

“Don’t ruin it,” you whispered, but this time, there was heat laced in every syllable. “Unless you’re trying to beg now.”

His eyes darkened instantly, the apology burning away into something hungrier.

“Is that what this is?” you added, voice dipping low as you leaned in, teeth grazing his jaw. “You saying sorry… or asking permission?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because in the next breath, his mouth was on yours—hot, commanding, desperate—and his hands were already dragging you to the edge of the counter like he was starved for you all over again.

“Round two?” you gasped between kisses, dizzy from the force of him.

He growled against your skin. “Try round forever.”

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dalishious · 3 months ago

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Gaming GIF Tutorial (2025)

Here is my current GIF making process from video game captures!

PART 1: Capturing Video

The best tip I can give you when it comes to capturing video from your games, is to invest in an injectable photomode tools - I personally use Otis_Inf's cameras because they are easy to use and run smoothly. With these tools, you can not only toggle the UI, but also pause cutscenes and manually change the camera. They are great for both screenshots and video recording!

As for the recording part, I personally prefer NVIDIA's built-in recording tools, but OBS also works well in my experience when NVIDIA is being fussy.

PART 2: Image Conversion

Do yourself a huge favour and download PotPlayer. It is superior to VLC in more ways than one in my opinion, but is especially helpful for its Consecutive Image Capturer tool.

Open the video recording in PotPlayer, and use CTRL + G to open the tool. If this is your first time, be sure to set up a folder for your image captures before anything else! Here are the settings I use, albeit the "Every # frame" I change from time to time:

When you're ready, hit the "Start" button, then play the part of the video you want to turn into a GIF. When you're done, pause the video, and hit the "Stop" button. You can then check the images captured in your specified storage folder.

(TIP: Start the video a few seconds a head and stop a few seconds after the part you want to make into a GIF, then manually delete the extra images if necessary. This will reduce the chance of any unwanted cut-offs if there is any lagging.)

PART 3: Image Setup

Now, this part I personally always do in GIMP, because I find its "Open as Layers" and image resizing options 100% better and easier to use than Photoshop. But you don't have to use GIMP, you can do this part in Photoshop as well if you prefer.

Open the images each as an individual layer. Then, crop and/or scale to no more than 540px wide if you're uploading to Tumblr.

(TIP: This might just be a picky thing on my end, but I like to also make sure the height is a multiple of 10. I get clean results this way, so I stick to it.)

If you use GIMP for this part, export the file as .psd when done.

PART 4: Sharpening

If you use GIMP first, now it's time to open the file in Photoshop.

The very first thing I always do is sharpen the image using the "Smart Sharpen" filter. Because we downsized the image, the Smart Sharpen will help it look more crisp and naturally sized. These are the settings I mostly use, though sometimes I change the Amount to 200 if it's a little too crunchy:

Here's a comparison between before and after sharpening:

Repeat the Smart Sharpen filter for ALL the layers!

PART 5: Timeline

First, if your timeline isn't visible, turn it on by click on Windows > Timeline. Then, change the mode from video to frame:

Click "Create Frame Animation" with the very bottom layer selected. Then, click on the menu icon on the far-right of the Timeline, and click "Make Frames from Layers" to add the rest of the frames.

Make sure the delay should be 0 seconds between frames for the smoothest animation, and make sure that the looping is set to forever so that the GIF doesn't stop.

Part 5: Editing

Now that the GIF is set up, this is the part where you can add make edits to the colours, brightness/contrast, add text, etc. as overlays that will affect all the layers below it.

Click on the very top layer so that it is the one highlighted. (Not in the timeline, in the layers box; keep Frame 1 highlighted in the timeline!)

For this example, I'm just going to adjust the levels a bit, but you can experiment with all kinds of fun effects with time and patience. Try a gradient mask, for example!

To test your GIF with the applied effects, hit the Play button in the Timeline. Just remember to always stop at Frame 1 again before you make changes, because otherwise you may run into trouble where the changes are only applied to certain frames. This is also why it's important to always place your adjustment layers at the very top!

Part 6: Exporting

When exporting your GIF with plans to post to Tumblr, I strongly recommend doing all you can to keep the image size below 5mb. Otherwise, it will be compressed to hell and back. If it's over 5mb, try deleting some frames, increasing the black parts, or you can reduce to number of colours in the settings we're about to cover below. Or, you can use EZGIF's optimization tools afterwards to reduce it while keeping better quality than what Tumblr will do to it.

Click on File > Export > Save for Web (Legacy). Here are the settings I always use:

This GIF example is under 5mb, yay! So we don't need to fiddle with anything, we can just save it as is.

I hope this tutorial has offered you some insight and encouragement into making your own GIFs! If you found it helpful, please reblog!

#gif tutorial #tutorial

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velvetures · 2 years ago

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Vulnerable pt.1?

A/N: A not-so-little thing I've had for a few weeks, and wanted to see if a part two was something anyone would be interested in reading. If so, please let me know. Summary: You try and get Ghost to relax after a harsh mission and find a bit of a quiet moment. T/W: not proofread :)

Bad intel led to you and your Lieutenant being nearly hunted down and killed by a not-so-small group of arms dealers who caught on quickly to the pair of foreigners lingering just a little bit too close to their sheltered storage garage right in the middle of a market district in the South East. The task force assumed sending in an entire squad would be overkill just for some simple recon information and decided that you and Ghost would be the perfect pair for the job. ‘In and Out…’ Price had said quite offhandedly, sliding the prepared information in two files across the table to you. Only Price’s sources hadn’t double-checked if the area was secure enough for them to enter without full backup on standby. Not necessarily a lethal kind of mistake when bringing you and the Lieutenant into the equation, but there were too many close calls and stray bullets that were clearly heard for either of you to feel super confident in getting away unscathed.

Your only savior was a small farmhouse that had been recently abandoned due to the illegal and dangerous activity that had been surrounding the small city. Modest in size with two bedrooms and running water. Perfect for a makeshift safe house to keep the trackers off your asses until an extraction could be arranged and put into motion. Contrary to belief, the 141 didn’t have the bottomless pit of resources everyone believed they had at their disposal. Which included access to evac and trained air-support teams. This wasn’t a big mission that had a lot of working parts and multiple organizations involved that had enough liquidated funds to through out for a helo and heavy gunners to rescue two operators from the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where.

That means with busted equipment, inoperable comms, hardly enough ammunition to fight out of a wet paper bag, and zero way of knowing when and if you’d be rescued, there was nothing left to do but try and relax in one of the most difficult predicaments. It left you searching through cabinets for maybe some kind of food to keep the both of you while Ghost did one of his favorite things. Pacing the house from window to window looking for the slightest bit of movement. The trouble being, there wasn’t anything for at least two miles in any direction. The people who owned this place were farmers of some sort, and had placed their home right in the middle of crop fields that gave a very advantageous sightline. While that information gave you quite a bit of comfort, it was not effecting Ghost positively in the slightest.

Your relationship with the Lieutenant was complex, to say the least. When you were first introduced it was for a succession of short co-op missions that were nothing if not brief and very impersonal leaving you with more questions than answers about the man who stayed hidden under the mask. Through some talks that you hadn’t been privy to being in the room for, John Price decided that your skills would be more useful to Task Force 141 than for the U.S. Division of Clandestine Service and offered you a position that you couldn’t possibly decline.

