#These just keep getting better and better

[doomdoomofdoom]

Tangled wasn't even hypothetical.

Remakes of Moana, Aristocats, Hercules, and Bambi are still in production. Moana is set to release in July 2026, not even 10 years after the original release.

I suspect Brave will be announced soon after.

That’s It.

I’m tired of seeing everyone repeat the same four points: “1) Nani gives Lilo to the state! 2) Hawaii has a better marine biology program than San Fransisco! 3) Jumba doesn’t get redeemed! 4) Pleakley’s not wearing a dress!”

Those are not the only things that were bad about this remake. You could easily tell it was going to be all that and more beforehand, but most people’s reaction to the trailer was “it’s surprisingly good!” and now they’re acting all surprised. If you didn’t see this coming, enough to purchase a ticket, you’re part of the problem and you don’t get the original movie any more than the people who made this remake did.

So I’m done being quiet, this is the Lilo & Stitch 2025 Takedown Post.

And as usual the only good thing about an attempted-remake is that it gives people a reason to think about what made the original so good.

Let’s go in order. But just scroll down to the Heading you Care About if you don’t want to read all this.

1. Cobra Bubbles

In this movie, Cobra Bubbles is a secret agent hunting for aliens and they have a new character take his place as the state social worker.

The Problem They Were Trying to Solve With this Change: “We shouldn’t have a black man or a government worker feel like an insensitive antagonist to Lilo’s family.”

That’s a stupid surface-level one-dimensional misread of the character from the original…and it wouldn’t have been hard, at all, for a child to explain to the 2025 filmmakers that Cobra is not an insensitive antagonist in the original.

Cobra Bubbles is not insensitive and he is not in any way portrayed as a bad guy in the original. Nani sees him that way, Nani sees him as antagonistic, because he’s the representation of Lilo being taken away.

But Nani is wrong about him and learns that she is wrong about him by the end of the movie.

Can we please make a list?

Cobra’s first interaction with the caretaker of the child he was being sent to protect was that she ran out into the road, yelled at a complete stranger, and dented his car.

Then he found her locked out of the home and threatening the child inside with a hammer in her hand.

Then he found out the stove was on while she was out, and she’d left a 7 year-old alone.

The 7 year-old made comments about being disciplined with bricks and a pillow case.

The 7 year-old looks like she might be more than a little emotionally unbalanced because she’s figuring out how to put voodoo spells on her friends to punish them.

He still gave that pair of sisters three days to straighten the ship. When in actuality, in 2002, under HRS §587-73, (don’t play with me) the social worker would’ve been well within his rights to remove the child from the home right then. But instead he gives her three days to fix it. THEN

The 18 year-old loses her job.

The family gets a “dog” who he is implied to know is an alien, right off the bat.

The alien is violent and wreaks havoc across town.

The 7 year-old almost drowns while they surf instead of find a job.

He lets the child and caretaker have one more night together to say goodbye, but when he’s on the way to get her he gets a call that she’s being attacked by aliens, hears a chainsaw, and finds the house on fire.

Do you understand what I’m saying.

Cobra Bubbles had NO BUSINESS being as BIG A SOFTIE AS HE WAS for all of the original movie. He was not only well within his legal rights to take Lilo away from Nani immediately, but he was actually required by law, it was his DUTY, to remove her immediately. But he didn’t do that. Why?

Now listen to me very carefully.

Lilo and Stitch is a movie about how “Family chooses to love and commit to one another selflessly, no matter what the other person can do for them or how hard they make it.” The fancy way they say it is just “Ohana means family: family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.”

Did you catch that? “No matter how hard they make it.”

Cobra Bubbles was a CIA agent before this. A CIA agent who saved the planet, by doing what? Convincing an alien race to leave them alone. Oh, he didn’t fight them off? No. How? He “convinced” them? He talked it out? Sounds like a pretty compassionate guy, for all his tough exterior. How did he do that?

He could’ve picked any animal that’s actually endangered. The filmmakers chose to make him the guy who convinced aliens to value mosquitos.

MOSQUITOS. Creatures that give nothing, only take. Ugly little bloodsucking monsters. That’s the creature he convinced them to care about enough to save the planet.

NOW do you have any trouble understanding why this is the specific social worker who would give an alien-infested dumpster fire of a dangerous home a chance when two sisters are about to be torn apart?

Do you see that Cobra is just another example of the grace that the movie is always talking about? The love that transforms someone from bad to good simply because it refuses to give up even when it gets nothing out of it? I’m repeating myself because I want you to see why he was a well-done character who NEEDED NO CHANGE.

Cobra Bubbles’ character is not an insensitive monster who doesn’t care who his actions hurt as long as he gets the job done. But you know who that does sound like?

2. Gantu

Gantu is not in the remake at all.

The Problem They Were Trying to Solve With This Change: “It’s going to cost us upwards of 1.5 millions of dollars to design, sculpt, rig, animate, and render a character this big in addition to finding a suitable voice actor to play the part.”

This is a really dumb choice for several reasons. A. Without Gantu, there is no “stakes-raiser” to Lilo and Nani’s story. The movie has no climax without him. For the first and second acts of the movie, it’s about a grieving pair of girls trying to prove themselves to a social worker while the story-equivalent of Beethoven the Destructive St. Bernard wacky Jumba & Pleakley antics get in their way. But when a 40-foot tall alien stomps into their lives and abducts Lilo & Stitch in a spaceship that careens around the island during an explosive sky-chase scene, now you have a high-octane, somebody-could-die climax.

B. Without Gantu, Stitch looks weaker. The climax gave Stitch a reason to come out of the wackadoo puppy he’s been posing as and suddenly remind everybody that he’s a lethal weapon who can survive thousand-foot drops, lava, and astronomic explosions—and a giant alien’s Thanos-dwarfing fist. Take him out and who do we have as a match for Stitch to go up against, even for a moment, and prove how much he’s changed to be willing to risk his freedom and fight?

C. Without Gantu you have no villain to reflect that STITCH is no longer a villain. (So they substituted Jumba.)

But the reason this character is really worth millions is, again, the theme.

I told you Cobra Bubbles was a character who did not put “duty” or even “convenience” or “position” over the real lives of Lilo and Nani. He saw that there was love there, and in his own way, he gave it a chance. And even when he chose to take Lilo away, he did it carefully; he gave them time to say goodbye.

GANTU IS THE OPPOSITE OF COBRA BUBBLES.

Gantu is the insensitive, uncaring, unyielding Captain whose commitment to duty turns into rage and cruelty. Not Cobra.

Nani thinks Cobra is walking in a threatening to tear apart their family in a display of government judgement. But that’s what Gantu literally does.

His first reaction to Stitch is to call for his destruction. Without even waiting to see if “it can be reasoned with” like the Grand Councilwoman suggests. He’s merciless. He mocks Stitch when Stitch is captive. And he knows that he caught Lilo, a human, along with him. He doesn’t care. He even suggests that Stitch eat her as a snack.

There are only two other characters who laugh at others’ misfortune in the movie. One is Stitch, the original villain. Then love changes him. The other is Jumba, who made Stitch. Then love changes him. But Gantu never gets changed. He’s only concerned with his job, and with personally annihilating the flaws he sees in Stitch.

Gantu is unyielding, ungracious, and cruel. And he’s big and powerful enough to be a test for Stitch to prove he’s changed. For the benefits he brings to the story, he’s worth 1.5 million and more. But they cut him anyway.

3. Jumba

In the new movie, Jumba is a villain through-and-through with designs on overthrowing the Galactic Council using Stitch, and instead of being redeemed, he’s sentenced to prison.

The Problem They Were Trying to Solve With This Change: “We can’t spend money on our real villain so we’ll just keep Jumba evil.”

The reason this is dumb is obvious. They created their own problem, and the ‘fix’ makes the movie weaker, not stronger. But here’s how.

In the original, Jumba is introduced as trying to self-protect. He’s on trial, and he lies. But when Stitch is revealed, he’s genuinely passionate about the thing he’s created. And he cares about image. He prefers to be called “evil genius,” and he hates the headlines labelling him “idiot scientist.”

You have to remember he’s part of “Galaxy Defense Industries.” They had him making weapons of destruction anyway. He just got too into it with his genetic Experiments, went a little insane.

I’m not downplaying the fact that Jumba is evil at the start of the movie. He is. It is evil to be outcasted from society and then respond to that with, “well, if they’re going to treat me like an idiot, I’LL SHOW THEM, I won’t care about anything except my passion for mad science!” That’s evil.

But it also explains a lot.

I said it in another post. Jumba’s whole utility as a character is that he knows who and what Stitch really is, better than anyone. He made him to be a monster who can’t belong and wreaks havoc on everybody else’s ‘place of belonging.’ Jumba is the audience’s insider’s perspective on what is going on in Stitch’s head, at first.

But when he’s redeemed, it happens fast. And why? Because that’s how plain and simple Stitch is, as a character. Jumba knows Stitch is a disgusting little monster with nothing inherently loveable about him, and no “greater purpose.” So when his disgusting monster is loved by someone? When his disgusting monster is willing to ask him, Jumba, for help? Something totally outside his programming, totally not what Jumba thought he’d ever be capable of?

That proves to Jumba, in an instant, that there’s love out there that transforms. And creates a place of belonging.

There were already germs of that, a desire to belong, a compassion, in Jumba after he reached earth.

He doesn’t try to get Nani fired, he offers an explanation for Pleakley’s swollen head.

He claims he won’t hit Lilo (why would he care about collateral damage?)

He sounds sorry for Nani when she’s upset about losing Lilo, and tries to keep Stitch from bothering her.

My point is, Jumba’s redemption isn’t important because it’s cute or because we need to set up the big happy found-family trope everybody loves.

Jumba’s redemption is important because it is just one more PROOF that what’s happened to Stitch is so incredible. The love Jumba finds transforming his monster is enough to transform Jumba, too.

But sure, fine, whatever, make him a soulless one-dimensional talking head. Whatever.

4. Stitch’s Design

In this movie, Stitch is cuter than he is ugly, and he’s half Lilo’s size.

The Problem They Were Trying to Solve With This Change: “Ugly-cute doesn’t come across as well in ‘live action’ animation. And all the Wal-Mart moms remember Stitch as ‘cute.’ Plus we’ll save about 15% in rendering the animation.”

This is crippling to the characterization of Stitch.

Stitch is supposed to be an echo of who Lilo could become now that she’s lost her parents and may be losing Nani. This scene:

Where Jumba points out that Stitch has nothing, and destruction is his only purpose, is the evidence for that. But Chris Sanders, who made this whole story, also point-blank said it. Stitch is a future Lilo, if she loses her family.

So that’s reason number 1 that he should be her same height. But also, practically, no iconic pair of best friends, yin and yang, have visuals where one is smaller than the other. Especially not if one of them is supposed to be disguised as a pet.

The point is, Stitch is not LILO’s pet. He is her best friend, her other half. But between the muzzle-muscles they worked into his upper lip and the darkened dog nose and the butt-scooting across the floor, the remake is trying to make him more pet-like in relation to Lilo.

That’s not what he is.

I said this in another post. But Stitch is supposed to throw food to the back of his head like a gator—his lips are not designed for forming words. His gums and teeth are supposed to look like a shark’s. His nose is supposed to be too big, stamped into his face. His ears are supposed to be like bat ears, not bunny ears. He hunches forward, instead of bending at the waist like a toddler. His eyes can narrow to lizard slits.

He has to look like he can believably be a disgusting monster. Yes, he can also be cute. But he has to first look like a monster. Because that’s what he really is, in the story. If he isn’t, then LILO’s love for him doesn’t look as powerful.

It is easy to love a cat even if it scratches you, because it’s cute. It’s harder to love a life-sized spider that keeps knocking you down and eating your prized possessions and laughing when you get hurt. Stitch is supposed to be closer to the second one, so that Lilo’s love shines brighter.

But also, practically:

She can’t look him in the eye for emotional shots when he’s that short. He’ll always have to awkwardly be standing on a box or a chair or a bed.

How is he going to scoop her up, hero-style, and leap off of an exploding spaceship with her in his arms, when he’s half her size? He could do it: it’ll look stupid, though. So they just don’t have that part in the movie.

She can pick him up. That alone is demeaning and again, the visuals are silly. Not what we’re going for.

5. Lilo’s Personality

In this movie, Lilo doesn’t like weird stuff, and she screams when she first meets Stitch. There’s no problem that this solves. It’s just laziness and a lack of care about the characters.

I would like to remind you that the original Lilo:

Made her own doll that looks like a shrunken head and pretended a bug laid eggs in her ears.

Makes up stories about a fish that controls the weather and actively deep-sea dives to bring it peanut butter sandwiches.

Has a knee-jerk reaction of using practical voodoo spells on friends who wrong her.

Listens exclusively to Elvis Presley.

Fills baby bottles with coffee.

Believes Nani’s manager is a vampire.

Has fishing nets and seashells in her room for decoration.

takes safari pictures of overweight bleached tourists.

meets a social worker and her first impulse is to ask if he’s killed someone.

Nails the door shut when she’s mad at her big sister.

She’s not friends with pound dogs in that original movie; when they first get there she acts like she’s never been in the kennel before, and originally wants a pet lobster.

I know that we all love that little girl they got to play Lilo, but if you were really being objective, you’d acknowledge that she’s a little girl. She’s not Lilo. She’s a cute little girl.

They did not write Lilo into the 2025 movie. They wrote any old little girl.

You should have known, from the moment she first sees Stitch and her reaction is to scream in the trailer, that THAT IS NOT LILO.

Lilo had a very specific set of characterizations. She was a character with a personality that exploded out of the screen. Every other character in the movie meets Stitch and reacts with disgust.

But not. LILO. She’s the only one to react to him like THIS:

She is literally not like anyone else. She’s doesn’t care that he’s ugly. Or weird. Or blue. Or even bat an eye when he can talk with all those shark teeth.

From Moment One, Lilo chooses Stitch. She chooses to love him. Regardless of what he can do for her. Regardless of how many times he pushes her over or rips up her house or makes her relationship with Nani harder. That is the number one thing about Lilo.

She is desperate for people to stay, but she chooses to love Stitch even though he’s a monster. And she tries to make him better. And her love succeeds in transforming him when nothing else could.

Lilo’s personality traits all mean something in the story. (I.e. she likes Elvis because she’s clinging to the past, she snaps pictures of tourists like they’re safari animals because they’re inherently people who LEAVE and she has issues with LEAVING, etc.) But the thing I think that was so obvious that the moviemakers missed for 2025 is she has to be weird. If she’s not weird, there’s no reason for her not to have friends. And if she has friends, what does she need Stitch for?

But also, Lilo’s personality in the new movie is just boring. Cute. But boring. Cute’s not that great of an accomplishment; any 7 year-old is cute.

6. Nani

I don’t think you guys need to know this. It’s not just that Nani leaves. It’s that “take care of yourself” is the exact opposite of the selfless message of the movie.

In the beginning, Lilo literally argues with Nani after being told she’s “such a pain,” and goes, “why don’t you SELL ME and buy a RABBIT INSTEAD?”

And then breaks down and cries at the thought of Nani wishing she had a rabbit instead of Lilo, later.

Because Lilo is afraid of people leaving. But Nani won’t leave her. Nani loses her job, her own life, because of Lilo. But she’s desperate to keep Lilo anyway, because she loves her. Don’t you understand? The message of the movie was about self-sacrificial love. A love that doesn't care what I get out of the relationship.

Nani starts it. But you know what, David loves her like that, too. And then Lilo transfers it to Stitch, who shows it off to Jumba. It’s a chain reaction, but Nani is spearheading it.

You realize that when their parents died, Nani already would’ve been in high school? With a whole life of her own? Her own friends, her own potential boyfriend, a job she went to, surf competitions (the trophies are in her room.) Lilo would’ve been well aware that that was the status-quo: Nani has her own life. And even a seven year-old can see that that life is being put on hold, but maybe the big sister wants to go back to it, at every turn.

The fact that Nani never does that, never expresses a desire for that, only ever expresses a desire to keep Lilo with her, is huge. It’s the core of the movie.

I don’t think that needs any more explaining.

We could talk more. Like about how Lilo needs to see that Stitch is an alien, because that’s the ultimate test: he’s one of the monsters who destroyed her house, he’s been lying to her and using her as a human shield, he’s a criminal—but she still winds up giving everything up to protect him.

Anyway. My neck hurts and I don’t want to type anymore. But we could talk about the music, the social worker, the grand councilwoman—it just doesn’t matter.

Ya’ll had more than enough details in the trailer to be able to not go see this movie because it was obviously going to ruin everything. But instead you chose to make this twisted corpse “the highest-grossing movie of any Memorial Day.” You bought tickets because they ruined a perfect movie and slapped together an uglier package for you.

Whatever. It was my favorite movie today, it’ll be your Treasure Planet or Tangled tomorrow. Keep riiiight on giving them your money, and keep letting influencers regurgitate the same four obvious facts to you over and over, because they paid Disney to make a talking-point for their content benefit. Whatever.

[sayangrafayel]

LADS men and you doing the "My boyfriend wants to show you his _____ collection and you better be nice!" Trend

Please I've been seeing this trend and they're all so cute and wholesome, so here's what the boys would show in the video.

Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Caleb.

Sylus (jewels)

"Hey guys, my boyfriend wants to show you his jewels collection, be nice!"

