#i just needed to vent because i have no one to talk to

[biblicallyaccuratemeat]

A Firm Hand

MDNI!!!

A/N: I posted this on ao3 a little bit ago, so I figure why not post it here too! Beta read by @teaflavoredwitch Bucky Barnes x female reader, past Steve Rogers x reader implied/referenced, cheating, alcohol, kind of dub con if you squint, p in v sex, dom!Bucky, protective Bucky, dirty talk, kitchen sex, spanking, fingering, drunk sex, size kink, friends to lovers, angst and porn, shamelessly self-indulgent

Word Count: 5.3k

Steve Rogers is a jackass.

Captain fucking America, mister cherry pie and morals, was a self-righteous prick. Bucky had never felt more pissed off at Steve in his one hundred plus years of living than he does right now. You curled up in his bed, bawling your eyes out and practically chugging some cheap magnum bottle of whiskey. 

Steve, who apparently didn’t believe in too much of a good thing, when he decided to stick his patriotic dick in Sharon Carter of all people. Of course, you found out. Steve was a terrible liar despite having the balls to actually cheat on you. You don’t know why you immediately go to Bucky, but you do. In the year you’ve been dating Steve, you became rapidly closer with the former Winter Soldier. Perhaps it was the forced proximity, or maybe you were just kindred spirits.

Bucky, of course, falls for you. Hard and fast like an idiot. Forced to pine after his best friend’s girl as if his life wasn’t already a fucking sob story. Always the dutiful friend, listening to you vent about the pitfalls of your relationship with Steve and trying to offer sound advice. Bucky learns to tame the green eyed monster inside him, finding contentment as your friend and confidant. 

When you show up on his doorstep at eight o’clock on a Saturday night, he knows Steve fucked up. He knows it without you even having to say a word, because he knew this would happen. He knew, on some level, that Steve didn’t deserve you. Not that Bucky deserved you either, god knows he was even less deserving. But you went to him, so that has to mean something, right?

The intensifying of your sobs pull Bucky out of his reverie, head snapping in your direction again. Some commercial blares on his shitty little TV in the corner of his bedroom, Even the Nights Are Better playing in the background on some allergy medicine ad. 

“T-this was our song!” You wail, burying your face in a pillow as your body shudders with the force of your sobs. The bottle of whiskey remains clutched in your hand. If it weren’t for your inconsolable state, Bucky might’ve been impressed and slightly turned on at the way you chug the whiskey. A woman after his own heart.

Bucky grimaces, perched next to you, stock still, “Okay, dollface, I think that’s enough whiskey.”

He feels awkward and stilted, like his skin is on too fucking tight and the room is too warm. He feels way too self-aware, he’s tuned in to every little sniffle and hiccup.

Seriously, fuck Steve for this. Not only for breaking your heart, but also creating the perfect storm. You, vulnerable and drunk in his fucking bed of all places. A wet dream come to life, if he’s being honest.

He needs to get the whiskey from you. He practically has to pry it out of your hands, amber liquid sloshing inside the nearly empty bottle. Fuck. He should have cut you off way earlier. He grabs the remote, clicking the mute button, “Honey, let’s take some deep breaths, yeah?”

Bucky tries to smile reassuringly but it’s tight and stretches over his teeth in a weird way that makes him look more machine than man. You peer over the edge of the pillow smushed against your face, doe eyes blinking owlishly at him, “Deep breaths?” You echo, incredulously, “You want me to take deep breaths when I walk in on my boyfriend tongue deep in that blonde bitch? Are you fucking for real, Bucky?”

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes rapidly, like a fish out of water. He sure fucking feels like one, incredibly out of his depths. He’s not equipped for this, a tornado of hormones and heartbreak. His stupid silence somehow seems to agitate you even further, angelic features twisting and morphing through every stage of grief in a matter of seconds.

Your anguish quickly gives way to fury, chucking the pillow across the room, “Has he always been like this? Huh?” 

Bucky blinks taken aback, “What? Steve?” He sighs, running a hand through shortly cropped hair, “No, doll, he hasn’t always been like this. I’ve known Steve since we were kids, and he’s never been a saint but he’s not usually an inconsiderate, lying, cheating asshole either.” Bucky’s voice is hard and contemptuous.

Bucky takes your dainty hand in his, squeezing reassuringly, “Hating Steve isn’t going to make this better. It’s not going to erase the pain he caused,” He pauses, pursing his lips as he tries to find the right words, “You gotta let yourself feel this, dollface. Feel the anger, feel the hurt, the betrayal. Don’t suppress it, because that’s just gonna make it fester.”

His jaw clenches, teeth grinding together. Bucky silently attempts to work through his own feelings on the matter. On one hand, his never wavering loyalty to Steve, his brother in arms and every sense of the word. On the other hand is you. Heartbroken, far too lovely for his comfort and the odd, delicate bond between you two. Bucky swallows, his mouth filled with a metallic taste as he fights down the ever growing urge to hunt Steve down and beat him within an inch of his life. 

He realizes you’re staring at him, gaze hard, “Why didn’t you warn me?” You ask in a quiet, hollow tone that makes Bucky feel like his heart is going to shrivel up in his chest.

Running a hand down his face, Bucky huffs, “Warn you?” He echoes, “Honey, I… I didn’t know.” He implores, clenching his fists in his lap, “I swear to God, if I had known he was being such a fucking prick, I would’ve put a stop to it, I would’ve beaten the information out of him myself.”

“You didn’t know?!” You throw your hands up in the air, gesturing wildly, “You didn’t have a single fucking inkling? I don’t believe that for a second, Bucky,” You hiss, movements jerky and agitated as you tousle your hair, “You didn’t think to say, “Hey doll,”” You begin to mimic Bucky’s voice, “‘You’re about to date the goddamn devil!’”

Holding his hands up in a placating gesture, Bucky scoots back. Your accusation stings, hitting a nerve he hadn’t known was exposed, “Hey, hold on just a damn minute,” He says, his voice rising in defense, “I’m not fucking psychic, dollface. I knew Steve could be an inconsiderate ass sometimes, but I didn’t know he was straight up cheating on you.”

Bucky scoffs, a mixture of shock and anger coursing through his veins, “I’m not going to apologize for not knowing what my so-called best friend was up to behind your back. That’s not fucking fair.”

His gaze softens slightly, his voice lowering to a more conciliatory tone, “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t see the signs earlier. I’m sorry you got hurt. But don’t think for a second that I would’ve ever encouraged you to be with someone who would treat you like this. You mean too damn much to me for that.”

You’re still pissed, of course. Feeling self-destructive, though Bucky’s heartfelt declaration hits deep. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, a feral kind of rage filling you, “Oh yeah? Well… you’re… You’re an ass!” You shout, a half-hearted insult. You weren’t really trying, you just wanted to burn bridges. You push yourself out of the bed, stomping out of the room. Slamming the door for good measure, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot. Storming into the kitchen, you begin digging through Bucky’s sparse cabinets for more liquor.

Bucky stared after you, stunned and hurt by your somewhat childish outburst. Your accusations burned like salt in a fresh wound. He stood there for a moment, anger and confusion warring within him. Then, with a fierce scowl, he stalked after you, his long strides quickly closing the distance between his bedroom and the kitchen.

The floorboards creak under his heavy footsteps as he follows the path down the hallway. When he reaches the kitchen, he grabs the doorframe, leaning in. “Hey, wait a fucking minute.” He all but growls, his voice a deep, dangerous rumble. “I know you’re hurting, but you don’t get to just accuse me of being an ass and then stomp away like a fucking toddler.”

He steps further into the kitchen, a breath away from crowding you against the counter, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Steve being a prick, but I won’t accept you throwing blame at me when I'm trying my goddamn hardest to be here for you!”

Bucky leans back against the counter, scoffing, “We both know you’re better than this, sweetheart. Don’t let Steve’s mistakes make you forget that. I’m not the enemy.”

You snatch a bottle of vodka out of the cabinet, there’s no more than a few sips left. You down it in one go, sighing tiredly, “I don’t need you to be here for me. I don’t need you to fix me, Bucky. I’m not some little dolly for you to glue back together. You don’t need to make your fucking amends with me.”