By day-in and day-out contact with Ghost, you got a lot more comfortable with him and learned much of his little idiosyncratic behaviors. Maybe a little too well…. He didn’t particularly act much differently towards you in the grand scheme of things, but something in you felt like trust had been developed to where he could depend on you when the situation called for it.

“Go hit the rack, I’ll take first watch.” He called gruffly from the living room where he had moved a chair from the kitchen to sit facing the front door head on with his MP5 resting lazily on his chest.

You couldn’t help but notice just how damn tired he looked under all that gear and through the black smeared around his eyes. He couldn’t be carrying less than one hundred pounds on him right now; even sitting in that chair with it wasn’t a good enough solution. Let you take a moment or two for yourself, stripping out of your tac vest and heavily weighted gear to drop it on top of the kitchen counter with a little grunt. Two days ago you both got the luxury of sleeping, and since then it’s been nothing but being on the run.

This would be the safest place for you that wasn’t in the belly of an evac bird, and the thought of Ghost not taking the time to sleep sat in your mind like a lead sinker. Leaning against the doorway and watching him for a long moment, you start having thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Ones that normally wouldn’t surface if you’d been able to separate working with Ghost from the more personal aspect of literally sharing almost every part of your life with him. Thoughts about how you could make him feel better… even if just for the night. That no one was around for miles and whatever happened could safely stay between the pair of you.

By utter carelessness of your position with the team or lack of fear about how the Lieutenant might respond, you walk into the living room and kneel down right in front of him with your fingers reaching out to unlace his dusty boots. Off instinct alone, you expected and watched as his foot flinched away from you. His whole body jumps and stiffens at the contact and sight of you kneeling on the floor. He quickly pauses and collects himself, taking several moments before his gravelly voice breaks the silence.

“What’re you doin’ Sergeant?” His eyes grew heavy and showed more expression than the rest of his massive body as they flashed with confusion and a little swell of anger. That aloofness didn’t hide that slight guardedness of something that made him uncomfortable in one way or another.

“I’m perfectly capable of takin’ care of my fuckin’ self.” He adds with zero discernible sign of either offense or gratitude. You can’t help but smile tiredly, feeling like you’re attempting to soothe a feral wolf into letting you pull it’s paw out of trap.

“I never said you couldn’t L.T.,” You reply gently, reaching back to start unhooking the laces from their claws on his left foot. “Just thought you couldn’t use some affection.” Smirking to yourself, you can’t help but think something this small being considered ‘affection’ didn’t fit anyone save for Ghost. He was just too hard to approach. Walls so thick and tall that it would take someone with patience beyond that of a human to break through and see what rested behind all of that brash posturing and icy disposition.

“You know affection is something I’m averse to,” he utters, watching yet making no effort to stop you. “What you’re doin’ is unnecessary.” A small sound close to a growl escapes from behind the mask when my hand reaches to the back of his leg to help aid my effort of pulling his boot off.

Chuckling softly and sitting the boot down at your side you respond, “I know you don’t like affection,” You’re already working on the other one, purposefully moving slowly as not to overwhelm or spook him. “That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, L.T..” You can’t help but look up at him almost exhaustedly yet still trying to be reassuring.

“M’fine without it.” He spits out quickly, looking away from your face back down to your progress on the laces, his masked face otherwise unreadable. “Didn’t ask you for this shit, Sergeant.” Tinged with an undercurrent of irritation his deep voice sounds near the bridge of turning to anger.

“Mothering me isn’t in your best interest.” He growls low and threateningly in your face as he bends down to grab the boot sitting next to you and giving it a quick look of observation before sitting it back down closer to him. You just finish taking off his other boot and sit it down next to the other without much more of a verbal fight and put a hand on his thigh to steady your sore legs as you get back up to your feet.

“I’m younger than you Ghost, I can’t mother you.” You reply, holding out your hand for him.

He doesn’t make note or stop you from using him to help yourself up, however, Ghost follows your movements carefully… closely. He’s doing everything in his power to hide his emotions, but there’s still a faint twitch of his lips when he looks down at his boots sitting at his side. You’d done something very unusual, and he knew berating you was what he should’ve done. Yet a flinch of a smile was what really moved Ghost’s mouth. It’s gone before it even surfaces, pushed down by the sight. of you holding out your little hand in front of him. The sounds of his deep breathing fill the quiet house as you both sit there unflinching of each other. The Lieutenant shifts in his chair, readjusting his rifle on his chest.

“Go to bed. It’s late.” His repeated command felt softer now. Wavering a bit with you hand still held out and your fingers wiggling a little.

“Come on,” You hold steady and patient.

Reward comes in the form of feeling Ghost’s heavy and large hand falling into yours and gripping just hard enough to allow you the phantom sensation that you’re actually helping him up from the chair, hearing a short grunt as his back straightens up. Without explanation, you lead the Lieutenant through the small house back towards the only bedroom in the house with an actual bed left behind by the owners, pulling him to the center of the room and turning around to face him.

“Put your arms up for me.”

“Excuse me?” Ghost’s frown can be heard from behind the mask. Despite his apparent bewilderment, he hesitantly obeys, extending his arms above his head with an exhale of a tense breath, looking down at you with dark and questioning eyes. “What are you doing now?”

You just smile and hum to yourself softly, reaching out to begin unclipping and unzipping the sections of his tac vest holding it on his upper body and the multiple ammo belts. Carefully draping them over you shoulder as you release his body from them one by one. Seeing the way Ghost’s body sinks into itself with the weight being pulled off after days without rest. You feel his eyes scan over you, over your hands finding ways to take off his gear for the first time in your life, feeling your way through sunch an unusual yet careful act.

“Bein’ fuckin’ ridiculous…” He growls, covering up the feelings of not being so concealed by barking at you a little.

“Shhh.” Your hush does enough to stop his quiet and brooding complaints.

Long enough for you to kneel back down at his feet and work at the thigh straps over his pants and even remove the ankle holster you’d left alone while taking off his boots. He doesn’t resist this part, just watching you undress him bit by bit with half a mind questioning just what had happened for you to start acting so strangely. You’d always been sweet. Much nicer than your job allowed for. Yet even this was quite off the edge of the character Ghost had built for you over the years. This felt downright intimate for just two operators to be doing.

Then again your shared situation wasn’t exactly one of professionalism at this point. You’d been improvising for nearly a full day just trying to stay alive. Once back on your feet, you take hold of his hand again, this time with a little less caution since you’d already touched him there, and begin pulling at the fingertips to slide his sand and dirt-cakes gloves off. Even seeing his bare skin under his gloves be seen in the dim lamplight of the house, Ghost doesn’t do more than flex his fingers once you’ve rid him of the stiff material.

Purposefully avoiding his mask, you get Ghost down to nothing more than boxers and a t-shirt, even with his help at certain parts without him growling more or acting like you were irritating him. While he still gave off a feeling of all-around grumpiness and more than a little confused as hell, you paid it no mind as you led him towards the edge of the bed and pointed to it with a short yet polite command for him to ’sit’. Right away you noticed his hesitation and the way that his shoulders and arms tensed, his attention solely on you, flashing between your eyes and mouth like he was trying to reassure himself that he’d heard you correctly. But with one small tug on his hand, he turns around and sits on the bed with his feet resting on the floor and his arms braced on both sides of him a little stiffly.