Sylus happily show the camera his collection of jewels he had won in auctions, along with Mephisto who would fly around and fetch each jewel he mentions.

"Tell them how much you spent on each jewel!" "Why? They won't be able to afford it." "Sy, be nic- yeah you're right."

Xavier (baking progress)

"Hey! My boyfriend wants to show you his progress of making the perfect bread and-" you whisper menacingly "you better be nice."

Xavier, covered in flour shows his.. perfect bread. The audience can clearly see the burnt side but Xavier quickly say "These little burnt spot makes the bread yummier and more authentic, unlike Charli-" "Xavi!!" "My bread is better." "Yes it is, my star."

He tore a little piece for you to taste and you ate it.. it was actually good. Well, not as bad as batch 27. "Mm! It's true what people say, the 50th time is the charm!"

Rafayel (paints)

"Hello! My husband wants to show you his collection of paints and I know you all adore him so be nice, alright?"

He shows the camera the 50 different yet looks very similar shade of purple. Yet Rafayel insists each one of them is different from the other, telling the audience how exactly he got those colors.

"Now this one, I got from a flower called Wisteria.. this one is from a Lavender. They appear the same but you can see that the other one is darker. Can you see it?" You tried your best to look intimidating in the background. He is just too cute.

Zayne (ice animals)

"My boyfriend is about to show you the ice animals he made from his evol, so be nice. Go ahead, love."

Zayne had five ice babies in his arms, he starts explaining each of the little animals' background. "This one is a seal.. it's the seal I gave her when we met again." You nod happily. "This one is a little cat.. I saw one and I scared it off, so I made a mini version to keep..."

You happily pat the little babies, the ones Zayne hands to you after he's done showing it to the camera.

Caleb (model airplanes)

"Heyho~ My sweet darling boyfriend wants to show you his model airplane collection so," you lean in dangerously close to the camera, "be nice."

"Alright!" Caleb immediately takes over, his natural charming self makes you question whether or not it was necessary for you to be intimidating when you're sure he can win over everyone easily. But you digress.

Each model airplanes he shows, he tells the audience the price and how long it took him to assemble, how you've helped him built many of them. You giggle, going down the memory lane along with him.

Ok at first I want Caleb to show different types of apples but but but model airplanes won, baby needs to get his nerd on.

[reignpage]

♱ In which boyfriend!choso can't keep still long enough to last a punishment

“Don’t move, Cho,” you remind him.

He whines. Bare and standing, you’re free to kneel before him and suck at his leaking, throbbing tip. Your boyfriend can do nothing but hope he doesn’t shudder too much whilst you tongue his swollen slit and milk his length with a tight fist. 

“Baby, please. I can’t. You’re being mean a-and cruel.”

Admittedly, you are being cruel – he can’t touch you, can’t make commands, and cannot, under any circumstances, let that glass cup balancing on his head drop. The pigtailed bastard deserves it after he tried sending a video of you getting your back blown out to your shameless ex, who wouldn’t stop texting you, only to end up sending it to your mother instead. 

Cupping his heavy balls in one palm, you massage the pair, feeling the panty-soaking heat in them all while they promise to fill your stomach with his salty cum. For someone complaining about how much he hates this punishment, he sure is using up a lot of energy to keep his head up and still. Abs flexing, you can’t help but rake your long nails down the sculpted muscles. He shivers and gasps. 

“I already -ngh!- said I’m s-sorry. Just take it off me and let me fuck you.”

Very tempting. Unfortunately for him, and your greedy pussy, he rarely ever gets his way with you. So, with a mouth full of his pulsating cock, you say, barely coherent, “Nope! You’re just gonna -mmm quit moving- have to man up and take your punishment like a good boy.”

A fat droplet of precum slides down your throat. Hmm, he sure does love being called a good boy. How sad. 

Your arm stretches up his torso all so you can tweak the piercing on his blushing brown nipples. He doesn’t say anything when you slap his ass too, though he doesn’t need to – the sudden tightening of his ball sack says enough. Thighs begin to shake. Fists clench so tight his knuckles turn white. His jaw hangs. Any second now, he’ll burst in your mouth. For his own good, he better not drop the glass. You’ll make him clean it up with your hot pink vibrator tied against his frenulum, which he has grown much too familiar with over the years. Maybe that’s what he’s hoping for. 

“My ex was never so pathetic,” you muse. “When my misbehaved boyfriend is struggling over such a simple task, it makes me miss hi–HMPH!”

Choso growled and grabbed your head with both hands, vein in those huge biceps flexing. Something animalistic flashed in those blown out eyes. That’s all the warning you got before he shoved his cock deeper down your throat, filling you up so manically. He doesn’t waste a single second before ramming inside your mouth and whimpering at the wet friction. The glass shatters in the background. You can’t even get a word out to complain because he’s pounding your throat like he’s trying to kill you. 

“You’re -oh fuck!- mine,” Choso growls. Grunting and staring up at the ceiling, too stimulated when he looks down at you, you watch his Adam’s apple bob. Your eyes roll back. He looks so pretty desperately chasing his release and using you as a glorified fleshlight. “I’ll kill anyone who -hah- t-tries to take you.”

Those are his last words before he blows a scalding load into your stomach. You haven’t even swallowed and he’s already lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder. When you bounce on the bed, your glare prompts an answer out of him.

“I didn’t want you to cut your pretty feet.” He presses a sloppy kiss against the sole of each of them. Then, he brings one to rub at his burning, hardening dick, moaning like a whore as he stares down at you with desire, love, and obsession radiating from every pore. “My girl’s gotta look her best for the video I’m sending to that loser, right?”

You sigh. “Whatever. Just make sure you don’t send it to my mother again.”

Choso pouts. 

“Stop bringing that up; it’s embarrassing.” Climbing over your body, he sucks at every inch of skin he can before the need to kiss you overwhelms him. “Ugh. She heard me call you mommy.”

[doomdoomofdoom]

In the meantime, degoogle, pirate what you need, debloat (not personally vetted), and try to get away from basically any big (tech) brands if you can. Look into jailbreaking devices if you're so inclined.

Capitalism does not breed innovation.

Tech gatekeepers have escaped so many investigations and consequences from breeches of trust.

The People need to make a change.

[danysdaughter]

bucky seeing p0rn for the first time after the dating apps don’t work out👀

I'm deadddd, this was so vague so I just ran with it

The Education Of James Buchanan Barnes

pairing | post!tfatws!bucky x fem!reader

word count | 6.3k words

summary | when dating apps fail him and thirst traps become his downfall, bucky barnes finds himself spiraling down the internet’s most unholy rabbit hole—pornhub.

what starts as horrified research turns into full-blown obsession... especially when you, his sharp-tongued best friend, catch him red-handed and make very sure he lives out every filthy fantasy he’s been hiding.

tags | (18+) MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, face sitting, breeding kink dirty talk, roleplay mentions, overstimulation, sexual humor, porn discovery, reader catches bucky watching porn, friends to very horny lovers, reader is a menace, teasing, flustered bucky, dom!bucky, subtle power play, consent is sexy, reader rides his face, doggy style, missionary? i hardly know her, mutual pining (solved by porn), no use of y/n, reader is a problem and bucky loves it, aftercare.

a/n | yeah, I definitely went overboard with this. I hope you freaks enjoy this

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

You sipped your drink slowly, already biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as Bucky glared into his beer like it had personally betrayed him.

“So,” Sam started, barely hiding his smirk. “How was the date with... what was her name again? Velvet? Vixen?”

“Vesper,” Bucky muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “And she asked if I’d be into choking her with my vibranium arm before we even finished our drinks.”

You snorted into your glass.

Sam leaned forward, grinning. “I mean... was she wrong?”

“Sam.” Bucky’s glare was instant, but mostly performative. “I just met her.”

You glanced at him over your glass, amused. “What app did you find this one on?”

He groaned. “The same one you said was ‘normal.’”

“No one said it was normal,” you said, raising a brow. “I said it was better than Tinder. That’s not a high bar.”

Bucky leaned back with a sigh, looking thoroughly done with the entire 21st century. “I miss when people met at soda shops and asked each other about their families instead of sending... pictures of their genitals.”

Sam barked a laugh. “Aw, poor Grandpa’s overwhelmed by the sex-positive future.”

“You know what’s not positive?” Bucky muttered. “The fact that I Googled ‘how to get back out of the dating app’ and it sent me to a subreddit with people just as confused as I am.”

You exchanged a look with Sam, both of you clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Have you... considered other ways to meet people?” you asked, trying not to grin. “Like not being a digital hermit?”

Bucky looked between the two of you, deadpan. “I’m this close to living in the jungle again.”

Sam raised his glass. “To Bucky Barnes, the only man who can bench-press a car but can’t survive Hinge.”

Bucky slammed his glass down—not hard, but with enough force to earn a side-eye from the bartender.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered. “I’m trying to talk to these women like a normal person. I say, ‘Hi, how was your day?’ and one of them responds with—” he fumbled with his phone, squinting at the screen, “‘Send me a pic of the arm, baby, I wanna see what’s gonna rearrange my insides.’”

You choked.

Sam full-on cackled, grabbing his chest. “Wait—rearrange her insides? Yo, that’s poetry.”

“She sent a GIF after that,” Bucky went on, staring at the phone like it might explode. “A GIF. Of a hydraulic press crushing a watermelon. What does that mean?”

“I’m gonna die,” you wheezed, nearly spilling your drink. “She wants you to hydraulically press her coochie, Barnes. Come on.”

“I thought she was making a smoothie metaphor!” Bucky snapped. “And then another one asked if I was into CNC. I said I didn’t know what that meant, and she said ‘perfect.’”

Sam wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh my god—Bucky, you’re gonna end up in someone’s kink diary.”

“She sent me a TikTok about edging,” Bucky added, horror slowly overtaking his face. “I thought it was about gardening.”

You completely lost it, head in your arms on the table. “Please stop, I can’t breathe.”

Bucky scowled. “I’m serious! She said she wanted to edge me for hours, and I said that sounded peaceful, like a nice walk—and she sent back forty-seven emojis.”

Sam gasped between wheezes. “You’re getting sexted in hieroglyphics and you think it’s a hike, I’m begging you to never leave the house again.”

Bucky looked between you both, betrayal written across his face. “I survived Hydra. I survived seventy years of brainwashing. But I will not survive being called ‘daddy’ by a woman who lists her job as ‘freelance foot model and energy witch.’”

“Wait—did she have the crystals?” you asked, barely able to form the words.

He nodded grimly. “She said my aura was ‘screaming trauma kink.’”

Sam actually slid off the stool, wheezing on the floor.

He shut the door behind him with a dull thunk, then stood there for a moment in the silence. The kind that pressed in around the edges when no one else was around. Just him, the creak of the old radiator, and the words “rearrange my insides” still echoing in his head like a ghost.

Bucky sighed, tossed his jacket onto the back of a chair, and walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge as if disappointment wouldn’t be waiting there too. One beer left. Great.

He grabbed it, popped the cap off with his metal hand, and made his way over to his laptop.

It sat there on the table like a challenge.

He opened it. The familiar whir kicked on. A sigh slipped through his teeth.

“I fought in two wars,” he muttered to himself. “Survived Hydra. Took down a helicarrier. But this? This is the real enemy.”

He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Then he typed:

"What does CNC mean?"

Enter.

He leaned forward slowly, reading the top search result. Then the second.

His eyebrows pulled together. His mouth fell open just slightly.

"...Consensual non-consent?"

He clicked the link. Read further.

He leaned back in his chair like he’d just been shot.

“Why—why would anyone want that?” he muttered, scandalized. “That’s just... that’s just assault with permission.”

Still, he didn’t close the tab.

He opened a new one instead.

"Edging meaning (not gardening)"

More links. More acronyms. More trauma.

His face contorted in quiet horror as he scanned descriptions, diagrams, tips and techniques.

His beer sat forgotten on the table.

Eventually, he clicked a link that just said “beginner’s guide to porn kinks.” It was a blog. Fairly clinical. Until it wasn’t.

Then he clicked another.

And another.

Until eventually he wound up on a site with thumbnails—little videos with previews. Titles he didn’t fully understand.

He stared at one.

A girl, on her knees, mouth open, eyes wide.

Title: “Training My Pretty Submissive Brat”

He blinked. Then hovered. Clicked.

The video loaded.

He sat still, very still, as it started playing.

And then...

“What the hell—” he whispered.

The guy was talking. Dirty. Commanding.

The girl was moaning like someone had just whispered state secrets in her ear. She was calling him sir. Begging. Crying out when he—

Bucky slammed the spacebar to pause the video, hand clenched on the table.

He stood. Paced.

‘I shouldn’t be watching this,’ he thought, running his hand through his hair. ‘This is wrong. This is not—that’s not—’

He looked back at the screen.

Unpaused.

A few seconds passed.

He sat again.

Watched. Silent. Rigid.

His jaw clenched. His eyes darted across the screen like he was scanning enemy movement.

Then his hand—his metal hand—tapped the edge of the keyboard.

Paused again.

His chest rose and fell.

“I mean… he’s not hurting her,” he thought. “She’s asking for it. She likes it.”

Beat.

“And she’s loud.”

He sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the paused screen like it had insulted him personally.

Then he muttered, “Is that what people want now?”

He reopened the search bar.

"How to talk dirty in bed"

The search results hit him like a grenade.

By the third article, his ears were red. His fingers hovered over the trackpad like they didn’t know whether to scroll or just snap the whole laptop in half.

He clicked another video.

This one was slower. More intimate.

The woman straddled the guy’s lap, whispering in his ear. He growled something back, then pushed her down on the bed—

Bucky’s breath caught.

He didn’t even notice his hand moving under the table at first.

Didn’t notice the low groan that slipped from his throat when the man on screen said, “Good girl—just like that.”

He froze. Eyes wide. Mouth dry.

He swallowed hard.

“…I need another beer.”

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t stop watching.

Because something in him had been starved for this. For contact. For control. For someone wanting him, even in fantasy.

The next video autoplayed before he could stop it.

Another couple. This time, softer lighting. Moaning, whispered praise. Her back arched under his touch as he moved slow, deliberate, like every second was sacred.

Bucky swallowed hard.

He sat motionless for a full minute.

Then his hand drifted down.

Hesitant. Awkward.

He undid the button of his jeans, fingers brushing over the bulge in his briefs. The contact was enough to make his breath stutter.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

He shifted in his seat, pushed his jeans down just enough, and curled his hand around himself. Warm skin against cool air. His metal hand clenched uselessly on the table as the other moved slowly, uncertain.

The sounds from the video—soft, rhythmic, intimate—filled the room.

And Bucky gave in.

His eyes didn’t close. He watched—studied—the way the man touched her, held her, spoke to her like she was something precious and filthy all at once.

“Such a good girl,” the man murmured. “Taking all of me. Just like that.”

Bucky bit down on a groan, his hand moving faster now, hips twitching in his seat.

He imagined saying those words.

And then—

He imagined you.

Your voice, sharp and sarcastic, going breathy and soft when he touched you. Your legs around his waist. Your fingers in his hair. Your mouth whispering his name like it meant something.

And that thought—you, under him, with him—wrecked him.

He jerked harder, gritting his teeth, chest rising fast.

A low moan slipped out. Sharp. Uncontrolled.

His head fell back, eyes clenched shut as heat coiled in his gut. His body trembled.

One more stroke—

And he came.

Hard.

He let out a strangled noise, hips lifting off the couch, body seizing as white-hot pleasure shot through him. His hand slowed, milked every last pulse, until the aftershocks faded and all that was left was—

Silence. Reality. Shame.

His breath was harsh in his ears.

The screen was still playing.

The woman moaned, laughing, pulling the man closer.

Bucky stared. Then looked down.

At himself. At the mess.

At the way his hand was still wrapped around his cock, softening now, shame creeping in like a slow burn.

He let go like he’d been scalded.

The aftershocks hadn’t even faded before the guilt hit—cold and immediate.

Not from what he’d watched.

Not even from what he’d done.

But from who he’d seen in his mind while he did it.

You.

You, laughing beside him at the bar. You, rolling your eyes at his brooding. You, calling him “grandpa” and meaning it with affection.

You—beneath him, moaning, touching, giving yourself to him in the fantasy that had just ripped through his body.

His stomach twisted.

He yanked his pants back up, hands clumsy, face burning not with arousal now—but with shame.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pacing, one hand raking through his hair, the other clenching into a fist. “Fuck—what the hell’s wrong with me?”

You were his friend.

You were real.

And he’d just used the idea of you like… like some porn star on a screen.

His jaw tightened. He couldn’t look at the laptop. Couldn’t look at himself. He felt dirty—not because he’d touched himself, but because it felt like a betrayal. A violation of something pure.

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

That hadn’t been just need.

That had been you.

And now he didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to look you in the eye again.

A Few Weeks Later

There was a knock at the door.

Three knocks, then a pause.

Then two more.

“Come on, Barnes,” your voice called through the door. “I brought sacrificial offerings.”

Bucky hesitated.

He sat in the dark, boots still on, bruised knuckles resting against his knees. His hoodie clung to him, sweat-damp and rumpled, his mind still halfway in the mission, halfway in the same loop it had been stuck in for weeks.

But it was you.

He got up slowly and opened the door.

You stood there with a paper bag in one hand, a six-pack in the other, grinning like you had zero intention of leaving whether he wanted you to or not.

