#which... they were never in charge of this

[ariestrxsh]

professor!matt x student!reader

✧˚ · .⭒ content warning: smut, teacher/student dynamic, age gap, praise, nipple play, oral (m & f!receiving), unprotected sex, squirting, almost getting caught

✧˚ · .⭒ summary: your professor, mr. sturniolo, has a history of having inappropriate relationships with his female students. you've never been with a man so experienced before, but you're dying to know what it's like after a friend of yours tells you he taught her how to squirt.

gifs by @/vxnitra

dividers by @/enchanthings

album concept inspired by @/delilahsturniolo and @/y2kstarr

[ click to return to track list ]

Need To Know

You knew it was risky when you got dressed for English 101 this morning, putting on a mini skirt with no panties on underneath, but ever since you'd transferred to Professor Sturniolo's class, you found yourself coming up with even more drastic and daring outfit ideas to get his attention.

Your heels clicked across the hallway floor as you walked into class with a smug smile plastered to your face and your books clutched to your chest. You greeted your teacher with a smile and a warm, "Good morning, Mr. Sturniolo."

"Mornin', miss." His eyes scanned you up and down. You'd gotten your nails done again - simple white french tips. He also took note that the two top buttons of your button up were undone - one more than usual.

His sights were set on you as you strode from the entryway to your seat, which was right up at the front. You sat down at your desk, mindlessly chewing on the eraser end of your pencil with your head cocked to the side as you sat there admiring your teacher.

Mr. Sturniolo was every girl's wet dream.

His blue eyes were piercing, always full of intensity. He had strong, veiny hands and long fingers that he wore silver jewelery on. He had this way of looking at you, that seductive stare, and his sexy smirk - they would leave your heart racing and your thighs clenched together. His voice was smooth like honey, and his charm was magnetizing.

Word around the school was that he had slept with a few of the students, one of them being your best friend at the beginning of the school year. After hearing her account of how Mr. Sturniolo made her squirt for the first time, you were determined to get him to sleep with you. You just had to know what it was like.

It's not necessarily that he was playing hard to get, but you knew he couldn't make the first move. You knew how that would look. Imagine him hitting on a student who wasn't interested!

So, you had to be very overt in your attempts. Direct even.

You shifted in your seat, uncrossing your legs, parting them, and crossing them again on the other side. Your professor's eyes flickered between your thighs, catching a glimpse of what was under your skirt. His gaze flew back up at your face with a hungry look in his expression.

He went back to jotting down notes on the whiteboard, occasionally glancing over in your direction. A taunting smile curled on your lips as you tapped your pencil against your wooden desk.

You uncrossed your legs again, Mr. Sturniolo's stare lingering longer this time.

His red marker slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. You weren't sure if it was a genuine reaction to the fact that you didn't have panties on or if it was intentional, so he could kneel down to pick it up and get a closer peek. He licked his lips, gawking between your legs as he took his time scooping the expo marker up off the ground.

You trapped your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes locked onto his, spreading your legs even wider to give him a better look. His eyes danced over your glistening folds before he pulled himself back up to his feet, clearing his throat.

A sexually charged look was exchanged between the two of you unbeknownst to all the other students whose minds were elsewhere, eyes either glued to their phones or struggling to stay open from how late they'd stayed up the night before.

Once the lecture concluded, Mr. Sturniolo gave you all a reading assignment to work on, and he took a seat at his desk, running his fingers through his messy brown hair while he sifted through papers he needed to grade.

Your notebook fell shut, and you slowly got up from your desk, smoothing down your skirt. You approached your professor at his desk, batting your eyelashes and giving him a sweet smile. "Professor Sturniolo?"

"Yes? How can I help you?" His hungry stare raked over you, taking in the way your legs looked in that mini skirt.

"I was wondering if I could see you after class and talk to you about my grade," you softly spoke, biting nervously down on your lip while you captivated him with your big, doe eyes eyes.

Your grades were never an issue until now. You'd always gotten A's. School wasn't exactly challenging for you, but you'd purposely let your grade slip down to a B in English 101 just so you'd have a reason to talk to Mr. Sturniolo privately about it.

"Sure. Stay after class," he rasped back at you with a darkness in his eyes. He watched as you sauntered back over to your desk. You cracked open your textbook and got to reading, occasionally stealing glances from your handsome teacher as you continued chewing on the eraser of your pencil.

Once the class period ended and Mr. Sturniolo dismissed everyone, they all shuffled out the door, but you stayed put. Your professor looked up at you, and after the last student had left the room, he walked over, shut the door, and locked it.

Your heart started to race and your stomach fluttered.

He made his way back over to his desk, leaning up against it. He folded his arms and summoned you with a 'come here' motioned with his finger. You hopped up and meandered over to him.

"So, what's been going on?" His brows furrowed in confusion. "You usually get straight A's in all your classes. Tell me why I had to drop you down to an 88 this morning."

He didn't look the least bit amused with you. It was almost like he could see through you, and he was not impressed by the little bit you were playing. "You and I both know you can do better than this. If you wanna talk to me, just talk to me. You don't have to play dumb," he smirked.

A smile cracked through your expression. "I can bring it back up easily, Professor Sturniolo. I've just been a little distracted lately..." Your voice trailed off as you lifted yourself up onto his desk, your feet dangling beneath you.

"Distracted, huh? Well, what would help you be able to focus?" He asked, lowering his voice as he plucked a ruler from the jar next to his calendar. He took the end of the ruler and started running it along the top of your thigh, goosebumps forming on your skin as the wooden tool trailed higher up your leg.

"I want you to help me focus like you help your other female students focus."

His breath caught in his throat as he started to lift the hem of your skirt with the ruler, taking a peek at what was underneath. "Hmm. I don't know. I can't have you talking to any of the other students about what we do."

"I won't. I promise. I just want you so bad, professor..." Your voice trailed off. He wet his lips as you parted your legs, baring your pussy to him.

"You know, I don't have another class after this." He poked your labia with the ruler, gently spreading your pretty pussy open, swearing under his breath. Your chest rose and fell rhythmically, trying to maintain your cool, calm, and collected demeanor, but it was quickly slipping away from you. You could feel your palms sweating and your cunt throbbing.

"I don't have another class after this either." You flashed him a taunting smile.

"Oh, really?" He cooed, poking and prodding you with the ruler, watching you drip down the inside of your thigh. "Unbutton your shirt," he demanded. You did as he said, slowly undoing each one until both of your tits were on display for him. "No bra either, hmm?" He purred, setting the ruler off to the side and grabbing a handful of your breast.

You giggled and shook your head no. His lips latched onto your stiff nipple, his tongue drawing circles around it. He moved to the other, repeating the same motion.

You moaned in delight, enjoying the sensation of his soft, velevety mouth paying special attention to your senstive buds. He chuckled against your chest before he dropped to his knees, staring hungrily between your legs.

Without warning, his arms hooked around your thighs, and he pulled you closer. You squealed, your elbows coming down behind you and catching you. He spread your legs wide open, testing your flexibility and seeing just how far apart he could spread them. Your sweet scent filled his senses as he deeply inhaled.

"Look at how she's clenching for me," he smirked, taking a finger and slowly running it along your slit. Your body trembled at the sudden contact.

He leaned in, closing the distance between his mouth and your cunt. He pressed his lips to your clit, slowly working his tongue in circles and coaxing whimpers from you. You gasped as he started sucking on your sensitive bundle of nerves, throwing your head back at the powerful feeling.

"Mmm," he hummed against your clit, sending vibrations through your whole body.

"Oh, professor. You're so good at that," you moaned, reaching down and running your fingers through his hair. His intense blue eyes shot up at yours as he continued eating you like a man starving, hungrily lapping up every bit of wetness.

His tongue flicked back and forth over your most sensitive spot, making your legs shake and your eyes roll back into your head. You tightened your grip on his hair as he smirked against your pussy.

This was the first time a man had gone down on you and actually knew what he was doing.

You peered back down at him, trying to steady your vision. You didn't want to miss a moment of how good he looked between your legs. His mouth worked skillfully, his tongue tracing every fold and occasionally dipping into your hole. His fingers dug into the soft plush of your thighs as he kept you spread open.

The pleasure was almost too much to bear, and right before the knot in your stomach had a chance to snap, he withdrew all sensation. A disappointed sigh left your lungs, pinning your eyes shut for a moment to regain your composure.

"Get on your knees," he demanded, loosening his tie and fiddling with his belt as he stood to his feet. You listened, dropping to a kneeling position and looking up at him like an obedient puppy. He took out his cock, your eyes widening when you saw it.

"Open up," he cooed, running the shiny tip along your bottom lip until he slipped it into your mouth. "Good girl. That's it. Suck it all off," he encouraged you as you cleaned the precum from his mushroom-shaped head. You wrapped your lips around it and started to bob your head up and down.

"Fuck," he moaned under his breath as you hollowed out your cheeks, your eyes still fixed on his. He placed his strong hand on the back of your head, prompting you to take even more of his length. You could feel every vein and ridge of the underside of his cock with your tongue as you took him deeper. You choked on it a bit as his tip triggered your gag reflex, making him twitch in your mouth.

"That's my girl," he praised you, running the pad of his thumb along your cheek. You could feel your arousal dripping down the inside of your thigh as he spoke to you. He started to rock his hips, watching your eyes begin to water as you stared up at him, a soft, breathy moan falling from his lips.

Suddenly, the sound of someone fiddling with the door knob startled the two of you. Mr. Sturniolo held his finger up to his lips, urging you to stay quiet. Your adrenaline ran high, your heart thumping in your ears.

Then there was a knock.

It was probably another student or a faculty member, but he knew it would be better to pretend he wasn't in the classroom at all than to open the door to whoever was lurking out there and find himself in a position where he had to explain why he was alone in a locked room with a female student. The two of you ignored the persistent knocking until the person gave up and walked off.

Your professor pulled himself out of your mouth with a smirk, leaned down, and rasped in your ear. "Get up." You obeyed, climbing to your feet. He lifted you onto the desk again, spreading your legs open once more and lining his cock up with your entrance.

You gasped at the initial stretch, his length sinking in, inch by inch. He placed the pad of his thumb on your clit as he started to move in and out of you at a steady pace.

"You're so tight," he groaned, watching the way his cock disappeared into your hole with every thrust. Your panting grew heavier, and your moans grew louder. His free hand reached for your breast, cupping it in his large palm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Teach me how to squirt, professor. Like you taught the other girls," you managed to breathlessly whisper. A malicious grin curled on his lips at your seductive words.

"Yeah? You've never squirted before?" He cooed, picking up the pace of his thrusts. You shook your head, nibbling on your lip. "Oh, don't you worry. I'll fix that," he whispered, fucking into you harder, his thumb working faster over your clit. You were practically clawing at the desk beneath you, feeling your orgasm begin to brew.

You could feel the coil in your stomach winding so tightly that it could snap at any second. You watched the way your professor pistoned his cock into you, feeling him bottom out into you with every jolt of his hips. You were a trembling mess, moans spilling out of you left and right until you couldn't take much more.

"Come on. That's it. You got this. Good girl. Squirt all over my cock for me," he encouraged you through his ragged breaths.

You felt this incredible sensation welling deep within, and you gave yourself over to it, allowing it to wash over you and sweep you up in its current. Before you knew it, you were throbbing around your professor's cock, your milky fluid squirting all over his length, his nice slacks, and his desk beneath you.

"Oh my god! Mr. Sturniolo!" You screamed out in pleasure, the intensity of your orgasm taking over. His eyes flickered between your bouncing breasts and your juices that coated his cock, teetering on the edge of his own climax. He continued pumping into you, reaching the finish line shortly after.

He pulled out of you in one swift motion and started stroking himself, his cum squirting from his tip and making a mess between your legs. He watched in awe as his sticky white substance glazed your pretty pussy that was still clenching around nothing.

"Wow," you said softly, biting down on your lip and staring up into his blue eyes.

"Good girl," he repeated, tucking himself back into his pants and zipping them closed. You stayed there for a moment, legs spread as you tried to catch your breath.

"No more playing dumb in my class," he said with a stern voice, his eyes dancing over your body one more time. "Maybe we can do it again after you bring yourself back up to an A."

[55sturn]

“ double the fun ! “

pairings: chris sturniolo x fem!reader x matt sturniolo

warnings: smut, fingering, oral and simulated oral [ f rec and deepthroating a dildo ] use of sex toys [ dildos ], double penetration [ vaginal and anal ], slight dirty talk, praise praise praise, CONSENT IS HOT BTW, squirting, grown men creaming their pants, absolutely no incest, mentions of the threesome happening again.

ib: @bernardsbendystraws and a sneak peek of a fic that i read by @strnilolover

you always had a very open and honest friendship with matt and chris, one where shame and embarrassment ceased to exist. if they wanted to tell you about how wet the girls they slept with were, so be it. you told them same or you told them about how big a guy that you slept with’s dick was or how a girl had an ejaculating strap-on. you three weren’t necessarily hyper-sexual, but you often found yourselves talking about your hook-ups. or your kinks and fantasies.

which is how you go onto the topic of threesomes. matt had started talking about he once slept with a girl and her best friend. he claimed “best night of my life.” and chris followed it up by talking about the night he got head from the girl he was seeing at the time while her best friend watched and got herself on the bed. they had asked if you ever had a threesome, to which you sadly told them you haven’t.

they were shocked as you were the more outgoing and adventurous one when it came to sex and enjoying hook-ups while being single. but the longer the conversation went on, the more they learned that having a threesome and being double penetrated was something you thought about, a lot. after a pregnant pause, chris and matt shared a look, one that read like they were having a silent conversation.

soon after, the air in the room shifted. and the vibe between the three of you became charged, even more so with a simple sentence.

“if you’re comfortable, we could make that happen.” chris hums, his fingers absentmindedly twirling and gently twisting the ends of your hair.

“are you sure? it’d be weird for two brothers to fuck the same girl at the same time, would it not?” you question, not wanting to put them in a compromising situation, despite wanting to mess around with them both. despite the constant playful flirting and touching between the three of you, you had never done anything with either of them.

“well we wouldn’t touch, like at all-“ chris starts, but matt’s quick to cut him off

“or we could use your dildos on you. one in each hole. that way it fulfills your fantasy, and stops the possibility of something disgusting and illegal from happening.” matt suggests, his voice thick with desire but the firmness in which he speaks implies a certain level of assurance that everything is consensual, legal, and comfortable.

“if you don’t want to, you absolutely do not have to. we just want to help you fulfill something you seem enjoy thinking about.” chris replies, his gaze flicking to your thighs as they clench tighter, the thought of chris and matt using your toys on you had your mind running wild and your hole clenching around nothing but air.

it takes you a few seconds to find your voice and talk clearly without your words being coated in absolute desperation, but with a confident nod, you speak

“let’s do it.”

and within seconds of you consenting, your two favourite people are touching you so softly and gently but their ministrations come with such a deep, primal need to make you feel good. and their touch is skilled, calculated, and it has your skin on fire, and you’re squirming and they haven’t even taken your clothes off yet.

the shift from the living room to your bedroom is a complete blur of stumbles, quiet praise, and pauses to share soft kisses on warm throats every few seconds. before you know it, you’re on your back, sprawled out against your deep red sheets, your clothes are strewn across all corner of your room, and your skin is slick with sweat. matt’s mouth is on your cunt like a man starved, and chris’ fingers are slick with spit, your arousal, and the lube you keep on your nightstand and they’re gently but diligently working in and out of your second hole, stretching you in a way you’ve never felt, working you open so that you’ll take a dildo with minimal pain, and you feel like you’re floating.

every suck, slurp, poke and prod strikes a nerve ending and you’re torn between arching away from the intensity of it all or keening deeper into every movement and touch. your orgasm is washing over you within minutes with a high pitched mewl, and your sounds has their cocks twitching behind denim and fleece.

you’re given a few moments to come back down to earth and they reach for your side table, each picking a toy they want to use on you. matt opting for an unnaturally vibrant pink dildo in a size that he finds shockingly reminiscent of his own albeit a tiny bit thicker than his own cock. chris chose the relatively flesh colour dildo you owned, standard length and thickness, as so not to overwhelm when pushing it into your ass.

chris taps the silicone mushroom head against your lips, smirking cruelly as you open without any disobedience, watching in quiet admiration as your bitten and swollen lips wrap around it, your spit beginning to bubble at the corners of your mouth the farther the cock bullies it way down your throat. the girth of it had splitting your mouth completely open, and god it felt amazing.