“Now what?” His voice held a bit of rasp to it as he tracked your movement from his side, seeing you climb up into the bed and position yourself on your knees behind him. The close proximity didn’t go unnoticed by the Lieutenant as he cleared his throat, once again interrupting the calm silence in the house. His tension filled the small space between you, heating the gap of air, almost electrifying it.

“Just relax Ghost.” Easily touching his shoulders, you begin working your palms flat against the slopes of his muscled neck.

Purposefully but gently rubbing at the stiff cords of muscle and introducing the sensation to him as easily as possible in the case that it was a bit too overwhelming for him all at once. You knew you’d pushed the boundaries with him much further past anything you’d expected to achieve in one night. But now that he was sitting here in front of you, it was hard not to smile brightly that he was trusting you so much. Allowing your hands to be on him. Accepting that you had positioned the both of you in a very vulnerable position that could lead to a lot more violent options than affectionate ones. Torture and nightmares had given more than a fair share to Ghost, yet he was patiently staving off his own clear hesitation so that you could play out whatever this was turning out to be.

Your command went unacknowledged just like all of Ghost’s from earlier had; His breathing steadily slowing down into a deep and rich, relaxed sort of rhythm. Power of your hands and calming attitude worked faster than you anticipated, leaving the massive man sitting between your thighs begin to release. Tension falling out of his body not only under your hands but by sight of his jaw loosening. You’re even lucky enough to spot him trying to take glances at you from the corner of his eye, only to look back ahead since you were in quite the blindspot. Taking your thumbs in a sweeping motion from the edges of his shoulders inward, you apply pressure on the back of his neck and experimentally reach higher up under the hem of his mask. A dangerous game to play. Rumbling sounds of appreciation filling your ears are better than any sort of medal you could earn or bet you’d ever cash in. His head rolls back slightly with each small circle of your thumbs and fingers, pushing against you. Silently asking for more pressure.

“Feel good?” You ask at just a whisper, not wanting to disturb the warm sort of feeling the room has right now by speaking too loud.

Under the safety of his mask, Ghost’s mouth curves into a smile hearing you. He rolls his head back again, arching slightly to accommodate your small hands struggling to find good purchase to keep working at the intensity he’d been hinting at. A much less controllable sound escapes his mouth when you begin working at a very sore spot he didn’t even know was present right at the base of his skull.

“Keep going,” His sleepy-sounding mutter makes your chest ache.

Grinning at the feeling of his harsh accent and sudden domestication you work away diligently down his back carefully and methodically so as to not miss a single thing. And while it’s not necessarily going to help him much, you go ahead and use your fingernails to gently scratch up and down. It’s then a groan interrupts your focus and you see Ghost shift on the edge of the bed. Believing you’d found the end of your time, you leaned back on your heels and expected him to get up and leave you in the bedroom alone. Watching him tug at his t-shirt and pull it over his head to toss it somewhere across the room was how you were told that Ghost did indeed want more. Only his shirt was getting in the way of something he wasn’t getting.

Hearing him give a deep sigh when your fingertips returned to his now bared skin gave you a rush of adrenaline and nearly caused you to wiggle happily that you’d been able to share this with Ghost. He leans back into you a little more, letting your hands and arms take more of the weight as he groans out;

“You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, but not for a long time.” You answer, eyes smoothing over the muscles rippling as your hands work at them.

“You’re good,” He grunts, closing his eyes and zeroing in on how to focus his attention between your small hands working so efficiently and the conversation he’d begun. “How’d you get so good at it?” His head turns a little, trying to get at least one good look at you. He keeps shifting now, allowing him to keep you just in the edge of his periphery.

“Had a good teacher for a few years,” You answer, working in tight circles over a large ball of muscle fibers all collected just at the edge of his shoulder blade, earning another growling sound from the Lieutenant.

“Teacher? When?” He asks, giving a slow release of a deep breath giving a short indication that the muscle you’d been working to release was getting a bit uncomfortable. Pulling back for a moment just to give him and your hands a break, you hear him make a noise then lean back a little further, pressing his back against you almost like a dog wanting to be pet more.

“Don’t stop.” He requests in a husky tone. You chuckle aloud, returning your hands and taking a less aggressive approach by smoothing your palms over him in less-than-planned patterns, just enjoying feeling his tattooed and scarred skin under your hands as you think about how to answer him.

“A woman in London taught me,” you start, using your nails again on his skin softly. “In the year or so between my U.S. military discharge and acceptance into the task force with you.” You see the effect of your touch on Ghost as it takes him longer to respond and the way he keeps leaning more and more weight back into you, unable to keep himself from subconsciously trying to get closer. Wanting more whether he’d ever admit it or not. There’s no mistaking it between either of you, he’s enjoying this.

“I assume she was special to you.”

It was your neighbor just across the hallway from you. An older woman named Sarah. Eccentric in modern times, you’d always believed she must’ve been a force to be reckoned with when she wasn’t hindered by an aging body and an even more ailing mind. A massage therapist by trade, and a pianist by heart there wasn’t much that Sarah could accomplish without someone helping her once she became limited in movement living on the eighth floor of the apartment building you shared. Back then you didn’t have much in the way of contacts after leaving the country, and it led to a friendship with the old woman living across from you. Sharing stories, eating dinner together, grocery shopping together when she felt like going out, and trading some skills between each other. After telling Ghost this much with your fingers tracing out letters and shapes over his back, you can sense he’s listening carefully. And Ghost is feeling a slight fuzzy sensation building in the back of his brain, spreading out in a warm wave down to his fingertips and toes.

“She taught me massage since at the time I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with my life.” Your head falls to the side, examining how the lamplight shines on ghost and deepens the already significant definition in his physique.

Ghost falls against you even more, and this time he lets his head fall back against you. Trying to counterbalance his weight and keep both of you from falling backwards with just him limp he’s becoming, you wrap on arm around his neck and hold his head in the bend of your arm. He gives another sigh, and settles against you heavily. He. looks at you in silence out of the corner of his eye listening to your explanation.

“Why was she your only friend?” You can’t help but chuckle at his question, resting your chin on his opposite shoulder and bringing your other arm under his to begin scratching and rubbing at his chest, feeling deep and puckered scars littering nearly every inch of him.

“I didn’t know anyone else. And you know me well enough to know that I’m not exactly extroverted.” You smile, tracing lightly up and down his well-defined arm. Ghost couldn’t be more comfortable laid against you.

“Sorry to hear that.” His voice low and husky with his mouth so close to your ear. “She must call or ask about you…”

You shake your head. “No. She died just before I joined you all. Her mind was… failing her. And there was some kind of accident in the middle of the night The police told me she was likely trying to get to the bathroom and fell. She apparently died on impact… they didn’t say what, but I think her head hit something.” You explain quietly. “And you and I both know that means lights out. So she didn’t suffer.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he answers as softly as he can manage after hearing the darker part of your happy memories. “How did it become… intimate, like this?” He asks, nodding to the way you were leaned up against his back with your hand tracing over every inch of him that you could reach. The longer you’ve both let this go, the more boundaries get pushed further out of reach, making it hard for either of you to really know where it could end.

You smile with a blush creeping up your neck onto your cheeks, thankful you’re somewhat hidden out of sight. “This isn’t really what she taught me,” You mutter a bit quiet. “When i was massaging you… yes. That I got taught. But this, it’s… just me.”