“You gonna let me in or should I start monologuing like a Bond villain?”

He stepped aside without a word.

You strolled in like you owned the place, already heading to the kitchen with practiced ease.

“Brought dumplings, noodles, and enough alcohol to bleach the taste of both from your soul,” you said, setting things down. “You looked like someone clubbed you with your own metal arm last mission, so—figured I’d play nurse. A sexy, underqualified nurse with boundary issues.”

Bucky closed the door quietly behind you.

“You’re not a nurse,” he muttered.

“Not with that attitude.”

You popped the beers open, handed him one, then flopped onto his couch like you lived there. Legs kicked up, food containers opened without ceremony, your usual grin in place.

He stood a few feet away, beer untouched in his hand.

He hadn’t seen you in weeks—not really. He’d ducked every casual run-in, bailed on team movie nights, even ghosted your texts under the excuse of "needing space." He figured you noticed.

You just hadn’t said anything.

Until now.

You eyed him, casually, between bites. “You gonna sit down or do I need to pull you onto the couch like a Victorian housewife?”

He sat. Slowly. Farther away than usual.

You noticed. Of course you did. But you didn’t call him on it.

Not yet.

Instead, you nudged a container toward him and said, “Eat, soldier. You look like a sad, haunted lumberjack.”

And still—he didn’t say a word.

Because all he could think about, sitting beside you again after a month of silence, was the way your mouth had looked in that fantasy.

The way your voice had sounded moaning his name.

The way he’d used the memory of your real, friendly, teasing self to—

He swallowed thickly.

You kept eating, casual, sharp, familiar.

Exactly how he remembered. Exactly what made it so much worse.

You wiped your fingers on a napkin, leaned back, and gave him a look.

“Alright. You look like you’re two seconds from overthinking yourself into an early grave. Movie time. Something with violence or explosions—your love language.”

Before he could protest, you were already standing and heading toward his desk.

“Wait—” he said, starting to rise, but too slow.

You flipped open his laptop. “Let’s see what Grandpa Barnes has in his—”

“Ah—ahh—yes, please—!”

The moaning hit like a tactical nuke.

You froze.

So did he.

Both of you staring wide-eyed at the screen as the speakers screamed filth into the otherwise silent apartment.

Bucky moved fast.

Too fast.

He lunged over the couch, hand outstretched like he was taking enemy fire.

You dodged.

Smooth, practiced. Years of training paying off.

“No—” he barked, face already crimson, “Please—don’t—!”

“Oh my god—” you laughed, holding the laptop just out of reach. “Is this—is this Pornhub? Are you seriously—you are! You’ve been watching porn, you absolute degenerate.”

He groaned, dragging his hand down his face, mortified.

“Please give me the laptop,” he said, voice low, wounded, like you were holding a hostage.

But you were already clicking the spacebar, pausing the video mid-thrust.

“Oooh,” you said, squinting at the tab title. “‘Brat tamer destroys needy sub’? This is what you’re into?” You looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Bucky.”

“Stop,” he muttered, pacing now, hands on his hips. “I was—researching.”

“Researching what? The anatomy of a throatfuck?” you said, howling with laughter. “Brat tamer—are you even on Tumblr, old man?”

He looked like he wanted the floor to open and consume him.

“Do you know how much I regret every decision that led to this moment?”

You hugged the laptop to your chest dramatically. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this. The secrets. The shame. The kinks.”

“Give. It. Back.”

“Nope. Not until we find out if you’ve got a whole ‘rough dom Bucky’ fantasy folder stashed somewhere. You into praise? Degradation? Impact play? Knife play?”

He growled.

Actually growled.

And for half a second, it stopped being funny.

Because the way his eyes locked on you?

That wasn’t embarrassment anymore.

That was heat. Low. Dangerous.

You grinned, too drunk on the chaos to stop.

“Come on, Barnes,” you said, laptop still clutched like a prize. “Own it. You like a little bratty backtalk? You want someone to whimper please while you tell her she’s being a bad girl?”

He was still pacing, but slower now. Controlled. Coiled.

You didn’t notice.

You were too busy poking the bear.

“Is that what you’re into?” you teased, stepping back. “All that repressed soldier shit finally coming out in dirty little commands and throat grips?”

His eyes met yours. Still embarrassed, sure. But behind it? Something sharper. Something hungry.

“Y’know,” you added, tone light, teasing, “I always pegged you as more of a soft dom. Gentle hands. Lots of praise. But this? This is dark. Kinda filthy. Kinda hot.”

That did it. He moved.

Fast.

Faster than he should’ve.

One second, you were smirking with the laptop; the next, it was out of your hands, clattering to the couch. You were against the wall, chest rising, his body a breath away from yours.

His hand planted next to your head.

His voice low. Controlled.

“Enough.”

You stared at him. The air was suddenly thick. Your heart thudded once, hard.

“You think this is a joke?” he asked, eyes burning into you.

Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“You think I don’t know you’ve been toying with me since the moment you walked in?”

That teasing smile faltered—just a little.

“You keep pushing,” he murmured, leaning in, breath brushing your jaw. “You laugh, you flirt, you play. But you don’t realize... I’ve thought about you. In ways I shouldn’t.”

You swallowed.

Hard.

“I know what I watched,” he went on, voice rough, low, dangerous. “I know who I imagined.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

Then back up.

And when he spoke again, it wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

“You want to see what I’m into?”

You blinked up at him—cornered, caged—but not afraid.

Not even close. Your smile crept back, slower this time. Calculated.

���Oh,” you murmured, tone shifting. “You imagined me?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened.

His silence said everything.

You pushed your palms slowly against his chest, feeling the way his body tensed under your touch. Solid. Barely held together.

You leaned in, lips brushing just beneath his ear.

“So tell me,” you whispered, voice low and coaxing. “If you’ve already pictured it, Barnes... what did I look like?”

He exhaled harshly through his nose.

You didn’t stop.

“What was I doing?” you went on, dragging your fingers down the curve of his chest. “Was I on my knees? Bent over? Did I ride you while you begged for it?”

A choked sound left him—more breath than voice.

You smiled against his neck. “Or do you want to tell me what you were doing to me?”

His hands twitched at his sides.

You could feel it—the war inside him. Guilt, hunger, restraint. And under all of it, the ache.

“Go on, James,” you whispered, using his real name like a secret. “Tell me. What do you like?”

His head dropped forward, forehead nearly touching yours.

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then—

“I want you on top,” he breathed, voice ragged. “I want you to sit on my face and ride it until your legs give out.”

Your eyes fluttered closed for half a second.

That was not the answer you expected first.

His voice deepened, like now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop.

“I want you on your knees, begging. I want to fuck you from behind so deep you forget your own name. I want to feel you come around me and not stop. I want to stay inside you.”

His breath hitched. His hands were fisting at his sides.

“And when I’m done, when you can’t even move anymore—I want to come in you and keep coming until you’re full of me. Until it’s dripping out of you.”

Your thighs clenched instinctively.

Your nails curled tighter into his chest.

And your voice, still low, still teasing—but now breathy, just slightly—said:

“Damn, Barnes. That’s a whole lot of filth for someone who didn’t even know what edging was last month.”

Your last teasing whisper hadn’t even left your lips before Bucky moved.

One second you were pinned between him and the wall, and the next, his hands were on your hips, gripping tight. Then the ground disappeared beneath your feet.

You gasped as he lifted you—easily, effortlessly—hauling you against his chest like you weighed nothing.

“Jesus, Barnes—” you started, but his mouth was already on yours.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a claim.

Hot, rough, needy—his lips crashed into yours with the force of every filthy thought, every sleepless night, every moment he’d spent imagining your mouth, your body, your sound. His teeth scraped your bottom lip. His tongue pushed past yours. There was no hesitation. Just heat.

You moaned into it, hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer even as he carried you down the hall.

Your back hit the wall once, then the doorframe, and then—

The bed.

He dropped you onto it like a man starved for touch. The mattress creaked beneath you, sheets rumpled and cool against your skin as you propped yourself up on your elbows, breathless and grinning.

Bucky stood at the edge of the bed, looking at you like you were his undoing.

You tilted your head, voice low and mocking.

“Is this the part where you get all commanding, Sergeant? Or are you gonna make me do the work?”

His jaw clenched. He stepped forward. Then dropped his weight onto the bed, climbing over you, hands already at your thighs, dragging you down the sheets toward him.

“I told you not to push,” he growled.

You smiled, voice syrup-sweet.

“And I told you I liked pushing.”

His hands slipped under your shirt, yanking it over your head in one smooth motion. Your bra was next, tossed aside without ceremony. He ducked down immediately, mouth hot against your collarbone, then lower—kissing, biting, devouring.

You gasped, head falling back as his mouth found your breast, tongue circling your nipple before he sucked it between his lips, hard.

And still—you teased.

“Careful, Barnes. Gonna make a mess before you even get inside me.”

He looked up at you.

Eyes wild, hungry, dark.

And then he dragged your jeans down—fast, rough, like he didn’t have the patience for anything else—and crawled up between your legs, pressing his body to yours until there was nothing between you anymore.

“Then shut up,” he growled, grinding against you, his cock thick and hard through his jeans.

“Make me,” you whispered, pulling him down by the collar.

And he did.

His mouth was everywhere—jaw, neck, breasts, stomach—kissing, biting, groaning like he couldn’t get enough, like he didn’t know where to start because he wanted all of you.

Then he pulled back, breathing hard, eyes raking over your body like a man finally allowed to look.

“Get up,” he rasped, voice dark and thick with want.

You blinked up at him, dazed and grinning. “What?”

He sat back on his heels, hands gripping your thighs.

“I said get up,” he repeated. “I want you on my face.”

Your breath caught.

Dead serious.

You didn’t question it. Didn’t tease.

Instead, your lips curved into a slow smile as you shifted, sitting up, climbing over him with fluid, easy confidence.

“As you wish, Sergeant.”

That name hit him like a punch to the chest.

His hands guided you—firm, reverent, needy—until your knees were braced on either side of his head, your body hovering just above his lips.

He looked up at you like a man who’d prayed for this moment.

And then?

He pulled you down.

No hesitation.

Just mouth.

Hot, wet, desperate—he groaned the second he tasted you, tongue already lapping through your folds, lips sealing around your clit like he was starving.

Your head tipped back with a sharp gasp, fingers flying into his hair as your hips bucked against his mouth.

“Fuck—Bucky—”

He growled in response, hands gripping your ass, holding you down, keeping you there.

You rocked against him instinctively, gasping as his tongue flicked and circled, licked and sucked. He was moaning into you, mumbling things you couldn’t even make out—except for one word that hit clear, over and over:

“Mine.”

You looked down at him, eyes wild, mouth open.

His eyes met yours.

Dark. Glazed. Possessed.

You could see the man he used to be—the soldier, the weapon—but right now?

Right now he was just yours.

And you were his.

You couldn’t stop moving.

Couldn’t stop grinding against his mouth, against his tongue, the pleasure slamming through you in waves, harder and sharper with every flick, every suck.

Bucky moaned beneath you, the sound filthy, shameless, needy—like your taste was saving him from something dark and deep and buried.

His hands held you tighter, guiding your hips as you rocked against his mouth, your thighs trembling around his head.

“Fuck—fuck—” you gasped, one hand gripping the headboard, the other buried in his thick, messy hair. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

He didn’t.

If anything, he doubled down—lips sealing tighter, tongue working you harder, sloppier, his groans vibrating against your clit like a live wire.

He wanted this.

He wanted to suffocate on you, drown in you.

And you gave it to him.

Because when you looked down, saw those glassy, desperate blue eyes staring up at you, pleading for more, there was no holding back.

The coil snapped.

Your whole body locked as the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and searing, your hips jerking uncontrollably against his mouth.

“Bucky—” you cried, voice cracking, thighs clamping around his head as you came—hard.

He didn’t let go.

He held you there, arms wrapped around your thighs, mouth still working you through it, licking and sucking every shudder, every twitch, like it was a gift.

You collapsed forward, one hand braced on the headboard behind his head, the other still clutching his hair, your body wrecked, shaking, soaked.

And when you finally opened your eyes—chest heaving, heart pounding—you looked down at him.

His lips were wet, chin glistening, eyes blown wide with hunger.

He looked like he could live there. Like he’d happily die there.

And all he said, voice hoarse and full of worship:

“You taste like heaven.”

You were still trembling when he sat up behind you, hands stroking your thighs, your hips, slow and reverent like he needed to remember the feel of you.

“You good?” he rasped, voice wrecked from moaning into you.

You nodded, barely catching your breath, lips curving into a slow smile.

“Still waiting for that doggystyle fantasy to come true, Sergeant.”

That was all it took.

He growled low in his throat, grabbing your hips, flipping you effortlessly onto your stomach. Before you could even laugh, his hands slid under your body and lifted your hips high, chest pressed down into the mattress.

You moaned, the stretch in your spine perfect, delicious.

He leaned over you, his breath hot at your ear.

“This how you want it?”

You arched your back, ass pushing against him. “This is how you want it.”

He growled again—low, deep, possessive.

“Exactly how I want it.”

Then you felt him—his cock, thick and hot, dragging through your soaked folds, the head catching on your entrance.

He didn’t push in yet.

Just rubbed, slow, deliberate, teasing.

You whimpered, tried to push back.

He gripped your hips tighter.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “You’re gonna feel all of it.”

Then—he pushed in.

Slow at first, but deep, the stretch burning in the best way as he filled you, inch by thick, pulsing inch.

“Fuck—” you moaned, hands clutching the sheets as he bottomed out.

He held still once he was fully inside.

Like he was savoring it.

Like this—being buried in you, your body wrapped tight around his—was what he’d been starving for.

Then he moved.

Pulled out halfway.

And slammed back in.

You cried out, the sound muffled by the sheets as he started thrusting, each snap of his hips harder, deeper, rougher than the last.

His hands gripped your waist like you were his anchor.

His rhythm brutal, relentless.

He fucked you like he meant it—like he’d dreamed of this for weeks, like every fantasy had led to this.

You were gasping, moaning, clawing at the bed.

“Look at you,” he panted behind you. “So fucking tight—taking me so good.”

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

And when his hand snaked around to rub your clit, you screamed his name.

He didn’t let up.

Just pounded into you harder, faster, until the sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, filthy and loud and perfect.

He was so deep in you.

Deeper than anyone had ever been—physically, yes, but also fully. Like this was where he belonged. Like this was where you belonged.

His hips rolled, the angle perfect, his cock dragging against that sweet spot inside you with every rough, claiming thrust.

And his voice—low, wrecked, filthy—poured right into your ear.

“You like that, sweetheart?” he growled. “You like being on your knees for me?”

You whimpered, nodding, voice breathless.

“Yes, Bucky—fuck—so much.”

He leaned over you, chest flush to your back, still moving inside you—slow now, torturously deep, like he wanted to feel every pulse of you clenching around him.

“Yeah, you do,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “My good girl. So fuckin’ wet for me. You were dripping on my face—you know that?”

You moaned, your body shaking, ass pushing back into him.

“I saw you,” he said, his rhythm stuttering just to drag the next thrust out longer. “When I told you to sit on my face? You didn’t even hesitate. You just gave it to me.”

You gasped as his hand slid down your back, curving over your ass, squeezing.

“And now you’re letting me fuck you like this,” he went on. “Taking every inch like a good little cocksleeve. You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

You shuddered, squeezing around him so tight he groaned.

“Yes,” you panted, shameless. “Fuck, Bucky—fill me up—please—I want it.”

He slammed into you harder, rhythm picking up again, fast and unforgiving.

“That’s it,” he growled. “That’s what I like. You begging. You dripping. You mine.”

You cried out, bracing yourself against the mattress as he drove into you faster now, hand slipping beneath to rub your clit again.

“Say it,” he hissed. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you choked. “You, Bucky—I’m yours.”

He groaned deep in his throat, thrusts faltering for a beat like the words knocked something loose in him.

Then he grabbed your hair, gently but firm, pulling you up just enough to kiss your neck—bite it—then whisper:

“When I come, I’m gonna stay inside you. Gonna keep you full for hours. Walk around dripping with me.”

You whined, thighs shaking, the pressure building again—faster, sharper.

“Bucky—please—”

His voice was a growl, low and thick with promise.

“Come for me.”

And you did.

Hard.

Your whole body clenched around him, your scream muffled by the sheets as the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and messy, your walls fluttering around his cock.

Your moan was still echoing when he grabbed your waist, pulling you back—up, off the bed, into his lap.

You barely had time to gasp before you were straddling him, his chest pressed flush to your back, his mouth at your neck, and his cock still inside you.

“Not done,” he growled, arms locking around your waist. “Not until I come in you.”

Then he thrust up into you—hard, deep, devastating.

You cried out, your body already overstimulated, every thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you all over again. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, spreading your thighs wider, keeping you open for him as he pounded up from beneath you with bruising rhythm.

“Fuck—Bucky—” you whimpered, hands flying back to clutch at his hair, his shoulder, anything.

He was relentless.

Grunting with each thrust, hips snapping up into you, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “How deep I am? How you’re still so fuckin’ tight?”

You nodded, moaning, body jerking with every thrust.

“You’re gonna take it,” he hissed. “Every drop. I’m not pullin’ out—you hear me? I’m comin’ inside you.”