“you were made to suck cock, baby. you look so pretty like this.” matt’s filthy praise has your eyes glazing over as chris begins to fuck your mouth with the fake cock as the bulbous head of the toy matt held catches your clit just right as he slides it up and down your core. you can feel yourself leaking, a puddle of warmth and wetness growing beneath you, and matt is so entranced by how wet you are, debating to keep teasing you until you cum just from sucking a dildo and gentle touches from another one. but a part of him, the biggest part of his desire needs to watch your puffy, slick folds be completely split by the toy in his hand.

without wanting, he pushes the cock inside you in one, long seemingly endless thrust. the sheer pressure of being filled so unexpectedly has you gagging gently around the length in your throat and your cunt clenching so tightly around the silicone that you swear you could shape to the form of your warms.

“jesus christ sweetheart, your pretty hole is suckin’ the toy right in and she doesn’t wanna let go, does she?” matt coos, his voice trembling as if he was about two seconds away from finishing in his jeans. chris whistles lowly as he watches the end of dildo bounce and bob slightly as you repeatedly clench around it, and he’s quick to gently pull the one from your mouth, biting back a whine at the string of spit connecting your tongue to the head of the fake cock.

matt watches the sight a poorly masked attraction, and he gently thumbs your clit while letting the dildo fill you as chris shifts your thighs and lower half into the mating position before pressing the head of the toy against your rim, murmuring soft praises in your ear as he starts pushing it in.

when chris pushes the dildo in fully, letting it rest so you could adjust to the stretch and feeling, you’re completely gone, surrendering yourself to the pleasure and relinquishing your control and trust to them. too full to even think about speaking, all that can be heard is low mewls and whines, egging the two men on.

“you ready baby? the real fun is about to start.” chris growls, gripping the suction cup end of the dildo and thrusting it and out of your asshole relentlessly, angling it slightly and the shift it creates as matt beginning thrusting the other one in and out of your cunt, has you gasping for breath.

your fingers are twisting your sheets as the two cocks bully your insides, and you feel like your organs having just rolled into one continuous stream. your eyes feels like they’re permanently rolled into the back of your head, and a perpetual string of moans leaves your throat raw.

“you’re takin’ us so well sweetheart, doin’ so good for me n’ chris huh?” matt purrs, his praise falling on partially deaf ears, but his fingers tracing gentle shapes on your skin grounds you. chris’ touch is a little more firm, a little rougher, and little more bruising but in the most delicious way. you feel like you can’t get enough.

but the second chris moves his hand, pressing on your lower abdomen at the same time matt leans down and starts sucking on your clit again, you feel like all the air has been punched out of your body, and you’re squealing as the coil snaps in your tummy, this time a lot more intense than before. and it feels like you’re about to pee as you let your climax take over, however the loud, squelching gush that splashes against their forearms and your sheets has your eyes snapping open.

the room and air stand completely still, you’re still stuffed completely to the brim and all that can be heard is laboured breathing. you allow your mind to reconnect with your body as chris groans loud, and matt nearly whines at the sight.

“holy shit y/n, you just squirted.” matt scoffs, in utter disbelief at the fact the first girl he made squirt was his best friend. and you cant help but chuckle,

“i guess i should’ve told you that before i start, i tend to squirt.”

“we need to make that happen, again. and next time, i want to be all over my cock, not some fake plastic shit.” chris grunts, gently pulling the toy out of your ass, leaning down to press his lips to your forehead as you whine in discomfort while matt does the same.

matt takes both dildos to the bathroom across the hall, rinsing them off and letting them sit in the sink while he brings back a warm cloth, cooing at you as whine in discomfort again at the sheer sensitivity wracking your body.

“you did so good for us sweetheart, i’m glad you trusted us enough to do that.” matt whispers, crawling beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders while chris’ arm drapes across your waist.

“what about you guys? neither of you finished.” you pout, weakly reaching for matt’s belt, but his hand grips yours firmly, stopping you as he sheepishly smiles.

“yes we did.”

“and don’t worry baby, next time, we’ll finish again and again. because there’s no way that isn’t happening again, unless of course you say no.” chris chuckles, watching as you roll your eyes and laugh softly, curling into a ball between, sleep consuming the three of you quiet quickly.

STARS CORNER ….hehe hi?

[irisluvsabby]

overstimulating sub!ellie with a vibrating wand

cw: use of vibrator, mommy kink, overstimulation, some aftercare ig

an: this may be too occ but i like my ellie submissive so..

ellie begged for this, she wanted it and how could you say no to her.

she currently had her hands tied to the headboard, you were holding her hips in place as you had the wand held against her sensitive clit on the lowest setting.

"please- fuck please mommy i need more.." ellie whined and begged as you kept teasing her without mercy.

you smiled looking into her teary eyes, she really was desperate. "you weren't really nice me to earlier yeah? teasing me in public like that? making everyone think you're in charge" you told her with a grin, slowly taking the wand away from her cunt. "no no please.." she whined like a puppy.

"aw come on els, don't you want to be a good girl for mommy?" you ask her, increasing the speed of the vibrator before putting it back on her clit. she gasped, hands trying to hold onto something as they were still tied above her head.

"i'm a good girl.. i am please-" she babbled on as you caressed her thighs as if to soothe her.

"i'm not sure about that.. why don't you apologize and beg me for me some more?" you said as you significantly increased the speed of the wand which made ellie's thighs shake as she was moaning like crazy, struggling to get words out.

"i'm so sorry- sorry mommy please i need-" she was cut off by her own body, the pleasure of all it being too intense for her.

"aww my baby can't even talk properly yeah? so fucked and it hasn't even been that long yet." you teased her as her eyes were rolling back in her skull, the sensations becoming too much for her to handle all at once.

"cum for me baby come on- cum for mommy" you finally give her your approval. hearing those words, ellie finally let go as her orgasm crashed into her.

she could've sworn she never came like this before. you could feel some of her slick on you hands and dripping down on the sheets.

but you didn't turn off the vibrator, even after her orgasm ended.

"ahhh! too much please please i can't-" ellie whined, shaking with small tears rolling down her face.

the sight of her, whining in overstimulation was dreamy for you. but you finally decided to end her suffering a few minutes later, quickly turning off the vibrator, and untying her wrists.

ellie's legs were still shaking and her eyes watery as you kissed her forehead, making sure she was okay.

she then snuggled into you and you guys stayed like that for a couple of minutes before rubbing her a bath to clean up.

[gwennkoi]

The doors to the throne room opened with a boom as a woman dressed in red-lacquered armor stepped through. She held her flaming sword at the ready and called out, "King Renfrid Bedillion! In the name of the people, our country, and by the righteousness of the Goddess, I have come for your head and the throne!"

The king clapped from their throne in thunderous applause. "Bravo! Yes! That was the entrance I was hoping for! Oh, it was worth the wait."

The warrior stalked forward, peering for hidden assassins and guards, but the chamber appeared empty except for the king and herself. "I will have my vengeance and free this kingdom from your grip. Your guards will never make it in time."

The king laughed to themself, "Oh, of course not. I haven't kept guards in here for years." They stand up and lay their crown onto the throne. "I have left a series of scrolls hidden in a cache beneath the throne. They have information on which nobles I believe to be the most corrupt and are stealing from my-- well, now your--coffers. There are also some recommendations on which members of your new retinue can be trusted."

"You can not talk your way out of this, you vile tyrant. You will die by my hands this day." The woman has reached the steps to the throne and continued with divine purpose.

"Oh, I do hope so. Also, make sure not to keep going with the whole divine mandate to rule thing. I'm certain that's all made up by the church and the nobility as a way to keep the peasantry under their thumb. I had an idea to let everyone help choose who is in charge, but I couldn't figure out how to stop the nobility from rigging it in their favor. I'm sure you'll figure out a way around that. My reports about you say you're quite clever." The king knelt to the ground and offered his neck.

The people's champion raised her sword and stopped. She stood there poised to make her final strike but did nothing until the fury finally drained from her face, and she stayed her blade.

"Why aren't you defending yourself?!" The warrior demanded with irritation taking command of her emotions.

The king looked up into her eyes and gave a sad smile. "Oh, I've been trying to get deposed since before you were born. I've been trying to find a worthy successor, and the prophesy said you'd do the best job of it."

"Why in the Goddess's light would you want to be deposed? Do you not care for your own life? Could you not change the rules of our great nation? Why have you taken steps towards a great revolution?" Her fury was returning, but her sword no longer threatened the king.

"Oh, child, I have no idea what the world looks like beyond these walls. I have no idea what it is like to grow up farming the fields or being threatened by monsters. I am too far separated from the reality of my people. There were other potential deposers I could have offered my neck to, but they had no idea of the true responsibility of leadership and would only have caused turmoil. Now, take your prize." The king once more lowered his head.

"I cannot! You are not the tyrant the church described to me!"

The king looked up and laughed, "Oh, they put you up to this? I hadn't heard. Yeah, don't trust them. They only want more power like my grandfather gave them. They care only about larger cathedrals, larger tithes, and their whims to have royal backing."

The king stood and stretched their arms and legs. They put their hand on the warrior's shoulder and led them down the steps before the throne. "From everything I've gathered about you, young hero, you seem like the type of leader the nation deserves. And now that you have lost that fervor I was depending on, I must make other plans for being properly deposed."

"What do you mean, your majesty?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just sad because I had always liked the artistry of it. Shame." And with that, the king sprinted to the large stained glass window and leapt through it.

The king, after hearing the prophecy about a child fated to depose them, decided to just let the events play out without interfering.

[untilwefind]

what about Willmack having the first time sex but they have so problems to figure out how. Will is way too impatient, just trying to slam all in, Mack is bitchy and whiny because it doesn't feel as good as he imagined it. Whenever Mack is in a comfortable position, Will doesn't get the right angle anymore to get his dick inside of Mack.

Will is so desperated he even thinks about getting up and going over to Toff or Ekky to ask them how the hell he can fuck Mack

The Geometry of Want

i totally didn't spend my whole lunch break writing this. that would be weird...

They’ve been circling the moment for weeks. Teasing and grinding, half-dressed in each other’s beds, hooked on the thrill of secrecy and proximity.

But now it’s actually happening. Will’s on top of Mack in the Marleau's guest house bed, shirtless, panting, and already sweating like a man who’s three periods deep in overtime.

And it’s going terribly.

“Dude,” Mack groans, voice taut with both frustration and physical discomfort, “That is not—ugh—nope. That’s my hip bone. How are you this bad at this?”

Will pulls back, red-faced and blinking hard. “I swear to God, you were just lined up right! I felt it—”

“No, Will. You felt my thigh crease.”

Will drops his forehead to Mack’s chest with a groan. “Okay, okay. Let’s just—reset. I’ll go slow this time. Like, gently. Romantic. Like a fucking nature documentary or some shit.”

“That would require an actual sense of rhythm and patience, neither of which you have.”

“I do have patience!”

Mack just raises one unimpressed eyebrow from where he’s sprawled naked on the mattress. “You literally tried to shove it in dry earlier.”

Will opens his mouth to defend himself, then closes it again. He flops dramatically onto his back beside Mack. “I panicked. You were making those noises.”

“They were confused noises!”

Silence settles. Not the sexy, charged kind. The we may never have sex again because we’re both terrible at it kind. Will turns his head to look at him. Mack is still naked and gorgeous and flushed and annoyed, which somehow makes him look even more edible.

“We can fix this,” Will says, sitting up like he’s about to give a locker room speech. “We’re two elite athletes. We’ve overcome worse. Remember when you tried to make pancakes and set off the fire alarm?”

“Yeah, because you told me to microwave the batter.”

Will waves that off. “My point is, we’re problem solvers. We just need… a new angle.”

“We’ve tried every angle,” Mack says, flopping onto his stomach with a muffled groan. “Missionary, sideways, me on top, you on top, me with my leg up like a goddamn ballet dancer—”

“Maybe we just need a consultant.”

Mack lifts his head slowly. “What?”

Will’s eyes gleam with desperation. “Like, someone who’s done this before. Someone on the team. I bet Toff’s done anal like a thousand times. Ekky too. He’s European. They’re weirdly good at this stuff.”

“You are not getting up to go ask Toff how to fuck me.”

“I wouldn’t say it like that,” Will mumbles.

Mack lifts a pillow and throws it square at his face. “You absolute idiot. We are not crowd-sourcing our first time.”

Will catches the pillow, groaning. “I just want it to be good. You deserve, like magic. Not me accidentally dry-humping your kneecap for five minutes.”

That quiets Mack. His mouth softens, the usual edge in his voice fading. “You really care if it’s good?”

“Of course I care,” Will says, tugging Mack’s wrist until he’s curled in beside him. “I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“You kind of already did,” Mack deadpans, then breaks into a small smile. “But… it’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Will exhales. They lie there a moment, skin against skin, breathing syncing back up.

“Maybe we’re overthinking it,” Mack murmurs. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Yeah,” Will says, kissing the corner of his mouth. “It just has to be us.”

---

They’ve been lying there a while, naked, half-sticky, half-sulking, when Mack shifts, stretches, and rolls over onto Will’s chest with a sigh that’s equal parts drama and decision.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s try again.”

Will’s eyebrows lift, hopeful. “Really?”

Mack smirks, just a little. “Yeah. But we’re doing this my way.”

Will holds his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you want.”

“First,” Mack says, scooting down the bed and dragging the sheets with him, “You’re gonna shut the hell up and let me take care of you for a second. You’re all keyed up like a rescue dog on Red Bull.”

Will sputters a laugh but Mack’s already got his mouth around him, confident and focused, and fuck, okay. Maybe this really was part of the problem. Will’s brain promptly short-circuits. He fists the sheets, tries not to buck, tries not to cry. Mack’s mouth is hot and perfect and unfair.

It doesn’t take long. Will’s been half-hard and strung-out for half an hour now and Mack’s mouth is so smug about it.

Afterward, Will collapses back against the mattress like he’s been tranquilized. He blinks up at the ceiling, breathing in relief and new clarity.

“I love you,” he mumbles.

Mack grins against his hip. “That’s the post-nut talking.”

“I still mean it.”

“Well,” Mack says, crawling back up, kissing his chest, his jaw, his temple, “Good. Now you can focus.”

And Will does.

This time, everything is slower. Softer. Will’s mouth lingers in places he missed before. He kisses under Mack’s ear, down the line of his throat, across his ribs. He takes his time prepping him, fingers gentle, other hand stroking Mack’s thigh like he’s grounding them both.

Mack starts out snarky, muttering “Don’t get cocky just ‘cause you made me moan once,” but the second Will brushes the right spot, his whole body arches. The snark dissolves into a shaky whimper.

“There,” Will says quietly, like a promise. “There's my target.”

He lines up again, Mack’s legs hitched over his hips, and for a breathless moment they both hold still.

And then, it happens.

Not forced, not clumsy, not at a weird angle with too much lube or not enough.

Just, there.

He slides in, easy and slow, and Mack lets out a stunned, breathless gasp.

“Oh,” Mack says, blinking hard, voice cracking. So that's what they were missing.

Will freezes. “You okay?”

Mack nods fast, one hand gripping Will’s wrist, eyes wide. “Yeah, no, I—holy shit. Do that again.”

Will starts to move, careful at first, and Mack bites his bottom lip like he’s trying to stay quiet but can’t. His body rocks into it like it knows this now, like all the geometry just clicked into muscle memory.

It’s so good all of a sudden. Hot and slick and right. Their hips line up naturally now, every thrust drawing soft, involuntary sounds from Mack that Will stores away like treasure. Will’s hand is curled around the back of Mack’s neck, holding him close, breath stuttering into his hair.

Mack shudders underneath him. “Okay, okay,” he’s gasping. “You’re so—Fuck, you feel so good, Will.”

And Will, ever the golden retriever with a crush, nearly whines.

They move together now, easy and synced, sweaty and close. Mack wraps his legs around him, pulling Will deeper, the smug bratty edge of his voice melted down into open, soft need.

“Why didn’t we start like this?” Mack moans, kissing his shoulder.

“Because I was trying to fold you like origami,” Will pants. “And you were yelling at me about angles.”

Mack laughs breathlessly, then gasps again as Will angles his hips just right.

“Okay, okay, don’t joke—there. Right there.”

“Yeah?” Will murmurs, nose brushing his cheek. “I got you, baby.”

Mack just holds onto him tighter, mouth pressed to Will’s neck now, like he can’t decide if he wants to keep talking or just feel.

It’s messy and raw and perfect in the way only rookie sex between two idiots in love can be. And when Mack finally comes, shuddering, clinging, overwhelmed, Will follows with a groan so loud it’s probably echoing through to the main house.

---

They stay tangled up afterward, chests heaving, skin flushed, Mack’s cheek pressed to Will’s collarbone.

Silence.

Then—

“So,” Mack says, still breathless. “No need to ask Toff after all.”

Will wheezes a laugh. “Nah. But I might tell him we figured out the angle thing.”