Out of your sight Ghost’s face flushes slightly as well, his cheeks a warm rose-color. You’re touching him in a way that he’d never expected. But hearing that you’re not just doing it for… relaxation, it’s a heavy but welcome thought. And Ghost can’t help that his body reacts to it with chills raising all over his skin despite the house being perfectly warm. He lets out a deep breath focusing on your words, repeating him over just to ensure that you’re not saying it one way and him interpreting it differently due to your hands being all over him, making him feel so good. Mind racing, heart pounding, he truly realizes just how vulnerable he is under you at this moment.

“I can stop if you’d like?” You offer, preparing to move away from him.

“No,” His hoarse voice gives away his sudden dry mouth. No matter how much your touch is affecting his body, he’s not willing to stop you right now. You’ve crossed into a level of trust that he can’t think to make you abide by anymore. It’s a foreign feeling for him, but he wants to push through it. Hoping he can feel more of you if he just holds on a little longer to this.

“Don’t stop."

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated <3

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #velvetures writes #velvetures

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hammerhead-jpg · 2 months ago

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They're so everything to me

(click for better quality jeezus)

I stole both of the poses from a drawing the user tacodemuerte on Instagram did (they drew it better than me tho)

Speedpaint under the cut (WARNING: flashing imagery)

If you by chance noticed that I posted like one speedpaint besides a drawing I did and never did it again, it's because making speedpaints in firealpaca is A PAIN IN THE ASS. Unlike with other apps like ibis paint or procreate it's not something that it just does automatically for you. No instead you have to manually start a speedpaint and save it as a file on your computer. But of course it isn't just as simple as that no no, you have to manually end the recording as well and export it as a gif, and if you don't the speedpaint isn't going to be able to be opened. That means that if you plan to close the program you need to end the recording and start a new one the next time you start up again, and you better hope your program doesn't crash because the actual drawing might be auto saved but the recording sure as hell won't!

And believe it or not I don't really finish full render drawings in one sitting. But the thing is that even if I did I still wouldn't be able to have only one recording because if you keep it recording for too long the file will crash when you try to end it and your speedpaint will be lost forever, so you have no other choice but to have multiple short parts of it

And an important piece of information to keep in mind is that there is an option for how long you want the gif to be, but I set it as the no specific length option because I don't the different gifs with be different levels of sped up (since in theory if I set every gif to let's say 60 seconds, a recording that is 2h and one that is 20 minutes is going to be the same length which obviously means different levels of getting sped up) which resulted in some of the gifs being up to 3 minutes long. So because I don't want to post like 16 separate 20second to 3 minute gifs here I put it in an editing program where I can put them all together and then speed up the final video which means I have to send them from my computer to my phone via email.

This is where the pain really starts.

The 6th gif doesn't want to load so I send it again. It doesn't want to load again. I connect my charger to the computer so I can transfer it manually. It isn't working. Oh wait nvm I accidentally sent over the png version (because did I fail to mention that it also saves a png for some reason?). Send over the gif version, it doesn't send. Try it like ten more times. It still doesn't send. I try downloading it through email again. Nvm it downloaded

Then all of a sudden the editing app is telling me I don't have enough space to insert the gif in. So I have to clear up some storage in my phone.

When I tell you. Every other time I had to either import the gif or even download it I had to clear up space on my phone. And there were like, 17 gifs. I deleted hundreds of pictures and videos. I deleted apps. I deleted things I cannot get back. For a FUCKING SPEEDPAINT. My phone literally crashed as I was doing this. NEVER IN THE 6 YEARS I HAD THIS FUCKING PHONE DID IT EVER CRASH?!? I cannot begin to describe the awfully repetitive and soul sucking loop that I had to go through. Because of the nature of the program I can't put a gif in and then delete it from my gallery because it would just delete it in the project too

And even once I downloaded and combined all of them I still wasn't done

Because despite all of them being speed paints they were around 26 MINUTES COMBINED.

I mentioned that I speed up the finished result because of this yeah? Well I would usually do this by exporting the unsped combined video and then speeding it up in another project so that I don't have to set each video in the program to a specific speed only to realize "hey I actually want it faster/slower" and go redo all of it. Well today I had to do exactly that considering that if downloading 3 minute gifs was enough to break my phone I didn't want to even think about what would happen if I attempted to download a 26 MINUTE video so yippie

I know a lot of this was my fault considering my storage has been almost full for some time now, but still it's safe to say I won't be making speedpaints for some time

Thank god I don't post on TikTok because if I had to receive a "can I see the speedpaint?" comment on every single drawing I ever made I would have to start putting people's ips in my bio

#though when I look at Nico all I can think about is that he looks like he's about to give Will a knuckle sandwich #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #the sun and the star #pjo nico di angelo #pjo nico #pjo will #pjo will solace #solangelo #pjo fanart #pjo ships #hmrhd arts

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leveragehunters · 2 years ago

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Downloading fanfic from AO3

I've been downloading a lot of fanfic lately for personal archival purposes, and I figured I'd share how I do it in case it's useful to anyone else (and so I have it written down in case I forget!).

There are lots of different ways to save fic, including the file download built into AO3, but I find that this gives me the nicest ebooks in the most efficient way.

(Under a cut cause long.)

Download Calibre: https://calibre-ebook.com/ or (clickable link).

Calibre is about the best ebook management and control program around and it's free. You can get it for windows, mac, and linux or download and run it from a portable storage device (I'm using a windows PC).

Install it and run it. It's gonna ask you where you want to put your library. Dealer's choice on this one. I recommend your internal drive (and then back up to external/cloud), but YMMV.

If you want to keep fanfic separate from the rest of your ebooks, you can create multiple libraries. I do, and my libraries are creatively named 'Books' and 'Fic'.

Customise Calibre

Now you're gonna install some plugins. Go to Preferences on the menu bar (far right), click its little side arrow, then choose 'Get plugins to enhance Calibre'.

At the top right of the box that pops up is 'Filter by name'. The plugins you want to get are:

EpubMerge

FanFicFare

Install them one at a time. It will ask you where you want them. I recommend 'the main bar' and 'the main bar when device is attached' (should be selected by default). When you're done, close and reopen Calibre.

The plugins you just installed should appear on the far right of the toolbar, but if you can't see one or both of them, fear not! Just click Preferences (the button, not the side arrow), then Toolbars and Menus (in the 'Interface' section) then choose the main toolbar from the drop down menu. That will let you add and remove things - I suggest getting rid of Donate, Connect Share, and News. That'll leave you room to add your new plugins to the menu bar.

(Do donate, though, if you can afford it. This is a hell of a program.)

Now you're ready to start saving your fave fanfic!

Saving fanfic

I'll go through both methods I use, but pick whatever makes you happy (and/or works best for what you're downloading).

ETA: if the fics are locked you can't easily use FanFicFare. Skip down to the next section. (It does ask for a username/password if you try and get a locked fic, but it's never worked for me - I had to edit the personal.ini in the configuration options, and even then it skips locked fics in a series.)

Calibre and FanFicFare

You can work from entirely within Calibre using the FanFicFare plugin. Just click its side arrow and pick from the menu. The three main options I use are download from URL, make anthology from a webpage, and update story/anthology.