“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to speak. “Please—Bucky—fill me up—”

He groaned, deeper than before, thrusts losing rhythm, his grip bruising on your hips as his body started to shake.

“Fuckfuckfuck—gonna come—”

One last thrust—brutal, final—and he buried himself in you, arms tightening, head thrown back as he came hard, deep inside you.

You felt it.

Hot.

Thick.

Flooding you as he groaned your name, holding you tight in his lap, still pulsing inside you.

And he didn’t let go.

Didn’t move.

Just stayed there—buried—chest rising against your back, his breath warm at your neck, whispering,

“You’re mine.”

You collapsed forward onto the bed, body still twitching with aftershocks, breath ragged and uneven. Bucky followed, slow and heavy, staying close, still inside you for a moment longer like he couldn’t stand to let you go just yet.

Eventually, he pulled out with a soft groan.

You whimpered at the loss, hips squirming on instinct.

He stayed behind you for a second, hovering—eyes locked on the way his release slowly dripped out of you, sliding between your thighs and onto the sheets.

You could feel him watching.

You tilted your head back with a lazy grin. “If you’re gonna stare like that, at least have the decency to offer a towel.”

He huffed a rough laugh—half-exhausted, half-stunned. “Sorry. Just... didn’t wanna forget what that looks like.”

You stretched like a cat, all smug satisfaction and afterglow. “Yeah, well. Take a picture next time, Barnes.”

He leaned down, kissed your shoulder—soft, slow, grateful—then flopped beside you, dragging the sheet up over your tangled bodies.

His arm wrapped around your waist, warm and heavy.

Neither of you spoke for a minute.

Just the sound of your breathing slowing. Your bodies cooling.

Then he murmured, voice quiet against your skin, “You’re in my head now.”

You smiled, eyes drifting shut.

“Good,” you whispered. “Took you long enough.”

You lay there, tangled together in the warm quiet, your body still thrumming, skin slick and flushed. Bucky’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his breath slow against the back of your neck, lips occasionally brushing your shoulder like he wasn’t even conscious of doing it.

You grinned.

Couldn’t help it.

“So…” you said, voice casual. “How long you been jerking off to me, Barnes?”

He froze.

You felt the heat bloom off him before he even said a word.

“Don’t.”

Your grin widened. “What? It’s a fair question. Based on how fast you devoured me, I’m guessing… at least a month?”

He groaned into your shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m right,” you countered. “Don’t think I didn’t catch the way you almost cried when I said ‘as you wish, Sergeant.’ You’ve been unwell.”

He muttered something unintelligible and buried his face in your neck.

You rolled to face him, propped on one elbow, smirking as you traced a line down his chest.

“So, tell me,” you purred. “Now that you’ve got a taste... what do you want to do to me next time?”

His throat bobbed.

You waited.

“I dunno,” he mumbled.

“Oh, you know.” Your nails lightly scratched his ribs. “Come on, be brave. Tell me.”

He grumbled. “You’re gonna use it against me.”

“Correct,” you said sweetly. “Now spill.”

He exhaled slowly, then muttered:

“...Sixty-nine.”

You grinned. “Classic. What else?”

He covered his eyes with one hand. “Breeding.”

Your eyebrows lifted, delight flashing in your eyes. “Oh? Really leaned into the ‘stuff me full, Sarge’ angle, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“I won’t, actually,” you laughed, leaning closer, lips brushing his ear. “Anything else you wanna act out, Barnes? Any other dirty little fantasies you been keeping locked up?”

He hesitated.

Longer this time.

Then—reluctantly, quietly:

“...Roleplay.”

You blinked.

Then broke into a slow, wicked grin. “Okay, now this I need to hear.”

“Nope,” he said immediately, trying to roll away. “That’s enough honesty for one night—”

You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, pinning him down with a devilish smile. “Tell me if I need to show up next time in a pencil skirt and glasses, or if I should wear that SHIELD catsuit and call you ‘Sir.’”

His eyes snapped open.

And you knew.

You gasped. “Oh my god. You have a thing for the whole ‘secret agent mission gone sideways’ scenario, don’t you?”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Please stop.”

“You want me to cuff you to a chair and interrogate you,” you went on gleefully. “Or, wait—no—you want to interrogate me.”

“I’m begging.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You want me in red lipstick and a wiretap, don’t you?”

“I’m never telling you anything again.”

You leaned down, lips brushing his.

“I’m gonna make all your little roleplay dreams come true,” you whispered.

“Kill me now,” he muttered.

“Nope. Gotta save your energy. You’re not done with me yet.”

You grinned, smug and sated, curling down against his chest, eyes closing as his arm wrapped around you again.

And beneath your cheek, you felt him smile.

[bitters-n-sweets]

green-eyed — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Robby thinks the newest transfer, Dr. Chase, is flirting with you. Things get a bit complicated.

warnings: jealous and insecure trope, robby says something mean, hurt/comfort, dr. chase from house md cameo, not too angsty, happy end—yes, I'm a sucker for it. a/n: I think we can acknowledge that robby is slightly toxic. I mean, he’s emotionally constipated and still hasn’t gone to therapy, I would assume his behavior at work is similar to how he is with relationships—which is probably why he and Collins broke up—so even though this fic could be resolved so easily with good communication, said good communication is sadly something our dear robby and reader don’t have mastered yet. enjoy! masterlist

Robby thinks it’s been a while since he’s seen you laugh like that. Throwing your head back, tears in your eyes, covering your mouth because that’s a thing you do. And he’s gutted that he’s not the one in front of you being the reason for your laughs. He used to make you laugh like that all the time.

It’s Chase, the new hot-shot transfer doctor. Who has an Australian accent. Who could blame you? He’s young, blonde, blue-eyed, toned—a real life Ken. He’s a damn good doctor, too. The nurses call him Dr. Hemsworth behind his back. Wonderful. Robby hates how easily people gravitate to him. And now it’s your turn.

Robby stands across the ER, jaw tight, eyes flicking between Chase—leaning in to show you something on his phone—and the rest of the room, like maybe he can find something else to focus on. Out of habit, his hand drifts to the back of his neck. Your shoulders are practically touching. A few nurses glance over and giggle. One of them mutters something he doesn’t catch—but whatever it is, it makes his stomach twist.

Robby’s hands curl into fists inside his pockets. It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. He trusts you, but some ugly part of him starts whispering things he can’t silence.

She should be with someone her age.

Someone who doesn’t feel like a goddamn relic when she’s in a room full of twenty or thirty-somethings.

His lips press into a thin line hidden under his beard as he storms your way. He doesn’t even realize his legs are moving until he’s about half-way.

“Quit flirting at work. Both of you,” he snaps.

You look up, startled.

Chase lifts his eyebrows, all amused charm. “Just showing her a video, mate.”

Robby doesn’t even look at him. “Go do your job, then.” It comes out sharper than intended, but he doesn’t take it back.

The room goes still for a beat. Chase gives you an apologetic shrug and steps away, but you’re already turning toward Robby, brow furrowed.

“Was that necessary?” You chase after him, keeping up with his big steps.

He doesn’t answer.

“Hey. Robby. What’s going on?” You manage to stop him by the stairwell.

“Nothing.”

“Come on,” you press, softer now. “Talk to me. Please.”

He halts, jaw tight, eyes not quite meeting yours. “Something funny happen during rounds?”

“What?”

“Just… looked like you were having a real good time.” He doesn’t say it mean, exactly.

You blink. “With Chase?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. Like your laughter a few minutes ago didn’t go straight to his chest and start twisting. “You tell me.”

You step in front of him, blocking his path. “Robby… are you jealous?”

“I’m just saying,” he mutters, crossing his arms, “I’m not young, or charming, or built like a damn Marvel character. Sorry if I don’t love watching people act like you two were—”

You stare at him, stunned. “You think I was flirting with him?”

“I think everyone sure thought you were.”

There it is. Not quite an accusation. Not quite a confession. Not quite fair, either. But honest in a way Robby can’t seem to help right now.

“It looked like you actually wanted to be there,” Robby says. “With someone who suits you better.”

That breaks something open inside you. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means this”—he gestures vaguely, bitterly, between you—“was a mistake.”

And that stings, even if you know he’s only saying that because he wants it to hurt you. “Really, Robby? You can tell that we’re a mistake because Chase was talking to me?”

“It’s not about him,” Robby snaps. “It’s about you eventually realizing I’m too old, too tired, too fucking cynical for you. And when that happens, I’ll be the one left picking up the pieces, wondering why I ever thought I could be enough.”

And then you realize. This is not jealousy. This is insecurity. Now you see the desperation in his eyes, but his shoulders are still so high and tense it masks it. You see the way he shuffles around, can’t seem to quiet down his own thoughts.

“You’re wrong.” You say.

“You can’t know that.”

“I do. Because I’ve already chosen you.”

Robby looks at you, and for a second, something flickers behind his eyes—hope, maybe—but he kills it quickly, walls going back up.

“I need to get back to work.”

You reach for his hand. “Robby—”

He pulls away. “Don’t.”

That single word makes you stop. And then he’s gone, out the stairwell door and back into the ER, leaving you in silence.

Robby knows he messed up. He knows you didn’t deserve that. But his heart’s pounding like he just ran a mile, and he can’t stop the thought looping over and over: that you’ll realize he’s right sooner or later. And then eventually, you’ll just leave like everyone else does.

So Robby does what Robby does best. He runs. He buries it deep, distracts himself just enough to keep from falling apart. Lets it all pile up behind a steady face, hoping it won’t spill over. And if it does? That’s a mess for later.

You decide to give Robby some space—after multiple attempts to approach him and him avoiding you, and finally find him at the end of your shift, standing at the exit, hands in his pockets. You know he’s waiting for you, and he always will, even when he’s doubting himself, even when his world is crashing down. Because that’s who Robby is. He shows up for people even when he’s hurting. It’s what makes you love him so much, and it’s killing you that he’d do this to himself.

You stand next to him. “You ready to talk?”

His head lifts to look at you slowly. He sighs, rubs his hands down his face. “No, not really. But I have a feeling we’re doing this anyway.”

“You don’t get to say all of that and just walk away, Robby.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes, you did.” You cut in, soft but firm. “That was preemptive damage control. You meant to hurt me before I could hurt you.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn't say anything, just looks down because he knows you're right.

You sigh softly, reaching for his hand. This time, he doesn’t pull away.

“You think you’re too old for me? That I’d leave you for someone else? God, Robby—” You squeeze, cupping his jaw so he’ll look at you, and his own doubt in himself kills you. “I love you. I want you. You, who listens to me when I don’t even know what I need. Who calms me down with one look. Who knows me better than myself.”

He’s staring at you now, eyes locked on yours, holding his breath because he’s afraid to hope.

“I don’t care if people think we don’t ‘match.’ I don’t care if you have lines on your face or if your knees make that weird sound when you stand up. I love you. Even when you push me away because you don’t believe you’re enough—but you are, Robby. You’re more than enough.”

“I never once looked at you and wished for someone else. I look at you, and I thank God it’s you.”

His eyes are red, doubt and exhaustion evident, and he keeps staring down at your intertwined fingers—like if he lets go, he’ll lose something he can’t live without.

“Okay?” you whisper, nudging him gently.

Robby doesn't say anything at first. His eyes are glassy, the corners red, and he swallows hard like the lump in his throat might choke him if he tries to speak. He's looking at you like he doesn't know what he ever did to deserve you.

His lips part. Nothing comes out.

He tries again, and still—nothing. Not because he doesn't have anything to say, but because there's too much he wants to say. Because you just shattered every wall he’s built with so much certainty and care, and now all that’s left of him is the raw truth of how deeply and desperately he loves you.

So he just nods, a little breathless, and pulls you into his arms. He hugs you tight in front of the ER, deciding that he doesn’t care—no, fuck it, he wants everyone to see. To see that he has you now. That he has someone he cares about. Someone he loves.

“Okay,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You finally let out a breath of relief, sinking into him, your arms tightening around his waist. “Still think this was a mistake?”

He exhales slowly, resting his chin on your head. “No. But I think I’m going to need a lot of reminding.”

You hum, lips brushing the nearest patch of skin you can reach. “I’ve got time.”

[luna-azzurra]

Writing Advice #3

Try roasting your setting like you’re ranting to your group chat after a bad road trip. Seriously, don’t just tell me it’s a “quaint village.” Is it the kind of place where time forgot it existed? Does it have, like, three shops that all close at 2pm for mysterious reasons and a town square statue of some guy named “Jedediah” who absolutely committed tax fraud?

The more lovingly hateful you are, the clearer the place gets. Because when we roast things, we get weirdly specific. That specificity is PURE gold. “Dusty” is whatever. “A town where the post office smells like expired glue” is a vibe. It tells me everything I need to know and makes me want to keep reading just to see how much worse it gets.

Bonus points if your narrator is also sick of being there. Angry characters describe places way better than calm ones, it’s just science.

[sydpleton]

ragathas entire character really fucks me up because like. pov youre stuck in a strange scary place with only a few other people. you try your hardest to be friendly and kind to everyone but still struggle to be vulnerable and show your true emotions. this inhibits your ability to make connections with others (the thing you want the most.) youre friendly even when you dont really mean it or when you probably shouldnt but is that really that bad? its better then being mean, and how else are people going to like you? (value you?) A new person arrives and theres an oppurtunity to make a friend! she leaves you for dead when a monster attacks but thats fine, she was scared! (but so were you. what about you?) can you really blame her? you dont hold any hard feelings. (you try not to.) you dont let it deter you and you keep at it! you might be sliiightly smothering her out of desperation but what else can you do? you dont know any other way. but no matter how hard you try. how nice, how friendly, how helpful you try to be she seems to always be drifting just slightly out of your reach. she starts to form connections that are friendlier and more genuine then the ones youve been building up for years. she even gets close with the shittiest guy there (why not you?) and even gets him to open up. (something you thought was impossible. god knows youve tried.) even though you tried your best you couldnt be the person that the others needed. what you needed to be. she did it in just a handful of days. youre stuck in a place where people are practically forced to form bonds and relationships, if only for survival. and you still end up alone

[weeeyotch]

warnings: dark themes, possessiveness, controlling behavior, emotional manipulation, 18+ themes (mdni)

okay but…soft!dark!possessive!bob has been on my mind a lot recently.

like this man has been through everything—addiction, trauma, abuse, and being forgotten by the world over and over. but then he meets you, and suddenly it’s like his world is 100x brighter.

you make life liveable for him. you make things make sense.

you look at him like he’s good, like he’s safe. and for the first time, he believes that he is.

but he needs that. he needs you.

at first, it’s gentle.

lovely little café or bookstore dates. going to those movie theatres that show old movies for half the price of a normal ticket. he’d shower you with flowers, little hand-written notes, and say things like

“please stay a bit longer”

“i sleep better when you’re here”

but that softness that made you fall in love with him starts to turn sticky.

clingy.

obsessive.

it starts with a few extra texts.

where are you?

did you make it home safe? honey?

it's getting dark. maybe don't go to that party tonight. let's just stay in. i'll come over. we can make pasta. please?

you find his concern endearing in the beginning. given his past, you couldn't fault him for how he feels. he thinks that the world is dangerous, and the people in it more so.

"don't take the train, okay? that guy you mentioned at the station last week—he could be dangerous. just let me drive you."

"but you already went out with your friends yesterday. don't you think it's better to just stay home today?"

"the world is too dangerous for someone as sweet as you."

"i don't know what i'd do if something happened to you."

his voice still trembles whenever he says your name. he still holds onto you like you're the last good thing in a horribly broken world. but now, his grip is always a bit tighter around your waist. now, there's a fear that shines in his eyes—terrified that you might slip through his fingers if he blinks.

when you finally move in with him after he spent months convincing you, his love starts to swallow you whole.

there's no such thing as space. or quiet. or alone.

he calls you whenever you're out. wants to track your location "just in case". and by the time you come home, he's already waiting there with dinner, plans, and questions.

soon, he starts to become obsessed with your health—your sleep, your meals, your water intake, your screen time.

he wants to make sure that you're perfect.

he'll meal prep all of your meals, trying to make them as healthy as possible. he'll shoot you quiet, disapproving looks if he sees you eating too many cookies, chocolates, or chips.

"it's all fine in moderation, darling. but maybe you've had enough for now? let me cut up some fruits for you."

soon, his early bedtime becomes yours.

it starts off with him disguising it as needing to cuddle you so he can sleep.

you couldn't deny that it's flattering—being needed like that, being the thing that makes the nightmares go quiet.

but the requests get more insistent.

the "please come sleep with me" turns into "you always stay up so late" and then into

"you don't care about your health like i do."

"you keep pushing yourself and i have to watch it ruin you."

you don't even realize it's a rule until you break it.

you stay up past 10pm reading or gaming, just once, and the change in bob is unmistakable.

he doesn't reach for your hand the next morning.

doesn't kiss your forehead when he passes back your mug that he filled with steaming coffee.

he still brings you snacks, still folds your laundry with precision, still says "love you" before he leaves the apartment. but it's cold. practiced.

he never says he's punishing you. how could he be? he's still sickly sweet, just a bit. . .off.

yet the moment you crawl back into bed with him at 9:58pm, he softens again. arms open and voice tender.

like nothing happened.

