#omgbubblesomg

[thefriendlypigeon]

PIDGE. HOLY HECK. THAT WINCEST PIECE ON YOUR NSFW TWITTER IS 🥵🍆🍆🍆

THANK YOU! :D I’m glad you like it :3 Unfortunately the heavily censored version here on tumblr got banned anyway 💩

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Black Lives Matter, @omgbubblesomg donated $35, and requested Sam getting Dean back after the Michael possession, this time with some rather unusual accoutrements. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

Sam manages to look normal for about ten minutes after Dean disappears into his room. Mom’s put off easily--he has her check on Jack--and the hunters from the other world are trusting and easy to reassure. He gives them the update, about the monsters they might see, and the second they’ve turned around he’s out of the map room, heading back through the maze of hallways, his heart in his throat.

He’s here. Here. Sam can hardly stand it. In that horrible little warehouse it was all he could do not to pin Dean against the wall and get his mouth on him and just--do everything, everything they’d ever done, to try to crawl inside each other, to make it so they’d never be parted again. They weren’t alone, though, and Dean was--hurt. Flinching, when he lost his strength and sagged down to the floor, and his face a ravaged tired thing. Sam touched him, couldn’t help it, but it was safe there on his forearm and on his knee, and Dean closed his eyes. Let him.

Sam knocks once, at Dean’s door, but opens it without waiting. He can’t wait, anymore. Dean’s standing at the sink, the stupid vest off and the button-down thrown on the floor, and he looks at Sam and Sam kicks the door back closed, locks it, and then takes the two steps and gets Dean in his arms and kisses him, pushing him back against the sink with the force of it, desperate and fierce. Dean grabs him back, fists into his hair and his jacket--bites at his mouth, breathing heavy--flinches again, when Sam gathers him closer, and Sam grinds his forehead against Dean’s and lets their noses brush against each other, their mouths close. “Sorry,” he says, but he’s not, and Dean knows it.

“Sorry,” Dean echoes, and tips his head. He winds his hand into Sam’s jacket. “I’m the one--”

“I don’t care.” Dean’s mouth firms, and he pulls back an inch, but Sam doesn’t let him go. He gets a hand on Dean’s jaw, tips it up. “Everything else can wait. Right?”

A beat. Dean’s ears are red, and his cheeks--he licks the corner of his mouth where it’s wet and looks to the side. “Sam, there’s--” He shakes his head. Something wrong. Sam lets his hand go light, lifts some of his weight away. Dean shifts, where he’s pressed back against the sink. “I--”

Sam’s attention’s caught by something else. “What’s that,” he says, frowning, and catches Dean’s arm. The skin’s still soft, pale gold and freckled despite the months in a suit, but there’s--a scar, a strange raised thing, marring the flesh. He pushes his thumb over it and it’s clearly healed but Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “It hurts?”

“No,” Dean says, brief, and licks his lips. Flushed still, miserable, and his head dips low for a second, two, before he reaches up and pulls the white undershirt off, over his head, and Sam’s mouth goes dry as he stares.

He should’ve noticed before, but he couldn’t feel it through his jacket and Dean’s face was all that mattered. Dean’s shoulders hunch, his hands tangled up in the undershirt he’s still holding. He’s--adorned. That’s all Sam can think to call it. His tattoo’s still there, pinned over his heart to match Sam’s, as it should be. The rest is new. Rings, pierced through his nipples, and a line of rings down his abdomen, seamless loops coming out of the skin where he’s always been strong but soft. Softer-looking now, in contrast against the metal. A fine chain, strung between the nipple rings and fed down in two lines through the loops on his stomach, and--further, past his belt where Sam can’t see. Symmetrical as a ritual.

“Does it hurt?” Sam says, careful. He thinks of Dean flinching, curled awkward in the passenger seat on the drive home. Dean shakes his head. He reaches out and gets his hands on Dean’s belt and Dean grabs his wrist, reflexive no. Sam stills immediately. “Dean?”

Dean breathes, shaky through his nose. “It’s--I haven’t seen it,” he says, low. “I can feel it.”

Sam traces his thumb up the soft skin of his belly, between the lines of the chains. “I don’t have to,” he says, offering, and Dean looks at him and like always it’s the gentleness that makes him fold. He lets Sam’s wrist go, braces his hands back against the sink, and Sam’s allowed to unbuckle, to unbutton, to unzip. He’s careful, opening up the slacks, and Michael--ah, wore snug soft boxer-briefs in creamy white, and Sam’s careful to lift the waistband away as he tugs down, and there--

“Fuck,” he says. Eloquent.

Dean looks down, and immediately covers his face. “Fuck,” he says, too, and--god, that’s all there is to say.

The rings continue, down the low curve of Dean’s belly below his navel, down to an inch above the root of his dick. There, they’re taken over by a cock cage--metal rings, again, locking Dean’s dick into a small curve, tucked cruelly tight over the swell of his balls. The chain keeps going, parallel lines around the cage. Sam goes down to one knee, trying to see--if it’s part of the locking mechanism, or attached somewhere else--and sees then that the cage--keeps going, the loop around Dean’s balls part of a larger structure, and he touches careful there, sliding his fingers back, and looks up at Dean’s face as he shudders full body when Sam figures out that the cage is connected to a plug, filling up his ass, and the chains lock in there, keeping the whole thing tight.