Download from URL: pick Download from URL (or just click the FanFicFare button) and paste the fic's URL into the box (if you've copied it to your clipboard, it will be there automatically). You can do more than one fic at a time - just paste the URLs in one after the other (each on a new line). When you're done, make sure you have the output format you want and then go.

Make Anthology Epub From Web Page: if you want a whole series as a single ebook, pick Anthology Options, then Make Anthology Epub From Webpage. Paste the series URL into the box (if you've copied it to your clipboard, it will be there automatically), click okay when it displays the story URLs, check your output format and go.

Update series/anthology: if you downloaded an unfinished fic or series and the author updates, you can automatically add the update to your ebook. Just click on the ebook in Calibre, open the FanFicFare menu using its side arrow, and select either Update Existing FanFic Books or Anthology Options, Update Anthology epub. Okay the URLs and/or the output format, then go.

Any fic downloaded using FanFicFare will be given an automatically generated Calibre cover. You can change the cover and the metadata by right clicking on the title and picking edit metadata. You can do it individually, to change the cover or anything else specific to that ebook, or in bulk, which is great for adding a tag or series name to multiple fics. Make sure you generate a new cover if you change the metadata.

Browser plugins, Calibre, and EpubMerge

You can also use a browser addon/plugin to download from AO3. I use FicLab (Firefox/Chrome), but I believe there's others. FicLab: https://www.ficlab.com/ (clickable link).

FicLab puts a 'Save' button next to fic when you're looking at a list of fics, eg search results, series page, author's work list etc. Just click the 'Save' button, adjust the settings, and download the fic. You can also use it from within the fic by clicking the toolbar icon and running it.

FicLab is great if you're reading and come across a fic you want to save. It also generates a much nicer (IMO) cover than Calibre.

You can add the downloaded fic to Calibre (just drag and drop) or save it wherever. The advantage to dropping it into Calibre is that all your fic stays nicely organised, you can adjust the metadata, and you can easily combine fics.

Combining fics

You can combine multiple fics into an anthology using EpubMerge. This is great if you want a single ebook of an author's short fics, or their AUs, or their fics in a specific ship that aren't part of a series. (It only works on epubs, so if you've saved as some other format, you'll need to convert using Calibre's Convert books button.)

Select the ones you want to combine, click EpubMerge, adjust the order if necessary, and go.

The cover of the merged epubs will be the cover of the first fic in the merge list. You can add a new cover by editing the metadata and generating a new cover.

Combing with FanFicFare

You can also combine nonseries fics using FanFicFare's Make Anthology ePub from URLs option by pasting the individual fic URLs into the box.

Where there's more than a few fics, I find it easier to download them with FicLab and combine them with EpubMerge, and I prefer keeping both the combined and the individual versions of fic, but again YMMV.

Reconverting and Converting

Once I'm done fussing, I reconvert the ebook to the same format, to ensure everything is embedded in the file. Is this necessary? YMMV, but it's a quick and easy step that does zero harm.

If you don't want your final ebook to be an epub, just convert it to whatever format you like.

Disclaimers

Save fanfic for your own personal enjoyment/offline reading/safeguarding against the future. If it's not your fic, don't distribute it, or upload it to other sites, or otherwise be a dick. Especially if the author deletes it. Respect their wishes and their rights.

This may work on other fanfic sites, eg FFN, but I've never tried so I don't know.

If you download a fic, do leave the author a kudo or a comment; you'll make them so happy.

This is how I save fic. I'm not pretending it's the only way, or even the best way! This is just the way that works for me.

#fanfic #fic #ao3 #ficlab #calibre #fanficfare #epubmerge #downloading fanfic #adding the my fic tag so I can find this again #my fic

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vampires-byte · 6 months ago

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MINEFIELD UPDATE 12/31/24

Ending the year off with new jirai-kei media so we can start 2025 absolutely jiraipilled am i right

contents: regarding requests, fixed files, new files, request form, download link

*plus assistance needed if anyone would care turning manga images to pdfs/epubs ! and if anyone knows a file hosting site with 20gb+ of space because i'm already reaching the 15gb google drive limit and might need to make multiple parts to this folder across different emails :')

REGARDING REQUESTS:

Magical Doctor from maretu was already added previously, first track of SIU!

FIXED FILES:

Needy Streamer Overload (previously, a couple files did not transfer over due to a failure in extraction. should now make it past the windose boot.) (NOW A TORRENT INSTEAD OF DIRECT FOLDER DOWNLOAD. DOWNLOAD USING QBITORRENT RECCOMENDED)

as a matter of fact:

ALL GAME FILES ARE NOW A TORRENT TO SAVE SPACE

in the meantime, if anyone knows an online storage place that has like... free storage over 20gb that'd be so nice please.... especially because i want to add my personal collection of menhera visual kei but that's not exactly "jirai" so it's not a priority add rn </3

NEW !

GAMES

- Petit Game Collection Vol. 1

- The NoExistenceN of You and Me

MANGA

- Suicide Girl ( IMAGES)

- A Jirai Vampire's Overbearing Love ( IMAGES)

- Jiraikei Kareshi Suzu-kun (IMAGES)

- Jirai Nandesuka Chihara-San (IMAGES)

-Anroid Dreams of Jirai-Kei Girl ( IMAGES)

- Magical Girl Raising Project (EPUB)

LINE

- Kuromi Midnight Melokuro Line Theme assets

- Kuromi Moonlit Melokuro Line Theme assets

- Melody Midnight Melokuro Line Theme assets

- Melody Moonlit Melokuro Line theme assets

- NSO Line Theme assets

- Landmine Girl's Explosive Love (STICKERS)

- Low-Battery Exploding Mine-Chan (STICKERS)

- Landmine Girl Clingy Break Time (STICKERS)

- Jirai Chan Daily Stamp (STICKERS)

- Jiraikeijyoshi (STICKERS) (also has some stickers of like... a human-shaped landmine... like the actual BOOM bomb... very funny very whimsical)

- Needy Streamer Overload 1+2 line sticker set (STICKERS)

MUSIC

- Jun Togawa Suki Suki Daisuki (ALBUM)

- Alice*Iris - I (SINGLE)

- Alice*Iris - Daikirai Lie Suki (SINGLE)

- Alice*Iris - Gimme Me Love! (SINGLE)

ANIME

- Magical Girl Raising Project + Special and Extras (ENG SUB)

REQUEST FORM

I WILL NOT ADD

FREE CONTENT (EX. LOVE ANGEL SYNDROME)

ANYTHING RELEASED WITHIN 6 MONTHS (WAIT FOR THE 6 MONTH PERIOD FIRST, I WILL QUEUE THE REQUEST UNTIL AFTER THE 6 MONTHS!)

ART THAT IS NOT MANGA

DOWNLOAD LINK

GOOGLE DRIVE (RUNNING OUT OF SPACE!):

SOULSEEK: my username is clvn____4084 and it should all appear under a folder named !地雷原.MINEFIELD! ; I usually have my computer on so the files are always available :) If it says I'm offline, maybe wait a few hours, if not just message me!

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amazinglyegg · 11 months ago

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Due to not being able to find a decent reference for Danse's room, I used this video to sketch out a floor plan!!

Along with references for what all the furniture looks like:

Details and rambling below the cut!

General notes:

The only time we see his room is after Blind Betrayal. I wonder if he brought anything from his room with him, despite leaving the duffle bag near the door?

He has a ton of storage space. Like, a lot. He doesn't even have a footlocker at the end of his bed it's just an entire metal box.