"there she is. my good girl."

the passive aggressiveness stings more than a scream or slap ever could.

but it's okay, you tell yourself. this is real love.

that he just wants what's best for you.

right?

sex with him is slow. intense. all-consuming.

there's so much eye contact that it feels like he's trying to read you. he touches you like he's afraid you'll vanish, but holds onto you like a lifeline.

bob's clinginess transforms during these moments.

it metamorphoses into pure, unadulterated devotion and worship.

he'd make you cum on his tongue and fingers a minimum of three times before slowly pushing his cock into you. his thrusts are focused and steady, but they get more sloppy the closer he gets.

missionary is his favorite position. he just wants to see your face and the way your lips part as you get closer to the edge. sometimes he presses his ear against your mouth just to feel your hot breath or hear your little noises.

eventually, as that coil of pleasure is close to exploding deep within his belly, he'd change your position. he'd have you wrap your legs around his waist, using one arm to lift you and hold you against him while the other hand grips the headboard for stability.

the bed creaks under the effort. his muscles flex around you as his body feels like a wall—solid and unshakable.

his sheer strength always leaves you breathless. but it never frightens you.

it's just a reminder.

a reminder of what this man has survived.

what he's capable of.

the damage he's done.

the destruction he could cause.

but never to you. no, he would rather die than ever lay a finger on you.

so he gives you everything else instead.

his body, his strength, his desperation that bleeds into every thrust. the quiet groan of your name against your skin like a prayer. the way he shudders when you say his in return.

and when he finally falls apart, spilling into you with a low, broken sound, you wrap your arms around him and let him cling.

because that's all he's ever wanted.

to be held like he's still human.

to feel like he's worth saving.

to feel loved.

[gilverrwrites]

ꜰᴛ. ᴅɪᴄᴋ ɢʀᴀʏꜱᴏɴ, ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ, ᴋʏʟᴇ ʀᴀʏɴᴇʀ, ʀᴏʏ ʜᴀʀᴘᴇʀ, & ᴡᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴇꜱᴛ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪɴꜱᴇʀᴛ: ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ ᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴀ/ɴ: ᴀɴ ᴀᴍᴀʟɢᴀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!

ᴅɪᴄᴋ – ᴡᴇ’ʀᴇ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ʙᴀʙʏ, ʙᴀʙʏ! ᴛᴡ: ꜰᴇʀᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ ɪꜱꜱᴜᴇꜱ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ (ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ/ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ)

After months at it like horny rabbits, a feat you didn’t think possible considering Dick’s baseline libido, it had seemed like an impossible task. You’d long since given up trying, at least until the fertility treatment appointment Bruce has dropped big bucks on, which wasn’t for a few more weeks.

It’s why you didn’t get your hopes up when your period didn’t come as expected. It’s why you didn’t reach for a pregnancy test straight away, why Dick didn’t push the subject. Neither of you wanted to deal with the sting of disappointment that the inevitably negative test would administer.

At least that’s what you’d thought the mutually agreed up status would be. When you emerge from the en-suite, limbo status pee stick in hand, Dick keeps his head down, but you see his stormy blue eyes, peeking out from under his dark locks, his yearning clear as day. It breaks your heart as you picture his face in 10 minutes' time, the same look of disappointment, of grief you’d seen too many times before, plastered on his face, only adding to your own feelings of pain and inadequacy.

But at the same time, it’s Dick who makes you feel better when you’re low, so you climb into the bed beside him and curling up in his arms. Eyes closed, focused only on the soothing fluctuation of his chest and the feel of his lips against your forehead.

“Hey, baby.” Dicks voice stirs you. You’re not sure if you’d been sleeping for a while or if you’d just started to doze but your eyes feel heavy as you look up at your partner. He’s trying to keep a straight face, but the corners of his eyes are creased in a way you recognise as his attempt to hide a smile, and you have to remind yourself not to expect anything. “Look.”

Something shifts in your peripheral, Dick is waving the test back and forth to grab your attention, but the movement makes it hard to read the test window until you reach out to grab it from him.

Two lines.

Two beautiful, beautiful lines.

“We’re…”

He finally cracks, lips twisting into a genuine, sunny smile. One you’d missed wholeheartedly. It doesn’t leave his lips as he presses it to your face, over and over, words marred as he smothers you with his affections. “We’re gonna have to give you a new nickname, cause we’re having a baby, baby!”

ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ – ɪ ᴡᴏɴ’ᴛ ꜱᴀʏ ɪ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ. ᴛᴡ: ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴀʀɢᴜɪɴɢ.

There isn’t even a hint of irony or humour in his face. He’s stone-cold serious. More than 200 lbs of muscle, scar tissue, and don’t-fuck-with-me- face, standing in front of you with an unopened pregnancy test.

“You can’t be serious.” He doesn’t falter at your dismissal, position and face held firm even as you roll your eyes and attempt to gently bat the box away. “I think I’d know if I was pregnant.”

“Would you?” The stern look on his face finally waivers, making way for a cocked brow and a teasing smirk. He can be so smug sometimes; Thinks he knows you better than you know yourself.

You might regret giving him an inch, but you concede, slightly. “Okay, maybe I wouldn’t know know, but I’d have a hunch.”

“Yeah? Well, I have a hunch.” He fires back, following close behind you as you attempt to walk away. Right on your heels until you collapse on the couch. “Humour me.”

“A hunch based on what?” You ask as he joins you, lifting your legs to make space for himself before letting them fall back down onto his lap.

“Well…” Milky eyes land on your breasts just long enough to make a point before they trail back down your body, stopping at your ankles, which admittedly have been giving you trouble recently. When he pressed his thumb hard into its joints and starts to massage them, you don’t complain, but you’re not willing to admit defeat just yet. “You’ve been… swelling, and you’ve been peeing a lot. Weird things make you nauseous, things you used to like.”

Of course, you’ve noticed these things too, but when he starts listing them back-to-back like this you can’t deny that his case is might just be a teensy bit compelling.

“You’re tired all the time, and I’m pretty sure you’re-”

“Okay, fine.” You yield, playfully glaring at him as you grab the box from the coffee table where he’d placed it before joining you. “I’ll take the test, but when I’m right, and I will be, you have to go to the store and buy me ice cream.”

“Random food cravings, that's also a sign.” Before you bite back he already raises his arms in surrender, a cheeky, boyish laugh rolling off his tongue under the burn of your glare until you close the bathroom door behind you.

Jason can be quite the sore loser when his stake is high enough, but he’s always been a surprisingly gracious, if quietly complacent, winner. You know this, as you sheepishly exit the bathroom 20 minutes later, positive test in hand.

You’re not quite sure what you’d expected to find upon your emergence, but Jason, grinning ear to ear, ice cream and a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting in hand is certainly a sight you could get used to.

ᴋʏʟᴇ – ᴍoᴍᴍʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ.

He’s clueless. Tired as a worn-out rag, as he drags his feet around the apartment. He’s greeted you with a cheery smile, and a long-awaited smooch, undoubtedly happy to be home and with you once again. But Lantern business is arduous, and while his heart might be all in on being home, his brain certainly isn’t switched on.

“I can do all that for you.” You volunteer, watching closely as he boils the kettle, tries to undress, and attempts to unpack what he can, but he’s having none of it.

“No, no, it’s fine. I can do it.” He reassures you, love in his eyes as he blinks slow and sleepily at you, tasks at hand almost forgotten. “I- um- you- you rest. I’m home now, so um- so you don’t have to do everything around here.”

With his attention on you for a moment, you try to avert his gaze downward to the growing bump in your belly, or your t-shirt which states; ‘MOMMY TO BE’ in big, bold, colourful font, but the kettle starts to sing before he comprehends anything, and he’s turns away from you all too soon.

“You do everything all over the universe.” You point out as you join him at the counter, retrieving two mugs for him to fill. “I don’t see why you should have to do everything around here too. Not yet, anyway.”

“Not yet?” He questions slowly, eying you confused, following your hands as you smooth them down your shirt before resting your palms against your stomach. “Mommy to be.”

He reads your shirt aloud, slowly sounding out each syllable before repeating, “Mommy. Momm-eee… Wait, you’re gonna be a mommy?”

Already his drowsy eyes are several inches wider, his mouth agape, curling into a wide grin as you nod. “You’re gonna be a mommy, which means I’m gonna be a dad? Me! A daddy!?”

“Yes!” Clutching your hands tight and bringing them to his chest.

“Oh, this is the best news! This is amazing! I love you so much.” Kyle is the first to start jumping up and down, newfound energy now coursing through his body, but you follow his lead soon after, briefly. All that hopping can't be good for the baby after all.

ʀᴏʏ – ᴘɪɴᴄʜ ᴍᴇ.

Telling Roy became more of a spectacle than you’d hoped. Despite all your best efforts to play things cool, you could feel their eyes on you across the table. Roy’s, Dinah’s, Ollie's. Every glance might seem totally innocuous to any onlookers, but you could see the curiosity behind every prolonged stare and quirked lip as you declined alcohol, and coffee, and coke. Who knew there were so many boundaries on what pregnant people should and shouldn’t eat. No eggs, no poultry, no cheese, no fish.

Obviously, you couldn’t have known that Roy would have succeeded in his long-standing purpose to knock you up when you’d agreed to dinner with the soon-to-be in-laws, but man, had you known, you’d have declined.

At least then you wouldn’t be sweating like a sinner as you try to stomach the only thing on the menu that meets all your new dietary requirements. They're some of the smartest people you know, surely they can tell.

“So,” Dinah starts, and you can feel yourself unraveling. “Are you-”

“Yes! Yes, fine, I’m pregnant.” The word vomit escapes you under the mounting pressure before you even think them through, and you realise very quickly, as you process the barrage of wide, confused eyes staring at you, that your confession may have been unnecessary.

“I was going to ask if you’re enjoying your food.” Dinah clarifies, smiling as her eyes find Roy’s over the table. “But congratulations, how exciting.”

“That is great news. I think another round is in order, don’t you Di? Lemonade all round!” Ollie continues, and you nod and smile politely, but really, your energy is focused on Roy, who hasn’t moved an inch or said a word since your impromptu announcement.

His expression gives nothing away, and his eyes don’t even land on you until he feels the palm of your hand drape over the top of his. “Roy, are you okay? I thought you'd be excited.”

You thought he’d be happier. He’s been begging for this for months, but you have to strain your eyes when he finally speaks up, forest green eyes detached as he whispers. “Pinch me.”

“What?”

“Pinch me.” He repeats, and the relief floods through you as you watch his lips crack into a triumphant smile. Unadulterated joy flooding his face all at once as he grabs both your arms and pulls you closer. “This is the best thing to happen since Lian was born!”

ᴡᴀʟʟʏ – ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ. ᴛᴡ: ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴀʀɢᴜɪɴɢ.

“Open up I gotta take a leak.” Your husband calls from the other side of the wood that separates you, stirring you from your disoriented train of thought.

As a couple, you’d been trying for a baby ever since you’d tied the knot, but now that it’s really happening, the reality of the situation has hit you like a ton of bricks. A baby. A real flesh and blood child, a fragile little being who will be reliant on you, who will look to you for guidance and for, well, everything.

“You good?” Wally shouts again, this time knocking on the door, stopping your descent into internal panic before it happens again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You lie, shoving the cap back on the test before hiding it in your back pocket, opening the door, and greeting Wally with a smile that even you know doesn’t reach your eyes.

He smiles back at you, but his gaze lingers on your expression, those emerald irises seemingly looking right through you, but the pressure in his bladder must win out because he doesn’t follow you as you swap places, and the sound of his zipper fills your ears before the door is even closed.

You barely make it downstairs before the telltale rush of wind that signifies his presence hits you, however. He’s waiting for you on the couch by the time you reach it, bottom lip between his teeth and he looks at you with big sad eyes.

Before you can even ask him what’s wrong, he pipes up; “So, when where you gonna tell me?”

He looks as troubled as you feel, but apparently for different reasons.

“Tell you what…” You trail off as you clock it; the pink plastic stick that has been in your pocket now twirls deliberately between Wally’s anxiously animated fingers. “Of course I was, I just needed a little time to process first.”

When Wally talks-faster-than-he-runs West has nothing to say, you know there’s something wrong. There is rarely silence between you, and while you’ve never felt the need to justify anything to the man you love, you do feel an itch to make some noise, so you keep talking. “It’s just, I know I should be happy, and I am! I’m just also, scared. You know?”

In an instant, the concern etched into his features melts, replaced by the sunshine you’d come to love; his freckles shifting under the stretch of a smile. Your own tense muscles relaxing at the sound of his laugh. “Of course you’re scared, I'm scared too” Having kids is terrifying!”

“Yeah?” You ask quietly, feeling silly for getting so in your head about the situation.

“Yeah!” Wally replies. You watch as he starts to stand before disappearing from view, and reappearing right behind you, arms wrapped tight around your torso, bringing you in for a hug. His lips are soft against the back of your neck as he nuzzles into you. “But we’re gonna be scared together, right, Momma?”

[superhoeva]

of course, simon riley would fall for someone with the most sensitive gag reflex in the world.

you poor thing–can’t even get the man’s cock a third of the way into your mouth before your body jerks and you’re coughing, already-glassy eyes peeking up at him. he just thumbs at you jaw with a quiet s’alright, jus’ try again before nudging his head into your lips.

only a little desperate to hear you choke on it again, simon tips his hips a little harder. 

mean, sure. but worth it.

you gag again, harder than before, lurching off of him only to leave behind a slinking line of spit that keeps the two of you attached. simon hisses and collects the drool, wiping it on your cheek while trying to hide the quirk of his lips. his cock bobs in the air for a short moment, heavy and aching, as you eye it with half uncertainty, half-determination.

“you wanna stop?”

you shake your head at simon’s question, interrupting his praise by grabbing him at the base and shoving him halfway down. you hold him there for longer than he expects, swallowing down the gags that attempt to force you off. gripping the back of your head, simon pushes himself even deeper, finally groaning when his tip grazes the back of your throat. you’re just barely able to keep yourself from coughing him up, hands hurrying to grip his thighs like they’re something that will save you.

“pinch ‘f it’s too much, yeah?”

you nod and simon grunts, holding you steady as he starts to fuck your face.

jesus, it’s a mess. you’re a mess and he loves it. there’s a gathering pile of spit collecting at your knees as it escapes your lips and drips down. his tip drags across the back of your tongue and pokes through to your throat. he doesn’t get as far as he wants but it still feels better than good. hot and tight and slick with all the spit you’re retching up.

“that’s good, pet,” simone seeps out, voice taught as he pants through his nose. simon doesn’t let go of your head, balls twitching when you heave with a wet gasp. “fuck, you’re a sight. keep gaggin’ on me, feels nice.”

you sweet, sweet, disgusting thing. dousing his dick in a coat of bubbly spit, wheezing whatever air you can around him and even trying to glide your tongue at the veins that lightning the entire way to his sack–which is just as filthy with the mess that’s tracked its way down.

when he cums, you spit it back up, slicking his member even more. then the man fucking coos at you because your eyes are red, your chin is soaked, and the voice you speak to him in is nothing more than a hoarse squeak.

“how was that? was i better?”

simon smears his fingers across your chin before reaching to push it into his mouth. his cock jumps at the taste, returning back to life with ease, just as he drags you back into your feet. he palms the nape of your neck to make you look at him, eyes staring back to scan your wrecked face. then softens with a tiny, pleased smirk.

“fuckin’ gorgeous, aren’t ya?”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[satrs]

Requested by anon ↳ ❝ [...Ooh, imagine getting the collar with the bell that Caleb once mentioned to you in game. You’re so nonchalant, the bell tinkering every time you move. And Caleb is gone. He’s a gone man, because what do you mean his pipsqueak wore a collar??? With bell??? His initials??? Oh no no no no, he’s not going to let you win that easily. ] ¡! ❞

A/N; YUPPP LUV UR MIND NONNIE!!!

TAGS.MDNI! NSFW/DARK CONTENT! collar wearing, possesive caleb bc when is he not. unprotected intercourse.

You step into the room, the soft tinkle of the bell on your collar ringing with every step, drawing Caleb's attention instantly.

Like a moth to a flame.

His eyes snap to you fast, jaw tightening as he catches the sight of his initials gleaming on that little tag resting against your neck.

A wicked grin spreads across your lips as you take small, jumpy steps forward, hips swaying just enough for the bell to jingle louder.

If you keep doing this, he's gonna—

You tilt your head, voice in a low tease as you grin at him, seductive gleam in your eyes.

"Catch me if you can."

Now you've done it.

Before he can even think, he's up, eyes blazing with desperate need as his hands reach out, but you're already slipping away.

The bell's tinkling, ringing through the room as you dart past him, right into your shared bedroom.

"Fuck, you're gonna be the death of me, pips," he growls roughly as he charges after you, hunger bleeding into every step.

You laugh breathlessly, heart pounding with excitement as you weave through the furniture, Caleb hot on your heels. His hands finally clamp around your waist, fingers digging in possessively, pulling you back with brutal force.

"Nuh uhhh, no running," he lifts you effortlessly and carries you toward the bed, lips crashing onto yours with such eagerness of tongues and teeth clashing.

The bell jingles wildly with every movement, and he swears he feels his dick jump as he examines the initials— C A L E B, big and bold decorating your neck.

"Got no chance to hide now," he rasps, hands roaming, fingers digging in as his cock presses hard against your thigh. You shiver as his hips grind into you, your pussy crying to get some of his attention.

You try to slip away from his greedy grasp, but Caleb's faster, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand strong hand, the other sliding beneath your shirt to cup your breast, flicking your nipple teasingly.