“Do not bring math into this ever again.”

Will grins, kisses his temple, and pulls the blanket up around them both. “Deal.”

[blossomcola]

g!p sophia with a virgin reader who's too oversensitive it’s honestly too much sometimes even the lightest touch makes her squirm every time she tries to touch herself it gets too intense too fast her body just can’t keep up she can never finish because everything feels way too overwhelming and frustrating she can’t even fit two fingers inside without it hurting because she’s so tight and it won’t move the way it should she ends up pulling them right out and giving up heart racing and feeling helpless. she wishes someone could help her someone firm who understands how delicate she is and can push her way over her limits and lately she can’t stop thinking about her big stepsister sophia so confident soft in all the right ways the way she talks the way she looks at her it drives her crazy all she wants is for her to take control of her and finally make her feel what she’s been missing :((

pairing. stepsister!gp sophia laforteza x sub!fem reader

content warnings. stepcest.

older stepsister!sophia who takes the responsibility of helping you because she would be fulfilling her obligations as your sister, right? so sweet and thoughtful that she noticed your recent discomfort without you having to mention it to her, only thanks to that maybe she has to stay up late at night just so she can listen to your sobs and moans when you can’t get yourself satisfied properly :( sophia feels so sorry for you, then she would have no problem finally giving you the attention you’ve been craving for so long <3

making you sit on her lap with no clothes on, unlike her, who still has her pajamas on her body; this was an image that made sophia want to give you a good fuck and ram her cock into you until she blew your brains out, but she endures with all her being because her job is to help you, not destroy you! so just this once she will hold back her stupid impulses.

kissing your lips until you are breathless, only breaking the kiss to bring her lips to your cheek and leave a trail of wet and open–mouthed kisses to the curve of your neck, her hands wandering over your body and taking charge of pinching your nipples between her fingertips or sliding her hands down to massage your ass cheeks with both hands and ending up spanking you because sophia was tempted to do something else 🫠 she knows she should take her time and be patient in preparing you because you have no experience whatsoever, but it was becoming impossible for her not to abuse her position! the way your eyes gave her a cute look and those sweet sounds came from your lips were playing with sophia’s sanity, making her attempts to be caring and understanding difficult because her mind was having a hard time making her behave.

however, she manages to stay in place! or well, not too much... sophia knows that you have absolutely no experience and maybe you don’t even know the basics, so what better than to fuck your mouth for a while so you can make sure her fingers have enough saliva to prevent it from being a pain when she fingers you in a few minutes? she’s a little naughty so she would push her fingers deep into your mouth until you choke and try to pull away but you can’t because she’s holding your face with her other hand, so you can only stand there and accept whatever decisions she makes :( but she rewards you by fucking you with two long fingers in a way that makes you see stars <3 seeing that you’re writhing around in bed and your hands are clutching her arm and scratching her skin, sophia would choose to hold both of your wrists above your head to remove anything that limits her from playing with your body because she’s enjoying this more than she should.

and when she’s finally fucking you... sophia finds it adorable but simultaneously hot how you accidentally squirted on her cock as she slipped it into your pussy, which completely embarrassed you but made her almost cum instantly inside your pussy after seeing your body’s cute reaction — sophia doesn’t care about those little details because she's willing to help you and teach you until you no longer make mistakes.

[optimusxwbu]

✧₊⁺- prime soundwave x human fem reader 18+

-> warnings/tags: 18+, drabble, stockholm syndrome, obsessive behaviour, dubcon-ish, mind-break, implied kidnapping, recording, tentacle play. 1k words.

-> minors dni, you will be blocked!!

ok guys y'all have had SO MUCH smut, now lemme get back into the swing of actually writing things that aren't gooner material >:) (i am 4eva a gooner tho so... there is gooner stuff in here, just not as explicit as usual) this is just a drabble but be warned that this might not be suitable for everyone, pls heed the warnings/tags ❤︎

‿_‿✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ‿_‿

Soundwave always knows when you’re sneaking through the vents, looking for a way off this death ship. Can hear your scuttering, see your small form dash along the corridors in the surveillance cameras before you clamber into a vent and traverse the labyrinth.

You’re never successful in actually escaping. Even if you were able to get to the exterior of the ship, at this altitude, there would be nowhere to go. Nowhere to go but down, to certain death. You are a beggar bound by dogma, commanded by the despotism of freedom.

When Soundwave would retrieve you from whatever tight corner you had backed yourself into, data cables the width of your torso wrapping around you to hang you in the air like some caricature of a game of hangman, a pang of guilt floods through you for attempting to escape him. It’s a show of dominance, a show of power, of who is in control. It’s he who holds the key to your cage, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling censurable, despite being charged with a crime that you didn’t commit.

Your slow forgiveness of the situation you find yourself in wasn’t peace, but surrender. The reality is a cold shroud, the spark you once harboured now nothing more than a pitiful wisp. 

His burden weighs heavily, one he is all too willing to tie you to. He’s dressed you in shackles and has the audacity to call them regalia.

Held down with breezeblocks and gentle caresses at the bottom of his ocean, you oscillate between his flaunted prize to a mockery of a lover. A grandiose fantasy in which Soundwave loses himself, a visceral betrayal of the very idea of love.

The juxtaposition of what Soundwave believes you to be against what you really are, his delusion is the only thing which your survival and well-being are contingent. Nothing more than a mantle of mortal flesh and bone, hollow memories and fleeting desires. Not his saving grace, not the architect who pioneers his skyscraper of glory.

After a particularly close escape attempt, he trailed you back through the reverberating halls of the Nemesis back to his habsuite, where he proceeded to wind his data cables around your body like a snake taking its prey, before slamming his spike past your walls and taking you at a maddening pace.

You awoke the next morning to find your skin littered with bruises, with marks that serve as a constant reminder of the consequences of your cardinal sin.

He pries meek mewls and whimpers from you when he sinks his spike in deep, an unbelievable ability to tear orgasm after orgasm from you despite your obstinate resistance. He takes and takes and takes, but when he splits you open on his monstrous length, tip flush against your cervix, you swear you can see the pearly gates illuminated before your eyes.

You drink this poison from his outstretched servos as it’s the only thing that will quench your thirst. Your collar is not made from leather or metal, but the shadow of his servo, an echo that reminds you of the bounds that are not to be trespassed upon. 

That black visor is a bottomless pool, it ensnares you and drags you into the depths, to be held in a vacuous space of an eternal night. It stares back into your soul, a reflection of the submission that has seized you. 

He tears fragmented screams and high-pitched moans lodged within your throat as his pulsating data cables wrap tightly around your limbs, leaving you immobilised, as he pounds your tight cunt to burn off the stress of his affluent yet demanding position within the Decepticon ranks. He bends your body to his desire, your all-too-needy heat greedy for the floods of transfluid he fills you with. 

The obscene squelching noises of your dripping core are recorded, stored within encrypted memory files in Soundwave’s hard drive. Your chants and pleas for him to ‘put it back in’ when he accidentally slips out, slick spike sliding against your throbbing clit to make your body jerk, he stores it all away to revisit at a later date. 

Sometimes, when he is feeling particularly wound up, he will play those noises back to you as he teases your clit with a feeler on the end of his data cable. The flexible, rubbery tendrils weaving around your sensitive bud, subtle vibrations to usher you into ecstasy. He maps your topography and commits it to memory, no region on your body left unconquered. 

You are paraded around the bridge of the Nemesis, perched on Soundwave’s shoulder like a Fabergé egg. The silent mech commands enough respect that no one questions it, the others will spare you brief glances, but they mostly act as if you aren’t even present. To them, you are an inferior and insignificant pest who Soundwave uses to treat his ailments. Nothing more than a means to an end, lacking sentience and autonomy. 

Soundwave likes it that way, revels in the fact that he is your only source of attention, of companionship. He has become more salient than the blood that runs through your veins, more vital than the oxygen that sustains you. 

In peaceful moments, his engines purr as you lie back on his berth, his helm cradled against your stomach whilst he’s situated between your legs. Your kind hands pet the top of his helm, whispering soft nothings to him. He responds with vibrations, a language of frequency that you have come to learn. He adores you. He treasures you. He needs you.

Your fragile, delicate frame allows him to indulge in the throes of passion. The dominance that he yields over every atom that has formed you intoxicates him, makes him feel like Primus himself deemed Soundwave worthy. You are his reward, his accolade for his undying devotion to Megatron’s cause, the balm that soothes the brutality that he has endured. 

He’ll spread your legs wide and pump the width of his cables into you, wriggling them to get them deep. Your juices trickle down the ribbed texture as you choke on your cries, the sensation of his cable hitting your g-spot in waves causing spurts of your orgasm to spray over his sleek panels. 

You’ll be his, until your last breath, you are his.

[theultimatedisaster]

Some western lefties (tankies) will try to claim that since the us did a bunch of terrible shit during the cold war, then that means that the ussr were the good guys. As someone from a former eastern bloc country who knows a great deal about history of the cold war, I can certainly say that they were definitely not.

The USSR not only did a bunch of ABSOLUTELY HORRENDOUS SHIT to its allies (the Hungarian uprising of 1956, Warsaw pact invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968 and the soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 to name a few), but also to its own people as well - like the holodomor in Ukraine in the 1930s. It is also important to add that the russians tried to surpress a lot of different cultures on their territory that were anything different than russian. Just ask anyone from any post-soviet country that isn’t Russia.

So no, just because the us did a bunch of terrible shit doesn’t mean that the ussr were the true good guys that never did anything wrong and any source that says otherwise is us capitalist propaganda.

The Cold war wasn’t some fight between good and evil. It was a "fight" between two imperialist countries that both did equally evil things.

I’m from Czechia and I can certainly say that no sane progressive leftist will tell you that the communist times were actually great, because they genuinely weren’t. My own family has a bunch of terrible experiences related to the communist regime before the velvet revolution in 1989. My stepgrandfather’s dad lost his well paying job as a factory manager in 1968 after he openly criticized the warsaw pact invasion by calling it an occupation, something the soviet bootlickers in charge didn’t want to hear. Instead, they claimed that the invasion was a „brotherly help from our eastern allies against contrarevolutionary efforts by fascists” - which was a bunch of bullshit that can be easily debunked by historical evidence. Because of that, my stepgrandfather couldn’t attend the high school that he wanted to attend (and also because of the fact that both of his parents weren’t members of the communist party). And trust me, there were people who had WAY WORSE experiences with the czechoslovakian communist party - like those political prisoners who were either executed or held in labor camps in the 1950s. And those weren’t just right-wingers, mind you.

Needless to say, western lefties should educate themselves about history of the USSR and the eastern bloc during the cold war before they start idolizing and romanticizing these countries (and their ideologies).

never underestimate the number of american 20-year-olds who have never set foot in eastern europe romanticizing the soviet union on any english language dominant social media platforms. i cant with you.

[redd-blushing-roses]

A Visit From the Wilson's

word count: 3.7k

pairing: (FarmhouseAU Bucky Barnes x reader)

warnings: allusions to a previous miscarriage. nothing overly sad in this one. just some more fluff.

summary: you and bucky invite the wilson family over to share some exciting news!

notes: helloo! here with another farmhouse au fic. i'm still working on the next part for its fear (i haven't forgotten) it's just taking some time. hope you all have a wonderful friday and happy fourth if you celebrate!

enjoy reading :) ------------------------------------------------------

It’s hot in the kitchen, the smell of barbecue ribs and smoked meat wafting through the sliding door as you come in. You step in from the backyard, a small basket of peaches from your trees in your arms. 

Bucky carefully flips over the meat he’s watching, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow, metal hand gleaming. 

You were both preparing lunch for the Wilson family, your favorite company who visited the farm. Your only company actually.

Bucky didn’t let many people visit the farmhouse, worrying it might compromise your safety. And especially now…

Bucky smiles as you come behind him, feeling your arms wrap around his torso, the small swell of your belly gently pressed into his back.

“It smells divine in here,” you say into his shoulder, Bucky’s hand coming to rest over yours at his waist.

“It better. It’s Sarah’s recipe.” You hum, letting him go, your fingers lingering a moment longer than they should. Not that he was complaining. You move towards the fridge, beginning to pull out the food you’d prepared for your friends. The large garden salad, fresh lemonade, cold pasta and potato salad. All the works. 

Only the best for your friends. 

Bucky couldn’t help staring as he watches you move around the kitchen, his eyes only leaving when he needed to turn over the meat. Ever since you found out you were pregnant, he’d been extra observant. Making sure you had enough water, helping you around the house when the nausea became too much to do anything, making sure you never felt alone in your discomfort or pain.

You were just past the halfway point, your belly past the questionable bloated stage and now a prominent bump, 24/7. And you both loved it. 

You loved waking up every morning to see the progress. No matter the insecurities which whispered in the back of your mind about weight gain and your changing body, they were always drowned out by the evidence you were carrying a new life. Those small flutters you felt, like a small fish wiggling and sliding, made you giggle every time you felt your baby move. Your precious baby, not even here yet and already so loved. 

By you and Bucky both.

Bucky loved coming up behind you and resting his hands beneath your bump, he loved laying on the couch with his body on top of you (very carefully of course, he was a big guy after all) his ear pressed against your belly as he listened to his baby’s heartbeat. He loved listening to you late at night when you both couldn’t sleep, heads tucked close together, taking in your hopes and excitement about the future.

It was hard, you wouldn’t lie. Between being sick almost every morning and feeling so tired you couldn’t help the naps you had begun to take every afternoon; between Bucky’s nervousness at how silently you took on any aches and pains and his own insecurities at becoming a father, of being in charge of such an innocent life. 

And of course the breath you both held during those first 12 weeks, waiting for you baby to be in the safe zone. 

It was hard. But so worth it, the joy you both shared overflowing. And now you were finally ready to share that joy with your closest friends. 

“Buck, have you seen the cloth napkins?” You call out from the hall, digging through the cabinet where you kept the linens and tablecloths. 

Bucky looks around, spotting the laundry basket full of folded napkins you had washed and pressed the night before, sitting by the kitchen table. 

“They’re in here doll,” he cranes his neck to look down the hall at you, flipping another piece of meat with a sizzling pop. 

You sigh, quietly kicking yourself as you remember you had put them there so you wouldn’t have to go looking for them. Pregnancy brain was no joke. 

You come back in the kitchen, setting up the table with the napkins, placing silver cutlery around every place, fingers gently moving the flowers in the vase so they sit just right.

(the flowers Bucky had brought you this morning, surprising you as you got ready with the small pink and blue bouquet) 

Bucky chuckles at the way you pay attention to every detail, making sure all the chairs are spaced just right, the food laid in the right order on the counter; seeing to it that Alpine had her own food set up and was taken care of, asking Bucky if he needed anything- you were going to be a great mom, he was sure of it.

“Hon, everything’s going to be alright.”

“I know,” you lean back against the counter, watching as Bucky plates the meat, covering the dish with foil and setting it in the spot you had saved on the counter. Your hands rest against your bump, fingers gently tracing the space where you can feel the baby move. “I just want it to go well.” 

Bucky licks a bit of sauce off of his finger, coming beside you, his hip gently resting against yours.

“We don’t have to tell them if you’re not ready.”

“No, no I am,” you sigh. “I just… after what happened last time…” you trail off, trying not to relive those memories, bloody and heart wrenching. Your eyes are distant, mind adrift in the pain of loss, your fingers gently caressing your belly, reminding yourself your baby is alright. Bucky pulls you into his arms, kissing the top of your head, softly whispering your name into your hairline. You look up at him, grateful for how caring he was. “I just don’t want to have to disappoint anyone again.”

“No one was disappointed. Not in you,” Bucky reassures you. He pats your hip, bringing his hand up to the side of your bump in a comforting manner. “It’s going to be great, doll. I’m sure AJ and Cass will be excited.” You scrunch your nose, making a face. 

“They’re boys. The only thing they care about is whether or not you’ll show them how you can lift the fridge with one hand.” He shrugs. 

“Maybe.” You give him a smile, kissing him. He always knew how to talk you out of your anxieties, something which had developed over years of loving you, of learning your person, both inside and out. 

Bucky tilts his head, listening. You glance at the open door, watching as Sam’s blue pickup truck pulls up besides your car. You take a breath, looking down as Bucky takes your hand in his, giving it a squeeze. 

“I love you,” He tells you, his thumb brushing over your bump. 

“I love you too James.” You kiss him again, and move into the living room, pulling on one of your new oversized button up shirts. It hung on your body in just the right way, hiding the bump and its prominence. You give Bucky a little twirl, and he nods. 

“It’s cute. You sure you don’t want to just rip off the bandaid? Have them see you as they come in?” You shake your head, heart racing at the thought. 