“Why?” Sam says. It’s the only thing he can think, beyond--the too much that’s filling him up.

Dean shakes his head, drags his hands through his hair. He looks obscene, from where Sam’s looking up at him. Beautiful. Wrecked. “He--” Dean licks his lips again. He’s staring down at his dick again, strangled in its loops. “He told me that I’d--wasted his body. That I needed to be controlled.”

His eyes are wild and he’s quivering, Sam realizes--fine shudders, quaking through the muscle. “He’s gone,” Sam says, and Dean laughs, short and unhappy, and Sam stands up and holds Dean around the shoulders and says it again, again, and Dean says finally, frustrated, “You call this gone?” and Sam says--”Okay. Okay. Let me help.”

Dean shakes his head, eyes closed, but he nods too. He’s bruise-tired under the eyes, still blushing all over. Sam walks him over to the bed, settles him carefully on the edge. Memory foam or not, Dean jolts when he sits and Sam swallows, thinking about Dean’s ass held open. “Okay?” he says, and Dean says, “No, dumbass,” but he lets Sam pull off the tangle of shoes and socks and slacks and briefs and then he’s naked, completely, in the soft light of the room, and Sam...

It’s not anything he thought he’d ever see, on his brother. Nothing he wanted. It’s strange and alien and it was done without Dean wanting it, and he doesn’t know--how they’re going to get rid of it. If Dean wants to get rid of it. He pushes at Dean’s knee, gets him to lay back, and spread out like that, trussed-up and offered like that--fuck. Yeah. It’s getting to Sam.

He spreads Dean’s knees, tries to ignore it. Gets his feet propped up and his thighs spread, so he can see. Alien, again, with his balls kept neat and tidy up against the root of his dick without Sam needing to hold them there. The chains frame his perineum and Sam slides his thumb down the space between, soft. Dean’s thighs clench. “Get the lead out, Sam,” he says, strangled, and Sam slips his fingers down. The plug. A curved metal piece connected to the metal around his nuts, thick around as one of Sam’s fingers. Disappears into his asshole. Slim, when Sam knows Dean can take more. The chain connects to a loop there, tiny, and Sam realizes that--it’s all of one piece. Like Michael welded it, somehow. He’ll have to get tools to get Dean completely free. He licks his lips, thinking.

Sam touches the plug, feels the heat of it where it’s swallowed up. “It doesn’t hurt?” he says, glancing up Dean’s body. Dean has his face buried in the crook of his elbow, but he shakes his head. Sam pulls at the plug, careful, and Dean gasps--his thighs clench--and Sam sees the thicker base of it, pressed up inside. He wonders how long it is and his mouth waters at the thought. He looks at Dean again, and sees the flush sweeping down his chest, an arrow of pink. His dick’s soft, because it has to be, but Sam chews the inside of his cheek, a molten thought taking over his head.

He tugs at the plug again, enough that the base pulls at the pink ring of flesh, and then rocks it back inside. Dean curses, grabs at the blanket. Sam breathes open-mouthed, his own dick filling up inside his jeans. The way Dean’s can’t. He does again, pulls harder and sees how the chain pulls, up until there’s a tug at the rings on Dean’s nipples, and then pushes it back in with three fingers so that he can feel the ripple of Dean’s asshole, desperate to close and unable to. “Does it hurt?” he says again, different, and Dean’s hips rock down against his hand, and he looks down his body at Sam, his face bright red, his eyes wet. Sam covers the whole thing with his palm, leaning in. “Dean.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Dean says, breathless, Sam crams his hand all the way up into the split of Dean’s ass and bends down to press a kiss just at the base of his dick, where the first ring starts, his lips brushing the lock he’ll have to pick.

Dean shudders and Sam breathes hot there, imagining. A vibrator, pressed hard against the metal loop on his taint--dragging the plug free, and making Dean ride him with his cock still locked up small and tight. Seeing how much he can make Dean leak. How much noise he’ll make, when Sam’s dug up inside him to the root and he’s got his teeth on the rings in his nipples, working them soft and relentless against his tongue.

“We’re gonna have to be quiet,” he says. His dick throbs at the look on Dean’s face. “Bunker’s full. You’re going to have to be quiet. Can you?”

Dean grips Sam’s shoulder, bruising. “Try me,” he says, breathy, and Sam surges up his body to kiss him. It’s going to be a long night.

[mitsususu]

Something strange is in the air, and things are going to get explicit. Below are my Top 5 Favorite stories:

“jamais vu” (E, 13k) by Claudia_flies

They’re all gathered in the top floor private conference room because Tony wants to set up a Strike team, and he’s making some really excellent points. The Avengers aren’t a stealth operation, Steve has to admit.

He just doesn’t like it.