And when he finally gets to fuck you? Ohhh you better brace yourself because he'll make sure that damn bell gets to ringing!

The bell on your collar tinkles with every desperate thrust, a constant, concrete reminder that you're his.

It jiggles loud and proud, his gaze flickering between the golder ball and your mesmemerizing face, and God give him strength or he's going to burst like a pre-mature teenager.

He's losing his mind.

Caleb's breath is ragged, chest heaving as he slams into you mercilessly, fingers clutching your hips, his cock stretching you to your limits.

His jaw is clenched so tight you can almost hear the tension, and every grunt, every growl is just as raw as his fat tip nudging your cervix.

"Fuckin' minx," he snarls, voice rough and desperate, "Got this goddamn bell on purpose, h-hahh? Can't fucking focus 'cause it keeps jingling every. damn. time. I give yer' sweet womb a kiss."

You moan, pressing your forehead against his sweaty shoulder, hips grinding into him hard, meeting his strong thrusts. The bell tinks again, louder now, each chime like a marker of your shared madness, your mutual obsession.

"Pipsqueak— o-ohhh pips', my pretty girl," voice cracking he thrusts deeper, harder, "Mine— f-fuckkk yeah, allll mine, yeah? Wanna let everyone know you're mine?"

"Yessss, baby! All— nghhh!— all yours, all yours!"

His hands dig into your thighs, lifting you higher, curved length hitting your g-spot, causing you to gush around him.

Tink, tink, tink— the bell's never silent, jingling with every savage thrust, with every desperate cry escaping your lips.

"F-fuck, baby—" Caleb chokes, the words barely coherent, his forehead pressed to yours, damp curls sticking to his skin as he loses it.

You can feel it.

The way his thrusts grow frantic, sloppy, like his body's moving faster than his mind. The tremble in his arms as he pins you down harder.

"Shit, shit, 'm—gonna—!" His hips jerk once, twice—

Until he breaks.

He spills into you with a ragged moan, cock twitching as thick hot cum floods you. Your walls spasm around him again, sucking him deeper, milking him through it as the bell rings madly between your bodies, almost screaming your filth into the room louder than your talkative pussy.

He slumps over you, panting, breath hot on your neck. But your legs stay locked around his waist, your hips still rolling.

And of course the bell's still jingling mad.

"That damn bell's gonna haunt me in my fuckin' dreams."

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[rawme-price]

Gaz with pup!reader who knows how to be stern without being controlling. He makes sure you know to obey, but let's u get out ur energy and play when u need. His favourite way to settle u down is fucking a nice big knotted toy into u, keeping u plugged up during the night.

Price with pup!reader who *is* controlling. He's particular about the collar you where, what toys you use, where you sleep. Ofc its all the best for u, but ur just a dumb pup and price knows what u need so its better when he controls it. When u get too rowdy price has u kneel between his legs and cockwarm him, if ur really good he let's u hump his boot.

Ghost with pup!reader who maybe indulges you too much. He's just so fond of his pup, hes more than willing to buy you new toys and gear. He likes to cuddle with his pup, sprawled out in bed just enjoying ur warmth with a finger hooked under ur collar. Praises u when u take all of him with "good puppy! Youre doing great."

Soap with pup!reader who likes to be just a little mean. Keeps u in ur crate with a toy stuffed inside u, he loves to watch ur lashes clump with tears. Soap yanks u around by ur collar, loves to manhandle his pup. U hardly go a moment without him shoving ur face into his crotch and telling u to lick. But its okay, he gives u belly rubs and eats u out after :)

[yan-randomfandom]

How would yandere saja boys react to reader being a child of Gwi ma, but is nothing like him as in they want to help people?

Saja Boys x Demon!GN!Reader

a/n; i keep missing in my fics, i keep forgetting the plot!! so sorry anon,, i don't know what i'm trying to do in this one (⁠´⁠;⁠︵⁠;⁠`⁠) but i do love the new scenario!! tho sadly this isn't obviously yandere,,

— 👑

"Dying king with a crumbling crown," you hum, a teasing smile stretching across your feline lips. "Will he let the fire go out?"

Jinu sighs, absentmindedly plucking his strings. "As much as I love seeing two tigers, I think it'd be best if you take another form. It's creepy watching you talk with its teeth."

With a chuckle, you shapeshift into his bird instead, licks of fire dying as soon as it appeared. You made sure to keep the tiny hat on. "Yeah, sure, okay. Hey, that was a pretty bold move to your king. Y'know, my creator."

One of his demon companions snort. You snap your eyes toward the one with abs. "That's Jinu for you. Knows what he wants, knows what Gwi-Ma wants. As it's always been."

Jinu doesn't react, he doesn't reply—yet, you and the rest of the Saja Boys could tell he's deeply uncomfortable. He continues his focus on his bipa.

Baby coughs. "Look, I'll do the rapping, yeah?"

"I already said that—"

... After a while, you stare blankly as they get lost in their planning. Listening to every word. Paying attention to their movements. You can barely contain the frown itching to crawl on your—oh, wait. You have a beak.

"Master," Mystery suddenly calls, poking a finger on your wing.

You make an expression with three eyes. "Do not call me that. What is it, Mystery?"

His lips curl. "Why are you here?"

All your three eyes blink. The rest seem to be intrigued for your answer.

Of course, you're here to disrupt their plans. You don't say that out loud. Always so grateful that you and Gwi-Ma have cut connection, so even he can't hear your spirits.

"I believe I don't need to answer you," you shrug, earning some looks. You flatter your wings and stand on Mystery's shoulder instead. His smile grows. "Just keep doing your magic."

— 🐦‍⬛

You wonder what the Huntrix girls are doing right now.

Probably better than... whatever this is.

"Gwi-Ma is going to be so disappointed in us."

"What? No! The opposite! He'd be so impressed, we'll never have to be punished—"

"Master's waiting for us to move already."

Gwi-Ma this. Gwi-Ma that. Even if you're the literal spawn of the guy, it's still such a bummer with him being the only topic in this damn world. Well, aside from famine and destruction of your kind. Okay. Enough of this. You have to check on the girls.

Jumping off of Mystery's shoulder, you shift into your true form, pink fire dancing in your silhouette.

You thought you could quietly leave but—

"Where are you going?" comes Jinu's voice, inquisitive. Suspicious, almost.

Romance cast you a look. "You haven't even seen our rehearsal yet! Or, maybe, you'd like to see it live—"

You flow your fire to Romance's side, patting his head in reassurance. "I'll be there."

Maybe that's good enough to be convincing. Then, you leave.

— 🔥

In one of the farthest seat of the stadium, you sit and watch as the Huntrix practice for their performance. Put simply, they're amazing. You always did prefer acapella from the girls.

You've taken a human form, hopefully that will be enough for them to lay off if they spot you. Act like one of the staff who's slacking or whatever.

"So this is where you are," a familar deep voice mutters, and you immediately shoot up a hand to their face. A face that's come from a half-body in the seat next to you, the Honmoon tear strong in your senses.

Between your startled glare and fingers, Baby smiles in curiousity as his eyes glow. "I'm a little hurt. Didn't know you prefer the hunters."

You relax. Okay, cool. He found you spying on Huntrix. "No one will believe you."

A cough. You follow the noise on the floor and find three out of four other Saja Boys. Abby, Romance, and Mystery stares at you with something in their expressions—completely unreadable.

"Does Gwi-Ma know you're—"

Hmm. Darn. You interrupt whoever spoke. "Why are you all here? Did you come to look for me?"

You turn, seeing Baby's immense stare on you. But he doesn't answer. None of them do.

... Weirdos.

"Where's Jinu?"

Baby pauses, then points at the other side of the area.

You follow his direction and Jinu barely meets your eyes.

A frown makes its way to your lips. This human... This human is a wonder. You have Gwi-Ma's memories—while the others are fairly content with their sins, you know Jinu's so much more complicated than that.

Honestly. He'll know about Rumi's patterns in one way or another.

Someone pokes your cheek.

You sigh. "Mystery, stop doing that."

"Ah, no, I'm Abby. You're acting weird."

You? Acting weird? Haven't you always been? You look down on your patterns. An intricate design and color unlike the others.

The weight of your memories — not even yours, really — rumbles in the pit of your core. You don't like what you are, or where you are, or who you are. But, at the same time, you care so much. It's hard to think.

"I'm not answering that," you say eventually, using your higher position whenever convenient.

—

errmm my bad, also im trying to combine asks as I go ... hrrmmm eeemm hmmmm it's not working well

i tried to go with demon reader (anon1) and reader who hates the saja boys but loves huntrix (anon2) but for this one—they just really don't like what they stand for

[loserabby]

could you write something on eating out big pussy!abby for the first time

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚.     𝐒𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑 (𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐈'𝐌 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑) big clit!abby x reader

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ . ** MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOGI DO NOT GIVE ANYBODY PERMISSION TO REUPLOAD OR PLAGARISE MY WORK. IF YOU SEE SOMETHING I'VE WRITTEN ANYWHERE ELSE OTHER THAN HERE OR MY A03, PLEASE LET ME KNOW VIA ASK **

₊˚ 𓂃 ₊ ˚ ✧     some people just aren't into receiving, or at least that's what you think the problem is when it comes to the fact that your girlfriend of two months still won't let you make her feel good. until you accidentally catch her naked for the first time and suddenly you start to get an idea about what might actually be the problem.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 :     explicit language and content, use of Y/N, no outbreak au (modern), established relationship, references to sex, enlarged clitoris (clitoromegaly), slight misunderstandings. sexual content: kissing, dry humping (once again, to quote madeline argy: BRING BACK DRY HUMPING), mentions of strap-ons and sex-toys, cunnilingus, cum eating. slight dirty talk. mentions of past bodyshaming, embarrassment 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 :     5,869k

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 :     i mean i imagine her pussy to be an absolute meal in all my writing but this one really focus' on it. shout out to @onlyheluvsme for being the mvp of team big clit abby i highly recommend going through her masterlist for that it's... chefs kiss. ngl the smut is not my best but this has been fermenting in my drafts for like a week and showed no signs of getting better I'M SORRY. and finally, clitoromegaly is obviously nothing to be embarrassed by and i don't want anyone to take abby's shame/bad experiences in the past as me mocking the mutation but it is something others might not be as well educated about so i didn't want to pretend that doesn't happen.     [ read on ao3 ]

[ border credit ]     [ resources for palestine ]     [ boycott tlou ]

Admittedly, it takes a few times before you start to pick up on a recurring theme and when you do pick up on it? You don’t just feel guilty but… Curious, and deep down… Disappointed. 

Abby had wanted to take it slow and to her credit, you guys had only been officially dating for two months. Taking that into consideration with classes, part-time jobs and other college related things that meant you were both busy, it was understandable that she wanted to take it slow when you guys were able to see each other. 

She was a gentleman, making sure to take you out on proper dates first — not just somewhere quick and then have her hand up your skirt on the car ride home but actual restaurants with recommended dishes and signature wines that just confused you. She’d kissed you properly for the first time in her apartment on date number three, a movie forgotten about in the background but even then, she’d wanted to keep the pacing of your relationship slow.

But when you did start to get hot and heavy? God, it was good. So blindsightingly good you didn’t notice that every time it seemed to always focus on you. 

Climb on her lap? She readjusts you so you’re straddling her thigh instead and you’re so lost to the pleasure of your clit dragging against your panties and the hard muscle of her leg to pick up on it. 

Your hand snakes down to try and touch her pussy? She’s got your wrists pinned above your head in one hand, your nipples caught between her teeth and her other hand rubbing fast circles against your clit before you know it.

It doesn’t help that by the time you’re both in those situations, it’s late and when Abby finally decides she’s pulled enough orgasms out of you — slick coating your thighs, sticky against your cunt, her chin shiny from where she’d used her mouth on you and fingers still smelling of you even after she’s sucked them clean obscenely in front of you — you’re too exhausted to even think about cleaning up, never mind returning the favor.

Which fucking sucks cause when you do realise you can’t help but pout at how many opportunities you’ve been robbed of seeing her eyes roll to the back of her head, to see what her pussy looks like as it quivers. 

You were no stranger to pussy, it’s not like you wouldn’t know what to do. In fact you were proud to say you were very much a giver in that you could spend all day between a girls thighs much like Abby has done for you previously.

You’ve dated other girls before that maybe weren’t as keen on reciprocating and, given the circumstances, you assume at first that maybe that’s what Abby thinks about you. You had just rolled over and gone straight to sleep (albeit after making her spoon you and wrapping her big, strong arms around you beforehand so you’d feel safe in your fucked out state) so it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that she had assumed you were a pillow princess.

Respectfully to all pillow princesses, that misconception simply will not do.

So you try and subtly make it clear that you are very much interested in being a munch the next time Abby has you pressed into her sofa at her campus apartment, fingers buried knuckle deep inside your pussy, so wet you can hear every movement as she fucks you harshly. Abby’s got her mouth on your neck, sucking dark marks at your collarbones that make you whimper and keen before soothing them with her tongue and soft kisses as her thumb strums over your clit.

“So fucking pretty, baby, look at you swallowing my fingers so easily… Greedy little hole’s sucking me in” The blonde hisses against your skin, having to use her other hand that was groping your tits roughly to keep your thighs open. They’re shaking, threatening to slam shut even with Abby lying between them and you whimper as you feel her fingers digging into the soft flesh. 

Last time she left the prettiest bruises there, you’d spent days pressing your own touch to them just to feel the ache, an embarrassing wave of sadness coming over you when they started to fade. So maybe you purposely don’t hold back from letting your thighs twitch and writhe so she’s forced to hold you tighter, just so you’re maybe gifted with another reminder of her touch.

“Please, please… Let me, I wanna…” It’s unclear what you’re begging for, to cum or to touch her. You’re so close but not quite lost to the delirium Abby brings by orgasm number three so you take advantage of that, shaky hand coming out to grip at the butch woman’s jeans but faltering, instead clutching at whatever you can grab when her fingers start pounding at that gummy spot deep inside only she seems able to find as your vision starts to white out. 

You can feel yourself clenching around her fingers, the sound of your weeping pussy obscene as she continues her relentless finger fucking. “Shit, baby, you’re so.. Fucking.. Tight” she grits the words out, chuckling when she looks at you beneath her with your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your back arching off the couch and your head thrown back so far. “You coming? Gonna make a mess on the leather for me? C’mon, lets see how messy this pretty pussy can get for me, yeah?”

It doesn’t take long after that, pussy squirting all over Abby’s hand and dripping down your ass to the leather couch like Abby predicted, but even then she doesn’t let up with her relentless torture of your clit and hole. You try to grab at her jeans again, trying to unbutton them but she shakes her head, eyes wide for a split second before she’s making soft coaxing noises, your hands pinned above your head again. “All about you, baby” Is all she murmurs against your skin, before she makes sure to send you over the edge again and again, effectively cutting off any urgency in completing your task.

The next time you try and focus on Abby, try to make it clear you want to reciprocate is when the two of you are watching a movie at her apartment, your body lazily thrown over her and your head resting in the crook of her neck and your arms tossed around her.

Slowly your attention drifts from the screen, bored by some adaptation of a historical-fiction book Abby read but you’ve never heard of. Your lips slowly trail down her neck, featherlight kisses pressed to her collarbones as one of your arms drops and begins to drift below the blanket she’d pulled out to keep you both warm.

Abby’s attention is still on the film, still pointing out changes they made from the book to the movie but you know the moment she realises where your hand has gone. You feel her reaction more than see it, how her breath catches and her body stiffens. Your hand immediately stops tracing her crotch, teasing line drug along her slit over the fabric of her basketball shorts. 

“Sorry, I didn’t— I shouldn’t..” You pull your hand away quickly, your apology rushed and face hot from embarrassment. 

“We should, um.. We should focus on the film, yeah?” Abby says after some consideration, and you just wanna hide in embarrassment and shame because she clearly didn’t like that. 

You miss how she clenches her thighs together, mistake her heart racing for being out of panic and try to ignore the failed attempt at seducing your girlfriend when she has you bent over the sofa a few hours later on her strap in the low light of her living room, cooing in your ear about how pretty you look dripping down her cock.

Maybe you come to the conclusion Abby might be a stone butch, a touch-me-not, whatever the hell you wanna call it. Because she seems to shy away with every advance you make to try and reciprocate. 

You get it if that is the case but can’t help but feel like that should have been mentioned, communicated in some way so you didn’t feel so… Weird about it. Sue me, you think, is it so wrong to want to touch your girlfriend? Your incredibly attractive girlfriend? No, surely not.

You wouldn’t exactly say it’s a deal breaker, you like Abby a lot. Even in the little amount of time you both have been together already, she’s amazing and not just physically — although that is certainly a perk. 

She’s thoughtful, caring, she makes sure to check in with everyone (seemingly knowing everyone on campus). She always sends a good morning and a good night text, even when she’s deep in her study sessions or writing papers. She makes sure all your dates are ‘real’ ones, even if it’s just going to her apartment to make dinner cause she wanted to make sure you didn’t feel like you were being used for your body. Hell, she even made sure to let you know where the spare key to her apartment was kept so you could let yourself in after that time you got caught in the rain outside waiting for her.

Which leads to now; Enter you, spare key in hand after sending a rushed text to Abby saying you were coming over to talk when you realised you couldn’t go any further without discussing boundaries. 