Despite that, he has nowhere to sit. Not even his desk has a chair.

Also he has a rug between his bed and his big drawer! Cute!

Pet food bowl near his door with fresh bloatfly meat in it. Not only does he manually open the door for Emmett to enter and leave (no cat door), but Emmett visits often enough that he goes out of his way to give him a bowl of fresh food! Does Quinlan even feed him!?

Has a lot of random cardboard boxes filled with papers and stuff on his floor. Given that the filing cabinet is for files, I wonder if these are books or journals?

Has a plain old bed with no pillows or blankets. Like most beds, this is probably done for game reasons (like animations or clipping) instead of canon reasons. At least I HOPE he sleeps with a blanket!!

On top of his safe is three dog food cans, maybe supposed to represent cat food. Also has a can of cram on his big drawer. I wonder if he stores more food in there!

The flag is actually a smaller one, but I couldn't find the exact model on the wiki. I find it interesting that he has a pole flag instead of a regular wall one. It just looks so sad :(

Has a lot of small blue and wood boxes around his room that I didn't include in the floor plan, they're empty I'm pretty sure

I didn't realize people outside of middle school used lockers, especially SIX of them. What do you even store in lockers?? Can't be clothes since they have multiple segments, hung clothes wouldn't fit and folded clothes would probably fall out.

No real personal stuff like holotapes or journal entries. I would have expected something unique! He also has no decorations other than that one sad droopy flag, but I guess it'd be hard to hang up paintings when the walls are made of metal. Can't just hammer a nail into that!

As a note, I think items within storage containers are randomized, so I didn't bother looking at them while making this.

Desk and filing cabinet:

Whisky and vodka bottles, no shot glass in sight. He is chugging those straight from the bottle. Not as many bottles as Maxson, at least!

Also an entire carton of cigarettes and an ashtray. He canonically smokes and doesn't even bother going outside to do it, his room must reek of cigarettes.

A food tray and mug, which is... interesting? Does he often eat alone in his room?

Filing cabinet for files, probably does paperwork at this desk as well.

Drawers:

Has like, three wrenches, as well as a tool box. This must be his workshop!

A lunch pail and a nuka cola. This table is right next to his desk so it makes sense he has food and drinks here. Surprised there's no water!

Speaking of the table... it's an institute table. Probably just done for aesthetic purposes, but I found that interesting

Let me know if you have any opinions, headcanons, or things I missed!

#glad to know danse canonically stands in his room (no chairs) eating his dinner with Emmett instead of at the mess halls #and he has many cardboard boxes of random papers he refuses to throw away #my man becomes more autism coded by the day #fallout 4 #paladin danse #brotherhood of steel #fallout lore #idk can i tag this as my art???#my art

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berlioz-the-kitten · 1 month ago

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Petri Dishes and Plastic Wrap

ACT TWO: STITCH PATTERNS

Previous—Next

Brian Moser/Reader

Summary: Y/N was brought in for a psychological profile contract after the Ice Truck Killer case starts gaining momentum and the department begins to feel the pressure. She reviews old case files, offers insight, and quietly builds profiles. What no one knows? Y/N used to work at a private sanitarium in Georgia—one that got shut down after multiple patient abuse reports. She even kept a journal on a particular patient who had dissociative tendencies, surgical skill, and a fixation on reconstructing human bodies like art. The file? It got buried. Now in Miami, Y/N starts receiving odd notes—sketches of bodies in glass boxes, neatly preserved. No threats. Just… acknowledgments. And when she meets Rudy Cooper, the charming prosthetics specialist brought in to consult on a limb pattern, she gets the feeling she’s being studied.

TW: Stalking and obsessive behavior (escalating), Gaslighting / psychological manipulation, Romantic horror / coercive intimacy, Graphic body preservation imagery, Complicity in violence / moral decay, Mentions of trauma-induced dissociation, Sexual tension tied to power / pathology (implied), Unsettling past medical experimentation (referenced), Canon is a sandbox.

It started small. Purposeful, but deniable. The kind of intrusions that, if she dared to mention them, would make her sound paranoid. Unstable. Delicate.

And Dr. Y/N Morrissey was none of those things.

At first, it was a coincidence.

She’d run into Rudy at the courthouse parking structure two mornings in a row, him smiling like he just happened to be leaving as she arrived, iced coffee in hand. Then again at the waterfront—she walked that route every other Thursday after reviewing blood pattern reports at precinct storage. It cleared her mind. She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.

He’d waved from a park bench.

“Funny how often we cross paths,” he’d said, as if the universe liked to play matchmaker.

But the familiarity began to sink its teeth in deeper. He started showing up with a second coffee, already ordered to her taste. He knew she didn’t like sugar. He knew she took it with almond milk. That she drank half and then let the rest go cold.

“I’m observant,” he’d said once with that soft, sunny charm. “Occupational hazard.”

She hadn’t told him her favorite brand of soap. But one night, walking into her apartment, she smelled it—lavender and vetiver, subtle and sharp—and paused by the door.

No one had broken in.

Nothing was taken.

But the scent lingered.

The next morning, she found the ribbon.

She’d unlocked her car, slid into the driver’s seat, and paused at the faint flicker of red against the gray of her glove box interior. A silk ribbon, looped and folded into the shape of a heart. Clean. Tidy. Measured. The kind of knot you only learn through repetition.

No note.

No explanation.

She didn’t mention it. She didn’t throw it away.

She placed it in her top desk drawer at work, beneath a file labeled Closed: 2001 – Georgia Facility Report.

Then came the pen—a sleek, black ink fountain pen, identical to the one she’d lost years ago, down to the scratch on the cap. It was left on her desk one afternoon, uncapped, perfectly aligned with her notes. She hadn’t brought it in. Neither had the intern.

Rudy stopped by that day, grinning over his shoulder as he left the room. “Sharp pen. Looks good on you.”

He never asked her out. Never said anything that crossed a line.

But Y/N had the creeping sense that he was already inside the perimeter.

Not pursuing her.

Claiming her.

And she hadn’t told him to stop.

The journals had been boxed, sealed, and labeled “Archived – G. Sanitarium / Not for Review.” She’d moved them three times. They always made the cut.

Now, under the dim lamplight of her apartment, Y/N pulled the top one free—leatherbound, corners softened from years of handling. It still smelled faintly like disinfectant and ink. She opened it with the kind of care you reserve for incisions, not pages.

Inside: her old handwriting, smaller then, precise and curling at the ends. She’d documented every session, every vocal tic, every word that felt like it meant something even when no one else seemed to listen.

Patient #79.

She hadn’t written his real name. She wasn’t even sure she’d ever known it. But the voice echoed so clearly through the pages it felt like he was still sitting across from her, wrists rested on his knees, looking at her like she was both subject and observer.

He doesn’t blink when he describes anatomical separation. He says he “feels most whole when things are in pieces.” That control is honesty, and skin lies.

Says hands reveal more about a person than their eyes. “The eyes perform. The hands confess.”

Y/N’s eyes skimmed down another entry, dated two weeks before the facility closed.

New fixation on preservation. Formalin, dry ice, encasement. The patient wants to “hold beauty in place.”

When I asked him what beauty looked like, he said, “You, when you’re thinking about what I just said.”

She snapped the journal shut. Her fingers didn’t shake. But her breath caught somewhere behind her sternum.

