#I love them so much they are driving me insane

[championari]

So I’m constantly thinking about Charles and how he could eventually meet Edwin with his feelings.

Here’s something I realized: Charles, despite constantly talking about things he miss, things he wants, he actually has a complicated relationship with desire as a concept.

How I would put it is by taking Supernatural as an example. There’s an episode in Season 5 where the boys meet Famine, a horseman of the apocalypse. However, Dean is not at all affected by him. It’s because due to being the older brother, and a Hunter, Dean was never allowed to consider acting on or even having desire for anything.

You can see where I’m going with this. Charles, like Dean, doesn’t actually believe he should want anything, due to “not being good enough”.

This is something actually touched on subtly in the show through the acting. When Niko says, “I know what it’s like to want something you can’t have.” Edwin directly looks at The Cat King’s bracelet, while Charles stares off into space. When Tragic Mick describes Angie’s light as enforcing a sense of yearning, Edwin looks at Charles, while again, Charles looks off blankly (can’t access screenshots right now). Edwin knows what he wants but is scared of it, while Charles doesn’t know what he wants because he can’t allow himself to consider it. This gives an entirely new meaning to Charles’ hatred of the Cat King. A supernatural entity who describes his kingdom as being about “want and pleasure”. Thomas is the encapsulation of everything Charles was never allowed to have. Charles chases after things that he knows he can’t have, romancing a living girl despite knowing she will eventually leave. Charles can’t consider returning Edwin’s feelings because that would mean he’s been running away from what’s been in front of him the whole time. That what he wanted was always there, at his lowest point, when he thought he deserved it least.

Returning Edwin’s feelings means he was already enough. And Charles can’t imagine that yet.

While I would obviously adore an interaction between Charles and Desire of The Endless, ultimately I don’t think it would do anything. Like Dean, Charles might be completely unaffected by them because he’s spent most of his existence building walls around his desires. Edwin was completely blindsided by Thomas because he never even considered having to think about Desire due to having no attraction to women and that being the dominant narrative of his time. Charles pursues Crystal because he still wants to feel like he has a chance at “normal life” (which as I said is self-punishment by throwing himself at something he knows he can’t have). To accept that he’s in love with Edwin would mean no longer pursuing a living person. Edwin would be it for him, which he kind of already gets but it hasn’t fully sunk in yet. Just like his death

There's also this exchange that drives me nuts:

"You gave up tranquil eternity…for your friend?" "Does that sound like someone who belongs in Hell?"

THIS. MAKES. ME. INSANE. Because Charles, like he always does when confronted with his own wants, completely avoids it. He doesn't respond to The Night Nurse's obvious confusion as to why he ran from Death, and instead turns the conversation back to Edwin. He makes it all about what Edwin deserves, not what Charles saw in Edwin that led him to make that choice. You could say this is practical as time is of the essence, but I think that's the point. Charles throws away the chance to explain his viewpoint on their first meeting, the consequences of his choice to run from Death with a boy he just met and knew for a few hours, and instead remains single-minded on Edwin's safety. Like when Edwin reasonably questioned, "Why are you getting angry?" when he began freaking out over Thomas getting close to Edwin, he says nothing.

There's just so much happening in that head that I can't stop thinking about.

[auggieblogs]

The brow incident | Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid x fem! reader

Author’s note: Hiii, loves!!! Hope you all are doing good. My first Spencer fic and definitely not my last because I cannot for the love of god, get that man out of mind. I AM OBSESSED so please expect criminal minds fics in the future. Anywaysss, happy reading💗

Warning: sexual innuendos

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

“Spence,” you said sweetly, leaning against the back of the chair he had just sat in. “You know how much I love you, right?”

Spencer glanced up at you suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. “Yes… and I feel like you’re about to weaponize that love against me.”

You grinned. “Not against you. For you. Your eyebrows, to be specific.”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “We’ve talked about this, Y/N. They’re fine. They don’t need fixing.”

(For weeks, you’d been trying to convince him to let you fix his eyebrows. Not that they were bad, per se, but there was just a little untamed chaos there that you knew you could tame.)

“They’re not fine. You’ve got stray hairs everywhere, and it’s driving me insane. I just want to clean them up a little!”

“I’d like to remind you that I’m a grown man and perfectly capable of managing my own eyebrows,” he protested, even though you both knew he never did.

You sighed dramatically. “You’ve left me no choice.”

Before he could protest further, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him and effectively trapping him in the chair.

“Y/N! What are you doing?” he exclaimed, his hands instinctively moving to steady you at your waist.

“Taking matters into my own hands,” you said with a smirk, pulling a pair of tweezers out of your pocket.

Spencer groaned again, his cheeks flushing pink. “This is unfair. You’re using my inability to physically overpower you against me.”

“Correct,” you chirped. “Now, hold still.”

He muttered something about how this was a violation of his personal space, but he didn’t move. You leaned in, examining his brows with laser focus.

“Okay, this won’t hurt too much,” you promised, carefully plucking the first stray hair.

“OW!” he yelped, flinching.

“Oh, stop being a baby,” you teased, gripping his chin to steady him. “One down, a hundred to go.”