You should have realised something had thrown a wrench in your plan the second you stepped foot in Abby’s apartment really, the small space weirdly quiet and steam slowly rolling out of her bathroom. Distantly, you can hear the low murmur of music coming from her bedroom, the door slightly ajar.

You’re calling Abby’s name as you push through the door, not bothering to knock as you assume she’s read your text. It’s only when you process what’s in front of you that you come to the realisation that you seem to do an awful lot of assuming — and you know what they say, to assume is to make an ass out of you and me.

Because Abby clearly didn’t read your text, not based on the horrified look on her face when you walk in on her stark naked on her bed. Her skin is flushed, still damp from the shower she’d clearly just taken and her hair dripping big, fat water droplets onto her chest. Her muscled thighs are spread open, heels digging into the mattress as her fingers remain still stuffed deep inside her dripping hole. Her bush is wild and untamed, a light brown that curls through her fingers as her other hand spreads her lips wide open

There’s a voice in the back of your head, a really unnecessary one that points out that it seems like Abby does like being touched after all, but maybe just not by you.

But the best part of the sight — or the worse part, taking Abby’s look of utter shock into consideration — is her pussy, just as a whole. Her enlarged clit, erect and pulsating as it seems to stand to attention. Her pussy as a whole is big, the kind of big that makes your mouth begin to salivate, embarrassingly, as you think playing with it.

It makes you realise you’d never actually seen her pussy before, that every time the two of you fucked she was either fully clothed or had her strap on over her boxers. How cruel of her to hide that perfect pussy away.

“I… I texted” You say weakly after a few moments of silence, stood in a half step in the door way. 

Abby doesn’t move, and you don’t know what else to say as you spiral, murmuring apologies and rushing back out the door before Abby is able to process what just happened.

Communicating isn’t going so well, more so after you accidentally walked in on Abby’s post-shower masturbation session. She’s avoided pretty much all your texts asking to talk and even gone as far as changing her routine to avoid running into you.

It kind of leaves you in a weird limbo where you’re not quite sure where you went wrong. There’s definitely areas you could have improved on (i.e. actually communicating about boundaries from the start so all this assuming bullshit didn’t happen) but you texted, you said you were coming by. Maybe you could have shouted a hello when you first entered the apartment but the last time Abby was in when you did she said you didn’t have to.

You’re also just incredibly unaware as to what the state of your relationship even is anymore? Is Abby still your girlfriend? Does she only like to touch herself and not be touched by others? It’s frustrating, yes, but you can’t help but feel like you owe Abby the time to digest what happened.

After all, it was her that got walked in on in her own home, completely naked and knuckle deep inside of herself. You can cut the blonde a break.

Doesn’t stop you from salivating at the memory of how beautiful and fucked out she looked that split second before she realised she’d been caught, face contorted in pleasure and juices spilling down past her knuckles.

After a dozen texts to Abby, ranging from apologies to simple messages telling her you missed her and you would wait until she was ready to talk, it’s a week later you finally get a response. It’s simple, to the point and very Abby.

[ Abs ] : You can come to my apartment for dinner, we should talk.

A terrifying text to receive, given the circumstances. The ‘you can come for dinner’ aspect giving you a sense of security, it makes you feel like everythings fine but the ‘we should talk’ part? That’s sending ‘break up talk’ alarm bells ringing through your head.

You text back nervously, asking what time and if you should bring anything. You end up outside her apartment door, pointedly ignoring the space where her spare key is hidden like it might burn, with a bottle of wine in hand as you wait for her to answer.

When she does, there’s a tension between the two of you the moment your eyes meet and — thank god — it’s not a bad kind. It’s like suddenly you’ve both had the air knocked out of you, like you hadn’t realised you’d been missing a piece of yourselves until you saw what was missing right in front of you. Two months you’ve been together, god Lesbians were stereotypically quick to get attached.

You can see how Abby’s eyes soften, warm when she sees you and she has to steady both her hands on the door frame as she welcomes you inside.

“Dinner might be a while,” She says, uncharacteristically timid seeming, her hand drifting to your lower back as she guides you into the apartment. “Sorry, took a little while longer than I thought but, um… We can sit on the sofa? Maybe, uh, if you want we could talk now? Get it out of the way?”

Get it out of the way?

You place the bottle of wine on the coffee table, heart racing as you consider what Abby might be about to say. God, is she about to break up with you? No, she couldn’t be… She’s made dinner, it would be epicly cruel to break up with you and then expect you to stay for whatever homemade pasta dish she’s made.

“I’m sorry!” The words spill from your mouth at a rapid speed, not even bothering to stop to give her a chance to cut in — her brows shot high and eyes wide as you ramble. “I-I texted and I thought that was enough but clearly I didn’t think that through, and I totally should have shouted to let you even know I had arrived in the apartment but I just didn’t think. But.. You.. I.. I froze when I saw, I mean how could I not but I thought you didn’t like that, and I guess that’s my own fault cause I never asked what you do and don’t like — we kinda forgot to have that talk a-and—”

“Woah, woah, Y/N, slow—” Abby tries to cut in, hands coming to your arms to try and stop them from moving around wildly as you talk. “What are you talking about, c’mon, slow down.”

“It’s my own fault, I didn’t notice for way too long and when I finally did, I realised you probably thought I was just a pillow princess so I kept trying to subtly show my interest but you— a-and then you kept pushing me away or turning it back on me so I just figured you didn’t like being touched, stone butch or whatever but then i-in your bed… you… you were touching yourself a-and—”

You only stop, words cutting off suddenly, when Abby takes your face in her hands and forces you to look at her.

“Y/N. Baby, stop. I need you to breathe, calm down for a sec’ okay?” Her words are spoken so softly, the care dripping off each word as she brushes a strand of hair behind your ear gently. “Can you do that for me, slow down and take a breath?”

You nod slowly, watching her reverently. Abby’s tongue darts out to wet her lips as she watches you, taking a deep breath of her own. “I should have talked to you sooner, I’m sorry I just… got caught in my own head. Maybe none of this would have happened if I’d of done that, but if you still want… If you’re still wanting us I’d like to talk now, if that’s okay?” She sounds nervous as she speaks, the words almost practiced. You nod, giving her the time to speak and watching as her hands drop from your face to twiddle nervously on her lap.

“I… It’s not that I don’t like to be touched, I want— I really want that, but I… I haven’t had the greatest experiences in the past when it came to… Other people and what they thought of my body” Your heart aches as Abby speaks, her blue eyes cast down to where her hands lay nervously on her lap and her voice going soft.

“I just… Got used to hiding my body, you know and I didn’t even realise I was doing it until you… You remember that night we were watching the City of Thieves film and you—” She didn’t need to go any further, your face brightening in shame as you recall the awkward rejection. “I just didn’t know how to… broach the subject, y’know, and it’s not like I really thought you’d be judgemental and mean about my body but it’s just built up after so many negative reactions”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes narrowing slightly as you stare at your girlfriend. “Why would I judge you? I know you’re big, I know you’re muscle-y, why would I be mean about that?” You ask in genuine confusion, causing Abby to freeze and look at you equally as confused.

After a beat, she speaks slowly. “You… You think that I was talking… about my body-body?” After a beat, you nod just as slowly. “I was talking about my pussy” She finishes after a long space of silence, blunt and to the point.

Your head cocks to the side, confusion still clear in your expression as you process what she’s saying. What the fuck is so wrong about her pussy? You didn’t see anything wrong with it in that small (but well committed to memory) glimpse you’d had of it. “I don’t?—”

“Shit, you don’t… You really don’t see a problem, do you?” She sounds like she’s in awe, like your total lack of an issue around her genitals is something groundbreaking which makes a simmering bit of rage begin to boil inside of you because who in their damn right mind made the beautiful, the amazing Abby fucking Anderson so insecure in her body she couldn’t even show her girlfriend what she looked like?!

“Shit, okay, uh… I mean, you know — you saw — it’s big. Fatter than the norm’ I guess. It’s a mutation, congenital… I just.. I guess a lot of people I’ve been with have found it weird, ugly a-and they didn’t really wanna.. return the favor or do anything I guess.”

Yep, definitely rage you feel below the surface. The idea that Abby has been dealing with this because of people that were supposed to care for her speaking so badly about her body, for their reactions to something she cannot control makes you clench your fists. But you force yourself to relax, fingers stretching out on your thighs as you try to remain cool.

“Like I said, I didn’t really realise I was doing it until you started to, y’know… And I don't know, I couldn’t stop myself from panicking that it was gonna be the same reaction all over again. I just.. I couldn’t handle seeing that look of… of disgust on your face, not… you.”

Your delicate hands reach out to capture hers, stopping her from picking at the skin around her thumbs nervously as she speaks, to get her attention. “Abby, I.. I know other people have reacted that way but I would never—”

Her cheeks tinge red, her bottom lip drawn between her teeth and a small smirk etching its way onto her face. “I know, Y/N”

“You— You do?”

She nods, looking up to meet your eyes. “Yeah, I know. I, uh.. I figured that out.”

Your face pulls together again in confusion and slight annoyance, if she knew that then why did you spend the last week getting ghosted?! “What do you mean?”

“You have this look that comes over your face whenever you get turned on… Normally see it whenever I’m getting you off but, uh… That day, when you walked in on me? You had it when you were looking at me”

Your mouth drops open, breathless as you take that in. It’s no surprise though, you had been incredibly turned on at the sight, even thinking about it now has a wet spot forming in your panties at just the thought of Abby’s legs spread to unveil that beautiful cunt.

Shaking off the haze of lust, you focus on Abby. “So… Why did you, I mean I was happy to wait as long as you needed — I mean, again, I walked in on you a-and you needed to process that shock — but… why did you wait so long to talk?”

She heaves out a slow sigh, scratching at the back of her neck. “It was just weird, this bizarre 180 I was experiencing where this thing about me and my body that was always… weird for others and that I was kind of, y’know, expecting to be weird for you was suddenly attractive. That made you get that fucked out, horny expression on your face and I… I couldn’t believe it.”

“And now?”

“I mean… I believe it”

At that, your hand comes out to lightly smack at her arm, the both of you falling into light rumbles of laughter. Your hand lingers on Abby’s arm, dropping after a moment too long.

“Asshole,” softly you shake your head, a smile forming on your lips as you dip her head down. “I meant and now what? I mean, I take it this isn’t you breaking up with me like I was worried about?”

Her eyes widen in slight horror, like she hadn’t considered all of the nightmare scenarios that had been swarming in your mind over the last week. “N-No, no, absolutely not. Shit, you didn’t think— God, okay. No, no breakup was ever considered for the record”

That definitely eases the weeks worth of tension that had built up. 

You bite your lip, leaning forward into Abby’s space slightly. After a moment of silence, your needy eyes lift to meet Abby’s “Can we just skip to the part where we kiss and make-up?”

The other girl barely gets her own eager nod out before you’re clambering onto her lap, hands in her hair as you kiss her hard and messily. Your tongue licks into her mouth aggressively, small noises falling from the two of you as your hips rocks against hers. You missed this, missed how Abby tasted, how her tongue felt against yours as she explored your mouth just as thoroughly.

“I missed— missed you… so.. much” Heavy pants bracket each and every word, only broken by Abby pulling your lips back to hers as she devours you whole. She only pulls back with a high-keening hiss when you roll your hips in a certain way against her that makes her clit throb in her boxers. “Fuck, baby, careful” She sounds so pretty when she whines, her lip bitten as her head rolls back against the back sofa cushions.

Her head rolls to the side, looking at the kitchen before she swallows thickly, looking back at you. Her large hands move down to your hips, tapping the hip bones to get you to stand up. 

“Gonna save the food before we forget and burn the apartment down, you… Get in the bedroom” The way she breathes the words out, like she’s as affected as you are makes your head spin and you’re quick to scramble off her lap and into her bedroom.

Abby’s on you quicker than you realise, shoes barely kicked off before she’s at your back and kissing down the column of your neck with her hands running up and down your sides. Turning to face her, you drag her down into a punishing kiss until you feel her bed hit the back of your knees. You don’t fall back though, turning the two of you so Abby now has her back to the bed.

You’re panting when you break the kiss, wetting your lips despite the messy kiss as you look up at Abby through thick lashes with deep arousal. She looks equally as fucked, hair messy from where your fingers have gone through it as you both made out and her blue eyes dark with need. “Get on the bed for me, Abs. Like… Like you were that day” You sound fucked out already, thinking back to when you caught her touching herself like a wanton whore. You see the moment it registers in Abby’s mind what you’re asking her to do, a single raised eyebrow as she breathes heavily.

Slowly she strips her clothes, kicking her own shoes off. You spend equal time helping her discard her clothes as you do standing back and admiring her form, salivating as her tits spring free of her sports bra. She’s just got her boxers left when she crawls onto the bed, laying back against the headboard before lifting her hips and pulling them free.

She pulls them past her ankles and throws them on the floor, landing with a soft noise by your feet. Not that you notice, no, you’re too focused on Abby. Lay back on the bed, completely bare with only her knees propped up straight and infront of her to cover that pretty pussy of hers.

Your eyes are dark, hungry as you stare ahead, right where you know her crotch is covered by her legs. “Abby, that’s not how you were lay when I caught you” The words are low, almost rough as you wait, watching.

Her long hair, free from the braid she always wears, cascading messily down her shoulders is pushed behind her nervously before she slowly spreads her thighs and finally mirrors the position you’d caught her in a week ago.

Her heels aren’t quite digging into the mattress with need the way they were that day, but Abby isn’t nearly as worked over as she was then either. Still, you move forward hungrily, almost drawn to her like a magnet with your palms spread on the mattress to catch yourself as you instinctively move to get closer to her glistening slit. You look like a predator, crawling up from the foot of the bed and settling between her thighs, eyeing her pussy like prey.

She’s wet, so fucking wet you know your fingers would glide with ease through her folds. It makes you dizzy with lust, watching how her large clit throbs as you stare it down.

“Fuck, what… What now?” Abby whines, voice soft and breathy.

“Show me what you were doing before I walked in” Your voice is low, rough and your eyes don’t lift once from her drenched core.

You can hear the needy whines from Abby, her soft little moans that make you want to bite and kiss at her skin but she does as she’s told. Her hands come down to her pussy, one hand spreading her lips wide to show you everything while her other eases in with slow circles against her clit.

Not that she needs warming up, not with how quick she is to react to the barely there circular motions she does. “C’mon baby, you can do more. What did you do with this pretty pussy after that?”

Bottom lip drawn between her teeth, Abby can’t help but watch your darkened gaze as she drags two of her thick fingers through her slick, coating them with her juices before working them inside her hole.

Instinctively you lean in closer, inhaling her scent as you watch her twitching hole stretch to take her digits. Each time she fucks her fingers into herself, slowly and so fucking erotically, you watch as her hips lift slightly to meet her fingers, clit bumping against her palm and leaving a messy trail behind.

“So fucking gorgeous, look so pretty stretched around your fingers” You barely register your own voice, that you’ve said anything as you practically drool at the sight. No, wait, you’re actually drooling. Okay, between that and the obscene sounds of Abby fucking herself you can’t stop yourself, deciding you’d waited long enough to give.

Still, you can’t stop yourself from teasing before you stop her as you begin by kissing up her ankles. Your lips make sure to suck the occasional hickey the closer you get to her inner thighs, laughing low and wickedly when you hear her whine so pretty and the muscles of her thighs quiver. By the time you make your way close to where she wants you — and more importantly, where you have been wanting to be all this time — you have to take a moment to just… stare.

Take it in.

Fucking beautiful.

Licking a stripe up her pussy, slow flat tongue against her before sucking her fat clit into your mouth and laughing as she keens, hips lifting off the mattress before moaning at the taste of her. Above you, Abby’s head eventually falls back against the headboard with a soft thud as she makes a low, whining noise.

That’s when you start eating her out like a woman starved, messy and unashamed as you go to town. Licking her long and rough, spit falling from your mouth as you suck her clit into your mouth and lay one of your hands flat against her abdomen to keep her from lifting off the bed. She melts like honey on your tongue, the sheets beneath her messy with a mixture of her arousal and your saliva as it drips both down her ass and off your chin.

You’re eating her out half with the desire to bring her over the edge, to show her what all her other partners should have been giving her this entire time, and another part of you wants to just lap at her pussy with no regards. Hungry for the taste of her juices on your lips, to swirl your tongue around her protruding bud like you’re lazily licking an ice cream cone.

Her hands are in your hair, torn between yanking you off her when you suck harshly on her fat clit, laughing as she whines and whimpers, or pressing your face against her cunt to keep you fixed in one spot when you start to go rogue

“Oh.. Oh god, yes!” She’s a mess, completely gone beneath you when you finally decide to focus on getting her off. She’s soaked, dripping down your hand when you do touch her, and flooding your mouth with her arousal so much that when you grow desperate — yanking her up and throwing her on her hands and knees, eating her out from behind — you can’t stop the way her arousal drips onto the sheets beneath. She’s too damn wet for your mouth to capture all of it and the thought makes you feel feral.

“C’mon, Abs, I wanna feel you cum on my tongue okay? Wanna feel that pretty clit throbbing in my mouth”

You’ve got your hands at the junction where her thighs and her ass meet, spreading the skin so you have the max amount of access as you bring her over the edge, Abby’s neighbours no doubt able to hear her reaching her apex with her wailing. You move one of your hands down as you focus your mouth on her clit, fingers pushing inside of Abby’s warm heat again and sighing against her slick as her hole sucks them in greedily.