Bucky’s expression hardens, snatching the bottle from your hands, “Watch your fucking tone,” He whispers, cornering you against the counter. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, you see it. The Winter Soldier lurking in the back of his psyche. It sends a perverse thrill down your spine.

“I’m not trying to fix you. You’re not some damn doll, I know that. I’ve always known that.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, “I’m here as your friend, to listen, to support you. But I won’t allow you to take your anger out on me, honey.”

You’ve never been good at knowing when to quit, it’s never been your strong suit. Now is not an exception, you double down on your brattiness.  

“Don’t tell me to watch my fucking tone, I’m not a child.” You hiss, scowling up at him. He towers over you, all muscle and man. Damn him for being so fucking tall, built like a skyscraper. You damn near have to be on your tiptoes at this point, it’s ridiculous. 

He grasps your chin hard, cheeks smushing up and lips forced into a pout, “Watch it, little girl,” He murmurs lowly, licking his lips, “You can be mad. You can scream and shout and curse until you’re blue in the face. But you don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Those sapphire eyes flashed with a mixture of anger, frustration, and a hint of something else, something that made your insides feel molten and heady.

“I’ve taken a lot of shit for the people I love. I’ve been beaten, tortured, and turned into a fucking weapon. But damn if I’m going to stand here and take your anger when all I’m trying to do is be here for you.” Slowly, deliberately, he leans in closer until his breath is hot against your pursed lips, “I know you’re hurting. I know you’re angry. But I won’t let you push me away, dollface. I won’t let you be self-destructive.” His voice drops to a fervent whisper, “You fucking try me, sweetheart. I’ve dealt with terrorist threats and mad titans. Fuck, I’ve been a terrorist. You think a little thing like you is going to scare me off?”

Bucky’s hand snakes around to the back of your neck. You whirl around, the world spinning, and he pushes you face first into the hardwood. You all but shriek in surprise, eyes comically wide. Your left cheek squished on the cool flooring, shoulders pinned down. Your knees prop your ass up in the air, curving your spine into a sharp arch. He has you right where he wants you, submissively positioned. An offering, your perky backside up in the air invitingly. Your body betrays you, a fucking shiver of pleasure wracking through you. You can feel your cunt leaking eagerly at Bucky’s manhandling. 

You wonder if he realizes the effect this is having on you. All thoughts of Steve and his betrayal fly from your mind as your pussy throbs in time with your rapid heartbeat. Shame and arousal burn your cheeks, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will away your body’s traitorous reaction. 

This is Bucky. This is fucking Bucky. Steve’s best friend, your weird friend-ish acquaintance. You know him because of Steve. This is a bad idea, horrible. You need to put a stop to this immediately before you actually let him have his way with you on the kitchen floor. Because you’re heartbroken, you’re pissed, and you’re far wetter than you’ve been in months. You’re too vulnerable and fucked up, not to mention drunk to make a sound decision right now. And you know, you fucking know if Bucky asked to rail you within an inch of your life… You’d say yes.

So, “Bucky, uh,” You begin to protest meekly, all the fire and spit on your tongue moments ago evaporating.

The hand that is now pressing down in the middle of your back and pinning your sternum to the ground increases in pressure fractionally. A silent warning of the consequences of pushing back even further.

The words die on your tongue, you focus your gaze on a piece of lint by your face and huff. 

But then, slowly, deliberately he brings his hand down on your upturned ass. Delivering a sharp smack that echoes through the room. A surprised shriek of indignation rips from your throat, equal parts horrified and aroused. The stinging pain radiates across your tender flesh, a stark contrast to the coolness of the floor beneath you. “What in the fuck are you doing?” You demand angrily, scowl deepening.

“Keep testing me, honey, and I’ll show you exactly what happens to bratty little girls who don’t listen,” Bucky punctuates his words with another sharp smack to your ass, watching as the flesh and fat jiggle and redden beneath his organic palm.

He drapes his muscular torso across your back, leaning over your bent form. His breath is hot against your ear, his body a heavy, unyielding weight pressing down on you. It’s a comforting contrast from the rough treatment your butt is receiving, like a warm weighted blanket. 

Despite your best efforts to stay quiet, a tiny breathless noise escapes your throat. Halfway between a moan and a squeak, the flush staining your cheeks darkens further. You bite your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, simultaneously mortified and turned on.

Momentarily caught off guard, the super soldier freezes, his vibranium hand resting on the curve of your hip. A look of shock and disbelief crosses his handsome features. He had expected anger, perhaps even more fighting back, but never in a million years did he think you would react so unabashedly with desire.

For a moment, Bucky simply stares down at you, taking in the pretty flush of your cheeks, the way your lips parted around that sinful little noise. His cock, hard and heavy, strains through his jeans and presses into the curve of your ass. That all-consuming hunger that HYDRA tortured out of his system returns with a fucking vengeance. His blood sings in his veins at your little noises and rushes to his dick. 

A low, strangled groan escapes his throat as Bucky tries desperately to grasp at the last vestiges of self-control. His hand digs into the fat of your hip, squeezing and kneading almost unconsciously, “Fuck, honey…” He murmurs, his tone ragged with the overwhelming heat consuming you both, “Are you… are you getting off on this?”

Bucky moves impossibly closer, chapped lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “‘Cause if you are, honey… I’ll fucking wreck you and I won’t be held responsible for it.”

“Shut up,” You whine weakly, your shame and arousal fighting for dominance. Despite your half-hearted protest, you arch your spine deeper. You’re soaked, you know it. Embarrassingly soaked, probably through your fucking sweatpants at this point. Your cunt aches, feeling too empty. Bucky’s dark promise of wrecking you? Fuck if it doesn’t make you clench around nothing, needy and debauched. He’s barely touched you and you’re sure if he so much as brushes past your clit, you’ll cum harder than you ever have in your life.

Bucky’s eyes darken with lust as you arch your back, presenting your ass to him like a cat in heat. A low, approving growl rumbles deep in his throat. The hand on your hip slides back to palm the globe of your ass, sinking into the fatty flesh. You hope it bruises, god you want him to mark you. You want that vibranium arm to rip you into pretty little chunks and remake you into something new. Something Steve’s never touched, never kissed, never held.

“Shut up? Honey, the way you’re acting, you don’t want me to shut up,” He taunts, his voice a deep, seductive murmur.

That rips a pathetic whimper from your throat, eyes fluttering shut, “I’m too drunk for this.”

Bucky hums, “Yeah? You’re a big girl, you know how to say stop.”

You shudder, all but melting beneath him, “I’m too sad for this.”

Smack!

This time Bucky’s metal arm meets your ass cheek, you jolt, gasping. You’re panting openly against the hardwood, eyes screwed shut and blushing like a virgin. The intoxicating mixture of stinging pain and molten pleasure are far more powerful than the whiskey in your belly.

The former Winter Soldier all but rips your sweatpants down, bunching them around your knees. The cool air against your newly exposed skin makes you shudder, a perverse shiver racing down your spine. The rough, calloused pads of Bucky’s fingers dig into the tender flesh of your ass cheek, kneading and squeezing the malleable muscle possessively, “Fuck, baby, look at this ass… you’re fucking perfect,” He groans approvingly, hips rocking forward to grind his clothed erection against you, “Steve was a goddamn fool to ever even look at another woman.”

Without warning, he brings down his palm hard against your bare ass, the sharp crack of skin against skin filling the otherwise silent apartment. The biting ache blossoms across your nerves, quickly followed by a rush of heat and traitorous surge of arousal, “Maybe this is what you need, honey. You need to be manhandled, huh? I gotta slap that bratty attitude of yours outta your ass?” Bucky coos mockingly, dragging his blunt nails down the rapidly reddening skin.

You breathe shallowly, fuck it feels like you’re barely breathing as is. This is a side of Bucky you’d never dreamt of seeing, not even in your wildest dreams. He was always so stoic, quiet. It was like you were friends with a brick wall that used to be a sleeper agent. But this? Domineering, taunting, merciless Bucky? You were fucking drenched.

You hum in agreement, wiggling your ass back, too far gone now. Any sense of decorum or boundaries flies out of your little bird brain. All you know is Bucky’s punishing hand and his rock hard dick pressing against you.

He shifts, maneuvering your wrists to hold them firmly over your head with one large hand. He brings the other down on your backside in a series of sharp, biting slaps. A red handprint blooms across your skin, a brand. The pain gives way to a dizzying liquid heat that has you squirming and whining under him.