Spencer huffed, his hands instinctively resting on your waist to keep you balanced. “I don’t even know why this is necessary. No one’s looking at my eyebrows that closely.”

“I am,” you replied, plucking another hair.

“Lucky me,” he grumbled, but you caught the ghost of a smile on his lips.

The next few minutes were filled with his exaggerated whining and your mock scolding, the both of you laughing more than anything else. But then, as you leaned in to focus on a particularly stubborn hair, you shifted slightly on his lap.

That’s when you felt it.

Your movements stilled, and you glanced down, realizing exactly what had happened. A slow grin spread across your face as you looked up at Spencer, whose cheeks were already turning a deep shade of red.

“Oh,” you said, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

“Don’t,” he warned, his tone a mix of mortification and desperation.

You burst out laughing, unable to help yourself. The sight of his flushed face and his clear discomfort was just too funny. “Oh my God, Spencer! This is hilarious.”

“It’s not hilarious,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he hid his face in his hands. “It’s biology. It’s involuntary.”

“Involuntary, huh?” you teased, leaning forward just enough to make him groan in protest. “So you’re saying this has nothing to do with me?”

“Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice a low warning. “This is serious.”

“It’s seriously funny,” you said, still laughing as you climbed off his lap, much to his relief—and apparent dismay.

But before you could move far, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist. “You can’t just leave me like this,” he said, his voice soft but laced with need.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Leave you like what, Spence?”

“You know what,” he said, his pout returning full force. “You started this. You should finish it.”

His words sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little longer. “Finish your eyebrows first?”

Spencer let out a groan, leaning back in the chair with a defeated look. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. “And yet, you love me.”

He sighed, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “I do. Even when you’re torturing me.”

You grinned, stepping closer and letting your fingers trail along his jaw. “Tell you what, Dr. Reid. If you’re a good boy and let me finish your eyebrows, I’ll see what I can do about… your problem.”

His eyes darkened slightly at your tone, and he swallowed hard. “Deal.”

“Good,” you said with a wink, grabbing the tweezers again. “Now hold still.”

[valentine-cafe]

hello (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

I'm sure ur inbox is probably brimming with requests rn, so I'm just gonna slip this in and u can take ur time with it!

[Top male] reader who's usually gentle in bed but had to go through a day full of misfortune that got him stressed, and he channels that into pounding the characters hard? When he comes back to himself, he feels so guilty and remains minimal contact with the characters for a few days. (⁠>⁠▽⁠<⁠)

The orders will be tiramisu, affogato and croissant! though, I'm not sure if the characters fit the prompt so feel free to change them out for another. (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

And if I haven't lost your interest, may I be so blunt to ask to take up the 📖 anon? If that isn't taken, of course.

Thank you dearly! ♡

˖⁺. “ stress fuck ! ” : 

﹙ multi bttm m. characters x frustrated top male reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . various bttm male characters !! 🍒 : 

you're typically so gentle with him . . . but after a bad day - you can't help but come back and fuck him senseless 

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ penetrative sex ˖ rough sex ˖ degradation ˖ some angst | wc : 1.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: here you go! hope you enjoy this! and of course you can be our 📖 anon <3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙ Alessio 781. ﹚. . . !! 🍒 : He prefers it rough. Prefers his eyes rolled back into his skull and nails dragged down your back. Prefers the loud slapping and lewd moans pouring through the room as you manhandle him. Him. A 6’7”, highly trained mercenary. Have you any idea how fucking hot that is?

So when you were pounding away at his tight ass and spewing your degradation to his ear. Well, let’s just say that your cock ramming up his prostate was not the only thing sending him to cloud nine. The very notion that his soft-as-a-feather boyfriend was using him as a cocksleeve was enough to have him creaming all over himself.

Your hands left bruises on his olive skin. Ones that took his breath away when he looked at the mirror the morning after. His throat whispered memories of your tight grip stealing his breath away. Making him cling. Making him keen.

And then. . . you went distant. What the hell was that all about?

Alessio has never been good at no contact. Not texting you goodnight drives him insane as is. So don’t be too surprised when he’s crawling through your window at some ungodly hour to find out what the hell is going on.

“You - feel bad for fucking me?”

His half-hung eyes are wide for once. Before his hands grab at your shoulders and hoist you in. “You’re kidding right? Baby - I loved it.”

The puppy-eyed look he gives you is enough to melt your stubbornness. You sheepishly explain the entire situation and behold his frown. It doesn’t take much more until his arms are around you and toppling your body into the plush of couch cushions.

“No seas idiota.” ( “Don’t be an idiot” ) he huffs into your neck that he nuzzles up. “I just want you to do what you need, amore. None of that. Especially not for giving me the night of my life, yeah?” He pulls back to stare you down and then gives you a little peck when you nod.

﹙ Vespasiano 781. ﹚. . . !! 🍓 : It’s no secret that Vespasiano has almost always been on the giving end in a relationship. Not to mention his lack of experience when it comes to men — so he’s still growing accustomed to being with you. His lovely boyfriend. Who also tops him. With that in mind, he quite appreciates your gentle hands and tender pace whenever he finds himself beneath you.