“No, it’s better to wait. I think.” You hear the truck doors open and slam, Sarah’s voice echoing in the driveway as she sternly reminds the boys not to close the door so hard. You don’t have time to rethink your plan, instead putting a smile on your face as you move to the screen door, opening it with a creak and stepping onto the porch.

“There she is, my favorite Barnes!” Sam locks up his truck, shuffling over to you and pulling you into a hug. You smile, trying to discreetly keep him away from your belly.

“Hi Sam,” You pat his back, the screen door opening behind you as Bucky steps out. 

“I’m not your favorite birdbrain?” He glares at Sam, a smile breaking through before he can fully commit to the bit. 

“Of course. She’s the one who actually lets us know you’re still alive between missions.”

“Alright, well..” Bucky trails off, Sam pulling him into a hug. AJ and Cass both give you polite hellos, although they’re rushed as they clamber over to Bucky, their voices running over one another as they ask him about his arm and the fridge. 

You give him an amused look as he rolls his eyes, playfully throwing Cass over his shoulder, AJ jumping on the balls of his feet as he tries to get Bucky to pick him up as well. He's so good with the boys- he's going to be a great dad. You just know it.

“Nice to see some things don’t change,” Sarah says as she comes from around the truck, a plate full of macaroni and cheese in her arms. 

“Sarah,” you smile, giving her a hug, mouth watering at the thought of her dish. “I have been dreaming about this macaroni,” you say, pulling away from the hug, your finger gesturing towards the dish. 

“It is to die for. Thanks for having us over,” she says, handing Sam the dish as Bucky leads him and the boys into the house, the kids loud and joking around. “You look good.” Sarah looks you up and down, her eyes observant. 

You flush, trying to keep your smile controlled. 

“Thanks. And of course! We always love having you over. Bucky would never admit it, but he enjoys talking with Sam. Even if it’s just about which bad guy they’re going to take down next.” Sarah smiles, giving you a small laugh.

You can feel the baby move and you have to resist the urge to caress your belly like you usually do to calm them. Sarah looks at you oddly, as if she can sense your hesitance. 

You try not to let her gaze wander for too long, ushering her into the house before she can get a really good look. You knew if she looked too closely, she’d see the way your belly seemed to protrude a little too far into your oversized shirt, a little too bloated to be considered normal. ------------------------------------------------------Lunch is served with smiling faces and laughter filled conversation. 

AJ and Cass fawn over Alpine like they always do, the poor feline giving them a grumpy face as they pick her up, playing with her paws gently. Bucky and Sam get into playfully heated conversations about Captain America duties and different missions they’d gone on (You occasionally had to intervene, resting your hand on Bucky’s knee as you try and defend his argument, although most of the time you had no idea what he was talking about).

Sarah catches you up on her small business and her meal prepping service. You were always so in awe of how generous the woman was, how caring she was with both her family and her whole community. You admired her as a person and as a mother, hoping to be just as thoughtful and intentional as she was. 

Bucky’s hand never strayed far from where it rested on your knee, reminding you he was there with you the whole time, knowing you were nervous waiting for the right moment to break the news to your friends. 

“Man,” Sam says leaning back in his chair, most of the food devoured by all of you. “That was good. Sarah you got competition.”

Bucky laughs, embarrassed, and Sarah gives him a playfully competitive look. 

“He better not. Or I’m taking my recipe back.”

You chuckle, looking down as Alpine jumps into your lap, snuggling into your belly like she usually did. You pet her gently, listening to your friends, an absentminded smile on your face as the feline purrs, safe from the boys who are running around in the backyard now. 

“You know, I wasn’t sure about it at first, but farm life has treated you both well,” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, your husband's brows furrowing. 

“What?” he laughs, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, before you were Captain America’s sidekick (Bucky glares seriously) okay, before everything that happened with the shield, you two were all skinny and depressed.”

“Sam,” Sarah chides, her head tipping as she raises her eyebrows. 

“Oh no, I know why. But I mean, look at them now,” Sam gestures between the two of you. “You both have a certain glow about you, like you’ve gotten some decent meals. Not to toot my own horn, but it’s got to be that southern influence, come on.” You laugh.

“I guess.” 

“He’s right though, you both look different.” Sarah says, eyeing the both of you, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Happier, I think.”

You and Bucky look at each other. He smiles at you knowingly, eyes glancing down at your belly on instinct. Alpine is still snuggled against your body, your fingers gently splayed in her fur. 

You bite your lip, your heart racing. Bucky squeezes your thigh, likely hearing your nerves, a reminder he was right there beside you. He nods, encouraging you. 

“Well,” you begin, sitting upright in your chair. “We actually invited you both here to tell you-” The words are lost in Sarah’s squeal of delight, Alpine jumping out of your lap as Sarah gets out of her chair, enveloping you in a big hug. 

“I knew it! I knew it,” you laugh, Sam giving his sister a confused look and Bucky smiling amusedly. “The moment I saw you outside, I just knew it!” 

“Knew what?!” Sam asked, confused. “What were you going to tell us?”

Bucky opens his mouth to answer but Sarah is faster, giving her brother a look. 

“Oh, come on Sam. You were just going on about ‘southern influence’ and ‘the glow’. Look at them!” 

Sam looks at the both of you. Really looks. 

At your glowing cheeks, a bit softer and fuller than when he’d last seen you, the large button up shirt you wore, not your usual style. 

At Bucky’s flushed nose, the warm smile which seemed permanently fixed in his eyes, the way his eyes kept drifting to your midsection. 

Sam narrows his eyes, thinking he might understand. 

“Wait…” he trails off. Bucky laughs at his confusion, standing from his chair to come beside you as you stand as well. 

“Does this give you a clue?” You open the large shirt, running a hand over the small swell of your bump, barely popping. 

“No shot,” Sam whips his head to Bucky. Sarah laughs, her hand squeezing your shoulder. “You! And You!” He points between you both. “Parents!” 

“It’s hard to believe, I know.” Bucky smiles down at you, his hand at your waist. Your hands have drifted to the top of your bump, the baby fluttering beneath your fingers, as if they missed you during that long hour of trying not to touch your belly. 

“Dang, congratulations man!” Sam rounds the table and pulls Bucky into a hug, the man beaming with pride. Sam hugs you as well, gently giving you a squeeze, telling you how happy he was. 

The smile on your face doesn’t seem to disappear as the Wilson siblings laugh and congratulate you. The relief you feel is tremendous, and the excitement is almost overwhelming. 

“How far along are you?” Sarah asks, her hands clasped in anticipation. You sit back down, everyone following. Bucky slides the fruit bowl over to you, already anticipating what you wanted, and you accept it gratefully. 

“I’m about 22 weeks now. We wanted to wait to tell you until...” you drift how, exhaling shakily. You should be surprised at the emotions which had suddenly cropped up, but everything had been so overwhelming lately, there usually wasn’t a day where you teared up. Bucky finishes for you, his hand reaching over to envelop yours. 

“We just wanted to make sure everything was all set before we told anyone.” He gives you a gentle smile. Sarah nods, Sam giving you an understanding look. 

“That’s good. Give you a little time to enjoy the news just for yourselves too.” You sniffle, laughing. 

“Yeah,” you say, grateful for your friend. She winks at you, beaming.

“You know the gender yet?” Sam asks.

Bucky chuckles, thinking of all the debates you’d had over the past couple of weeks. 

“We don’t find out till this weekend.” 

“Ohh, I was wondering what kind of doctor’s appointment you had on Friday,” Sarah points to the calendar on the fridge. You kick yourself again, remembering you were going to remove it before they came. “What do you think it is?”

“I thinks it’s a girl,” you smile, hand gently caressing your belly. 

“Really?” Sarah asks, surprised. “You sure? You carry like I did with the boys. All outward not spread.” You roll your eyes. 

“That’s what Bucky said. He thinks I’m having a boy.” Sam makes a face, turning to Bucky.

“How do you know how women carry babies?” Bucky takes a sip of his drink, ears red. 

“He’s read the books,” you whisper to Sam, your friends eyes going wide with surprise. 

“No, I haven’t,” Bucky shakes his head laughing. (He had. When your pregnancy book had went missing you had eventually found it in the garage, a large grease stain on its cover. Bucky went red as a tomato when you'd asked what he was doing with your book)

“Well, I’ve skimmed them, but that’s not how. Steve’s mom was a nurse. Learned a lot about babies at his house.” You smile. 

 “I don’t know, I just have a feeling. Like last time.” Bucky’s eyes trail to your bump again, and it’s your turn to squeeze his hand comfortingly. 

“You should listen to her Buck. She’s usually smarter than you,” Sam jabs, already laughing at his quip. 

“Hey,” Bucky glares playfully. They begin to argue and you roll your eyes, standing and leaving the table to pull out the icecream and sliced peaches you had set up for dessert. Sarah comes over to help you, asking Sam to get the boys in from outside.

“I’m really happy for you both,” Sarah says, leaning over the counter as she watches you dish up dessert. 

“Thank you, Sarah. That really means a lot.” 

“Woah.” You hear the boys clamber in, their eyes on your larger figure. “Are you having a baby?”

“Yeah, uncle winter-soldier is daddy winter-soldier now.” Sam nods. Bucky makes a face. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Cool.” “Congrats.” The boys both say, Sarah nudging them both. AJ turns back to Bucky. 

“So, can you lift that cow with your metal hand?” 

You laugh. Your heart has never felt so full.

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

Bonus:

Your leg bounces against the plush armchair. Excited. Nervous.

It was Friday. 

Bucky comes back from the small check in counter, where he was turning in the clipboard you had filled out. He grunts as he sits on the footrest next to you, legs spread, a hand running through his hair. 

The doctor’s clinic in town was small. Private. Safe. 

You both didn’t have the best track records with doctors, what with Bucky’s experience with HYDRA tainting any medical experience he’d had and with your old boss breathing down your neck about medical check ins and health concerns. 

“I’m so excited I feel like I could throw up.” You say, hands resting on your bump, feeling the small flutters of your baby. Baby girl? Or baby boy? 

Bucky gives you a small smile, rubbing your shoulder gently. 

“I know. Still positive it’s a girl?” 

You nod. “I can just feel it.” 

He sighs, mumbling something about how you’re always right. You frown as he looks down, his face downcast. Worry creeps into your chest. 

“Buck, are you okay if it’s a girl again?” Maybe he didn’t want a girl. Maybe, after last time, he’d set his hopes on it being a boy, as if the gender had anything to do with the health of your baby. You frown. Maybe he didn’t want this baby.

Bucky looks up at you, registering that you asked him a question. He’s surprised to see your eyes misty, mouth parted as if words are trapped, your mind running a mile a minute.

“What? Of course I’d be okay if it was a girl.”

“Are you sure?” You whisper, and Bucky realizes you were going through one of your anxious spirals. You’d gotten them more frequently since becoming pregnant, overwhelmed more easily. He takes your hand in his, kissing your nose gently.

“Of course. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. I just want them to be healthy.” You nod. 

“Me too.” Bucky cocks his head, giving you a knowing smile. 

“You want a girl though.” You bite your lip. 

“I really do.” 

“That’s okay. I’d like to have a mini you running around the house.” You smile and quietly thank him with a hug. 

“Mrs. Barnes?” A nurse stands beside your chair, smiling (She’s a little in awe of how affectionate the both of you are, of how despite the quiet air of damage and grief, there’s still so much love between the both of you). “Are you ready to see baby again today?”

The gel is cool against your belly as you lay on the examination table, Bucky beside you helping you situate your shirt. 

“Alright, let’s check up on baby. Are you finding out the gender today?” You look up at Bucky and he nods, giving you a smile. 

“Yes. But we can hear the heartbeat first, right?” The doctor gives a small laugh, grabbing her ultrasound wand. 

“Of course. Is this dad’s first time hearing baby’s heartbeat?” You bite your lip. 

You couldn’t tell her that your husband was the one who got to hear your baby every night, his ear pressed against your belly as he drifted off, no matter how uncomfortable the position might be.

“No, we’re just excited to hear the baby again,” He answers for you, giving you a not so subtle wink. You smile. 

The doctor turns up the speaker for you as she gently rubs the wand over your belly, the soft thwump of the little baby’s heart filling the room. You close your eyes, memorizing every beat, every little change and pattern you hear. That was your baby. The culmination of yours and Bucky’s love for each other. 

You wipe away happy tears, eyes drawn to the monitor as the doctor turns it around. 

“There’s your baby. I see their beautiful little face. Everything looks good, all ten fingers and toes forming nicely.” Bucky leans over you, eyes intently scanning every inch of the monitor. That was his child. His baby.

God, he was already so in love with them, it was overwhelming honestly. 

“Now, let’s see if we can see what is going on between those legs, huh?” The doctor gently moves the ultrasound wand, coaxing the baby to let her see. “Oh, there we go, uncross those legs baby. Alrighty, perfect and we have…”

You crane your neck to see, a big smile on your face. Bucky laughs as you look up at him proudly.

“Congrats mom and dad. You’re having a baby girl.”

[thetravelingmaster]

Personal Trainer

Female's Point of View - Hypnosis

As I sit on the floor and look up at him, which is a very familiar and comfortable view for me, I have to keep pushing down my eager arousal and reminding myself that we are in public. In this place, he is my personal trainer in the most socially acceptable sense of the word. However, when he personally trains me in private, that title takes on a wholly different and much more erotic meaning as he teaches me how to properly use the perfectly toned body he helped me achieve in the gym.

Looking up into his piercing eyes, the gentle throbbing between my legs intensifies in anticipation because I know he's about to take charge of me... Make my body do what he wants it to do so he can sculpt it to his desires. The thought that he keeps making my body perfect for his needs makes my blood boil even as he begins and my mind instinctively drops in a place we've come to call 'in the zone'. It's a state of mind that allows me to focus on nothing except his guidance and it's a head space I've become addicted to because it makes all my training so easy to endure.

It wasn't always that way though...

I didn't do the whole training thing back in college so when it became obvious that I needed to exercise to keep fit, I registered with the local gym, hoping that I would figure out what I needed to do once I started. Thankfully, the gym's offer to supply their members with personal trainers seemed like the perfect thing to get started.

I figured that it wouldn't hurt to at least take the free trial period and at least use their guidance to get my bearings. My thinking was that if I didn't like being 'trained' by someone, then I could at least build myself my own regiment based on what exercises they suggested.

Obviously, I had my reservations when a guy turned out to be my trainer, but he was free of charge and very charming so I pushed past my reservations and went to work. The first few weeks were harsh, especially since his special training regime required me to match my sets with the playlist he insisted I listen to on the gym's headphones. Thankfully, the music chosen was VERY engaging and made it easy to power through the demanding repetitions. I always felt completely exhausted afterwards and often felt like I should quit, but something inside me just wouldn't let me so I soldiered on. And lo and behold, just like my trainer had promised, the feeling of accomplishment I felt when I finally started to see the results of my hard work in the mirror more than made up for the hardships of training.

In fact, it felt so good that I didn't think twice about hiring him as my full time personal trainer!

The results spoke for themselves so it was a no-brainer to keep following his lead and do everything he told me to do. The training grew intense, but never to a point I couldn't manage thanks to the constantly upgraded playlists he played for me. Heck, they became so incredibly effective at focusing my mind that I actually started to get 'in the zone' while I worked out. Or at least, that's what my trainer said when I told him that his music was making me zone out and go blank.

Anyway, as the weeks went by, I gained a body I could truly be proud of and at the suggestion from my personal trainer, I began to dress in a way that showed it off at the gym. The looks of hungry praise the patrons gave me were a reward all on their own, but strangely enough, not as appreciated as the praise my trainer offered me when I performed well through his sets. His words of appreciation had a way of making me feel extra good about myself and the more he offered them, the more I craved them.

Which served to make me want to work even harder as I began to book longer training sessions with him. His guidance seemed to become even easier to follow with each session we had together as my brain would start to automatically go 'in the zone' as soon as our training session began. I was there to work out and he was there to lead me. No fuss or worries.

Just simple system of command and obey.

Plus, that's not even mentioning how comfortable I felt around him! I mean, I felt no qualms or worries at all when our training sessions started to include 'progress inspections' where he weighed me and measured my whole body to keep track of my body fat. Of course, he couldn't do that while I wore my clothes so I had to be naked, but in front of my personal trainer, that was normal.

As comfortable as I felt though, my nakedness did make my mind wander towards less professional thoughts and I guess that's why I started to have erotic dreams about the man that so expertly trained me. Some were pretty vanilla, but others were more vivid and intense. In others, my normal interactions with him became starting points for wild romps in the gyms, which always seemed to leave me incredibly horny as I woke up in the morning.

And that was especially true when my dream happened to include scenes where he personally trained me to do more than exercise...