“Fuck, listen to you… making all those pretty little noises for me,” He pants, hips grinding slowly against the curve of your butt. Bucky was throbbing in his pants, achingly hard and straining angrily in the confines of his jeans, “Keep making those noises and I’ll bust in my fucking pants, honey.”

You can feel it now, how soaked you are. The cotton gusset of your panties clings to your puffy lips like a second skin. The evidence of your arousal is impossible to miss, the dark spot growing rapidly with each slap and taunting murmur. You rub your thighs together needfully, desperate for some kind of relief. Bucky’s gaze narrows in on your needy display, grinning wolfishly, “Fuck, honey, you’re absolutely soaked through,” His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, rolling his hips teasingly into your backside, “Is this what you need, doll? To be put in your place, spanked until you’re a needy, desperate little thing?”

Holding your wrists firmly above your head, his vibranium hand slides around your hip, fingertips brushing teasingly along the sticky fabric of your underwear. The material clings to your swollen, aching folds. 

“You leaking just for me, honey?” Bucky murmurs, nipping at your ear. He brushes the edge of his nail across the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. It’s so light that you almost don’t feel it, but you do and you sob in relief at the slightest touch. Your legs tremble, threatening to give out under you.

Bucky continues his maddeningly light caresses, “So fucking wet and ready for me…”

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, cool vibranium meeting feverish, swollen flesh. It swells and throbs under his ministrations. His fingers continue their unhurried exploration of your pussy, a single digit circling your entrance. You feel it push in slowly, sinking in one knuckle at a time. Your pussy flutters and clenches around the invading pressure, eager to be filled.

“This is what you needed all along, isn’t it honey? To be touched like this, to have someone take control and make this needy cunt drip?” He slides a second finger knuckle-deep into your dripping hole, pumping them in and out of your clinging heat as his other hand delivers harsh, biting strikes to your backside, “That’s it, honey, fucking take it.”

The thought of Steve’s vanilla, lackluster lovemaking paled in comparison to the passionate, almost feral way Bucky was claiming your body now. And his dick wasn’t even out yet. He could feel every inch of your silken skin trembling and quaking with need, your breathy cries and whimpering music to his ears. The tender, almost gentlemanly approach Steve usually had taken with you had left you wanting, craving something far more intense and fulfilling.

Bucky eases his fingers out and peels your panties from your sticky cunt, shucking the fabric to bunch it around your knees with your sweatpants. He reaches out once more, his calloused palm cupping the warm, plush flesh of your ass. He could feel the heat radiating off your skin, could feel the way your muscles clenched and trembled beneath his touch. His fingers sank into the giving flesh, squeezing. 

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I think I’ll die,” You whisper, needy with shame burning your cheeks. And in that moment, it may as well have been true. To drive the point home, you wriggle your ass back against his groin, a clear invitation.

Bucky groaned, the sound torn from deep in his chest. His cock throbs and jumps at your needy words, desperate to be balls deep in your tight cunt. Faintly, he realizes he should hesitate, take a moment to think this through. But the way you presented yourself so wantonly to him made every logical thought fly out the window. He couldn’t resist, not you, not like this.

His hands flew to his belt, working it open with shaking hands. He quickly shoved his boxers and jeans down his thighs, freeing his aching cock. It sprang up, long, thick, and flushed a deep, angry red. The swollen head was leaking pre-cum, a bead of moisture rolling down the shaft. He wrapped a hand around it, stroking himself a few times, before shifting closer to you. Bucky sweeps the tip of his cock through your folds, from hole to clit, coating himself in your sticky slickness. 

You gape at his dick, eyes wide as you peer over your shoulder. He’s fucking huge, because of course he is. Thick and girthy, this is going to hurt, you realize. And though that should deter you, or at the very least make you anxious, it only makes you wetter.

“Fuck,” You whisper, struggling to form a coherent thought, “You’re fucking huge. That’s… that can’t fit. It’s physically impossible.”

The bastard smirks, rubbing the small of your back, “Oh, it’ll fit, honey. I’ll make sure of that.”

You already feel your inner muscles tensing up, trying to force out something that isn’t even breaching you yet. A high-pitched keening noise rips from your throat as the bulbous tip sinks into your wet heat.

Bucky shudders as he feels your tight little cunt clenching and fluttering around just the swollen head of his cock. Fuck, you were so goddamn small, so fucking tight. He could feel every inch of your silky walls squeezing him, trying to push his thick tip out of your needy hole. It took every ounce of control not to just slam forward and bury himself to the hilt in your scorching heat.

He grit his teeth, his breath coming out in a low growl as he forced himself to hold still, to wait for your okay before he fucked into you. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you in place as he fought for some semblance of restraint. Where was all that goddamn self-discipline that HYDRA beat into him? His dick was barely inside you and he was already a slave to your nubile body. 

He rocked his hips slightly, just barely, letting you feel the thick, spongy head of his cock kiss your entrance with each shallow thrust. “Tell me to move, honey.” Bucky pants, sounding utterly wrecked, “Let me move.”

All you can offer is a small, pathetic whine in response. 

That’s all the confirmation Bucky needs. He starts to move then, his hips rocking in shallow little thrusts as he eases inch after inch of his monstrous dick inside you. His grip tightens on your hips, digging into the plush flesh of your ass as he keeps you in place for each teasing thrust of his cock.

“God, honey, I’m gonna fuck this needy hole just like you want,” He growls, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort of holding back, “Gonna rub this thick fucking tip all over this slutty pussy until you’re dripping and begging for my cock. Fuck… you’re so goddamn tight. Squeezing my cock so fucking hard.”

“W-we shouldn’t be doing this,” You gasp, screwing your eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You’re already feeling overstimulated, too warm and too full. Part of you screams to crawl away from the excruciating sensation of being impaled on such a thick cock. You try your best to breathe through it, willing your body to relax. Your cunt weeps, rivulets of slick dripping down and around Bucky’s dick. You feel the little droplets running down your thighs, mixing with your sweat.

Bucky hisses through clenched teeth as he feels your arousal dripping obscenely down his length, your thighs trembling. He loops an arm around your hips, holding you up as he watches the way his dick is swallowed up by your tight hole. He could see you struggling, hear the conflict in your whimper, the way you whispered this was wrong even as your body screamed for his touch. He knew he should listen to the voice in both your heads telling him to stop, to pull away before they crossed a line from which there could be no return… but fuck, he was so goddamn close to the edge already.

His hips rocked faster, fucking his cock in and out of your clutching heat with rough, rapid thrusts. A wet, obscene symphony of squelching and skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with his labored breathing and low, strained grunts of pleasure.

“We… fuck.. We shouldn’t…” He repeated your words dumbly, but even as he said it, his cock kept moving. You could feel the tip kissing your cervix with each throbbing, leaking thrust. “But fuck, honey, you feel too good… too goddamn good. We can’t stop now,” Bucky leans forward, pressing his chest against your back, his lips brushing down the side of your neck, “Fuck, gonna make this pretty cunt mine. Fill it up real good, honey.”

“Oh, god,” You gasp, a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you at his words. Your toes curl, fingernails scraping across the floor, “I want that, please. Wreck me.”

The desperate, pleading tone of your voice shatters the remnants of Bucky’s already frayed control. His eyes roll back at your words, groaning. He feels your velvet walls clench and ripple around his throbbing dick, grasping him like a hot fist. Without warning, his hand slides from your hip to your dripping sex, rough fingers finding your swollen, aching clit.

He teases the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing tight circles around it with the pad of his thumb as he fucks into you hard and fast. His hips rock faster in tandem with the finger on your clit, each thrust pushing a gush of your juices around his cock and down your thighs. 

You feel like you’re on fire, every nerve alight and singing Bucky’s name. You bite down on your fist, attempting to hold back the shrieks of pleasure bubbling up in your chest, “Right there, god, please!” You squeal, trembling with the burning need to cum, “God, don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop, right there.”

Your whiny, wanton moans bring Bucky’s climax hurtling at him like a freight train. He ducks his head down, sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder and shudders. The feeling of your slick little cunt gripping his dick was maddening, and the needy, desperate sounds spilling from your lips were pushing him closer to the edge, “Fuck, honey. Just like that, keep screaming for me. Gonna blow my load in this hot little cunt.”