With that being said, he didn’t mind getting his ass ploughed that night you came home full of huffs and tensions. Even with his shock when you had suddenly buried your hand into his hair and forced his head into the pillows. When you started grunting and calling him a whore - splitting him open and making his eyes roll back.

He doesn’t thin anyone has ever fucked him out so much before. You got him to whine. Got him to whimper. Stutter and tell you it’s too much. Him. A man of his age, his experience.

The morning after, while the ache in his body and the realisation of what occurred still left him shocked, pleasure bubbled over his entire being. That felt. . . amazing.

Then came your distance. Anxiety swelled in his chest all over again. He can’t handle that. He’s dealt with it too many times from his ex wife. This sends him right back to the panic of uncertainty. Did he do something wrong? Were you mad at him?

He’s not going to bother with calling. He knows it never gets anywhere. So he’s showing up to your doorstep with big eyes while trying to keep it all together.

“Tesoro. . . did I do something? Talk to me, please.”

He’s collapsing into you before you know it. The guilt in your heart has you spilling everything which leaves him confused through his endless kisses all over your face.

“Too rough? Please. Do you think ‘m glass? I’m sixty-six, baby.” He’s chuckling against your ear despite his shaky demeanor. Cupping at your face and letting out a soft croon. “Nonsense. Is it new? Yeah. Do I hate it? Fuck no.”

He hooks you onto his lap soon after and shoots you a look of concern. “If anything I’m more worried ‘bout that bad day of yours. Won’t you talk to me?”

 

﹙ Jìngyí 209. ﹚. . . !! 🍒 : He’s so used to his tender and gentle loverboy that the second you had him pinned down to the marble kitchen counter and fucking him to delirium — he almost thought he was dreaming.

He’s so accustomed to whispering sweet nothings to your ear, telling you how good you are, what a great job you’re doing. The last thing he expected was to have that replaced by your ragged voice muttering curses rough praises to his neck. Your nails clawing down his skin. Your hands making use of his flexible, snake-like body. With coils, pins, rough handles all over.

With all his work stress, of course he was all for you fucking him dumb and limp into the sheets. What he could not understand, however, was the sudden distance you put up after the morning of softness. Where he clung to you and murmured how much you had completely wrecked him the night before.

Good luck trying to remain distant from Mister Zhao, however. You’d find yourself confronted the second you avoided his call to check on your wellbeing.

He’s at your workstep before you can so much as blink. Pulling you off somewhere quiet and giving you a look through those amber, slitted eyes of his that told you to talk. Truthfully.

“You know how much I hate being ignored. . . sweetheart, what is the matter?”

All you can do is break when his tender hand caresses your face. Thumb rubbing below your eye while you sniffle over your rough day. How it resulted in you taking it out on him —- how bad you felt about it.

You catch his narrow-eyed stare. The look of disbelief and concern that melted through the prior irritation from your avoidance. He’s pulling you into his arms and tucking your head beneath his chin with a small frown.

“Silly boy. . . if I had an issue with it, do you not think I would have stopped you? Please, take it easy on yourself.”

You’ll have a quiet and calm day with him throughout. Anything to show you that he is fine, and so are you.

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

﹙ tip jar. ﹚: like our work? consider suporting us 𖹭 

[mentallyillmindmeld]

Never should’ve gotten Tumblr bc I saw one (1) post with the idea of Paul Matthews as Richie’s uncle and i genuinely CANNOT stop thinking about it

[sjsmith56]

You Know You Love Me

Summary: Bucky drives another member of the Avengers crazy with his teasing of her, and the non-stop women that he dates.

Length: 3.4 K

Characters: Bucky, unnamed and undescribed fem!reader

Warnings: Cursing, Bucky being insufferable, condescension, interference in reader’s dating life

Author notes: Avenger AU; Thanos never happened in this universe.

There were times when Bucky Barnes could be really irritating. Actually, it was most of the time. Living in the tower with him was like having the most irritating big brother / roommate / overbearing neighbour ever, trying to run your life. The worst moments were when he would say something just to get a rise out of me. He’d say it, then smirk, then the smile would get broader as he watched my reaction, then he would practically laugh when I’d call him on his bullshit. Those perfect teeth would be fully exposed, and I swear there would be a lens flare sparkle effect on them as his eyes crinkled in amusement. It was maddening.

He always had an opinion on everything, from TV shows, movies, favourite foods and especially with what I wore, and shared it whether I wanted to hear it or not.

“Sweetheart, you should wear that blue dress more often on your dates,” he would say, or something similar to it. “It will make your eyes pop.”

“You telling me what to wear, Barnes?” I would answer. “You practically live in your dark jeans and Henleys.”

“That’s because they’re comfortable,” he would reply, with a grin. “After what I went through in my life, I’m entitled to a little comfort in my old age, aren’t I?”

“Eat shit,” would be my response, except I never said it aloud as he was still a man of the 40s and would act all concerned at the language people used, which was rich coming from him, as he swore more than I did.

To be honest, I couldn’t really call him out on his life because he was tortured for most of it, and technically he was a centenarian. But to watch him just grin, with that look he often had after saying something outrageous to me, knowing I was holding my tongue, brought out the worst in me. Of course, the other Avengers would say he obviously liked me because he was normally Mr. Silent and Grumpy with all of them.