It became hard not to think about those dreams as I followed his lead at the gym and the more I did, the more aroused I felt in his presence. Thankfully, the fact that I always went in the zone so easily helped me keep my cool and stay focused on my training. If anything, being able to clear my mind of thoughts while feeling so aroused started to feel pretty nice...

Which just served to add to my appreciation of our demanding training sessions!

I got used to my growing 'mindless' arousal as it seemed to deepen and extend to even include my 'progress inspection'. I'm not sure why, but eventually all that arousal slowly made me change what truly motivated me to keep training with him. Little by little, I began to feel like I wasn't training my body for my own personal health and satisfaction, but instead, training it to get his praise...

His attention...

The switch in view points made me dive into the sessions even more, which helped me get even deeper into the peaceful mindless zone that allowed me to follow his every direction with ease. Eventually, my efforts didn't go unnoticed during my progress inspection. He praised me for a long while, saying how impressed he was with my level of dedication and ability to follow his lead. His words sent my already simmering arousal into overdrive, making my knees give way beneath me. I looked up at his towering form and intense gratitude for the man that made it all possible flooded my brain.

He reached down, cupping my face in his powerful hand and told me that my obvious arousal meant that I was the kind of girl that needed an 'intimate' personal trainer. I had no earthly clue what he meant, but I was so enraptured with appreciation and used to following his lead that all I could do was agree with him. The moment I eagerly nodded, His following words sent me tumbling back down into that wonderful mindless zone as all thoughts dissipated away. Leaving me perfectly focused on my trainer as he told me that a perfectly toned body like mine needed to be trained in the ways of pleasure.

I didn’t know why, but I knew my trainer was right because when it came to training me, he was always right and my new body was the proof of that.

Besides, my thoughtless mind  was too much in the zone to protest or to resist as he placed the headphones on my ears and played a new set of songs I had never heard before. They were very soft compared to the regular songs he played for me, but somehow, even more enticing as they tapped into something deeply buried inside my mind. In a matter of seconds, I felt myself sink deeper and deeper into the zone as he began to guide me through sets of...

I'm not sure what exactly because I was too focused and thoughtless to notice what I was doing. I just know that I was obeying his lead. 

Whatever it was he was having me do felt good though... VERY fucking good... So good that once he was done with me and I slowly came out of my zone, I couldn't help but feel compelled to show him just how appreciative I was for his guidance. So before I got dressed, I walked up to him and gave him a searing kiss before I slowly sank to my knees once again. He didn't say a word and nor did I as I undid his pants and freed his growing erection.

He watched me with clear satisfaction playing on the features of his face while I did my best to offer him the best head I had ever given to a man. I sucked... I licked... I kissed... I did everything I could think of and completely devoted myself to the task until I got the reward I was seeking. He filled my mouth with a satisfied moan that sent throbs of pleasure down between my legs.

His moan was a praise of my efforts after all and I LOVED his praise...

Obviously, on some deep level I knew that we had done something sexual, but that was perfectly ok with me. Especially after he told me that fellatio training would also be part of my sets because being intimately trained in the ways of pleasure included managing my own, as well as offering it to others.

As I walked home that night, I couldn’t help but smile as I realized that I would be able to get better at showing him my deep appreciation and earn more of his praise. Which is something I noticed I wanted even more than a healthy body.

Through the following 'intimate' training sessions, I learned the feeble limits of the pleasure my body could endure. He trained me to better control and build my pleasure without undue distractions, which would have been very hard if it hadn't been for his special music that allowed my mind to drift while my body did all the work. 

After that, once I was good and saturated with arousal and pleasure, he would start my oral training. I quickly realized that I had a lot to learn about the basic techniques to maximize the pleasure my mouth, tongue and lips could offer. But that was ok because that's what training was all about: repetition after repetition until your body instinctively knew what to do.

Again, thanks to the special music he played over the headphones while I slipped his cock in and out of my mouth, I was always able to easily block out everything around me. Which included my sense of time as I utterly focused on the task at hand.

Eventually, I earned myself extra praise after a particularly satisfying pleasure training and he informed me that I was ready for the next stage. I had no clue what that entailed, but I was excited all the same! I got my answer the next time we had time to train in his office. As always, my arousal was in full bloom as the playlist came on and I drifted into the zone. Pleasure soon followed like it did so many times before and I was more than ready for it. However, what I wasn't ready for was when the pleasure suddenly spiked in this penetrating pulse of intense pleasure. I almost lost it... Drop out of my zone...

But I was too well trained for that and managed to stay focused without letting my pleasure go wild. Pulse after push... Push after pulse... Pleasure invaded me in waves that tempted me to let go, but my trainer required that I didn't. He required that I control it so I did my best for as long as I could.

Sadly however, the intensity of this new training took its toll and even the music had trouble keeping my mind in the zone. Little by little, I felt myself fail as my surroundings eroded back into view. The first thing I registered was that I was standing up, but bent down at the waist over his desk. The second thing I noticed was that he was standing behind me. And the final thing I became aware of was that the reason the pleasure I experienced felt so different from my previous training sessions was because he was using his cock to train my pleasure control.

The thought that he was fucking me in earnest never even crossed my mind. All I could think about was how demanding it must be for him to take such an active part in my training. His dedication made me feel so ashamed that I redoubled my efforts to control my pleasure. Push after pulse... Pulse after push... I applied myself to quell the raging climax that wanted to escape my grip and tried to retreat once more into the lovely music playing in my ears.

It took effort, but it eventually worked and I was able to sink back in the zone, allowing my pleasure to wash over me without overwhelming me. In fact, I managed to sink so deep into my zone that I barely noticed when my 'pleasure set' was done and he had moved on to my oral training. The fact that I was so deep turned out to be a wonderful blessing because it allowed me to push further and take him a lot deeper than I could before, earning me even better praise than before.

As I went home afterwards, I was with a new sense of determination as I thought back to how I had almost failed in my pleasure. All his hard work would have come undone if I lost it and couldn’t keep myself in the zone to control my pleasure like he told me I should. And to me, that was unacceptable because if I allowed myself to be consumed with my own pleasure, how could I properly offer it back? Not to mention how disappointed my trainer would be with me if I couldn’t perform properly for him.

And that’s not something I was going to allow myself to do anytime soon because it would go against what motivated me to keep training so hard: his attention and praise.

Thankfully, I was a lot more prepared for the levels of pleasure I had to endure during my next intimate training session and I barely dropped out of my zone when he took me from behind. In fact, I was able to stay so perfectly deep in my zone that he added a set to the fuck where I had to straddle him. I had to move my hips to the beat and fuck him instead of letting myself be fucked and it was WAY harder to keep my pleasure under control. After a while, I was able to keep myself ‘on beat’ and sink back deeper into the zone, allowing my pleasure to simmer instead of overboiling. 

I almost lost it again when I felt his cock swell and erupt inside me, but I thankfully didn’t and managed to stay deep in the zone. The music playing in my ears helped me keep myself perfectly mindless as a new set was added to my training in the ways of pleasure: cock cleaning. 

I had never done such a thing so I didn’t quite know how to go about doing it while his cock was so soft and limp, but I didn’t worry because all I had to do was listen to my trainer’s guidance and sink ever deeper into the zone. If my trainer said I needed to do this to further my training in the ways of pleasure, I knew it was important to give it my all. I complied easily with all his demands, obeying every one of his suggestions and after I tenderly cleaned him for a long while, seemingly just to practice doing it properly, he regained his stiffness and I understood the goal on my new set. 

It was so I could have the tools to extend and enhance the pleasure I could give, which meant that I could move on to my last intimate set and do my usual oral training. 

My body was now incredibly toned and my performances during our special intimate sessions were getting better and better. All in all, I thought my training was going very well and so did my trainer. In fact he thought it was going so well that he said that I would benefit from even more training. That made me VERY excited because it meant I would get even more of his attention and possibly, his praise. However, since he was going to give me so much more attention, that meant that others at the gym could get jealous and complain. I didn’t want that at all so when he offered to train me in the privacy of his home to avoid it, I immediately accepted without a second thought!

I was a little worried and shy about the first training session we had together in his home since I was in his personal space, but after he turned on my headphones, it was like we were back in his office and I didn’t feel bashful at all about stripping naked. And more to the point, following his instructions felt even easier in his home than at the gym for some reason. Was it the comfort level of the homely setting? Was it the quality of his personal high end headphones? Whatever it was, the music carried me into my zone in record time. He began with his usual inspection and pleasure training, which was honestly a new challenge because we could really take our time to make it last a lot longer than when we did it at the gym. It was hard not to drop out of my zone and enjoy the sensations, but my motivation held firm and every time I felt myself dip back to reality, I instantly doubled my efforts to focus on the beats and sank back deeper into my mindless zone.

Eventually, I reached a state where regardless of how much pleasure my trainer pumped into me, my body wouldn’t threaten to boil over and I was easily able to easily stay one step away from climax. It was such a rush when I finally registered and understood what my new body was capable of doing when it was properly trained. It made me appreciate his intimate training all the more, but I was in the middle of my sets so I couldn’t voice my feelings. Besides, I had to wait to speak anyway because my oral training was up next and my mouth was occupied with oral pleasure training, which also somehow benefitted from our private setting and lasted longer as well.

Obviously, it was hard to stay focused with all the pleasure that was already coursing through my veins, but it got even harder when he added a new move to my usual set that made me gag. I dropped out of my zone long enough to register that the reason why was because he was pushing me down his length further than he usually did. For a split second, I even experienced a spike of panic as his cock closed off my airway, but then he told me to relax because this was a normal part of learning to deepthroat. 

My trainer was always right…

This was normal and just a new challenge I had to overcome. All I had to do was relax and go back into my zone.

My trust was not misplaced as he guided my head expertly along the new longer strokes and he never kept me wanting for air for longer than I could handle. Obviously, my worries melted away and I was able to sink back into the music that kept me perfectly in the zone. When his praise finally came gushing out and rewarded me for all my hard work, I was so deep in my own zone that it took a while for me to come back to reality and when I did, I was shocked to learn how long my training actually lasted.

I looked up at my trainer and it was clear he was just as spent as I was. Which perplexed me for a moment until I remembered that he had just trained me with his own cock and that surely must have demanded amazing self control. Not to mention incredible determination to stay the course until all my sets were done. I suddenly felt so overwhelmed with appreciation that I offered to stay the night so I could properly repay him for all the personal effort he put into my training. He politely declined, but said he would consider it if it was what I truly wanted.

I was more disappointed than I thought I would be by his refusal, but I knew he was right because what I offered him went beyond our professional relationship. I really needed to think about it properly so when I made my way home that night, I made a point to debate with myself long and hard to see if it was what I wanted. However, it turned out to be a very short and easy inner discussion because I realized that my motivation to keep pushing myself to train had subtly gone from wanting his attention and praise, to outright wanting HIM to be the one to enjoy the perfectly honed tool of pleasure he was creating.

It was what felt the most natural… The most fair outcome… 

There was no question in my mind that it’s what I wanted most and as I made my way back to his place for my second private training session, I was determined to do anything it took to convince him to accept my proposal. Obviously, I was there to train first and foremost so I had to wait until he was done leading my session before I could broach the subject with him. Which was perfect really because I was also eager to see how my new source of motivation would affect my training experience.

I was NOT disappointed!

Even his initial inspection of my muscle tone and body fat felt more satisfying… More erotically personal as I stopped seeing him as a trainer scrutinizing his charge and viewed him like a Dominant… Masterful lover evaluating the toy he painstakingly created. Each nod… Each gentle pinch and caress… Each corner smile sent proud chills of delight down my spine because it meant I was worthy of his approval. 

And if I was trained enough to meet his approval, then it meant I would surely be an acceptable option to give him all the pleasure he earned by training me.

The thought really excited me and made my following pleasure training that much more difficult because now that my goal was clear, the pleasure he was giving me, as well as the pleasure I was training to give, felt much more personal and… Carnal… Suddenly, it wasn’t just training without a concrete purpose, it was preparation for what I wanted desperately to offer him. Thankfully, his music allowed me to stay focused and sink into the familiar mindless mindset that allowed me to go through my training with my usual exemplary dedication. 

At the end of the delightfully long session, the exhausted yet satisfied smile that welcomed me back as my mind ‘awakened’ to reality reminded me all over again how grateful I was for all the time and energy he invested in my training. I was still kneeling between his legs and now that my training was over for the day, it was finally time to renew our conversation. Gently and as tenderly as I had been trained to do, I nuzzled and kissed his soft cock as I told him the conclusion I came to after I followed his suggestion and thoroughly thought about what I wanted. He was pleasantly surprised, but had his reservations and multiple questions as to what I truly intended with my offer to ‘repay’ him. 

The conversation we had about the details of my proposal was wonderfully erotic as I nurtured his deflated shaft. His questions were to the point and painted a clear picture of what I needed to do if I truly meant what I was offering him. Since all I wanted was for him to enjoy the fruits of his labour, his desire for me to submit myself as his kinky sex slave seemed like the perfect arrangement for him to do so.

That evening, he began a whole new training regiment, but this wasn’t designed to enhance my body or work on my physical abilities. It’s sole purpose was to walk me through how he expected me to act and obey his commands. It was so comforting and arousing to discover that following his dominant lead in the bedroom felt so much like following his guidance in the gym. It made me feel so comfortable and relaxed, allowing me to truly dive into being his sex slave and finally show him just how appreciative I was.

I did anything and everything he wanted. Followed… No… Obeyed his erotic commands with no other thought other than to make sure I pleased him. Since he personally trained me, I slipped into the submissive role he wanted from me with an ease that made me appreciate my long training hours even more. But as easy as it was to serve him, I made sure not to rest on my laurels and focused all my efforts on controlling my pleasure so I could be the perfectly honed tool he needed me to be.

As I knew it would, feeling him enjoy my body and talents turned out to be quite euphoric for me. Each strict order… Each flex of his erection… Each moan of deep appreciation… Each edge and orgasm I supplied him… Everything about my first experience as his slave served to reward me for all the hard work I had put into my training. Honestly, I had never felt so fulfilled before and as I drifted off into sleep cuddled in his arms, I felt like I had finally found my true self.

The next morning, after I supplied him with a VERY passionate and satisfying wake up, I couldn’t help but tell him how much I enjoyed my evening as his slave. I informed him that as long as he kept training me, I would be MORE than happy to keep showing him my appreciation by offering my submission to his pleasure. He took his time thinking it over and at one point, I feared that he might make me wait or think about it like I did the last time I offered myself. Thankfully however, he didn’t and told me that he would accept as long as I promised to keep working hard during my training.

All the different motivations I had for training myself were still there in my mind: Keeping fit and healthy… Earning his attention and praise… Gaining the body and abilities I needed to be the perfect sexual tool to receive and more importantly, give as much pleasure as I could handle…

And now that I knew how amazing and rewarding it was to submit myself to him and actually feel him enjoy the fruits of his long labours, I knew that keeping my motivation to work hard was a promise I could easily keep!

[damnfreelancer]

The Vampire and His Darlin' Pack Leader (Part 1)

AN: so i came up with an AU but it was inspired by @darlin-collins. But essentially its an AU where Sam falls for a Wolf (still darlin') who was a pack leader but fled their pack which is why David ends up in charge and they decide in the end to never take up the mantel of leader after they come back. This is a three part fic fyi its taking me a while to write this duw to listening along and writing down stuff then having to plot this while taking into consideration my AU idea

It had been a grueling year and a half since Quinn’s attack on their friend, a wound that still echoed through them and the pack, like an old scar that never quite healed. The aftermath brought not only the burden of leadership back to the front but also the crushing sense of inadequacy, of falling short in the eyes of those who depended on stability and strength.

Nearly a half a year before the attack, the responsibilities of leading a pack had begun to feel more like weight than a calling. The role was gradually yet not fully abandoned, and in the absence of purpose came poor judgment. Drawn into circles that offered distraction rather than direction, they crossed paths with Quinn, a choice that would unravel way more than expected and lead directly to the betrayal that changed everything.

They had abandoned the role of leader not long after everything with Quinn came to the fore, they left it behind like scorched earth, charred by guilt and exhaustion. It was David Shaw that took over, not by force, but because the position had quietly been handed to him. Truthfully, he was the one who should’ve led from the start—steady, pragmatic, untouched by the things that had taken root in others.

The lie about the arrest had been calculated. A quiet deception told to the pack, meant to keep them at arm’s length while the truth festered beneath the surface. There had been no arrest. No trial. Just a plan, cold, personal, and born from the hollow space where justice should have been. The others were told he’d been taken in; in reality, they stayed behind in Washington not to heal, but to finish something brutal and unfinished.

They called it recuperation. What it really was… was a fallout.