It doesn’t take long until Abby goes rigid, screaming and babbling that she’s coming with her head thrown back as you continue your ministrations, working her through her orgasm happily.

“Fuck, you coming from my fingers or my mouth, Abs?” You tease against her pussy as she gushes down your wrist practically, lapping her juices up with your tongue and feeling it drip down your chin. 

Her strong fingers thread through your hair and practically have to rip you off of her once overstimulation sets in, toned thighs twitching, desperate to slam shut and hide her pussy away from you. You let her pull you off, licking your lips with a wicked grin as you hover over her.

She’s redfaced, skin glistening with sweat and she looks completely fucked out. It’s a good look on her.

“What’s the verdict?” You ask with a teasing lilt, watching as she huffs out a laugh with her chest rising and falling rapidly still.

“Uh… Might let you do it again” She tries to play it casual but you swat at her chest lightly and she quickly falls into laughter. “Fine! I loved it, 10/10, I’ll write a damn Yelp review if you want me to”

“Who the hell even uses Yelp anymore, damn how old are you” You tease, caressing her cheek. “Promise me you’ll let me do that more? No more hiding” Your voice is tender as you speak, eyes warm as you look down at her. Abby’s breath catches in her throat at the softness, the love she can feel and she nods up at you. “I promise. No more hiding away.”

[lvrspiastri]

can i request an op81 smut where she’s landos best friend and he starts to have a crush on her but he doesn’t know if her and lando like each other. but she thinks oscar doesn’t like her because he doesnt really make conversation with her whenever they’re alone but it’s only because he gets so nervous and it comes out weirdly and then lando figures he likes her. but oscar is jealous of their interactions but then lando sets a situation up where oscar n his girl bestie are alone n they have a confession and then fuck.

Earned It. ᵒᵖ⁸¹

sorry for the time this took. exams fucked me up. hope you like it

reminder that requests are open just check out the guidelines :)

masterlist

✧. ┊     PAIRING: jealous!oscar x fem!reader

✧. ┊    WORDS: 3k

✧. ┊    TAGS/WARNINGS: 18+, smut, jealousy, coarse language, fingering, squirting, unprotected vaginal sex, orgasm. wrap it before you tap it pls

He just observes. Silently. With his teeth clenched. Lando squeezes her shoulders, voice smooth as he laughs about some cheesy shit. She's got that distinctive laugh when he's with her. That laugh that rings through a room. And she throws her head back, hair cascading down her shoulders. It's not fucking fair only he can have evoke that within her. Oscar knows they'd been each other's best friends since they were old enough to say the words. Doesn't make it any damn better.

And it was he who had won. Oscar. He who'd gotten pole and kept the lead all the way through. He who fended off his own experienced teammate. He who should get the attention. Why the fuck was she making heart eyes at Lando, then?

They manage to separate. Somehow. He stares on with a clenched jaw and Lando, the bastard, sends a smirk his way before heading out to see his parents. She walks over, chipper, none the wiser to his inner turmoil. He'd always avoided speaking to her. Mainly because he knew she had no feelings for him whatsoever. So why bother? Why bother falling for her, knowing in the end....she's gonna choose Lando. But also because his tongue gets tied. And he can't stop staring at her when she speaks. But he can't escape this, trying to keep his eyes off her figure as she saunters.

"You did so well today, Osco," she drawls, smile twisted up in a charming manner. Fuck. The way she calls him that dreaded nickname...

"Thank you," he nods, arms crossed so his biceps flex. It was always on purpose, contrary to popular belief. "Couldn't have done it without the team."

"Must you be so humble?" she chuckles, leaning on the wall in front of him. No. In fact he wasn't. He knew it was all his own doing. The team didn't exactly help in keeping Lando behind him for 52 laps. He wasn't their second fucking driver. He knows he's just...better. But he forces an innocent grin.

"Ah, it's the car, really. But I appreciate the sentiment." She nods, tucking her soft hair behind her ear. It was almost dusk. Golden hour. So the fiery light floods the room, highlighting one side of her face, darkening the other. Like the moon. Gorgeous...

"How you celebrating?"

"Honestly?" he sighs, scratching his neck, tilting it in the perfect position so she could see just how thick his neck was. "Might just treat myself to some Maccas and watch a movie." He never was the partying type of man, contrasting his teammate. He found no pleasure in seeing men and women get drunk and grind on each other to shitty house remixes of pop songs. And he certainly never looked for a girl to take home. The only girl he wanted to fuck was standing right in front of-

No. Fuck no.

"That's boring, don't you think? Let me take you out." The offer was tempting, to say the least. Wherever she was gonna take him, he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off her. Or his hands. He wouldn't be able to do it. He wouldn't be able to resist.

"Ah, that's kind, really. But I have a flight to catch a 4 AM." Lie. It fucking hurt to lie to her like that. But it was better than potentially jumping her like a wild animal and ruining everything he'd worked so. Damn. Hard. To. Build. She frowns, sighing. It's clear she doesn't buy the lie.

"That's too bad. Some other time, then." He nods in agreement, making a mental note to pack protection for the so-called 'other time.' "I'll see you next week, then?"

"Yeah, yeah, you will. Yeah. You'll see me on the top step again." He hides the cocky smirk daring to embrace his face and just laughs instead.

"Sure. Have a good night."

"And you," he nods, swallowing thickly. His hands are trembling but he hides him by shoving them in his pockets. And the look on her face isn't happy as she leaves. Great. Fucked up. Again.

He's in his room drunk when he sees the videos.

Of them out. Clubbing. They're intoxicated.

Classic.

Singing "Titanium" on top of their lungs (reminding Oscar of the shitty music that frequented clubs and why he would never visit one again), holding each other while making fierce eye contact.

And he damn near breaks the phone.

They're way too close to just be motherfucking friends. In a lapse of judgement, he switches to iMessages, shooting a quick text to Lando.

It's unlike Oscar.

He doesn't call.

He doesn't wake up until there's a loud knock on his hotel room door. The beer clouds his mind, legs feeling like jelly as he makes his way to open the door. Lando leans against the doorway, jaw clenched.

"Mind explaining what that was last night?" Lando lets himself in, gaze steely, voice an eerie calm. Oscar hasn't a fucking idea of what Lando's talking about.

So all he manages in reply is a dumb "Huh?"

While rolling his eyes, Lando takes our his phone out of his pocket and shows Oscar the texts that he sent. Apparently. Must've been piss drunk.

"What...What's this in reference to?"

"Well, you didn't exactly say when you called me a 'cunt' but i'm guessing you saw something from last night." He pockets his phone, crossing his arms.

And then it rushes back. The close lips. The drunken singing. The fucking holding.

"You're fucking her, aren't you?" It just comes out. It's crude but it sums up his thoughts. And he realises his mistake because Lando's eyes widen.

"Are you fucking insane? Seriously? You think I'm fuckin' sleeping with her?"

"Yeah, you know what? Yeah. You think I don't see the eyes you make at each other? The media's accepted her as your WAG, about time I do too-"

"Shut your bloody mouth." He whispers. Low. Dangerous. "She's my best friend and that's all she'll ever be. And I know you're angry but that doesn't give you a right to spew bullshit at me." Oscar looks away. He knows Lando's right. Of course he is. They're better than this. But fuck, that girl has him feeling things he shouldn't. Acting like he shouldn't. He's a damn monster because of her.

"What else do you want me to think? Hm? When I see you and her singing in each other's mouths? Dancing with each other? Do you have any idea how much it stings-"

"Then talk to me, Osc. You never told me you liked her. I figured it out on my own. And honestly, I'm getting sick of being the damn owl in between you two."

Fuck.

Now he feels bad. Lando had always been there for him. Through it all. Through the lows of McLaren he started out with. Through the dumb team orders. He didn't deserve Oscar's selfish episodes. But he doesn't apologise. He just stares at the carpet until Lando speaks.

"I'm gonna bring her here tonight-" Oscar cuts him off.

"I told her I had a 4 AM flight." He mutters.

"Yeah, no shit you lied, she knew it the moment you told her," Lando scoffs. Oscar rolls his eyes, knowing it was a dumb move. Now she probably thinks he hates her for rejecting her invitation... "I told her it was because you're an idiot. I'm gonna ask her to come here. Say you want to apologise. And...you take it from there." He swallows thickly, nodding. He could damn near kiss Lando for his kindness.

"Thanks. Thanks a lot." He fiddles with his maroon shirt.

"If you fuck this up..."

"I won't. Swear. Not this time." He reassures Lando. He'd be the biggest idiot in the world to fumble this opportunity. Which Oscar isn't. Sometimes. They wrap up the formalities and Lando leaves. He's just grateful he didn't cause a rift between them. After Logan left, Lando's the only true friend Oscar had.

He waits the whole day.

He counts every second.

Ever minute.

Every hour.

He irons his shirt twice. Brushes his teeth enough to destroy his toothbrush. Polishes his shoes so one could use it as a mirror. And spends an hour trying to figure out how many buttons of his shirt should be undone so he would look hot but not desperate.

And then he hears the knock, her sweet voice ringing. "Oscar? It's me." She's early by five minutes. He didn't even get to check his cuffs. He breathes deeply, opening the door, putting on his nonchalance act.

"Hey, come in," she steps into his suite. And god, she smells like a dream. Looks like one too. With that lace dress he can see her bra through, the fucking bare legs carrying her. Oh, he was done for. "T-take a seat, yeah, think of it as your own house." Why the fuck did he say that? Idiot!

She smiles sweetly and sits on the edge of the bed. "Lando said you had something you wanted to say to me." He sits beside her. Cautious. Careful not to touch her or the dam of desire he was keeping locked inside him would break.

“Yeah, I did.” He looks anywhere but at her. One look at her perfect mascara-covered lashes and all he’d wanna do is make the mascara run down her cheeks. “Sorry for, uh… blowing you off.” The words scrape out, rough and inadequate.

She doesn’t say anything right away. Just tilts her head, arms crossed, like she’s trying to decide if he’s worth the effort. Again.

“You had a plane,” she says, voice carefully neutral. “That’s what you told me.”

“I didn't,” he lies again, softer this time, and immediately hates himself for it. He exhales, rubs the back of his neck. “Okay. I was. I just… I didn’t think I could handle seeing you.”

Her lips part, confusion flashing across her face before it hardens into something unreadable. “So instead you lied to me. Classy.”

“I didn’t lie...,” he says too fast, too defensive. “I just...needed space.”

“Funny. I offered you dinner. Not a proposal.”

That shuts him up.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Uncomfortable. And all he can think about is how close she is, how good she smells, how stupid he is for missing that dinner—for missing her.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, this time quieter. Real.

“I didn’t come,” he says suddenly, voice low, “because I like you.”

She blinks. The anger in her eyes falters, just slightly.

He exhales, finally looking at her. “I lied about being busy because I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t want to come over and—mess it all up. Say the wrong thing. Or worse, jump you like some idiot with no self-control.”

Her brows draw together, confused now. Not angry. Just trying to figure him out.

“I wanted it too bad,” he says. “You. I wanted you too bad.” He laughs bitterly, eyes on the floor. “So yeah. I lied. Because I liked you. And because I’m a coward who didn’t know how to handle it.”

She doesn’t speak right away.

Just watches him. With a different perspective. Like the sharp edges of her anger have dulled under the weight of something warmer. Softer.

“I liked you too, you idiot,” she says quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I invited you out. What did you think that was about?”

He huffs out a laugh, eyes flicking up to meet hers. There's disbelief there. Relief. Want. "Yeah, well, I thought you wanted Lando."

She laughs in a way that makes him feel like an idiot. "Are you serious?"

"You're always so fucking close. But he came in here this morning. Told me I was being a dick."

"You were," she leans in, whispering.

His gaze drops to her lips. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

She leans in just a fraction, eyes half-lidded. “I wore mascara for you, you know.”

His jaw tenses.

“Wouldn’t mind if it ran a little,” she adds, barely audible.

Something in him snaps—not violently, but with aching restraint. His hands hover at her waist, like he's asking for permission even though his body is already leaning into the answer.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps.

“I won’t.”

His hand splays over the fabric, gripping her dress like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. And then—he yanks her forward, mouth crashing into hers with a groan that sounds more like a growl.

There’s nothing soft about it. It’s messy. All teeth and tongue and desperation. Like he’s starving and she’s the first thing he’s been allowed to touch in months.

She barely has time to gasp before he’s pressing her into the bed, one arm braced beside her head, the other gripping her thigh and hitching it up around his waist. The dress rides up. He doesn’t even care. Doesn’t think.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he snarls against her jaw, lips dragging along her pulse. “I didn’t come over because I wanted to rip this fucking dress off the second I saw you.”

His teeth graze her throat. Not gentle. Not playful. Claiming.

She moans, fingers in his hair now, nails raking his scalp, and it only spurs him on. Makes him insane.

“You invited me over like it was nothing. Like you didn’t know I’ve been going insane thinking about you.”

He kisses her again, harder, his body pressed flush against hers, hips locking into the space between her legs like he was meant to be there.

“I lied because if I came over, I would’ve taken you right there on the goddamn dinner table.”

Her breath stutters.

He laughs darkly, hand curling around her neck—not tight, just enough for her to feel the tremble in his fingers.

“You want mascara to run?” His mouth is on her ear now, voice low, wrecked. “Say the word and I’ll have you crying in five minutes, pretty girl.”

And the worst part?

She wants him like this.

God help them both.

So she nods.

Small. Slow. But there’s something in her eyes. A glassy, reckless glint , that sends lightning straight through his spine.

His breath catches like it hurts.

Because fuck, she means it.

And she knows exactly what she’s agreeing to.

He laughs. Sharp, disbelieving, half-mad. His fingers dig into her hips, grounding himself before he does something he won’t come back from. But he’s already past that point. Already gone.

“God, you’re gonna ruin me,” he whispers like a prayer, forehead pressed to hers, his voice wrecked with need. “One little nod and I’d burn down the whole fucking world for you.”

She tilts her head, lips parted, panting, daring.

So he does what any man completely gone would do — he takes that nod as gospel.

He drags her to the floor like gravity means nothing, lays her out like she’s sacrament. Worship and destruction all in one. His hands tremble with how hard he’s holding back.

“I want everything,” he breathes, eyes blazing. “Every sound, every tear, every breath you’ve got left.”

He grabs her legs roughly, placing them over his legs. His hands hook into the waistband of her panties and pulls them off so quick they rip. He doesn't apologise. Hell, he doesn't fucking care. He tosses them somewhere before spreading her wide and pressing his tongue against her core. His eyes flutter shut and she tastes like everything he'd ever dreamed of. Whines spill out of her. Whimpers. He eats. Sucks. Licks. Slurps.

His hands grip her inner thighs bruisingly, holding her apart despite her trembles and squirms. Her hand lands in his hair, pulling so hard it hurts. But in all honestly, it just makes him hornier. It takes him a while to realise she's screaming. Spasming. Worried, he pulls away.

"Fuck, you good?" She heaves, breasts bouncing through the dress.

"I just came 3 times in a row, what the fuck do you think?" Three times? Holy fuck, he's going on like a man possessed. He lets out a light chuckle, licking her sweetness one final time before moving to his knees and placing his middle finger on her tongue. He shoves it so far down she nearly gags before snugly fitting in his ring too.

"That's right, pretty girl. Suck."

His fingers get coated in slimy wet. He pulls out of her mouth, teasing her clit with it, earning a sweet sweet groan out of her.

He doesn't give any warning.

Then he sticks his fingers in, making her jerk and tremble.

"Ngh!" she screams and he places a hand over her mouth.

"Careful, my angel. Wouldn't wanna have the hotel staff complaining?" She nods sweetly, fluids dripping out of her and sticking to the carpet. He makes a mental note to clean that later. The repercussions would be embarrassing, to say the least.

A flash and she squirts. She fucking squirts. Screaming. Aching.

He laps up the squirt almost immediately, savouring the sour tang on his tongue. All she does is lie there pathetically, groaning.

"Need...dick inside you..." he heaves, eyes glazed over. He pulls away, lips wet with her fluids. "Is that okay?" She lets out a soft whine as permission, hearing the gentle thud of his belt hitting the carpet. His veins already throb, swollen tip leaking. He's been wanting to intertwine their souls together for far too long. Wanting to leave an imprint on her no one could erase. He slaps his dick on her clit a few times before sliding into her, letting out a throaty growl. "My love..."

"Mghfh!" her hands desperately cling onto something. Anything. For leverage. She settles on his shirt, an iron-clad grip bound to leave dirty nail marks on his skin.

The sounds they make are erotic.

Skin slapping skin.

Whines.

Groans.

Wet squelching.

And fuck, mixed with her pussy, it's all too much.

So much.

Fuck.

"I'm gonna..." she doesn't finish her sentence before he's already spilling inside her, wet bursts filled with cum spoiling the hotel room carpet. He couldn't give a single shit.

His eyes fixed on her. The hair strands that clung to her face. Her flushed cheeks, sweaty neck. Fuck. He could cum right then and there.

"You okay?" He asks, voice raspy. She softly nods, brains fucked out. He knows it's time to stop, time to lay in bed with her, talk about everything he loves about her. Until he hears another squeak.

"Another round?"