Because two nights ago, Rudy had said something.

They’d been standing outside her apartment after an unplanned encounter at the 24-hour drugstore. They didn’t touch. They never did. But before walking away, he turned and said—offhand, casual, too specific:

“You have a face that sharpens when you’re focused. It’s almost surgical.”

She hadn’t remembered the journal entry until now.

She opened another volume.

More notes. Sketches. A preserved smile rendered in pencil. Bones catalogued in affectionate, academic strokes.

More phrases that matched the ones Rudy had whispered in passing.

The timeline made sense. He would’ve been the right age. The right intelligence. The quiet calm that made the orderlies relax. The way he never raised alarms, but stayed close to the staff. Close to her.

She started flagging pages with red paperclips. Circling terms. Names. Observations that had felt harmless at the time, but now glowed like signs left in plain sight.

She knew what she should do.

Report it. Alert Deb. Confide in someone. Bring the journals in as evidence.

But Y/N didn’t move.

She sat at her desk, surrounded by ink and paper and silence, and kept reading.

Not because she was afraid.

But because the patterns were beautiful.

And she wanted to see how far they would go.

It was always under the surface—Rudy’s questions.

Never direct. Never so pointed that anyone else would notice. But Y/N did. She noticed everything.

Especially when it came to Rudy Cooper.

It started with a lunch break in the forensics lab. He wandered in under the pretense of delivering a model for limb articulation, but lingered with a sandwich and a grin that never quite touched his eyes.

“You ever wonder,” he asked, biting into the crust, “what it takes for someone to stay conscious through dismemberment?”

Y/N didn’t look up from the photos she was reviewing.

“I assume dosage. Skill. A high tolerance to pain. Why?”

He shrugged, licking a smudge of mustard off his thumb. “Just thinking about nerve endings. Where awareness really ends. I read somewhere that the brain can stay ‘awake’ for as long as thirteen seconds after decapitation. Imagine that.”

“I don’t have to,” she murmured, making a note beside the photo. “I’ve seen the footage.”

He chuckled—low and genuine. “Of course you have.”

Later, it was during one of their quieter moments. She was reading at a café. He appeared without warning and slid into the chair across from her.

“If you were going to preserve something,” he said, as if picking up mid-thought, “would you go with plastination or vitrification?”

Y/N blinked slowly, then marked her place in the book with a receipt.

“Depends on the purpose. Plastination for anatomical display. Vitrification if I cared about cellular integrity.” A beat. “But I’m guessing this is rhetorical.”

He smiled. Tapped a finger against his temple. “Just building a hypothetical. You know how it is.”

Every time they spoke, it was like dancing on the edge of a scalpel. She couldn’t help but meet him where he stood—never backing away, always holding eye contact, answering each insinuation with clinical poise.

“If you were going to rearrange someone… where would you start?” His dark eyes stared into hers, waiting, watching…perhaps even wanting.

She nodded. “The hands. Most expressive. Most honest.”

Rudy hummed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down and Y/N’s eyes caught onto the slight movement with intensity. “What’s the most misunderstood muscle group?”

“The psoas,” she answered. It was immediate and certain. “Deep, buried. Crucial. People ignore it because it’s not visible.”

“Do you think people know when they’re being chosen?” This was said more carefully, more pushy. Like this question was more important than any of the others he asked her beforehand.

“Only if they’re paying attention,” she replies, her voice still sure but quieter.

She should’ve walked away. Should’ve stopped replying. But something in her—something rooted deep in her ribs—wanted to hear what he’d say next.

And he knew it.

Each time she answered, he leaned a little closer. Smiled a little deeper. Touched the air between them like it was silk.

And Y/N, steady and composed, answered every test like it was an exam she had trained her whole life to pass.

At first, Dexter had passed her off as background noise—another specialist with credentials and a cold stare, the type who filled folders with jargon but never got their hands dirty.

But Dr. Y/N Morrissey didn’t just observe.

She dissected.

She sat in on briefings without taking over, slipped reports across his desk with post-its marked "See page 3—organ arrangement inconsistency," and walked away before he could ask why she was paying attention to the same things he was trying not to draw attention to.

She didn’t speculate out loud. She didn’t insert herself into fieldwork. But her profiles? They began to read like blueprints of his shadow self.

One morning, Dexter opened a report she’d written. The subject line read: Behavioral Analysis: Serial Pathology and The Art of Surgical Cleanliness And there it was:

“This subject is methodical. Highly intelligent. Dispassionate, but not indifferent. They believe in order. In beauty, even. They are not killing for power or revenge. They are preserving something.”

He reread that last line three times, his grip tightening on the page.

Preserving.

She was circling him, even if she didn’t know it.

Or maybe she did.

He started avoiding her—not obviously. Just enough to sidestep conversation. He left the lab earlier, chose different hallways, rerouted his routines so their orbits wouldn’t collide.

But she still found ways to cross paths. Quietly. With purpose. Always looking at him just a second too long.

Once, in the lab, she’d picked up a blood spatter photo he’d been analyzing and said, almost idly:

“There’s no hesitation in this cut. No instability. Just muscle memory.”

He’d forced a laugh. “A professional job?”

Y/N turned toward him, her expression unreadable.

“No. Not professional. Intentional.”

That night, Dexter sat in his kill room—not hunting, not prepping—just sitting, staring at the knives like they might offer reassurance. They didn’t.

Because Y/N Morrissey wasn’t chasing blood or fame.

She was chasing understanding.

And Dexter could feel it in his bones—she wasn’t far behind.

He didn’t call it a date.

Rudy called it “something interesting I thought you’d appreciate.” He said it with that easy smile, the one he wore like a mask made of warm skin and practiced dimples. No pressure. Just intrigue.

They met in a neutral place—a gas station parking lot off I-95. The sun was setting behind a line of wilted palm trees. He handed her a helmet and didn’t explain why until she saw the motorbike. She didn’t ask questions. Just climbed on.

He drove them to the edge of the city, where buildings sat hollowed out like old bones, condemned but not quite forgotten. The one he stopped at had been a private medical clinic once—burnt around the edges, windows gone, paint peeling in long yellow strips like shedding skin.

Inside, it was too quiet. Not abandoned-quiet. Curated.

He led her through the ruined halls, past the remnants of gurneys and shattered file cabinets. Then he stopped at a heavy door, half-rusted shut, and pried it open with practiced hands.

The room beyond was cold. Not physically—there was no power. But something about the air felt preserved. As if time had been sealed in here like a specimen.

The tableau sat centered beneath a makeshift skylight.

A body—not fresh, not rotted. Preserved. Arranged. Arms outstretched, palms open, bones visible beneath carefully stripped layers of tissue. The face was untouched, eyes closed as if in gentle surrender. The body was posed, fingers curled like a statue, back arched in a silent offering.

Around it: glass jars. Some filled with fluids. Others with nothing but labels and residue. Everything was organized. Catalogued. Cherished.

Rudy didn’t speak. He just stood beside her, watching the way she looked at it. Not with horror. Not even shock.

With recognition.

Y/N said nothing. Not at that moment. Her lips were pressed shut, blood drawn to the surface like bruised fruit.

She walked the perimeter once. Just once. And then she nodded.

Only once.

Later, back at her apartment, she wrote about it.