“Take the smile,” said Sam. “It’s proof the man has a heart.”

“But it bugs me,” I explained. “Drives me up the wall.”

“That’s why he does it,” smiled the winged man. “He obviously likes you and thinks you can handle it.”

That was the real problem for me; I couldn’t handle his attention, seemingly focused just on me. None of the others got as much scrutiny as I did. It didn’t help that the man was insanely gorgeous, with that thick dark hair, intense blue eyes, a jawline and cheekbones that rivalled those of any Hollywood heartthrob, topped off by an incredible smile. Physically, he was the type of man that women drooled over; tall, broad shouldered, sculpted waist, an ass that filled out his jeans so well, and thighs that gave me all sorts of thoughts. Which was another reason why I did my best to ignore or insult him. You would think I would know that my tactics weren’t working but the alternative to his attention was not getting it and that was unthinkable.

He had lots of female company, based on the number of times he came out of his room in the morning with a different woman for the walk of shame to the elevator. He’d stroke their hair, say how much fun he had, kiss them softly on their lips, then send them on their way, never to be seen again. It hurt, and I didn’t think I could compete against that. Not that I ever really tried.

Don’t get me wrong. I was happy with myself. After falling into that trap of denying myself anything that might stick to my figure, I realized I was playing a sucker’s game. I liked food, I liked enjoying myself, and so what if I wasn’t a perfect size 2. I was perfect the way I was, loved my curves and loved showing them off. Dates weren’t a problem, although second dates weren’t automatic, and third dates were rare. I often wondered why that was.

Somehow, Bucky would always be around when my date was picking me up for the first time. He would lean against a wall, his arms folded, gazing intently at the man who showed up. Occasionally he would speak to them with something along the lines of bringing me home before curfew. They would look at him, then me, to determine if he was kidding. It didn’t help when he said it was part of my “parole conditions.” Even if Bucky started grinning and say he was joking, more often than not those would be the dates that didn’t progress beyond the first one. If I did get asked out again, he would be waiting even nearer to us, almost like a lurking parent.

“Did you remember to take your infectious disease medication?” he would sometimes ask.

“Bucky, you know damn well I’m as healthy as a super soldier.”

“Yeah, now you are,” he’d say, with a straight face. “Gotta stay vigilant. Remember Typhoid Mary appeared healthy.”

The last time it happened, and Bucky said something really outrageous, the guy decided not to follow up with any more dates, so I confronted Bucky the next morning.

“Why are you always interfering in my love life?” I was almost apoplectic in my anger. “You told him I had to be home to tuck the kids in.”

“You can do better than him, sweetheart,” he answered. “If he really liked you, he would have asked to meet the kids. He wasn’t right for you. None of them are.”

I was done with his interference.

“How would you know? When was the last time you had a steady girlfriend?”

“Haven’t found the right one, yet,” he said. “But I get lots of action during the search, so I’m not too concerned.”

“Yeah? Sometimes I wonder if you have your lady friends over here just to make me jealous.” A flicker of something appeared in his eyes and quickly disappeared. I obviously hit a target. “You see me giving your dates the third degree?”

“They know our dates are casual,” he said, with an edge to his voice. “I don’t lead them on.” The grin appeared again. “They just want a taste and I’m happy to oblige.”

“You’re such a hypocrite!” I was in serious danger of losing it. “I swear, one of these days I’m going to start dragging guys to my bedroom. See how you like it then.”

With what I hoped was dramatic effect I whirled around and stomped away, not looking back. He just made me so angry. What he didn’t know was that I went straight to my room, turned on the TV really loud, then buried my face in my pillow and cried. Cried for letting him bother me; cried for being jealous of the women he brought back; cried for obviously not being someone he saw as worthy of dating. I hated to admit it, but I was in love with him, but I also knew I was nothing like the women he brought back for the night. They were beautiful; tall, graceful, perfect hair and teeth. Even though I liked myself I still felt like I was a 6 compared to their 9s. I didn’t think he would ever think of me as anything other than someone to tease.

It didn’t help that before I came to the tower, I was in a disastrous relationship with a SHIELD agent who was just as handsome as Bucky. He broke my heart when I learned he was cheating on me, and I didn’t want to be put into that position again. I put up all my emotional guards and just did my job. Except Bucky kept chipping away at me. I was tired of it. Did I already say he drove me crazy? This boomeranging between loving him and hating him wore me out.

For a week after that last confrontation, I wouldn’t talk to him. I wouldn’t even stay in the same room with him as I was so mad at myself for loving him. He didn’t bring any women back to his quarters during that week, so I guessed that my words had an effect.

That lasted until I went out to a nightclub with a bunch of college friends that I hadn’t seen in a while. I was dressed to the nines that night, in a slinky dress, cut low in the front and back, showing a lot of leg. I did my hair, wore makeup, nice jewelry … the works. We walked into the place like we owned it, and heads turned as we made our entrance. Drinking and dancing like it was the first day of the rest of our lives, we drew lots of male attention (and some female, as a couple of my girlfriends were lesbians). It was fun and liberating at the same time.