You whine in response, Bucky’s rough treatment of your clit sending you careening over the edge. Your cunt clamps down violently, slick release gushing out of your hole. Lips parting in a silent scream, you shudder, shattering beneath him. Bucky lets out a guttural moan, his voice raw with pleasure as you cum hard on his cock. A puddle of sticky wetness forms between your legs on the floor, dripping down the fat of your thighs. Bucky can feel his own orgasm building fast and hard, his shaft throbbing and pulsing as he caresses your clit through your aftershocks.

“Yes, fuck! That’s it, honey. Soak me, pretty girl, gonna- fuck!” He grunts, his hips slamming forward and burying his thick cock to the hilt in your spasming pussy with one hard thrust. He groans long and low as your sex milks him for all he’s worth, his hot seed flooding your insides.

Bucky shudders, hips jerking as he empties his heavy balls inside you, thick ropes of pearlescent cum coating your fluttering walls. He presses his hips tight to your ass, grinding against you. That’s enough for your legs to quit on you. His eyes widen as your legs tremble and then give out, your body going boneless and pliant in his arms. He tightens his grip on your hips, hauling you back up onto your knees. Bucky’s heart races, a wild bird in his ribcage, as he struggles to catch his breath in the aftermath of his intense orgasm.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he eases his softening cock out of your well-used hole. A river of his thick cum oozes out after him, dripping down your inner thighs, joining the puddle of slick on the floor. Bucky can’t help but feel satisfaction at how fucked-out you look, sporting his bite mark on your shoulder. His hands slide around to cup the soft swell of your belly, his palms splayed across the gentle curve. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way it flushed and erupted in little goosebumps from his touch. His gaze heavy-lidded, dark with lingering lust as he murmurs in your ear, “We can’t do this again, right honey?”

[revelboo]

Hope you don't mind me asking, but which Transformers do you think would have a breeding kink?

Sure! Here’s some new ones

Headcanons and Scenarios- breeding kinks

18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

Swerve

- absolute, babbling mess during sex, going on about sparking you with his sparklings even though you have no idea what he’s talking about

• “Oh, Primus,” Swerve groans, hips lifting to meet you as you ride his spike. He’s watching you, mouth parted as his hands slide up your sides. “Wanna spark you. Can I spark you? Primus, please.” Have no idea what he’s talking about as you move on him, feeling that thick spike slide deep, every ridge and bump stroking inside you. But he’s too cute absolutely out of control and babbling, making you want to agree to whatever as long as he keeps rolling his hips like that to meet you when you lower yourself.

• “Give it to me,” you whisper, voice breathy and he almost releases right then. Hears you gasp as he rolls you under him, hips moving frantically. Rutting against you with frantic movements.

ES Soundwave

- even after he warms up to you, he still snarls at you like a wild animal, especially during sex. Would rather offline than admit that he fantasizes about sparking you

• Gasping when his servos close around your upper arm and you go up on tiptoe, glaring up at him as he snarls. Know not to pick at the temperamental mech, but when the repercussions are this good? You can’t help yourself. Chin lifting, you grin at him. “Make me.” And you don’t even mind when you end up stripped and bent over the nearest convenient surface, his spike pounding into you. Angry fucking seems to be his only mode, but damn.

• Hips snapping against you as his spike drives deep into that slick heat of yours, he knows there’s something really wrong with him for wanting this. Wanting you. Can’t even say it’s about having power over you anymore, when he’s the one addicted to the feel of you gripping his spike like you were made just for him. And he also knows that you’re provoking him on purpose, wanting him angry and almost too rough, so there’s something equally wrong with you. Listening to your breathless moans and cries, he tries not to think about sparking you, but it’s harder every time. Shouldn’t want you sparked, definitely shouldn’t fantasize about it.

Krok

- allows himself to fantasize about it, but knows sparking you probably isn’t possible, and even if it was, with the life they lead it would be too dangerous.

• Lazily thrusting inside you as your arms loop around his neck, he just wants to savor the rare moment of peace. Nobody bothering him, had caught you alone so he doesn’t need to share. Lips brushing yours, your breath is warm on him, mingling with his rough venting. And the urge lifts through him to spark you. Pushing it down like he does every single time, because their lives are too dangerous for a sparkling. Can’t ask you for that, but he can dream. Hips moving faster to make you gasp, thrusts growing rougher, more urgent. Wanting to fill you over and over.

Waspinator

- desperately wants a home, to belong and dreams of sparklings with you.

• Glossa sliding against you, he can’t help his rumbling, buzzing growl as the taste of you, the scent of your heat and need become everything. Mandibles brushing your inner thighs as you arch and come apart, he goes up on his knees over you, forcing you to release his antenna, flipping you onto your belly and hooking the extra limbs from his alt mode under your hips to tug them up. He’s aching, almost hurting as he lines his spike up and feels you stretch to take him. Clawed servos digging into your bedding as he begins to move, hips snapping urgently against you. Finally. Finally accepting him as your mate and all he can think of is breeding you. Claiming you so thoroughly, you won’t leave him ever.

ES Megatron

- feels guilty for wanting to breed you, like he doesn’t deserve to be allowed this, but can’t stop himself either

• Frame straining on a rough snarl, his hips pump against you. Letting you milk him of his release as his lips brush the back of your neck. Draped against your back, it’s his arm and his cannon hooked under you keeping your hips up for him. “I can’t, please,” you protest when he shudders and begins rocking himself against you again. Taking his time coaxing your tired body. Knows he should let you rest instead of wanting to fill you again. Already made a mess, his excess slicking your thighs, but can’t seem to stop. Driven to give you everything, to breed you.

• “One more, just one more,” he growls against your nape, hips bucking faster, each thrust rocking you forward against his arm curled under you. Trembling on a breathy moan, you feel your oversensitive body coiling again, betraying you. Know you’re probably not going to be able to walk later, but that he’ll fuss over you after, take care of you. He always does.

TFP Ratchet

- when he’s dabbling with synth-energon, all impulse control goes out the window. Can’t resist trying to spark you.

• Legs hooked around his waist as he ruts against you, watching him bare his denta, you know he’s going to be annoyed later about the mess you’re both making on his console. But he’s the one who’d plopped you on it so you’d be at the perfect height for him, easy access. Optics green with that stuff, you just go along for the ride and enjoy the feel of his spike pounding into you almost too roughly.

• Groaning as he moves against you, driving deep into your heat, you’re so slick for him. Heels digging into him as if demanding he not stop until you’re sparked. And his mouth crashes against yours, servos tangling in your hair as that thought takes root. Fragging you all night long until his nanites can get established, then sparking you. He’s not even sure if it can work between yours species, but he wants to find out. Even if he has to try over and over again.

Armada Starscream

- it’s a guilty fascination with him. He’s seen how you fuss over his mini-cons like they’re your sparklings even if they’re bigger than you and he keeps imagining you with his sparklings.

• Mouth brushing along your jaw, back behind your ear as he groans at the feel of those little hands clinging to him, your wet, heat fists his spike as you arch on a ragged cry. Thrusts faltering slightly, he rocks his hips urgently until he comes apart, filling you. Brushing his cheek against yours, as you hold onto him. And from out of nowhere, he thinks about sparklings. Wondering about young when he’s never allowed himself to even consider that as a possibility. Because he’s remembering how you treat his mini-cons and imagining you with his sparklings instead. Whole frame shuddering as he releases inside you again, wings flaring.

• Hands sliding against his wings as he rocks himself against you, mouthing your throat. Still hard and apparently ready for another round as he begins to move faster, hips snapping against yours.

Bonecrusher

- unfortunately for his brothers, the first time they form Devastator while Bonecrusher is obsessing about breeding you, it unlocks the same kink in the rest of them because of how the gestalt works

• “Primus,” Hook snarls, tempted to shove the biggest of his brothers, but knowing that he’ll get punched in the face for it. Because Bonecrusher had been fantasizing of fragging and breeding you, trying to imagine how you’d feel wrapped around his spike. And when they’d combined, those graphic urges and fantasies had spilled into him. Into all of them.