Her journal’s spine cracked when she opened it—an old one, the one marked #79. Her handwriting was messier this time. Her palm smudged the ink as she wrote. Her hand shook just enough to make the loops crooked.

The body was not mutilated. It was displayed. There was no panic. No rage. It was reverent. Surgical. Sculptural.

I don’t think this was meant for Miami Metro. It wasn’t a challenge.

It was meant for me.

She capped the pen. Sat in silence.

And finally allowed herself to whisper:

“He remembers everything.”

The body was on the table—cool, pale, already processed through the first round of evidence collection. The crime scene team had cleared out. Deb was yelling in another room. Masuka was gone. It was just them now.

Rudy stood beside her, sleeves rolled up, gloves already on. He leaned in slightly, eyes tracing the incision that ran from sternum to pelvis—clean, practiced, gliding perfectly along the midline. Not jagged. Not messy. A statement, not a kill.

Alina was cataloguing ligature bruising on the wrists when he spoke.

“Come here,” he said, softly, without looking up.

She didn’t hesitate.

He moved aside, just enough to let her stand where he had been, and then—without warning—his hand covered hers.

Not forcefully. Not possessively. Just enough to correct the angle of her fingers, tilting them toward the edge of the incision.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “Right along the fascia. Whoever did this, they didn’t cut straight through. They glided. Used the tension. Let the skin open itself.”

His hand didn’t leave hers. His palm was warm through the gloves, anchoring hers like a tutor with a scalpel and a student just slightly off course. His thumb pressed lightly against her knuckle as he guided her along the edge of the cut.

Not erotic.

Surgical.

Intimate.

The kind of touch that said: We’re the same, you and I. You know what this means.

Her breath caught—not from nerves, not from fear. From focus. From memory. From the sensation of finally being understood on a frequency she’d spent years pretending didn’t exist.

The skin beneath her hand was cold and inert.

But the heat between their gloves was unmistakable. Not from friction.

From alignment.

He released her a moment later. Didn’t step back. Just let his hand fall away like it had never been there at all.

“You’ve got good instincts,” Rudy said. “Just needed a little redirection.”

She didn’t reply.

Her hand remained where he left it—poised over the open flesh, gloved fingertips hovering just above the line.

She knew what the cut meant now.

So did he.

The first tableau had been composed. Beautiful, in its own way. The kind of display meant to impress—not law enforcement, but someone specific. Someone who would understand it.

But the next one was different.

The second body was still art, but it was sharper now. Angrier. The arrangement was more aggressive, the wounds stitched not with elegance but with urgency. Still clean. Still cold. But no longer performative.

The third was personal.

A woman, roughly Y/N’s height and build, positioned on a mattress in a condemned motel. Her skin had been flayed in a deliberate pattern—a replication of musculature diagrams found in obscure banned medical anatomy texts. Her face was untouched. Her hands folded. Her hair braided back in a way Alina used to wear during her Briarcliff days.

The room smelled like bleach and sawdust. There was a mirror, propped carefully beside the body, angled to reflect it entirely. As if the killer wanted the viewer to see not just the body— but their own reaction.

Y/N stood there, surrounded by uniforms and evidence markers, and felt the electric prickling beneath her skin. Not fear. Not nausea.

Recognition.

Dexter stood beside her, arms crossed, gaze narrowed—not at the body, but at her. He’d noticed. She was too calm. Her notes are too accurate. Her expression was unreadable, like someone watching the final act of a play she’d seen before.

That night, she found a gift on her doorstep. Not a bouquet. Not a card.

A scalpel.

Sterilized. Wrapped in gauze. Tucked in a case lined with red velvet.

She didn’t report it.

Instead, she locked the door, turned off the lights, and sat in the dark with the case on her lap. Her fingers hovered over it like prayer.

Because it wasn’t a threat. It was a message.

You’re getting closer. You were always meant to.

From that moment on, she was pulled tighter into the inner circle—briefings, crime scenes, high-level analysis. LaGuerta wanted her insight. Deb didn’t trust her. And Dexter—Dexter was watching.

But it wasn’t just them watching anymore.

Rudy was circling.

He started showing up more frequently. Catching her outside the precinct with a look that hovered between affection and hunger.

He didn’t flirt.

He didn’t tease.

He just lingered.

“You’re starting to see it, aren’t you?” he said one night outside her apartment building, voice low enough to make her throat tighten.

“See what?” she asked, fisting her keys to the point one of the rough edges sunk into the fat of her palm.

“The design. The throughline. The truth under the red.”

She didn’t answer.

Because the intimacy between them had turned. It wasn’t fascination anymore.

It was selection.

And she wasn’t sure if she was the chosen…

Or the next exhibit.

It was supposed to be harmless.

A visit under the pretense of shared wine and late-night theory—two professionals comparing notes, deconstructing pathology. That’s what she told herself. That’s what she let him believe.

Rudy arrived precisely at 9:00, holding a bottle of dry red in one hand and a takeout bag in the other. His shirt sleeves were rolled, his smile disarming, his posture loose and practiced.

“Dinner with a forensic psychiatrist,” he said as she opened the door. “Every man’s dream.”

Y/N didn’t smile. She stepped aside and let him in.

Her apartment was sterile in a lived-in way. Clean, but cold. Books stacked with surgical precision. A single orchid on the windowsill. The scent of bleach faintly clung to the air, masked beneath lavender oil. Her couch hadn’t been used in days. The table had been cleared.

Except for the file.

A thin folder, closed but not hidden, sitting on the desk near her armchair.

Rudy set the wine down. Took in the space. Eyes roaming casually until they landed—right there. The file. And beneath it, the corner of a notebook. Leatherbound. Faint red threading visible in the spine.

She didn’t move to cover it.

He didn’t ask permission. Just wandered closer, knelt as if admiring a curiosity, and brushed a finger across the folder’s edge.

“Is this one of yours?”

Y/N stayed silent.

He opened it. Slowly. Carefully.

Inside: photos. Scans of her old journals. Annotated profiles. A page torn from Briarcliff’s patient logs. Notes written in her precise script, each line spiraling deeper into obsession—not about a killer, but a subject.

Patient #79.

Volunteer assistant.

Reconstruction fixation.

Rudy.

She’d coded his name into the early entries. Used letters instead of numbers. Drawn diagrams of the way he sat. The way he smiled without showing teeth. Quotes she’d once called “unsettling” now circled in red.

And then—just beneath it all—her handwriting, more recent:

He remembers me. He kept everything. So did I.

Rudy didn’t flinch.

He closed the folder with quiet reverence, like someone folding a flag. Turned to look at her—slowly, the smile never quite fading, but shifting.

Not the mask now. The man underneath.

“You knew before Miami,” he said. Not a question.

“Not until the sketches,” she replied.

“But you kept it. You studied me.”

“You wanted me to.”

The silence afterward wasn’t tense. It was electric. A waiting space. A breath held between them.

He took a step toward her. Not threatening. Not tender. Something beyond both.

“Were you ever going to tell anyone?”

“Not yet.”

He reached out, not for her hand, but for her wrist—lightly brushing his thumb over the pulse there.

“You always understood me,” he said, voice low. “Even when you didn’t want to.” “You always talked like someone who wanted to be caught,” she whispered back.

A beat. His hand dropped.

“Not caught,” he murmured. “Chosen.”

And for the first time in her life, Y/N Morrissey didn’t know if she was the hunter or the prize.

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