I was on the dance floor, grinding my ass against a guy as we danced when I saw them; Bucky and Sam, sitting at the bar. I couldn’t believe they would follow me. Women were hitting on both and every time I looked Bucky would lean over, whisper something in their ear, then pull back with that sexy smile he had. I was sure he was doing it deliberately. When we finally made eye contact, he lifted his glass to me. What an asshole.

“Who’s an asshole?” asked the guy I was dancing with, raising his voice so I could hear him over the music.

I must have said it out loud.

“Just a guy from work who showed up here,” I yelled back. “He’s always on my case. We had words and I told him off. Now he’s here and I just find his presence annoying.”

“You want me to tell him to leave?” he asked. “I don’t mind.”

Before I could answer he left me on the dance floor and made his way to Bucky. I watched him point back to me then say something. That smirk came out, then Bucky looked at me and shook his head. Working my way off the dance floor I confronted him, swaying lightly as I was definitely under the influence.

“Why are you here?”

“Baby, I just told him to leave,” said my dance partner. “Come on, he’s just being a dick.”

“Seriously, Bucky, why did you follow me?”

He looked at Sam, then at the guy I had danced with, then back at me, sizing me up in a way that made me a little uncomfortable. “I didn’t know you were here. We often hang out here, don’t we Sam? Good booze, nice staff, and great music.”

Sam said nothing, just arched his eyebrows a little. The guy I danced with was getting impatient.

“Bullshit, you hate this music,” I said. “You always go to that jazz place on the east side.”

That smirk twitched at the side of Bucky’s mouth. “How would you know? You been watching me?”

“No,” I answered defensively. “People post pics on Instagram. You’re a celebrity.”

The guy looked at Bucky again then at Sam and his brain suddenly put two and two together.

Bucky scoffed. “Thought I would find out what the appeal with this place is,” he answered, then he looked at the guy who was definitely figuring out he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Gotta say, I’m not that impressed.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I retorted, trying to appear put together, then losing my balance. He caught me before I tripped over the heels I was wearing. “Thank you. Now, I’m going back to dancing with my friend here. You can just … just … buzz off.”

I waved my hand at him dismissively, then turned back to the dance floor, grabbing hold of the guy’s arm. As I headed back into the throng of dancers with him, I lost my balance again and almost fell, but felt a strong pair of arms catch me up in their arms. It was Bucky.

“Put me down,” I said.

“No, you’re going home,” he answered. “You’ve had enough.”

“She asked you to put her down.” Bucky glared at him.

“You're not my dad,” I slurred. “Or my boyfriend. You don’t get to tell me when I’ve had enough.”

“That’s true,” he answered, still holding me in the middle of that dance floor as the other dancers ignored us. All I could see was that cute cleft in his chin. God, I wanted to lick it. “But I am your friend, and I think you should call it a night.”

It was like the other guy didn’t even exist. Bucky thought he was my friend? Never before had he said that and for some reason, it made me cry. Every time I tried to stop, I couldn’t and I buried my face in his chest, soaking his shirt with my tears. Calmly, he carried me off the dance floor to where Sam was, holding my purse and jacket. I still don’t know what happened to the guy I was dancing with, but he didn’t follow us.

“I’ll get the car,” said Sam. “She’s going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

“She’ll be alright,” replied Bucky, then he looked at me in a way he never had before. “You really need to know your limit.”

“Are you mad at me?” My voice sounded pathetic, even to me.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not mad.” He was still holding me in his arms. “I’m actually sorry.”

We were waiting at the door now, where it was quieter and the pounding in my head that I knew came from how much I drank began bothering me. He stood me upright for a moment, helping me on with my jacket.

“Why are you sorry?” I asked as he buttoned it up.

He breathed out noticeably. “I went about things the wrong way. I might be over a hundred years old but when it comes to women I like, I forget how to act around them.”

I swayed a little, and he put his arm around me, supporting me.

“Who do you like?”

Sam’s car appeared and Bucky helped me into the back seat, buckling me up. Not that it helped as I wanted to lie down and close my eyes. Sam shrugged as Bucky got into the back seat and put his arm around my shoulders so that I leaned against him. He was so warm, and his arm felt so nice and comforting.

“You smell good,” I murmured. That was the last thing I remembered until we got to the tower.

When we got there, I know that he picked me up like I weighed nothing and held me in the elevator until we reached the residential section. He carried me to my room then I could hear Natasha’s voice. For some reason that made me cry again, but she was so nice, telling me to let it out. I ended up in a T-shirt and shorts, tucked into the bed.

“There’s a glass of water and some pain killers on the nightstand,” she said softly. “Next time you wake up, take them, okay?”

She left me there although I could hear her and Bucky talking in Russian, but not understanding it, I didn’t know what they were saying. I just wanted to sleep, and I did, like the proverbial dead. When I did finally open my eyes, the light hurt, even though the curtains were drawn. I took the painkillers and drank the glass of water, then promptly ran to the bathroom, and brought it all up. As I sat on the floor, holding my head in my hands while I leaned against the bathtub, I heard a knock on the bathroom door.

“Go away,” I muttered. “Let me die in peace.”

“Were you sick?” It was Bucky.

“No.”

“Sweetheart, I could hear you. Clint could hear you and he wears hearing aids.”