• Hand over his face, Scrapper vents and tries to ignore that his spike is throbbing painfully where it’s trapped behind his plating. Can hear Long Haul and Scavenger speculating on if you’d survive one of them, much less all of them. Remembering Megatron’s warning about fragging humans. Because someone has to be doing it to have warranted that. And Bonecrusher is completely unapologetic about what’s he’s just inflicted on them. “Bet they’re soft inside, too,” Bonecrusher says as Scrapper groans. The big idiot deals with explosives, and he doesn’t understand that he just set a bomb ticking.

Kup

- knows he made quite a few mistakes raising Springer, that he was much too hard on the kid and wants a second chance at a sparkling with you

• You’re smiling up at Ricochet and Springer, little hands folded behind your back as you rock up on tiptoe. Can hear Ricochet flirting and joking with you, and of course you’re smiling. He’s a young mech. Most of the Wreckers are. The young, brave, and reckless. Knows he shouldn’t be bothered that you like the attention, that you’re not his. But he’s the one you run to when there’s danger, the one you trust. Because you have no idea that when you sprawl on him, leaching his heat at night, he’s thinking about rolling you under him. Exploring you with his hands and mouth. He’s old, but he’s not offline, yet. Can’t help but wonder about you, fantasize about claiming and breeding you. At having another chance at being a sire and doing better this time. Try to be gentler, less rough around the edges.

Breakdown

- would rather offline than admit that he wants to spark up Knockout’s little shared human.

• Resting his palm between your shoulders to bend you forward, for a moment he’s off balance at how big his hand is on you, just like how unbelievably tight you are wrapped around his spike. Always making him release quicker than he means to, but it’s easier with Knockout helping. On his knees behind you, he grips your hips, lines himself up and sheaths his spike inside you. Shuddering when you make that soft noise and quiver around his spike. Then your head is lowering, mouth teasing Knockout’s spike. Hears the other mech growl, servos sliding into your hair and that’s what he focuses on. Not you or that he keeps thinking about sparking you when you’re Knockout’s. Even if they are sharing.

Tailgate

- fantasizes about sparking you, but would be as happy if Cyclonus was the one to get the job done. Would ask Cyclonus to breed you so he can watch

• Mask retracting to brush his mouth against your neck, Tailgate lets his hands wander over soft skin. Spike still hard against your back where he’d tugged you to sprawl against him. And he’s aware of Cyclonus trying to ignore you both, a datapad in his hands. That the bigger mech is failing terribly as his hand slides to your thigh and hooks it over his own so you’re spread open to him. Watching Cyclonus, he slides his servos against your slick flesh, dipping his servos inside you to push his excess back where it belongs. Wants Cyclonus to take a turn, for their nanites and release to mingle inside you. “Cyclonus,” he whines, lazily pumping his servos. “We need you.” Wants to feel Cyclonus thrusting against you while you’re laying on him. Trapped between them both as Cyclonus breeds you. Wondering what would happen if they both tried to spark you at the same time.

[sixknight]

Vent fic bc I was all up in my head last night.

"Hey, human? You in there?" Mammon knocks on the bathroom door a few times, but not loudly, like he normally would. It's a gentle knock, accompanied by a gentle tone, "Ya been in the shower over an hour now. Do I gotta come getcha or something?"

There's a long pause.

“The door is unlocked.” You reply, “You can come in. The shower door is closed.”

Mammon seems surprised by your answer, but slowly turns the knob. The faint sound of the shower raining down on you gets louder as he opens the door and steam from the room hits his face. He steps into the bathroom, the mirror and shower door are both foggy from the hot water, mostly hiding your silhouette, but he can tell you're sitting on the shower floor with your back to the showerhead.

“Human… you ok?”

“Yeah.”

“Don't lie to me… we both know you're a terrible liar.”

You stay silent for a brief moment, “I don't get how you guys do it…” You finally speak.

“Do what?” He asks.

“All of it. Everything.”

He stares at the foggy shower door, still not quite understanding what you mean.

“You go to RAD, you work part-time jobs, and you go out and enjoy the day. All of that was hard enough for me back on Earth, but here? It's damn near impossible!”

He leans against the sink, “You sayin’ this is too much for you?”

“Yes.”

“Ha! I figured a regular human would crack eventually.” He smirks.

“Mammon I'm not exactly a regular human…”

“Whatcha mean by that?” 

“Mammon I'm disabled.”

His smirk falls, “Huh? Wait… you are? What the hell?! Why didn't you mention this before? Does Lucifer know?”

“I don't know. And I didn't mention it because…”You stop suddenly. 

“Because?” He raises a brow.

“Because it's easier for people to think you're just useless because you're lazy… it comes with less pity.” You say, disdain dripping in your tone.

Have people told you that? That you're useless? That you're a pitiful creature because of something you can't help?

“Hey!” He shouts, banging a fist on the shower door causing you to startle, “Do not talk about yourself like that, ok?” His lips are pressed into a thin line. Is that how you view yourself? That's bullshit! You're not useless! Not to him. Not to any of the brothers. His fist slowly lays flat out on the door as he presses his palm against it, “Do you really think if any of that were true that The Great Mammon would bother watchin’ over you?” He says with a slight blush.

You look up at Mammon's hand splayed firmly on the glass. You start to slowly get up and press your hand against it on the other side, “Hey Mammon?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” You speak softly.

“Tch, don't think anything of it. I'm just lettin’ you know the truth. You're not a useless human just cause you can't do some things some other humans can. No one in this house would dare to think that about my human!” He removes his hand, a blush still dusting his cheeks as he sees your hand against the glass too. As you start to remove your own hand his cheeks grow redder as the handprints have wiped some of the fog and he can see your face looking back at him while you're absolutely drenched.

And… naked…

His eyes wander for a split second before going back to your face. He turns his head away and raises a hand to shield his face, “Ah! I didn't see anything!” He says almost too quickly.

“Haha. It's alright Mammon, I trust you. I know you're not gonna make this weird like Asmo would.”

His blushing only gets worse. You… trust him? He smiles faintly at that thought. His human actually trusts him. He's ecstatic! He glanced back over, “Yeah? I-I mean yeah! Of course I'm not gonna be weird. Uh… anyway, you almost done in there? Lucifer's gonna have a cow if you raise the water bill all by yourself in there.”

“Yeah, I'm done. I already washed off… I just needed to have the hot water on me for a while is all. Eases the pain a little.”

He walks over to the towel rack and grabs you a couple of towels as he hears you turning the water off. “Hey. Slide the door open a little bit and I'll hand you some towels.”

“Ok.” You slide the door just a crack and reach your arm out. He hands you the towels, looking away with red dusted cheeks. You wrap a towel around your body, then place the other on your head to dry your hair. You open the door all the way and step out to see Mammon at the bathroom door with his arms crossed and his back to you.

“You're gonna tell me all the details of your disability tonight! The Great Mammon needs to know these things so he can make sure ya stay alive for the whole year ya know!?” He huffs, trying to hide the fact that he actually cares and wants to help make accommodations for you to the best of his ability. 

You nod, “Ok, I'll tell you. It might make things easier here too. I mean… you guys seem pretty lost on what an abled human can handle.” You laugh.

“Hey! We're learning here!” He huffs again.

“I know.” You smile and place a hand on his back and pat it, sending a shiver down his body, “Thanks Mammon.”

“... Don't mention it.” He smiles.

[batboyblog]

i live in the south, and i used to follow someone on here who lives in the same state as me, who i thought would've understood how difficult things are for marginalized people who live in red states and why we needed harris to win. but they kept reblogging posts about how both parties are the same and anyone who votes for harris is voting for genocide (as if letting trump win was going to be any better?? he's just started talking about wanting to "clean out the whole thing" and forcibly displace all remaining palestinians by making them move to jordan and egypt, an idea which every group who would be affected hates 🙄). i kept hoping they'd finally realize the very obvious fact that contributing to trump's win wasn't going to make things better for any decent person in the world but the last straw for me was when they posted something like "well i was going to go vote for [fictional character] but the line was too long so i just went home haha!!" i blocked them right after that, and now of course trump is in office and things are going to get so much worse for me and for them as those of us in red states have so much less of a chance to push back against our local governments and all of the bigots who voted for trump will feel more emboldened by his win. so yeah, i share your small fantasy that people like that will wake up and realize they were wrong for spreading these ideas. sorry for venting in your inbox though lol, you don't have to reply to this if you don't want to!