They never meant to disappear, not exactly. But there’s a difference between absence and abandonment, and they hadn’t cared enough at the moment to distinguish the two. Back then, it had felt easier to let everything rot behind them—to pretend the rot wasn’t spreading from the inside out.

Some nights, they woke up with Quinn’s voice in their head—not the voice that had pleaded or begged, but the one that had smiled, warm and sharp as broken glass. Memory was cruel like that: offering up echoes wrapped in silk, disguising knives beneath nostalgia. What they did in Washington… no one would understand. Maybe they didn’t even understand it themselves. Only that the lie was easier to carry than the truth, and lies were lighter when no one asked questions.

David didn’t ask questions.. well not any that were deeper than ‘how are you’ or ‘what's been happening’ and ‘how's the family’ anyways.

He carried the silence like it was duty. Picked up the pieces they left scattered and rebuilt something resembling order. They resented him for that, in the quiet, jealous way that only comes when someone does what you couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Or didn’t have the strength to anymore.

It was easier to pretend the pack was better off without them. That betrayal, the fallout, the blood on their hands. None of it could be fixed by leadership or loyalty or time. That whatever they'd once believed in had cracked somewhere along the way, and no one noticed until it had already fallen through.

They’d wanted justice. What they got was vengeance that was slow, deliberate and seemed unworthy. And now there was no going back. Not to the pack, not to the past, and sure as hell not to who they were before Quinn.

Whatever came next, it would come alone. And maybe that was what they deserved.

They went dark after the department spread that lie about Quinn’s arrest, hiding out with some family in Washington, keeping their heads down. But a few months back, they started catching traces, like the ghosts of years gone by, in places Quinn had passed through. Now they’re on the hunt, chasing the bastard who wrecked their lives. The kind of pain they carry? It’s not just hurt, it’s soul-deep torment that eats at you every damn second you're alive.

Wc: 687 (next part will be longer)

Taglist: @emobirthdaycake @andyinchoate @darlin-collins

[ichxgo]

His brows pull together. “Don’t people have anything better to do?” Apparently not. They'd likely gotten all of it—from multiple angles, no less—considering he and Shiro hadn’t exactly been discreet. His gaze drifts back to him, sharp and hungry despite everything. He’s half a second from demanding to see the footage, but getting worked up in this state will only end in frustration. Still, the memory creeps in, Shiro’s hands, rough and wanting, those deep kisses while they rutted like they were trying to crawl inside each other. He’ll find the videos later. But Shiro’s smirking, so Ichigo smirks back, slower, tired. “Regretting your career path?”

He nods to the rest. None of it’s his call, and he’s trying not to overstep.

“You know I don’t want your money, I never did. Unless you need a merc.” And even then, he wouldn’t charge him. Obviously. He eyes Shiro, amused. “Surprised you don’t already have some around here. Where’d the machine gun come from anyway? When are you gonna show me the rest of your stash?”

“No.” Yes. But no. He gets caught up in those suggestions for a moment. Picturing it without meaning to. “Hot,” he says, unapologetic. But then he makes a face. “Yeah. And I’m sure she would. Or not. Maybe that’s her exact type of fun. The same way you’d have fun getting a mostly straight guy in bed.” 

He tilts his head. These days his training and situational awareness is more automatic, mostly thoughtless, and constantly updating. Threats, layout, exits, people, cameras, and a touch of preemptive planning which isn’t natural and had to be drilled into him hard. “That’s because you get off on people falling over themselves to impress you.” Even though, on some level, he’s also sure Shiro disdains that level of obsequiousness. But mapping out those dealers is a bit different than drinks. And he thinks that must be the addict in him. 

He marks that hesitation, even as he wishes he hadn’t noticed it at all. But then Shiro steps close, holds out his hand, and the noise in Ichigo’s head cuts out. He fits his fingers into Shiro’s easily. They’re cool against his skin, grounding. For a second, he just watches them. Can’t look away.

Then his eyes lift to meet Shiro’s, and something stupid tries to climb out his mouth. He starts toward the room instead, fingers twitching lightly as his gaze flicks to them again.

"Yeah. A few videos." He smirks, amused in spite of the inconvenience of it. "They got all our good angles. It's a fun watch." He most definitely has one or two saved on his phone now.

He knows Ichigo wants an answer now, or as soon as possible. He knows it must be irritating to have to wait to ask again. Ichigo keeps bringing it up. He knows. He gets it. And he doesn't want to give the impression that he's on the fence. "I like him, but he's second choice hands down." He just really needs to be sure that Ichigo's sure.

Ichigo says that with such confidence that Shiro absolutely believes him. In this moment, he is exactly what Ichigo wants. But he was what Ichigo wanted before, maybe all along, and he still left him. He still let his brain do the talking and left Shiro alone with nothing but heartache and the career move that Ichigo caused. Still. He snorts a quiet laugh, watching that tapping motion. "Figures. I got all this money to throw into something like that, and you want it as plain as possible." It's something he'll keep in mind though. "Maybe I should go the oposite. Get you some diamond encrusted brass knuckles or something."

That is quite the reaction. It makes him sure he needs to meet this person. "What'd you say her name was? Yoruichi?" But then he makes a face. "Turn me? Turn me into what? A vampire? An assassin? A werewolf?" He knows what Ichigo's getting at. "A vampire, werewolf assassin? Because she'd have to be a god to turn me straight and if she has that power, she could do way cooler things than fuck with my sexual preference."

It's not at all surprising that the idea of being catalogued doesn't sit well with Ichigo but Shiro trusts he wont do anything rash about it. He shrugs. "Habit. Don't you walk into a room and assess possible threats even when you're not there for violence? Same way I walk into a bar and clock everyone I think I could buy from or convince to buy me a drink, even though I can get whatever I want and I could buy the whole bar." His brows furrow. Parting Ichigo out would have been such a fucking waste, even from a strictly business standpoint, but the idea still makes him want to rip someones throat out with his teeth.

He nods. It would be a lie if he tried to say he wasn't curious about this Yoruichi lady. If Ichigo is actually asleep when she calls, he's going to invite her over for drinks on Ichigo's behalf. For a second he considers telling Ichigo he knows where to find the bedroom, but he's not actually feeling that petty right now. Besides, if the way Ichigo struggled down the stairs is anything to go by, Ichigo might not make it down the hallway.

He straightens from his seat, leaving his glass and the bottle behind, and starts in the direction of the bedroom, pausing at Ichigo's side to offer him a hand.

[leggerefiore]

I’m craving some angst and comfort so if you could Ananas x reader with egg baby but somehow possibly dragon hunters raid the nest while Ananas is busy elsewhere resulting in reader being heavily injured and the egg nearly being destroyed. Luckily Ananas came back in time

cw: angst, blood, injuries, comfort, dragon hunters

pairing: Ananas Dragon Cookie/Reader

Ananas had departed from the nest at your behest. A certain craving for a specific dish had overcome you, and it was something that would be difficult to for their islanders to obtain. So, begrudgingly, the dragon had taken up from the nest to dote on your relatively simple wish. Truthfully, there was no concern for your safety or anything of the sort. Their nest was within the mountain of their island, after all. It was more of wishing to remain with you and the egg.

The precious egg which they had spent so long simply clutched to themself. It was an utterly sweet sight. Ananas's prideful exterior entirely shed to only show their endless affection for their child. You held it to yourself in their stead. The affection you both held for the egg was truly unwavering. A product of love in its most vulnerable form. You allowed yourself the comfort of crawling under the covers while clutching the egg. There was always a slight chill in the air, being within the ground. Pineapplemur was somewhere scavenging around, you knew.

It was far too easy to drift off as you waited.

Pineapple Island was a peaceful place.

Loud voices startled you awake.

It was unmistakably people's voices. The sound of things being tossed around and moved had your heart racing. Clutching the egg, you wondered what it could be. The islanders would never raid Ananas's nest. You felt your breath hitch as you moved to hide the egg somewhere safe. Torchlight in the distance illuminated the cave path to the physical nest. Standing on guard, you watched a group enter the area.

Heavy armour and weapons made their intentions clear. Panic coursed through you. A feminine voice called out to you – a woman dressed in light armour but carrying a ranged weapon came forth from the group. “Oh…? Were you taken by the dragon terrorising this island?” she spoke to you. A certain anger began to build inside you. Terrorising? Ananas was doing no such thing! They protected this island without fail and co-existed with the mortals who lived here. If anything – they cared for this island more than anyone else. “… That face,” she remarked and shook her head, “You're just like the fruit tribes here, huh? Dragons are horrid creatures that change their minds on a whim, how can you claim their greatness!”

Frustration finally escaped as you charged her, unable to take her insults of those you had come to care for. She reacted quickly, lifting how crossbow and shooting you. The feeling of the arrow piercing your skin sent you to the ground. Panicked breaths escaped you. She came to stand over you, gazing down at you with vicious purple eyes. “… Anyone who would defend a dragon is better off dead,” her voice was unforgiving. A hand grabbed the arrow as she plucked it out. Blood began to escape the wound. Her entourage moved around, claiming various treasures until one let out a gasp. Your strained motions showed you the worst reality before your eyes. They held up the egg. You shouted for them to leave your child alone.

The woman near you let out a scoff and walked over to the hunter holding the egg. In her hands, it seemed so fragile. “… Child?” she sneered as you and moved to hold it by just the top, “just what have you done with that dragon—” A loud roar interrupted her. All the hunters shifted to being on guard. She dropped the egg to the floor with little care, holding up her crossbow in the direction of the sound.

Your heart shattered at the action. Though, the egg seemed unharmed.

The earth underneath you shifted to being a barrier as a giant beast charged through the tunnel. Golden scales glimmering under the fire light. Glowing, slitted pupils gazed around at the intruders. “There is it!” the woman called out, “Think of the bounty, won't you?” Her crew rushed Ananas, but they clearly underestimated their power. Earth moved them, and they soon were gone deep into the ground. Shouts and screams went quiet. The battle was over as soon as it started.

“… My darling!” the dragon's voice entered your ears. Their form shifted before your very eyes as they rushed to cover your bleeding wound. Panic was clear in their eyes. “Attacking a brooding parent and egg… They had no pride whatsoever!” After securing your wound enough, they rushed to the egg. Lifting it, they inspected it. The egg was truly unharmed. Relief escaped your body. It was wrapped within the blankets of the nest. “I'm going to bring one of those healer mortals,” they gazed at you, “Please. Rest as best you can until then.”

Ananas did as they said – bringing a healer from the Pineapple Tribe. The Mango Tribe was apparently attacked by the same group you had been, but they were more unprepared. Your wound was sutured and wrapped. The bleeding had stopped. The healer was sent off to care for their fellow fruit tribes while Ananas stayed with you. Clutching you tightly to them and peppering kisses up and down any exposed flesh.

“To think… Foolish mortals would come to my island with the intention of dirtying it and killing me,” they mumbled, “Forgive me, my darling… I failed to protect you…” You reached a hand to cup the dragon's face. A reassurance left you, wanting to remind them they did ultimately protect you. Their eyes closed. “They mentioned a bounty,” a huff came from them, “Any fools who chase after it will meet my true wrath.”

You could tell they truly meant it.

[sxytwker]

Curious Hands. Careful Mouth.

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Summary: Luigi playing with your titties, but then you flip the switch and make him beg.

18+ • MDNI

𓆸 this is shorter than most of my other ones, but enjoy

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂

The softness didn’t last long.

It never does with her.

She still slept curled into his chest. Still let him kiss her bare shoulder in the morning. Still moaned his name when he touched her just right.

But the attitude?

Back in full force.

She rolled her eyes at his reminders.

She gave him clipped little “mhms” when he told her he liked her outfit.

And at lunch, when he gently took her phone out of her hand to get her to look at him, she didn’t even blink — just said, “Are you done?”

Luigi narrowed his eyes.

Something shifted behind them.

Later —

They walked together, her tote bag slung over one shoulder, gold hoops gleaming in the setting sun, pastel pants low on her hips like she knew what she was doing.

He held the door open for her. She walked through like she didn’t notice. Didn’t say thank you.

He stepped in behind her. Calm. Focused. Silent.

She turned halfway to him, chewing gum like she was still on break.

“You good?”

Luigi didn’t answer right away. He stepped close. Too close.

Then leaned in, lips by her ear.

“Come home tonight at seven sharp,” he said, voice low and clipped. “I don’t care if you keep this little attitude. But I am going to get rid of it.”

She blinked.

Pulled back.

Smirked.

Scoffed once.

“Okay, daddy,” she said, sarcastic, brushing past him toward the subway.

Luigi didn’t react.

Not then.

But his jaw flexed. His eyes followed her the entire way down the steps.

And in his head, the plan was already unfolding.

She thought this was cute.

She thought she had time.

She thought the attitude made her untouchable.

She was so wrong.

She opened the door slowly, half-expecting him to be standing in the entryway with that look on his face already — the one that pinned her in place with a single raised brow.

But the apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Just her, the click of the door shutting behind her, and the faint hum of the fridge across the kitchen.

Then she saw it — the note.

A single sheet of paper, folded clean, sitting on the counter next to a chilled bottle of water and her phone, which he’d apparently moved from her nightstand.

She raised an eyebrow, slid the paper open.

His handwriting was sharp. Neat. Intentional.

You’re late.

Barely — but late.

I went out to get groceries an hour ago. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.

Until then, follow these instructions exactly. No attitude. No negotiating.

1. Go into your dresser. Back left drawer.

2. Put on the light pink thong and the matching bra— you know the ones.

3. Get in bed. Sheets down.

4. Get your phone.

5. Wait for me.

6. Do not touch anything else. Do not put anything else on.

One more thing.

Since you thought it was funny this morning — you will call me daddy tonight. Every time. No exceptions.

And yes. I’m in a mood.

— L

She let out a little pfft of a laugh under her breath. Rolled her eyes. Bit her lip.

“Dramatic,” she muttered.

But still…

She was already walking to her bedroom.

7:06 PM — Her Bed

The sheets were down just like he asked.

She was lying there in nothing but the soft pink thong — the one he’d specifically picked once when they were shopping together, claiming “this one’s for nights when you forget who’s in charge.”

The fabric clung to her hips, barely covering anything, soft against her freshly washed skin. Her phone was in her hand, glowing softly. Notifications off. Camera ready.

She curled onto her side for a moment. Waited.

And despite herself — despite the soft smirk on her lips, the half-laugh stuck in her chest — she felt it.

The tension.

The quiet.

The weight of obedience.

She looked down at her phone. Stroked her fingers over the screen. Laughed to herself again.

“Daddy,” she whispered under her breath with a grin.

She didn’t know what time he’d walk in.

She didn’t know what kind of mood he’d really be in.

But she knew one thing:

Tonight?

She wasn’t in control.

And her little joke?

Oh, she was about to pay for it.

She heard the lock click, the door swing open. Keys on the counter. The soft thump of a grocery bag hitting the kitchen island.

And nothing else.

No words. No footsteps coming toward her bedroom.

Just the sound of paper bags rustling. The fridge opening. Plastic lids snapping as he unpacked.

He was taking his time.

She shifted under the sheets, still in that soft pink thong, phone in hand, legs pulled up loosely. Her skin prickled. Her stomach fluttered. The silence was louder than anything.

Ten minutes passed.

Then finally–

His steps echoed down the hall. Measured. Calm. Controlled.

He walked in.

Stopped in the doorway.

Looked her over from head to toe — slow, unreadable, his brows pulled slightly, tongue tucked into his cheek.

And then he walked straight to the closet.

No words.

She blinked, lips parting. “Hi—”

Closet door shut.

Oh, she thought. He’s really doing this.

7:48 PM — 

When he came back, he’d stripped down to nothing but his grey Calvin Klein boxers — the ones that hugged him just right, waist riding low on his hips, the elastic band flexing as he moved.

Still no words.

He crawled into bed like it was just any other night, like she wasn’t lying there waiting, bare, flushed, quiet.

He propped a pillow behind him, leaning back against the headboard, broad chest rising slowly as he exhaled through his nose.

Then finally—finally—he looked at her.

“Straddle me.”

His voice was low. Firm.

She moved quickly, heart pounding. Legs swinging over his lap, her knees resting on either side of his thighs.

“Phone,” he said next. “Record.”

She blinked. “Record?”

He raised a brow, head tilted. “You heard me.”

She hit the red button, propped it on the nightstand to catch everything, the soft glow of the screen blinking to life.

Luigi leaned back again, dragging his hands up her thighs.

“So,” he said, casual, eyes locked on hers. “How was your day?”

She smirked, shifting a little on his lap. “Boring, but good. Nothing exciting.”

A pause. Then a grin.

“Well… Daddy.”

He stared.

Then smirked back. Slow. Dangerous. “Good.”