I closed my eyes, then fought the urge to cry. He must have heard that because he spoke again, in a softer tone.

“Please, let me come in.”

“Fine.”

The door opened and he stepped inside. He turned the cold water tap on then filled the glass with water. Lowering himself to the floor, he sat next to me, holding out two new painkillers.

“I’m guessing you didn’t keep the last ones down,” he said. “You really tied one on last night.”

“Yeah, well, I was trying to forget,” I answered, taking the pills and holding them in my hand.

I took the water in my other hand and sipped it. When my stomach felt better, I swallowed the pills and washed them down with more water. Without thinking, I sighed, and put the glass down on the floor, reaching for some toilet paper so I could blow my nose. Bucky said nothing.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I’m trying to forget?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” he answered, just a little too quickly. “I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk to you. I kind of got carried away.”

I huffed a little. “Why do you act like you do?”

“No excuse for that,” he answered. “None that are valid, other than making up for lost time. Even that is suspect.”

“What do you mean?”

Sighing, then scratching his stubble with his fingers, he turned those blue eyes on me.

“I’ve been trying to make you jealous,” he said. “Juvenile I know. I can turn on the charm for most women, but for the one who I really want, I can’t seem to say the right thing. It makes you respond in kind and instead of us getting closer, it just pushes us further apart.”

“You want me? I find that hard to believe.”

“Why? You’re beautiful, smart, and you have a razor-sharp wit that I love. The worst of it is that other guys see it too, so I got a little prehistoric and bared my teeth at them, figuratively speaking. I’m sorry about that. You deserve better.”

“It hurt when you would bring all those women back here,” I said, frowning. “Then you pulled that double standard shit on me, by chasing away my dates.”

“I know. Guilty as charged. No excuses.” He breathed out. “You know how my senses are amplified?” I nodded. “None of them smelled as good as you. That probably sounds weird, but their scents were all chemical and fake compared to you.”

It was weird. “What did I smell like?”

“Home.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

Before I could say anything else, he kissed me, even though my mouth must have tasted of barf. He didn’t care, and it was the best kiss I ever had, making me feel weak and dizzy and aroused all at the same time. Then he pulled me onto his lap and kissed me some more, while putting one hand around to the nape of my neck while the other one wrapped around my body. Just as I was really getting into it, he stopped, then cupped my jaw in his one hand.

“You need to have a shower and brush your teeth.”

“You kissed me,” I countered. “I figured it didn’t matter.”

“It matters. I just wanted you to know as soon as possible.”

“Know what?”

“That you know you love me.” That smirk came out, along with the lens flare on those perfect teeth. Just as I was about to argue the point, he kissed me again. “I love you, too and I’ll tell you that in public and private as many times as I can until you believe it.”

He lifted me off of his lap and deposited me on the bathroom floor. Then he stood up and went to the door, looking back at me.

“You’re so cute when you don’t know what to say. I’ll be out here waiting for you.”

He thought I was cute. At my age I would take it. He was right about several things. I did know that I loved him. Now that I knew for sure that he loved me too, it was going to be interesting finding out where that love would take us.

One Shots Masterlist

Please support the author by reblogging.

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

Seeing people on tiktok say that they can’t feel bad for Ctimene (ody’s sister and eury’s wife) because Eurylochus gave up on her, unlike Odysseus who never gave up on Penelope, genuinely infuriates me.

cw: discussions of suicide particularly towards the end

People act as if it’s Eurylochus’ fault for not being strong enough, as if Odysseus is the expectation and not the INSANE outlier, and say that Eurylochus borderline deserved to die because of it. Ignoring how gross that mindset is, especially given the implications that Eurylochus killing the cow was effectively an act of suicide, Odysseus should NOT be seen as the typical man because he isn’t.

He should have died. Multiple times, in fact. If we look at the Iliad, Odysseus would have died during the war if not for Athena’s intervention (she literally redirects a spear in his abdomen so it’s not lethal when he’s alone and completely surrounded by Trojans) and that was likely the case for the ENTIRE TEN YEARS that they fought, a luxury that no other man (barring Diomedes) would have been given. I bring this up because it sets a precedent on what to expect with Odysseus and how he is inherently treated differently than regular men.

I see Eurylochus defenders often bring up how magic and monsters are not the norm for regular men, and how Odysseus is only chill with it because he was chosen by Athena and related to Hermes, and they’re RIGHT. I literally cannot stress enough how insanely bonkers it is to treat Odysseus as the standard for men, or humans as a whole, when his experience is so different! Even just as a king, he was likely far more exposed to the gods and magic than your regular footman would be. Do you genuinely think Eurylochus would have ever spoken even a word to Achilles, a half-mortal? How likely was it that he knew Ares and Aphrodite were disguised and physically on the field (so close that Diomedes literally stabbed them), let alone got close enough to experience it himself? He likely knew that Zeus’ favor was in play, or that Apollo was blessing the other side, but how much was he really faced with? How much did Odysseus bother to tell him? Within the context of how I think EPIC’s version of the Iliad would go, how much of Eurylochus’ experience of the war just him handling the men and spreading the basic plans or news from Ody to their armies? How much did Odysseus filter that news? And even if he didn’t, how real was it to Eurylochus when, as a normal man, he likely never faced any of this himself?