One of my best friends in politics is from Louisiana. He's gay and when he came out his parents sent him to a pray the gay away camp where... really horrible shit happened. And I think about that skinny kid coming out of just the most horrible shit imaginable and being a Freshman in college working his ass off for a Red State Democratic Senator, Mary Landrieu, Mary didn't win, but he worked SO hard for her. And we met working on Hillary's campaign together, boy has bad luck with Democratic women running for office.

Any ways the point is, I love red state Dems, I really do. My friend really loved John Bel Edwards, now I don't think either of us really fully agreed with Edwards, I know my friend was as feminist as a gay boy can be and believed in the right to an abortion totally, Edwards was/is one of the rare pro-life Democrats. But my friend understood, a Democratic governor would protect more people's rights, do more for the poor and the disadvantaged. Edwards' signed an order day one in office banning LGBT discrimination in the state government, when a Republican took over 8 years later, day one, threw that order out, a lot like Trump undoing all the pro-LGBT orders Biden did and rolling back trans rights/access to federal documents that came about under President Obama and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton.

I think thats the thing, in Red States and in America at large we share this big country with a lot of people most of whom are more conservative than I am, so how do I get as much of what I want as I can? Do I vote Mickey Mouse for President? no I vote for the candidate that will do the most good, I won't always agree with them, I don't agree with myself most of the time.

idk it's not... theoretical to me? I'm likely not writing my best work here but when it comes to voting I think about all the people in my life who needed help, if they got it or not, and the ways they were left behind or would have been life behind and all the kids out there, queer kids trans kids, the poor always the poor kids, you know and the loss they'll suffer because of 4 years of a Republican President. And yes Trump is a VERY bad Republican President but if we ever get to some future after him there will come a time where maybe a bland centrist Democrat will run against a business focused Republican, Bush V Gore? and people will say "oh there's no difference" and there is.

oh also I want to say, the little old ladies, the normie "cringe lib" wine moms and grandmas (and yes dads and granddads, but more women then men tbh) who struggle with a grand-nephews pronouns did more for trans rights by going out knocking doors for Harris one weekend, then shitty leftist posters (trans and not) who endlessly attacked Dems and voting.

any ways I'm sorry all this is happening, idk what state you're in or how bad it is or will be. I don't have easy answers for living through this long night of the soul. As Thomas Paine put it all those years ago "These are the times that try men's souls: The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman." it is trying my soul, but I will endure as we all must endure, we can not give up we cannot fail, we cannot allow ourselves to be ground down by fascists, and by their handmaids who act as if they're on our side, I hope everyone is looking to what they can do, and what the next chance they have to fight back and take back political power is.

[okonogikonomi]

lithium.

i wanna stay in love with my sorrow.

Kn8 + depressed!reader.

feelin a little down today myself

Kafka Hibino has dealt with depression before. Hell, before joining the Defense Force, he wasn't doing so hot himself. So he understands and relates to what you're going through, even if he's baffled by why someone as kind as you would have so much self hate. He takes very good care of you, in all contexts and all the time, but especially when you're having a down day, he's very gentle with you. However, if you get too down on yourself, he may argue with you and try to convince you of your worth. He's kind of afraid that one of you won't be able to cope anymore one day.

Mina Ashiro has never exactly been depressed, but is an empathetic person. She sees how hurt you are and it hurts her, too. Lots of cuddles and she pushes you to work out with her, which helps. She thinks of the two of you as partners in everything--crime, life, love, everything--so if you're suffering, she'll be right there with you. She's a good shoulder to cry on. Isn't as arguments as Kafka, but will gently reprimand you if you say something really awful about yourself. She's the type who will listen and hold you, but not try to "fix" anything if you don't want her to. Will give you space if needed, and while she worries, she has faith that you'll make it through your tougher days.

Reno Ichikawa was a pretty gloomy kid, and his grandmother may have had some chronic depression after their family's passing. He's unsure about this, but your symptoms sure are familiar to him as someone who heard his grandma cry herself to sleep every night. Because of this he's really worried and protective. You get into some heated arguments and might even be on-again-off-again because he gets so upset when you badmouth yourself. At the very least, he'd never let you cry yourself to sleep alone. If you needed to do so, he'd hold you the whole time until you were finally out.

Soshiro Hoshina probably has little to no experience with depression as a disease, but has his share of insecurities and such. Therefore he's able to empathize with you pretty easily. He's another one who would listen when you need to vent and do his best not to be the "fix it" guy, although he really does want to snap his fingers and make it go away. Some days are better than others, he'll be there for all of them. He'd beat up anyone who judged you or exacerbated your negative feelings. Pays for your therapy.

Iharu Furuhashi is so confused about why you're crying all of a sudden? He has 0 experience with this kind of thing, and it scares him when his partner has an issue he can't get rid of or fix. Still, he's supportive. He does a lot of research on depression in order to help you. Probably becomes very publicly affectionate, if you're alright with it, and talks you up a lot when you're not feeling like yourself. Yells at you to take your meds or hell bite!!

Gen Narumi has 0% understanding of mental illness and doesn't tend to be very empathetic as a person. So at first, he's dismissive of your feelings in a "why can't you just make it stop?" kind of way. As time goes on, though, he realizes you have little to no control over this. Once he figures that out, he makes tangible effort to Get It. Probably goes to Hasegawa for advice. He tries to spend time with you and take care of you best he can when you're unwell, but a lot of the time he feels like it's not enough. Probably out of everyone he'd be the most terrified of you not being able to keep going at some point.

Rin Shinonome has trouble understanding when you have bad days. She does her best to take care of you, but she feels flustered and unsure how to help. She'll probably ask you what she can do, and if you don't have an answer she'll kinda panic. Like, do you not want her help? She knows that's probably not it, but wonders sometimes. Isn't keen on leaving you alone, even if you request it.

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Basing off Reaper's movie fate, but imagine if because of a quirk in his genes, Reaper survives the snake bites and wakes up some time after the game had ended

Finally got around to this!!! Definitely wasn’t slowed down by my need to shove Treech into this AU or anything… look I didn’t want Reaper to be alone okay (EDIT from future me: not me knowing I have stories to update but being so so SO tempted to start a WIP for this too)

Okay so!! Since this is so early in the timeline I feel like the Capitol would just burn the bodies, especially since corpses start to decompose after about 3 hours if I remember correctly. The early deaths will probably already be rotting in some capacity anyway. Therefore, when Reaper survives the snake bites, he wakes up later in a transport to the crematorium. He panics and tries to figure out where he is until a voice talks him out of it and calms him down. It takes some time to adjust to the darkness in the transport but he recognizes that Treech is the person speaking to him.

As it turns out, the snakes never spread to where Treech had supposedly “died”, and he explains that he faked his death as soon as he realized Lucy Gray was sprinkling something down from the vents. This was brought to you by my confusion over how rat poison can kill someone in minutes when realistically it should at least take a couple of hours to spread into his bloodstream, especially since Treech seems to be choking and feeling hot when that’s not how rat poison works. It could be, if it’s a rat poison I’ve never heard of before, but most common rat poisons will prevent bloodclot and might cause kidney or liver failure, which is not what we see on screen. In this case, Treech felt his eyes burn a little and realized what was happening, so he prevented more poison from getting in his eyes and pretended to die with the plan to come back out later. Then the snakes happened and he just pretended to be dead instead because he wasn’t gonna try his luck with snakes.

Reaper is feeling some side effects from the snake venom (even though those snakes did not act like venomous snakes and they make no sense but that’s a separate rant) but they mutually decide it’ll be best to get out now instead of trying their luck any further. Treech suggests they try prying open the door a little, since he noticed he can access the hinges on the outside through a gap between the door and the wall of the old wagon. The inhabitants are dead anyway so the Capitol didn’t think to check for security. Treech manages to screw up the hinges enough for Reaper to get his fingers between the gap, using his strength to lift the door off of the hinges so they can get out. They’re in an abandoned part of the city, so they jump out of the wagon (Reaper secures the door back onto the hinges to avoid news of their escape to come out) and disappear into an alleyway somewhere.