And then he did something she wasn’t expecting.

He didn’t pull her hips. Didn’t slide inside her. Didn’t demand anything filthy.

He just sat up — chest to chest — and put his hands on her breasts.

Soft. Curious. Intentional.

His palms cupped her, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the fabric of her bra. His eyes never left hers.

She blinked.

“You’ve never—”

“Shhh,” he murmured, already leaning in.

His mouth closed over one nipple through the fabric, lips warm, tongue slow. Not greedy. Not rough. Just thorough. His other hand squeezed gently, fingers pressing into her skin, dragging her deeper into the moment.

She gasped softly.

It wasn’t sharp, it wasn’t dominant — not yet. It was… exploratory. Like he was figuring out just how sensitive she was here, just how sweet she could get when he gave her attention she didn’t expect.

His teeth grazed her through the cotton. His tongue flicked again. Then again.

“Fuck,” she whispered, surprised at how fast her back arched.

“You like this?” he muttered, dragging her bra strap down her arm, exposing one breast, already pebbled and flushed.

She bit her lip, nodding. “I didn’t think I would—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, voice low. “I knew you would.”

And then his mouth was on her bare skin.

Hot. Wet. Pulling.

His hands kneaded, gripped, teased.

Her hips rocked into him, her moans coming faster now, her thighs trembling around his hips.

The camera blinked quietly in her hands.

She wasn’t smiling anymore.

She was melting.

And Luigi?

He hadn’t even started yet.

She was straddling his lap, breath shaky, one strap already down her arm, one breast bare and glistening from his tongue. Her bra hung off her like it had given up the fight, and her mouth was open — stunned, dazed, lips wet, chest rising in rhythm with the slow, dragging pressure of his mouth.

Luigi didn’t speak.

Didn’t smirk.

Didn’t tease her like he usually would.

He just watched her.

Every shift of her thighs. Every sharp gasp when his tongue circled a little tighter. Every faint tremble when his teeth scraped, not biting, just testing the edge.

He switched sides.

Pulled the other strap down. Let the cotton bunch at her elbows.

She didn’t help. Didn’t need to. She couldn’t think.

Her hands dug gently into his shoulders, her hips grinding in slow, helpless rolls. Not trying to get off — just reacting.

His mouth latched onto her other nipple, lips soft but focused. He sucked slowly, gently, then added the faintest flick of tongue — quick, repetitive. Not rough. Just… thorough. Curious.

She moaned.

Sharp and high.

Her hand flew to her mouth — instinct — but he caught her wrist and pulled it away, locking his eyes to hers.

“Let me hear it,” he murmured, tongue dragging slowly across her skin. “I need to know what works.”

That sentence alone sent a shock through her.

He was testing her.

Learning her.

Wrecking her with precision.

One hand slid up her side, dragging his fingertips across her ribs, then back down to cup her breast fully in his palm. His fingers played. Squeezed. Rolled. Just enough pressure to make her thighs clench.

And then his other hand — slow, unnoticed — slid between her legs.

She gasped again, back arching, her hips grinding down against his fingers. He didn’t go inside her. Not yet. Just rubbed — slow, teasing circles over the fabric of her thong, right where she was swollen, soaked, and throbbing.

“You’re already shaking,” he whispered against her chest, lips brushing her skin. “And I’ve barely done anything.”

She moaned his name. Jaw slack. Head tipping back.

Her body was so responsive.

Every drag of his tongue. Every scrape of his teeth. Every slow, perfect roll of his fingers over her heat.

He pulled back from her chest for a second, breathing against her skin.

“Like this?” he asked, voice thick with heat but low, almost tender.

She nodded, eyes glazed.

“Yes—fuck, daddy, yes. Just like that.”

He smiled, but only faintly — like he was proud of himself.

And then he kissed her chest again — slower this time, tongue flat and warm — while his fingers pushed just a little harder between her legs.

She jolted, mouth open again, breath shattering on her tongue.

Luigi looked up at her from under his lashes.

“You’re gonna be ruined after this,” he whispered.

And she already was.

His mouth dragged over her chest again — tongue slow, lips soft, sucking gently until her nipples were flushed and swollen from the attention. His thumb kept tracing circles between her legs, still over the fabric, still patient.

She was breathing hard now, her hair falling over her shoulders, sticking slightly to her skin. Her cotton bra, still hanging halfway off, had clearly given up — and yet, it wasn’t really in the way.

But Luigi didn’t care.

He wanted it gone.

He sat up slightly, one hand sliding around her back, fingers tugging at the clasp.

“You don’t need this,” he murmured, almost to himself.

She didn’t move. Just let him unhook it, let the straps fall. Let the bra drop into his lap like it didn’t matter.

And she looked stunning like that — bare, glowing, flushed with heat and soft everywhere, thighs trembling against his hips.

He leaned back on the headboard again, licking his lips slowly as he took her in.

Then, calm as ever:

“Slide down. A little.”

She blinked.

“Further,” he added, guiding her by her waist, dragging her lower on his thighs until she was straddling just above his knees, her bare heat grazing his skin.

The contact alone made her breath catch. The position was new—exposed. But she didn’t resist.

She just looked at him through her lashes.

“Like this, daddy?”

His jaw twitched.

Her smirk deepened.

“You think you’re funny,” he said quietly.

“I think you like it.”

He didn’t deny it.

He just nodded once. “Now take control. You’re not done impressing me.”

She sat up straighter. Rolled her hips forward. Her folds grazed the inside of his thigh, dragging slick over his skin.

Luigi’s breath hitched just slightly.

Then again—when she did it slower. Deeper.

And said, “Like this, daddy?”

His fingers dug into the blanket beneath them. His mouth parted.

She moved again, letting her thighs flex, dragging her heat over his bare skin, slow and deliberate. The friction made her gasp, but she was watching him now — watching his eyes darken, his jaw flex, his abdomen twitch with every slow grind against his leg.

He was feeling it.

And she knew it.

“You’re already tense,” she whispered, voice sticky-sweet. “You said I’d be ruined, but you’re the one falling apart.”

He didn’t respond right away.

Just let out a breath through his nose and grabbed her hips with both hands.

“You like teasing me?” he muttered, voice sharp, low.

She nodded. Bit her lip. Rocked again.

“Say it.”

“I like teasing you, daddy.”

Luigi’s hands clenched. His thigh flexed beneath her, muscles tightening, and she moaned from the pressure against her soaked, needy core.

Another roll. Another gasp. Another twitch of his thigh, this one not subtle.

“You’re shaking,” she said, breathless.

“I’m holding back,” he growled. “But if you don’t stop—”

She rolled again. Harder.

“Then what?”

His jaw clenched.

“Then you’re gonna be the one begging, baby.”

But her mouth just parted in a wicked little smile.

“I’ll say please… if you do.”

And for the first time all night—

Luigi Mangione was speechless.

She was still straddling his thighs, her bare chest rising and falling with every breath, her heat dragging slow and deliberate over the thick muscle of his leg. Every grind left a smear of slick against his skin. Every motion made him twitch harder.

Luigi leaned back again, his hands gripping the blanket beneath him — white-knuckled now. His chest was rising fast, his lips parted like he couldn’t quite catch a full breath.

“You okay, daddy?” she asked sweetly, dragging her chest up his stomach, her nipples grazing his skin.

He jolted.

Actually twitched.

“F-fuck,” he groaned under his breath.

She did it again. Slower this time. Her skin brushing against the hard lines of his abs, breasts teasing the dip just beneath his ribs. Her hands braced against his hips, steady and calm, but her mouth?

Smirking.

“You like that?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

So she reached down, hooked her fingers into the waistband of his Calvin Kleins — now visibly strained, twitching, struggling to contain him.

“Let’s fix this,” she murmured.

She pulled them down slowly, dragging them down his thighs until he sprang free — thick, flushed, and angry. The band caught for a second, tight around his thighs, before she tugged them off completely and tossed them beside her bra on the bed.

He twitched again.

Harder now.

“You’re so hard, daddy,” she said softly. “That all for me?”

His head tipped back.

She could see it in his jaw, in the way his brows knit together: he was fighting not to give in.

So she leaned forward — lips brushing the base of him, chest dragging against his thighs — and pressed her breasts around him, wrapping him in soft, warm skin.

Luigi let out a sound that was not a groan.

It was a whimper.

A desperate, high-pitched, helpless sound that made her thighs clench now.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “That made you twitch?”

He opened his eyes — barely.

His voice cracked when he spoke.

“You keep doing that, I’m gonna cum all over you and I won’t be nice about it.”

She giggled.

And squeezed.

Let her chest push tighter around him. Dragged slowly. Slid her tongue along the top just for good measure.

He grabbed a pillow behind his head and gripped it, his entire body tightening under her.

“Please,” he choked. “Baby—”

She lifted her head, smirking, her chest still wrapped around him.

“You were so curious before,” she whispered. “So interested in my tits.”

He moaned again — whiny now, shaky, his thighs twitching.

“So let me show you what they’re good for.”

She pressed tighter. Moved faster. Squeezed.

And Luigi Mangione — the most in-control man she knew — was falling apart in her lap, helpless to do anything but beg.

Luigi was right there.

His back arched slightly off the bed, his thighs trembling beneath her. His cock was flushed and soaked, twitching helplessly between the soft, slick warmth of her breasts. Her skin was glossy now — covered in the glistening mess he’d already made trying to hold back.

He gripped the sheets.

His abs were tightening.

One more stroke and he was done.

But she stopped.

Slowed. Backed off.

He let out a strangled, broken breath — part moan, part frustrated whine that made her pulse throb between her legs.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed and sweet, chest still gently squeezing around him.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not yet.”

His eyes were glassy now. “Why?”

“Because,” she said with a grin, reaching toward the nightstand for her phone. “You’re gonna record this for me.”

He blinked.

“Record?”

“I want to watch this later,” she whispered. “I want to see you like this. Whiny. Leaking. Begging.”

He groaned, tipping his head back with a groan. “You’re evil.”

“Uh uh,” she smirked, handing him the phone. “Record.”

He took it, rolling his eyes, but the way his hand shook slightly said everything.

The red light blinked on.

And she didn’t waste a second.

She leaned forward again, dragging her soft, wet chest over him — slow at first, then a little faster, letting the slick smear between them, her hands pressing him up into her cleavage. The sound was obscene. Wet. Perfect.

She looked right into the camera and smiled.

“Hi,” she said, breathless but proud. “My name is—well, doesn’t matter.”

She pumped her chest up and down once, watching Luigi twitch violently.

“And this right here?” she said, glancing up at him before turning back to the camera, voice soft and filthy.

“This is daddy.”

Luigi groaned so loud it almost covered her next moan.

She grinned harder, dragging her chest a little faster now, watching his hand tighten around the phone as he tried to keep filming through the overwhelming need to cum.

“Say hi, daddy,” she cooed.

His voice cracked. “F-fuck. Hi.”

“Look at him,” she whispered, mouth right near his base now, tongue flicking up. “He’s so close. But he’s not allowed. Not yet.”

And she kept going — teasing, squeezing, dragging slick heat over every inch of him while he recorded, shaking, moaning, whimpering into the camera like he wanted to be ruined on tape.

And she?

She was going to make sure of it.

Luigi’s hand trembled around the phone, the red light blinking in the corner as she kept working him — chest tight around his cock, skin wet with his slick, her lips brushing his shaft every few seconds as she spoke directly into the camera like she was giving a demonstration.

“And here,” she said softly, bouncing her chest in a slow rhythm, “we have a man who used to be so cocky.”

She grinned.

“Not so confident now, are you, daddy?”

He let out a whine — high, broken, involuntary.

It was the prettiest sound she’d ever heard him make.

His thighs tensed hard beneath her. She could feel them start to lift, trying to buck up into her chest.

She reached down with one hand and pinned his hips to the bed.

“Ah, ah,” she cooed, her grip firm. “You stay still. I didn’t say you could finish.”

Luigi groaned, eyes clenched shut, the muscles in his arms shaking now. His abs were twitching violently, sweat beading along his chest.

“I can’t—baby, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she whispered. “You’ll do it when I say. Not a second before.”

She kept the motion steady — just the perfect pressure between her breasts, moving slow and smooth, letting the friction build back up with agonizing control.

And the sound of it — the wet, lewd slap of his cock against her chest, the squeak of the sheets under his flexing thighs, the breathless whimpers he tried to swallow — it was enough to make her whole body light up.

His hands dropped the phone for a second, bracing on the bed, until she reminded him.

“Pick it back up,” she said. “You’re gonna want to remember what this looked like.”

Luigi grabbed the phone again with a shaking hand, now filming her perfect, ruined chest and her soaked skin — her tits bouncing, glistening, smeared with his slick — as he begged to be allowed to finish.

“I need it,” he whispered. “Please. I’ll do anything, just—fuck—please let me cum.”

She looked up at him through her lashes.

“Beg again.”

He nearly sobbed. “Please, let me cum. Let me fucking cum. I can’t take it—”

And that’s when she finally gave it to him.

“Okay,” she said, voice so soft it barely registered over his ragged breathing. “Cum f’me, baby.”

And everything broke.

His whole body convulsed. His thighs lifted again and this time she let them, keeping her chest pressed tightly around him as he erupted between them.

It wasn’t just release — it was explosive.

The first spurt hit her collarbone. The next, her throat. Then her cheek, her lips, her hair — hot ropes of cum painting her chest in thick, heavy waves, spilling between her breasts, dripping down onto her thighs.

Luigi groaned so loud it echoed in the room — not filthy this time. Raw. Deep. Destroyed.

His hips bucked helplessly, twitching again and again as he emptied everything he had onto her body.

The phone captured it all — every drop, every gasp, every wild tremor of his muscles as she held him there, let him ride it out, and watched him fall apart.

He finally collapsed backward, chest rising like he’d just run a marathon, face flushed, sweat on his forehead, hands slack.

And her?

Covered.

Flushed.

Smiling.

She looked at the camera. Lifted it gently out of his hand.

And panned down over her chest, her lips, her dripping stomach.

“This,” she whispered, eyes glinting, “is what happens when I take control.”

Luigi was lying flat on the bed, chest still rising like he hadn’t breathed in years, arms flopped above his head, every muscle twitching from overstimulation. His skin was painted with sweat and flushed pink in all the right places.

She was still straddling him — her chest, lips, neck, and hair covered in the evidence of what she’d just pulled from him.

The phone was still recording.

She looked down at him, eyes glinting, and tilted her head.

“So,” she said, playful but firm. “Who’s in control now?”

He didn’t answer.

He just rolled his eyes, one hand lazily covering his face like he was too ruined to speak.

She leaned in and gave him a light slap on the cheek — not hard, just enough to make him look at her.

“Luigi,” she said, lower now. “Who’s in control?”

He looked up at her through half-lidded eyes.

And whimpered.

“You are.”

She grinned and kissed him — slow, warm, possessive — tasting him on her tongue, her fingers brushing gently through the curls at his temple.

Then she reached over and finally stopped the recording.

Bathroom —

She practically had to lift him off the bed, but she didn’t mind. He was floppy now — dazed, heavy, not putting up a fight. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him to his feet, steadying him as he leaned against her shoulder.

“You’re a mess,” she whispered, smug.

“You made me this way.”

“And I’ll clean you up, too.”

She reached into his drawer and pulled out a soft pair of loose boxers — the kind he only wore when he wanted to lay around all day, grey and worn-in. She set them on the bathroom counter, already turning the shower on.

Luigi stepped into the steam first, hands braced against the tile, still quiet.

She followed, hands immediately sliding over his back, grabbing the body wash and loofah. She didn’t rush. Didn’t tease.

She scrubbed him gently, starting with his shoulders, dragging slow circles down his spine. Her fingers worked into the tightness along his back, soft and steady. She washed his arms, his chest, his stomach — all of it, slow and loving.

She ran her hands through his curls, massaging his scalp, making him let out a soft hum of surrender. His head tilted forward under the water like he was falling asleep.

And then, quietly—

“So…” he said, voice hoarse. “About that video.”

She bit her lip, smirking behind him.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “That’s going in a special folder.”

He turned slightly. “Delete it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “No.”

He gave a weak little whine, covering his face again.

“You looked so good,” she whispered, dragging her lips along his wet shoulder. “Whimpering. Trembling. Saying please like you were losing your mind.”

“I was.”

“I know.”

She rinsed him off slowly, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll only watch it when I miss you.”

Luigi turned his face just enough to look at her.

“…You’re evil.”

She smiled.

And kissed him again.

“Only for you.”

She pulled on a fresh pair of panties and one of his hoodies — one that hung oversized on her, sleeves too long, the hem brushing her thighs. He stepped into his clean pair, drying his curls half-heartedly with a towel before tossing it to the floor.