It’s implied in EPIC (through the fact that it’s never brought up) that the crew, including Eurylochus, don’t even know about Athena! They don’t even know that she was helping! They don’t even know that she left!

How is Eurylochus ever comparable to Odysseus?

Back to the original topic, Odysseus’ will to go home was so inhuman that it nearly destroyed him! He spent the entire musical desperately grasping to the side that makes him human— the man that he was when he left home— and his choice to stop and delve into the other side of himself fundamentally changed him! He is not the man Penelope knew! And she will have to fall in love with him again!

Odysseus is consistently placed as something above man and below god, and it is consistently the driving force of every conflict he experiences. He is too mythical, which drives the wedge between him and his entirely human crew. He is too much of a man, which incites the tensions he has with every god he comes in contact with. The only reason Odysseus makes it home in EPIC is because he started leaning away from being a man! That is the entire point of Monster! That is the entire point of Scylla likening him to her! That is the entire point of Odysseus having a song named after him!

Eurylochus fundamentally does not have this option! He, quite literally, is just a man and that is the whole point of him taking the phrase from Odysseus! He isn’t attempting to justify himself, he’s admitting defeat because no regular man can go on like this! And he’s right!

You can make a thousand arguments over the conflict of free will and fate— particularly when it comes to the cows and the crew. In the Odyssey, it is very likely that, had the cows not been touched, it would have been possible for everyone to return home, but because they ignored the prophet’s warning, man’s free will overwrote that and their fate then became to die. This only works in the Odyssey, however, because Poseidon never actually tries to kill Odysseus (and by proxy, his crew) in that story! He can’t because it was always Odysseus’ fate to return home and the gods cannot ignore fate! In EPIC, however, that’s not the case and Poseidon likely would have just killed the crew in that final fight before they reached Ithaca anyways. Odysseus would have been the only survivor regardless!

And why is that? Because Odysseus is unlike the other men and comparing any of them to him is inherently setting them up for failure. Eurylochus did not have to love Ctimene any less than Odysseus loved Penelope in order to give up. He did not have to love her less than he loved the crew that he fought so hard to keep alive. He did not even have to be weaker in will than Odysseus. His fate was sealed as soon as things started going wrong because that is the fate of a mere man in a tragedy.

And even if that weren’t the case and Eurylochus could’ve gone home if he hadn’t killed that cow, he literally could not have know that. He was starving and wracked with thirteen years of trauma and three years of grief and starvation. It is insane to me to say that he couldn’t have loved Ctimene as much because he gave up after everything that he went through— because he thought (correctly) that he was going to die regardless. As someone who severely struggles with suicidal thoughts and has for my entire life, I do not love anyone any less just because I’m on the brink of giving up and the same is true for anyone that’s given up. They don’t love their family, their partners, their friends any less than the ones that fight to keep going. It is simply more complicated than that.

We don’t know much about her in canon, but I believe that Ctimene was loved and that she deserves to have the space of anger towards Odysseus and grief towards her lost husband, regardless of his decisions. Eurylochus can love her with his entire being and still end up where he did. Iirc, Odysseus in the Odyssey wished that he had been killed during the war because of the hardships he faced trying to get back home. That wish, regardless on if he acted on it, does not mean he loved Penelope any less.

I don’t like this notion people have that Eurylochus’ love is lesser than Odysseus’ just because Eurylochus gave up, and I don’t think it’s fair to compare them at all.

The message this gives off is really gross to me and is a bit too victim blamey and unempathetic for my tastes. Eurylochus made a hasty decision (a lot, if not most, people who commit suicide do it impulsively during a low point) and it was one that was fueled by extremely idiosyncratic circumstances. To me, everything Eurylochus did was understandable and even relatable to a degree, even up until the end.

Eurylochus is more like me, more like the average person, and Odysseus could ever be and I would never see his love as any less just because he failed to meet those impossible expectations.

[aniesvision]

𐂃 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝑴.𝑺

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃, 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒕𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑, 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒅 𝒊𝒅𝒌

𝚊/𝚗: 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒅 𝒊𝒎 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚, 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆!!

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈

I wonder if he's busy or doesn't want to talk to me. It's been a week with little communication between me and Matt, ever since our last argument he made no effort to be present. Something so stupid, like forgetting to bring him the soda he asked for, and now we barely talk, even though we're dating.

I try to call him again, my hand shaky as I hold my phone against my ear.

-Hey! -I say, excited when I realized he picked up this time. -I was wondering if I could pass by your place later? I miss you.

I hear him sigh on the other side of the line and my heart immediately breaks, knowing it wasn't a good sign.

-Not today, I'm tired and I'm still upset with you, I need more time.

Oh. Of course, he needs time, that's totally fine...

He hangs up without even giving me a chance to talk. I sit on my bed, remembering the times we were so in love and happy with each other, talking for hours straight. When he used to text me to say how much he missed seeing me and we'd hang out the next day.

I keep crying oceans for him, and he keeps giving me reasons to believe I deserve to drown in my own tears.

"Good morning :)

I think you're busy these days since you're ignoring me, I don't know if you need more space, but can you please just let me know?"