They spend a few days figuring out a survival strategy, with Treech nicking them some Capitol clothes to go undercover. They even figure out Capitol names to give out when necessary. Then, when they’ve gotten into the rhythm, they figure out how to get back home. Reaper and Treech have a lot of time to just talk about things and tell each other about their lives, inevitably leading them to their dead district partners. This is actually part of why I brought Treech into this: Reaper was pretty prepared to die, but now he’s… not dead. Dill is. Someone who could’ve been his little sister is dead and he’s alive, and 20 other children are dead too but he’s not. Him, Lucy Gray, and Treech are the only ones who survived and Reaper is trying to deal with that. At least he has Treech, who lost his girlfriend and is dealing with the guilt of being unable to save her.

Treech tries to help him grieve Dill but one day Reaper snaps and tells him he doesn’t understand. Treech is quiet for a moment before quietly confessing he was in love with Lamina and had hoped, in some way, that joining the pack would keep her safe a little longer. Except the pack is what killed her, and he didn’t do anything to stop it because he wouldn’t have been able to fight Coral, Mizzen and Tanner at once. And now they’re all dead. They find some comfort in each other and find new understanding between them.

While exploring the city, the two keep up with the news in the Capitol and Reaper realizes based on little tidbits of information what happened to Clemensia, so he tries to find out where she is and manages to find a way to talk to her. Since she’s now back to her normal self, she apologizes profusely for how she treated him and they make up. Reaper asks Clemensia to help him and Treech find their way back home and she offers for them to stay on her house, which they accept a few days later when she’s proven to be trustworthy. Her family decides this is the moment to clown on the Ravinstill family and agree, going so far as to get the two Capitol identities.

Still working on the inbetween, but safe to say Reaper and Treech spend most of their time in the districts but occasionally come back to the Capitol just to fuck with Snow. Especially when they learn about what happened between him and Lucy Gray.

This is a very rough draft I’m sorry but it was very interesting to think about!!!

[alittlebitofdebris]

Poverty isn't always what people imagine, and I'm facing that really hard lately.

I grew up in poverty. I boiled water for baths when the gas was almost always out.

I lit bonfires in my living room to keep warm and cook finger foods.

I went weekends without eating until I could get to school on Monday for breakfast.

My house was littered with things we didn't use or need because my mom was afraid we might one day need them and not be able afford it.

Our animals often went without food.

I'd walk an hour to the library in any weather to charge a cellphone my friend had given me.

Now, I have a nice home. My pets are well fed and spoiled as much as they can be. I have a smart phone, a computer, a TV. I have pretty things that bring me moments of joy.

I have beautiful things, neatly organized all over my home.

But still, I find myself in financial stress and all the illusions come crashing down.

My friend passively mentions a phrase I barely remember the context of, "you're kinda still living in poverty". I know this was meant for validation of my struggles. I know there was no ill intent.

But now, I find those words echoing in my mind any time I try to spend $5 on something to bring me momentary joy.

I feel the weight of guilt knowing that being mentally disabled has forced this experience on my spouse. I feel like a burden to my friends for not contributing more or needing them to spot me for lunch.

Today was the second time I woke up from dissociating on the floor of the kitchen crying. Likely, I was triggered by having no safe foods.

I hate saying I have no food, I've had no food before.

I have mayonnaise and nearly expired deli meat. I have a can of beans, some ramen and some soup that I hate that got mixed into an old grocery pick up order that I was scared to throw away or donate just in case. There are two frost bitten corn dogs left in the freezer. I have running city water to drink.

But still, I'm sobbing on the floor of my kitchen because even if I wasn't autistic, even if I could stomach a food that isn't my safe food right now, I'm still so scared.

What if I eat the last bite of food I have for a while and forget to cherish it? What if I waste it by throwing up because I'm so anxious? What if my husband needs it to have the energy to get to work?

I have 4 followers here, but the thousands of followers I have on other platforms don't seem to notice or care that I keep spiraling about this. They think the free wigs I get sent, the medicine I take, the makeup and clothes I wear...

It all makes it seem like I'm okay. I'm doing just fine. Really. The looming debt we acquired, the bad credit scores, to get to a mildly safe point in life... It all doesn't seem to occur to them.

But the truth is I'm not. I'm not okay. I'm fighting the urge to beg for donations because I don't know what other choices I have. But I hate needing help. I hate it so badly it causes me physical pain.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I am exhausted, good heavens.

[liesmultixxx]

being the ugly friend is really humbling

[arendaes]

It's 5:30am, I can't sleep because I had a bad night last night and I need to vent.

Sometimes I wonder if not being more open about my offline life is to my detriment, because it never fails that I seem to attract people who see me as someone who's easy to walk all over. So many people I've known both online and off really like to treat me however they like, including being rude, condescending, and sometimes just downright cruelly, but the moment I have enough and draw a line in the sand they just want to wipe it away and tell me all about how I'm the one in the wrong.

I once had a friend who ignored my existence for six months and then got mad when I told her I wasn't coming to her son's birthday party. When I say "ignored my existence", I don't just mean unanswered texts; I mean I worked at a store in town and saw her in there multiple times. Every time I would wave and say hi while she was looking right at me and she would walk right by me as if I wasn't there. She knew I worked there too because we met working there. Literally we went from hanging out every day off we had together to that and still she got mad when I was hurt and just didn't want to come to a child's goddamned birthday party (when I have no kid of my own) because of it. The kid was only a year old so it wasn't like he knew who I was, either.

And online has been worse in a lot of ways. I made a friend a few years ago back when I first started getting involved in fandom. At the time I was resistant to the idea but now I realize I befriended him out of pity, because no one seemed to really want to be involved with him and he'd always been so nice to me. That was a mistake, because it turned out he was an alt-right chud who waited until he thought we were close enough and then started deliberately baiting me into arguments where he'd say horrible shit to me and make me upset and then fucking laugh He admitted it was fun for him to upset me. He stopped laughing when I finally stood up for myself and cut him out of my life, only to repeatedly ignore my requests for him to leave me alone. He would send me messages and like my posts, along with asking his friends to do the same and even writing a fic about one of my favorite characters where an unnamed OC treated said character poorly (all while said OC said things that were word for word things I said to him in out last conversation) and posting it where he knew I'd see it. Thankfully his conscience got the better of him with that last one and he took it down just a few days after posting, but the damage was done. He's the reason my ask box is closed most of the time and I have it set to where only followers can message me or comment on my posts. I think he's moved on - I hope he's moved on - but I live with this ever-present fear he hasn't and if I let my guard drop he'll start again.

And this is just two of the biggest incidents in a long line of family members saying I can't have boundaries with them because they're faaaamily and honest conversations with friends about how they've hurt me only to have them turn around and blame that hurt on myself. I'm just...so confused about what I can even do anymore. It feels like no matter what I do I just attract people who want to use and abuse my good nature. Hell, it's been so bad that I typed that and immediately thought "are you good-natured or do you just have an unnecessarily high opinion of yourself?" Which I know is the brain demon talking, but sometimes it's hard to drown it out, especially when this is all I've ever known.

[weezerlvr228]

hi fam !!

[zebratimw]

Spirit animal SQH

[zuzu-romeave]

man if we get canon alloromantic brad im gona. lose my mind

[skrunksthatwunk]

you go to a lesbian blog and find it says women only!! no men allowed!!! and go oh! excuse me, um, what about other lesbians? plenty of lesbians are genderqueer... and they go well, okay, go fuck yourself tim chop off your sweaty dick and stop calling yourself a lesbian. you do not have a dick, actually. you think about that fact often, even though it does you no good. you do not tell this person that.

you go to another lesbian blog and it says women only and you try again, and this time they change it to wlw + nblw only (non-men who love non-men :D). and you'll say hey i appreciate that but gender's not really that cut and dry for a lot of people. someone could be both a man and nonbinary, for instance. i just worry that you're looking at nonbinary as a generic third gender, or an extension of womanhood. i mean yeah you include nblw in your tags but all your posts are about pussy-havers exclusively. what's with that? and they say go fuck yourself you pervy man pretending to be a lesbian. you tried to sneak in but i won't let you.