+ Shrunkyclunks A/B/O. Reposted because it damn well deserves to be first in this list too. Sex pollen, mutual voyeurism/exhibition, sex buddies, heat partners, and feels

-☆-

“As The Rush Comes” (E, 4k) by HandsAcrossTheSea

Raiding a HYDRA op, Steve and Bucky take on a little more than they bargained for.

+ Post WS. A sex fest on the plane, in bed, against the wall, over, sideways, and under

-☆-

“Steve, are you blowing the Winter Soldier?” (E, 1k) by omgbubblesomg

Bucky gets hit with a sex curse during a mission

+ Post WS. Transcript format. Steve manages to turn off his comms, what a shame Bucky didn’t!

-☆-

“Minimal Property Damage” (E, 6k) by Nejinee

Everyone assumes Bucky's super soldier body will process the gas that's gone and driven others mad with sexual hysteria. Everyone assumes the evil scientists messed up and Bucky's okay. Everyone assumes wrong because no one ever thinks about Steven Grant Rogers.

+ Post WS. Once Bucky is reunited with Steve, the goal is fuck and get fucked

-☆-

“Strung Out, Wrung Out” (E, 3k) by sassbandit

Steve went running into an evil science lab without backup and now he's been sex pollened. Bucky has to babysit him and he's cranky about it. That's it, that's the fic.

+ Post WS. Steve gets his prostate milked

-☆-

-☆- And an adjacent freebie -☆-

“Fluff” (E, 15k) by MoreThanSlightly

“Dr. Foster, this is a tower full of highly trained soldiers, spies, and geniuses. If we can’t track down and subdue a frith—um, small Asgardian mammal, then nobody can,” Steve says. He tries to look reassuring. It must not be working. She’s still looking around like it might pop out at any moment.

“Frithrkottr,” she says. She takes a deep breath and tucks some errant strands of hair behind her ear. “It’s furry. Kitten-sized.”

“A real cause for panic,” he says, trying to make her smile.

She doesn’t look calmed.

+ Post WS. Cuddle pollen! All the lovey dovey feelings you’ll ever want

-☆-

*More Stucky Recs here

[unforth]

Bucky/Sam/Steve and hmmmm.... underwater AU? 😀

I keep not being able to figure out where to take this aaaaaah.

*

Fear pounding in Bucky’s heart, agony throttling through his thoughts, he jolted awake, pivoting up right so abruptly that his boyfriends were pushed away and specks of bio luminescence swirled about him. Panting, terrified breaths burst out of his lungs, bubbles streaming toward the surface in successive waves each time he exhaled.

“Bucky?” asked Steve, tentacles curling with anxiety.

“You okay there, buddy?” Sam said, reaching out a hand, wide fins flapping slowly to maintain his position in the current above the rock on which they’d slept.

“Yeah...” Bucky mumbled, not sure if it was true. The metal of his tail scrapped against stone and he shivered. “I uh...” He huffed out another big breath. “I’m okay.” Hell, he almost thought he meant it.

“Touch okay?” Steve said. Tentatively, he came closer, his eight limbs twisting and approaching without violating Bucky’s space.

Bucky wanted Steve to violate his space.

Bucky needed Steve to violate his space.

“Please?” breathed Bucky.

That was all the invitation Sam and Steve needed. Steve was at his side in a heartbeat, eight octopoid limbs encircling Bucky’s torso, his arms, looping gently down the length of his artificial merman’s tail. Sam settled atop both of them, broad manta chest and huge fins cloaking Bucky and Steve like a blanket. Another slow breath in, another stream of bubbles out...and Bucky’s fears dissipated.

He wasn’t a prisoner of the Hydra any longer.

He wasn’t alone any longer.

Steve was with him, and Sam was with him, and between the two of them...

...between the three of them...

They would never let Bucky sink.

(send me a ship and a trope/AU/kink and I will write a more-or-less three sentence ficlet!)

[mayalaen]

I'm toohigh and made up agame. Rando m google imge + user ID + my awesome drawing skillzand mash them up. On mytablet

Dog + @omgbubblesomg + oramithenextpicasso

[threshasketch]

A commission for @omgbubblesomg (thank you! ♥) -- Cas choosing which wings to wear today! A few of these options may look familiar. We’ll see how many are recognizable. XD

[durenjtmusings]

@omgbubblesomg

Ao3 notices for your Fics for Fires updates hit my inbox in 2 emails. My inner monologue as I skimmed titles and tags:

“Let’s see...Chapter 20 ...title looks promising....summary...Dean brought the -Yup! Not even reading the tags.”

“Chapter 21...boy king, demondean...NOPE! Nope! Nopenopenopenope....”

“Next email...Chapter 16...Sam/Dean, Stanford, ... oh yeah, pining, I’m IN.”

“Chapt 17, nope. Chapter 18, nope,” (not SPN)

“Chapt 19, yes, SPN, let’s see the title....ah, um, hem...really?...and the summary...*whispers* “yeaaahhh...um, yeahhh”

[eyesofatragedy67]

To all of the fanfic authors who give a shit about your readers' mental health, you're why I keep reading.