The lights were low. The city buzzed softly outside her window.

And they climbed into bed together — this time not for games, not for control, not for anything except closeness.

Luigi pulled her into him.

Arms wrapped around her waist, nose tucked into the back of her neck. Her hair smelled like vanilla and warmth. Her skin was soft, clean, and still marked faintly from where his hands had been earlier.

“Comfortable?” she asked sleepily, already sinking.

He nodded against her. “Perfect.”

And they just breathed.

Her hand found his. Their legs tangled. The silence was steady, filled with the kind of peace neither of them usually let themselves have.

She was asleep in minutes.

He wasn’t.

Not yet.

1:12 AM —

Luigi shifted carefully, reaching across her without waking her. Her phone still sat on the nightstand, screen dark.

He picked it up, held his breath, and unlocked it gently — muscle memory guiding his fingers through the passcode she let him use the week before.

He scrolled.

Opened the folder.

Hit play.

There it was.

Him. Utterly ruined. Whimpering. Barely holding back.

And her?

Smiling. Wicked. Covered in him.

He watched until she dragged her hands down her chest, pressed her lips to the camera, and whispered, “This is what happens when I take control.”

Luigi swallowed hard, cheeks flushed in the low light.

He paused the video.

Scrolled back. Found that frame — her face, flushed and messy, lips parted, eyes wild, still smiling. Glazed in him. Victorious.

He screenshotted it.

Then quietly airdropped it to his own phone.

For safekeeping.

For later.

He set hers back where it was.

Slipped under the blanket again.

Wrapped himself around her.

And this time?

Luigi Mangione — usually cocky, usually composed, always in control — fell asleep in her arms.

With a smile.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂

Based on this & this request!

[biromantic-nerd]

Happy Wincest Wednesday!

It's been weirdly long since I've asked a sex question. At first they were all I asked, and then i was like "I should probably chill with that a bit. Some people actually care about romance and stuff." But I think it's time to go back to that. So. A simple one this week: favorite sex position(s) for Sam and Dean. And this doesn't have to mean anal. If what you really like imagining is oral or handjobs or frotting or regular old making out, go for it. Just, how do you like picturing or reading about them getting it on?

(It's chill if you wanna opt out or modify however you want, I know you're ace)

- @schizosamwincester

I follow a nsfw blog and every time I see it on my dash, I'm like "Ugh 🫤 WHY am I following this?" And then I see the tag at the bottom say Sam or Dean and I'm like "hee hee okay I'll imagine Sam and/or Dean 🥰 that's why. It can stay🤗" And this repeats lol. So for some reason, Spn has got me enjoying even nsfw things pretty consistently when usually those are very hit or miss for me. But I appreciate you being sweet!!!

Okay I've never organized my thoughts about this so bear with me.

Firstly, I love bottom Sam. He's just! So large and the thought of him being malleable under someone's hands is appealing imo. But I've seen top Sams that have that same feeling too. I will never be tired of praising the swesson "and it's you that i want" by @according2thelore which has that dynamic. Alpha Sam on top but boy he is falling apart in Omega Dean's arms. That is my FAVE wincest dynamic, no matter who is on top/bottom, Sam overwhelmed or trembling while Dean encourages him. Bc I think Sam just gets swept up in it and feels a lot. it's fun to imagine Dean trying to stay composed so he can direct Sam and be the one in charge. It'd appeal to Dean's big brotherism and like the way he gets to direct all Sam's desperation and energy. But also, I think Dean would eventually get swept up in it even despite his efforts at playing cool or playing more experienced or whatever.

I think frottage/grinding is very them bc they can try to get as close to each other as possible. Like yeah sure penetrative sex has someone inside but frotting has the act of trying to get closer as a need. Like as an excuse to grip tighter, pull closer. Yeah you can hold tightly and pull during sex - but the grinding that 'justifies' a reason for doing so feels very natural for them, so they can pretend they're not both as frenzied as they are. There's a 'reason.'

Also @future-dregs once mentioned neck kissing and I can easily see them neck kissing while frotting. No matter where or how, like it ensures they are Close to each other - and often means they are facing each other, watching or being watched. On a bed with Sam underneath Dean or against a wall, and Dean is at a comfortable height to kiss Sam's neck. On a bed and Sam's on top of Dean while Dean lays back with his hands behind his head - playing relaxed, feigning casual - as he makes Sam do the work until either he or Sam can't take it anymore and Dean has to hold on to him too and yank him closer. Against a wall, Sam could hold Dean up and Dean would be like "oh fuck off" but in a way where he equally means it and doesn't mean it. Again, here Dean kisses Sam's neck. I see Sam as more of the type that if he's going to crane his neck down (or up!) for a kiss, he's going for the lips not the neck. But most of the time, he'll just kind of end up open-mouthed above someone's head as they go to town on him and then when he can't stand it anymore he leans down to reciprocate, no matter how much strain it puts on his neck.

I think Dean would really enjoy watching Sam fall apart grinding against Dean's thigh. Sam clutching onto Dean's shoulders and back while Dean helps him out, watching, but can't wait and jerks himself off while watching Sam - or after Sam. Grinding together is good but I think Dean would prefer seeing Sam. For after, he'd enjoy having split his focus from entirely on Sam to entirely on himself, nothing better than having 'taken care of' Sam and reaping the benefits; it'd get him hotter.

Handjobs for them are something that doesn't count. It's basically masturbation. To them. Because they both own each other. Like it crosses a line, sure at first, but it somehow went down the slippery slope of 'wtf no!' to 'well let's masturbate NEAR each other. For efficiency. So no one has to wait. And we can watch porn together. C'monnn.' to 'well let's masturbate near each other watching porn together BUT maybe help out bc, you know, it'll go faster and feel better' to 'why wait? Let's just help each other out' to 'let's masturbate! (But they really mean jerk each other off)' And then after they've gone down that slope, if they have 'private time' it's almost like oookay. Well SOMEbody is snooty today. Mr. Private Time 🙄 OR they could literally be having sex together and Sam would still be embarrassed about masturbating and would NOT do it infront of Dean. I could easily see that happening instead. Sex is sex but masturbating is private. Unless it's strictly a handjob with Sam not doing himself no Dean but thinks their hands Are kinda hot together like that - Dean's right - so maybe he can be talked into it okay

I don't really have any oral or penetrative sex headcanons. I think they both love rimming though - giving and receiving. I think Dean's panty kink would be amazing if he explored it with Sam. Dean wearing them or Sam wearing them or both of them wearing panties. Both of them wearing panties while frotting - otherwise clothed or not - would totally do it for Dean, especially if he encouraged Sam while doing so. Dean's a talker; he's got to be. Even if sometimes it's just vague praises or like 'yeah, yeah' 'c'mere' 'Sam, Sammy'

I did see some other answers for this question that said Sam and Dean probably do a lot of oral, especially bc they can't be fussed with the time and work of penetration. Yeah I agree. But also that means sooo much thigh fucking for sure, and sometimes they even get a little chaffed and Dean thinks it's sooo funny when Sam's thighs get rashy and he walks funny but he is NOT laughing when it happens to him. "It's different - I have to drive!" "So?!?"

I usually prefer wincest smut a little smoopy and a lot desperate. I like when they lean into their roles of big brother little brother. I think Dean would never shut up about his brother, his baby brother, his Sammy. And most of the time Sam gets into it but sometimes he is like 'Dean shut UP' bc it sparks his younger sibling pride and he bristles about it. I like it when Dean's a talker and Sam's a noise maker (whiner, moaner, whimperer) but tbh any directions it flows, I like them praising each other and just being stupidly smoopy about it.

I have seen a lot of headcanons or scenarios or drawings or fics where the smut decidedly is NOT smoopy and I enjoy those too!! Dubcon and noncon and angst included for sure. But smoopy wincest is my fave without question.

[kallianthiutdr]

Extremely fair question.

Never are we told explicitly. But I also have to think he must. I always thought it somewhat a given, in my own interpretation. Back in the day a lot of fan content operated under this assumption but I doubt that's a valid argument. So, let's get into it.

First of all, they presumably shared living quarters at least at first. Mettaton doesn't need a bed if only to charge and I doubt he'd be provided with his own place right out of the gate since to everyone's knowledge he, was in fact, her robot. And, assuming that is in fact true–if Mettaton had no idea what going on downstairs–I doubt he wouldn't have insisted to make his dramatic entrance from that door. Alphys would have ridiculously insisted on the wall anyways, but Mettaton was basically “😐” with all her choices during that whole charade so I doubt she could've stopped him if he wanted to go down there.

The determination experiments started very soon after Alphys became royal scientist, judging by how Shyren's sister had been comatose since Mettaton was still living in Waterfall with Blooky, according to his diaries.

Which means Mettaton and Alphys' falling out also happens relatively early on. Entry Number 11 is when she mentions it, but it's probably already started by that time. “Now that Mettaton's made it big he never talks to me anymore unless to ask when I'm going to finish his body.” This is so early on that, to assume Mettaton's fame is the only thing bothering him would be an insane disservice for his character.

By that point they weren't amalgamates, so she had no reason to really scramble to hide anything from him. But by then, none of the bodies had turned to dust either and things weren't going well at ALL. “people are asking me what's happening. what do I do?”

And, listen you could say that MTT resented Alphys for taking ages to complete his body. You could even say he resented her because he blamed her for him leaving Blooky. But, by the EX battle he's genuinely sick of her, sick of her lies and her secrets–and his monologue gives the feel that he's sick of her excuses, too. And the Neutral Ending assumption is that he is surely just an asshole, but when you've completed the game you know better. The game expects you to re-contextualize a LOT after finishing it–and Mettaton is a huge part of that. You finally see that, maybe, just maybe, he had a very good reason to BE upset at her.

You could say that he's too self-centered to have noticed–but I think a lot of that is performance and overcompensation. I sincerely doubt little mister “thank you for making my dreams come true” was unable to get his head out of his ass for five minutes to notice his best friend was obviously hiding something big.

Even if he didn't know about the amalgamates specifically, he knew about the DT experiments, the comatose bodies, and the fact that Alphys was refusing to reply to anyone's family’s letters.

There were already cracks because of the fame and his own tendency to be a raging asshole. But, boy, I think the idea Alphys could be hiding something of this size, and specifically what exactly that hidden thing happens to be–would be a breaking point.

I even think that when he went in Waterfall–when he laid on Undyne's piano, eating grapes–he'd been planning to go to Blooky's house to expose the truth. To say who he was, to betray Alphys and to quit lying. Maybe even tell him about Shyren's sister, if he did know by then. (But he just couldn't, because he'd gained too much from this lie and because Alphys was Alphys. And he loved her despite it all. You can tell Alphys was in his mind by the fact he then proceeded to go to Undyne's house. He didn't like Undyne!) The fact he was even IN WATERFALL suggests he was thinking of Blooky, which means fame hadn't messed up his brain chemistry THAT much. If he was only so terrible to Alphys, while being generally liked by most of his employees and the general population (other than mr pessimism final boss) and while only being mildly annoying towards Undyne who he didn't likE. He was explicitly avoiding Alphys, not being a snob to people overall. And Mettaton avoids people he doesn't know how to talk to.

So, do I think he knew the full extent of everything? Hell to the NO. I think he started avoiding the True Lab and Alphys like the plague to protect his own sanity, after he saw maybe just the bodies. And, as a result, he wasn't there for her. He wasn't a good friend to her, but he still needed her. He wasn't a good friend with her, but he still entertained her charade with the human even for a bit. He wasn't a good friend to her but he couldn't stand not being her friend at all.

She was literally suicidal–and he was looking the other way, because, damn it. As I already said, he's already so entangled in her lies. His career, his identity, his abandonment of his family, his very existence. He's like, a closeted trans man who Doesn't Tell People because he'll Lose His Job– (alphys will lose hers, mind you.)

At the end of the day, that's enough to drive two people to falling out. Toby initially wants you to think it's all about the fame. But I have to think it's mostly about the baggage and the secrets–and, what secret is there bigger than this one? What expands on their relationship in the way that's most characteristic of the pacifist route's storytelling?

Of course you can also interpret it as the inherent tragedy of Mettaton having no idea what's going on under his own home. But honestly? I don't think he's that stupid. Just that he chooses to be.

I don't think there's a super specific audience for this ultra specific thing my mind can't stop thinking about. But, man, do I wish Mettaton and Undyne would interact in more fan content. Their dynamic and their subsequent parallels fascinate me and they have their fair share of interactions.

They both only tolerate each other for Alphys' sake, that much is obvious.

Undyn and Alphys are soulmates, of course. They relish each other's passion, they cover each other's weaknesses. Undyne fills a void in Alphys' heart at a very vulnerable time of her life, meeting her when she's literally about to kill herself. She never directly addresses that fact because she's not that type of person, but she shows up for her. She treats her well. She wants Alphys to know her value–she wants Alphys to love herself. Because she believes in her, she respects her, even if she thinks everything Alphys is into is just “nerdy crap.” In turn, Undyne becomes a beacon of courage for Alphys at a time when she seems to be completely alone.

Mettaton, meanwhile, owes everything to Alphys. His transition, his career, his hopes and dreams. Without her encouragement, he'd never have the courage or chance to pursue any of it. These two are soulmates also, platonic if we may. They understand each other–and even when Mettaton doesn't agree with her, even when he is actively furious at her, he humours her plan. He helps her. But then comes the baggage–and it's heavy. Mettaton's entangled in her lies. He's cut off his family. He lives with the knowledge that the sister of a good friend has turned into an amalgamate, amongst others, and Alphys is to blame. Even when he betrays her, he doesn't expose nearly as much as he could.

Undyne doesn't particularly like Mettaton because of how he treats Alphys at that particular time period in which she meets them. She lacks tons of context. To her, he's a superficial asshole who actively mistreats the woman who “made him.” Partially, she's correct. Fame did go to his head.

I think that, in truth, Mettaton respects her. He respects and resents her at the same time, for being there for Alphys when he wasn't. For being an actual, important symbol of hope. He himself is important, he IS a symbol of hope for monsters–he brings joy to their lives. But Undyne shoulders her position like a responsibility, a duty, while he lets his get to his head. For Undyne, it is always about the people and never about herself. Mettaton often forgets to prioritize his audience, because all he's ever wanted was to express himself. To be loved for being himself, which Undyne has always unashamedly and unabashedly been.

If Undyne knew Mettaton is Blooky's cousin, I think she'd find him to be a coward who ran, at least at first. But Mettaton is not a coward for choosing to be himself. He isn't a coward at all, judging by the genocide route. Look at Mettaton and Undyne's devastating musical mush-up eith power of neo and battle against a true hero sharing a leitmotif because now that Undyne is gone, mettaton wishes to be the hope alphys and the underground desperately need, even though he's nothing like undyne. even if he's never been that brave, that strong, even if his being "human eradication robot" is just a performance. even if, unlike undyne, he isn't a true hero, not in the typical sense–because he's nowhere near as clear headed and he falls in one hit.

Yet he tries to be Undyne. He tries. To be. Undyne. He tries to be the epitome of courage and bravey and determination, to protect all those he loves.

AND THEY DON'T EVEN LIKE EACH OTHER.

I said it, they tolerate each other. They share leitmotifs, they most love the same person, they're both admired symbols of hope in the underground, they both owe their confidence and abilities to someone else, (asgore+gerson, alphys) and use it to guide others/be idolized by them, (papyrus+monster kid, hotland lioness, shyren, many many others technically) (speaking of shyren both of them try to reach out to shyren when they see her struggling. yet another parallel!)

AND. THEY. ANNOY EACH OTHER--

The piano / grape-eating scene in undyne's house already says much about their dybamic. (mind you, I hc that he went to waterfall in a moment of weakness to come clean to blooky but he just couldn't do that to Alphys so he instead changed courses to undyne's house and put on his most obnoxious persona-) then the alarm clock dialogue, all with Undyne calling him a space heater (which was tbf a running gag) and him constantly fucking with her, like during the team ice hockey game when mtt played referee and chose the dog as the winner soley to annoy undyne. They are passive-aggressive to each other–and Mettaton is as jealous of her, because she is what Alphys needs and deserves. He is not so much jealous for her romantic relationship with alphys, like how Mew Mew is jealous because she has feelings for Undyne. No, Mettaton has show continuous encouragement for these two together. (will you two just smooch already etc etc) He is proud of Alphys for finally finding someone who brings out the best in her and treats her right. Even though he finds this woman insufferable and lives to torment her–and even if the opposite also applies.

Every interaction we know they've shared is hilarious and every narrative parallel is devastating. Why are there not a million more character studies/fics/comics that explore their co-existance even slightLy.

Give me more of their begrudging, desperate attempt at forming an understanding. Please.