so you go to a lesbian blog with a dozen or so posts about queer people needing to be more weird about it and you sigh in relief. but you still see the men dni. that's odd. hoping for the best, you say hey! i know you mean well but please maybe don't put men dni at the end of the lovely posts on your lesbian blog bc some lesbians are men. and they'll be like ok!! well you're allowed ;) and you say no that's not. no. some men are lesbians not just me. you think about your own dicklessness and wonder if that's why you were given entry. and you add that even if male lesbians are allowed, there's no indication of that. how would anyone know without asking? and they're like ohh gotcha gotcha well men dni + this is for sapphics only!! and you'll be like ok well that treats the concepts of men and sapphics as mutually exclusive identities and i just told you that's not true and you agreed with me so.. i don't think that solves our problem. and they're like. ok. fine. men dni but genderfluid and multigender people are allowed! and you're like no see that's. that's still the same thing.. you're saying the same thing just with different words. if you don't want men to interact but you're fine with multigender/genderfluid/etc ppl interacting then you either don't see them as Real Men (because they don't reach a standard of Full Manhood) or Complete Men (because they're only Part-Time Men), both of which suggest that they are, in some way, not men or less-than men, which is invalidating and defeats the point of the exception in the first place (accommodation) OR that you don't really mean the dni which is confusing and inconsistent and makes guydykes feel weird and uncomfortable and excluded from the lesbian space you're trying to cultivate. and they're like um. ok. so. cishet men dni? and you're like well i think that makes more sense, but what if someone identifies as both a cishet man and a sapphic? again, if we're trying to accommodate the genderfucky populace then that has to be a possibility that is considered. and they say god you people are never happy. what do you want me to do? what am i supposed to say to keep the right men out? and you pause. you empathize with the need for a space free from dudes trying to fuck you straight and feminine. dudes who watch lesbian porn and joke about what they'd do if they were allowed into girls locker rooms. who look at you like a piece of meat, and like someone who looks at women like pieces of meat in the same way he does. you get it. you know. you want a space where you can be sapphic, too. that's why you came to these blogs in the first place. you brace yourself and you say well i don't know that there are "right men" to keep out. i don't know that there's any single label that would accomplish whatever it is you're trying to accomplish. you could go for "sapphics only" or "queers only" and i think that might be the closest thing to what you want, but it's never going to be perfect. creating any exclusive space is going to shut out people you didn't account for, and the broader the label, the more people will be shut out that you didn't want to shut out. and what about people who don't know if they're allowed? what of questioning transbians, where are they supposed to go? and, frankly, i think i might rather my dykey posts get read and appreciated by a gay guy who sees me as a man than a woman who only sees me as a sacred womb, pure from male perversions or violence or whatever. i think community might just be more complex than a dni can handle. and they look at you and say i don't want to not have a dni. i think you're too permissive. you can't just "what about" or microlabel your way into everything. go fuck yourself, i bet you're not even a lesbian anyway. go find a real problem to get mad about.

you go to a lesbian blog. you ignore the men dni because you know you probably don't even count to them. or maybe you do count and, out of respect for your manhood, they'd shun you accordingly. you try to feel okay about that. you scroll past dozens of posts about mediocre men and gagging at straight friends' boyfriends and how gross and undeserving men are of the beautiful women they couple up with and how all women should be gay so they can get treated right and and and and and. you finally find a post about curling into someone you love and feeling at peace and try to lose yourself in it. you know that feeling is what unites you, what makes you belong. you try to focus on it. you think about carding your hands through a butch's hair or lacing fingers with a femme and feeling warm and loved and more yourself than you ever have before. like this is who you're meant to be. you read about lesboys and butch boytoys and genderfucky dykes and big hairy deep-voiced wonderful women (like you want to be someday, like you wish you could make yourself) and you try to ignore the men dni underneath each and every post. and you daydream about meeting someone kind and earnest at a lesbian bar even though you don't think any such bars exist within three states of you and you can't drink and don't want to drink because you need to be in control of yourself at all times so you don't fuck up like you're always about to and here in the nonexistent lesbian bar you feel wanted and safe and in good company. you picture your ideal, happiest self. it is a mistake. ideal-you has a goatee. not the mascara one you smear on and call drag even though you know it's not drag, not really, the beard you call drag because you think everyone would look at you sadly if you told them it was just to pretend you had something out of your reach. a beard that's soft and that you grew and that cannot be smudged away if you get too comfortable with it. the dream shatters. your people pull away from you, their scoffs mixing with the mind-numbing gay girl bedroom pop you learned to settle for just to have something that almost resembled you, they all pull away and turn their backs and do not look at you. you're too close to being a man now, even though you're the same amount of man as before. and they know you're not supposed to interact with men, not as you would with dykes, at least. and it sours. it's all your imagination, all in your head, but it sours.

you sigh. you think about how small you are. how short, how narrow, how feeble. how your voice pitches up when you talk to strangers because it's easier to speak quietly when it carries more, and because you're nervous. because it's a chore to talk, like everything is. you think about testosterone. you think about how your family would look at you, the questions they would ask, your answers they would only pretend to accept. the uncomfortable glances and whispered questions they'd try to hide from you. you think about how small you are, and how small you will always be. how you don't know of a way to fix it, but even if there was one, no one would want you anymore. you'd be the only one thinking it made you a cooler dyke. you think about how you don't even want a T-voice all the time, how you'll never be able to switch it at will, because you don't know how and can't bring yourself to figure it out. you think about how your throat closes around every hint of your own attraction. how wanting is perverse, how wanting is invasive, how wanting is embarrassing and too vulnerable so it must stay anonymous, as an online witness, and how you can barely manage to form or maintain friendships because your brain makes you pull away, always spinning out and struggling to recover from the simplest of interactions. how they'll all leave you and you won't chase after them at all and how that will hurt them. how stuck you get. how it looks like nothing's holding you back, how that frustrates everyone who thought you were going to be more than you were. the people you love who understand except when it comes to being ghosted, being shut out. how you don't want to hurt them. how you can't tell them that because you're stuck. how you turn to stone when touched, how you never reach out, how you lose your speech and can't look at people, how your autism is fun and sexy until it becomes real and you never see them anymore, how much you longed for someone who knew everything without you having to explain, and who loved you anyway. how unreasonable you know that is to expect of anyone. you think about that not-even-real lesbian bar. you think about how you still can't drive. how you can't leave your home on your own, without dragging somebody into helping you. how you can't leave your body. how you can't leave your manhood behind.

you think about finding another lesbian blog and ignoring everything. about skimming it for the parts you can juice some meaning from. the parts men ignore and don't understand, and how typical of you it is to do so. or the parts where you're not welcome and you should accept that, because it's for lesbians only. how you are a lesbian anyway. how you're meant to choose lesbian or man, how each is a betrayal of some kind to yourself or your people, your family, your lovely strangers, your rare friendly acquaintances. about the parts that tell you you're not wanted, that you're ugly and lazy and gross and insert yourself everywhere without even asking. about the parts that tell you you are hated, and how lesbians are above it all by rejecting men. how lesbians are each blessed miracles. about the parts that say you should be ashamed of being whatever twisted confused freak you are, of everything, of looking and wanting or not looking or not wanting, of picking and choosing instead of taking it all in with a smile. after all, shouldn't you take it? or is your ego too fragile, as men's so often are? aren't you tired? good. we're not here for your consumption. and we sure as hell don't want your company or "community" or whatever. didn't you read the sign? no boys allowed. and if you want to come in you have to make up your mind. as if you haven't told them the only answer you have. you're both. you're both.

you know you broke the rule by interacting.

but it gets lonely sometimes. you wonder if they know.

[loveguts]

i’m not a transandrophobia truther in the slightest don’t get me wrong, but i think some people on here really need to realize and comprehend the fact that cis women, way WAY more often than not, hold extremely significant social and political power over trans men the vast majority of the time in our day to day lives

[alchemiclee]

i know this has been said 473773474833 times by the kavetham/haikaveh shippers and probably even nonshippers, but i'll say it again. I finally finished the genshin summer event and did the little after quest in sumeru and.....every time kaveh is sneaking around trying not to be noticed coming out of alhaithams house it's just such a gay vibe. he's basically screaming "I can't be caught being gay in a homophobic society!" even if that's not what the game writers are *actually* saying. that's just how it comes off and they can't make it come off any other way. with hoyo's gay history, it makes me wonder if it's on purpose and all a cover-up to have a technically different reason for it so they can get away with it lmao but we will never know.