I'm sure love's not supposed to feel like this. You don't own anyone's love if you have to beg for it. It's not fair to keep waiting for someone while he's out there probably not giving a fuck. I'm here worried, upset, feeling like shit, and he can't even text me. For days.

I can't help but think of all the signs and the amount of times he's let me down, how dumb I was to let him in. He broke my heart once before, and now he's doing it all over again and even knowing that he'll do the same I can't let him go.

Driving to his place unannounced was probably the worst mistake I've ever made, but I needed answers and if he refused to talk to me through the phone I'd make him talk to me in person. I knock on the door, his tired eyes staring at my swollen ones for the first time in two weeks.

-Are you okay? -I ask, noticing how his features didn't look as carefree and peaceful as they used to.

-I'm fine. -He says, tone firm and arrogant.

It was clear he didn't expect me to be there, and he didn't like it. I tried to talk to him, asked so many questions, followed him around like a lost puppy, cried, and begged for anything, for him to share any thoughts or feelings.

His scent filled my nostrils, giving me a weird sense of familiarity, his sad eyes looking at mine, but it felt like I was staring at a cold wall.

He hugged me, without saying anything, and my shoulders dropped, my heart melting at the slight show of affection. I take deep breaths, letting my eyes close as I try to regain my posture.

Is it insane? Letting him in again when he gives me so little? Letting him break me whenever he wants?

It must be nice to have someone like this, who loves another so much that let them break their hearts twice.

➪ @riowritesitall @sturniolosarethebest @hyacinthst @deers4luv @sturncakez @watercolorskyy @delooshunalhoe @sarosfilms @blahbel668 @sturniyolo69 @sturniolosl0t @colbsposts00 @fallingforfalll2 @stvrnmc @faithlia @katie-tibo @monroesturnns @chrisxcherry @shaquilles-0atmeal @fratbrochrisgf @dayzeandhaze @h3arts4harry @star-yawnznn @asherrisrandom @pip4444chris @sturniolo-fann @beansprout713 @conspiracy-ash @sturnsxbitvh @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @larallott @stqrnlvs @sssoniaswiftt @s1ut4chris @lovingregulusblack @sturnslutz @star-yawnznn @jupiter-rebel @courta13 @emely9274 @blahblahblahm

[theunaveragepsychoticbitch]

Drunker, But Still In Love

[A rewrite of an old fav of mine. Human Barbatos, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers, drunk sex lol, masturbation, dubious consent since reader's a fair bit more sober, AFAB Barbs, AMAB Reader. Enjoy]

You were no stranger to peering down the necks of empty bottles with Barbatos, hours lost to liquor and smokes as you talked about everything and nothing at all. You'd known him years, knew him like the back of of your hand, so you never thought there'd come a day when he surprises you.

Yet, as he sips from his wine glass, simultaneously reaching for the bottle again, you begin to think the day was finally upon you.

Right before he reaches it, you snatch it out of range, having to catch both the bottle and your jaw when he whines.

Whines. The Barbatos, your Barbatos, whining. Hell must be getting snow right now.

"What...?" You've effectively been rendered speechless.

Setting the glass down, he pouts. Was God okay? Can somebody check on him? How do you call an ambulance for heaven?

"[Name]..." Your name slips from his lips like a snake in the grass, a myriad of emotions fitted into so many little letters. "Pleaseee... Can I have it back?"

Wobbly as he is, he barely manages to lean towards you without nearly tumbling off the couch. You grab his shirt, yanking him to safety only to have his limp form crash into you. You drop the bottle, but luckily, it doesn't break. Unluckily, however, you may not be able to say the same for your friend's nose.

"Barbatos? Are you okay? What is up with you?"

"[Name], please... Just give it back. I won't do it again."

Gods, you are way out of your element here. It only worsens when his fingers, so weak and trembly, grasp your thin T-shirt in a show of drunken strength, the holds leverage for him to lift himself up till he's nose-to-nose with you.

Well, it's definitely not broken, at least.

"Barbatos, I don't know what you're talking about, but I definitely think you've had enough."

"Is it because of the way I look at you?"

You stop, both eyebrows rising in shock before one drops in confusion. He continues, tears beginning to flow and obscure cloudy emerald-green eyes.

"I'm sorry. It's not my fault. I want you so bad and every time you look at me my heart jumps and every time we hold hands I wonder how they'd feel anywhere, everywhere else on my body." He sniffs, his eyebrows scrunch in what is soon revealed to be frustration.

"But you. You never noticed anything. You go on and on, every week, a new lover this, a crazy ex that. You've made your way around every "friend" I've ever seen you have, but you won't so much as kiss me on a dare!"

Ho. Ly. Shit. He was talking about last week, when the two of you once again engaged in the habit of destroying your liver, but with a bit more company. A game of truth or dare had started up, one that got dirty quick. Soon, you'd chosen dare, and the decree had been passed: Kiss Barbatos on the lips.

They didn't ask for tongue, or give a time limit. A simple peck would have sufficed. But as the hopeful green-eyed man turned towards you, he found you shaking your head, waving your hand, laughing like such a thing was utter nonsense.

"No can do, Barbie's my best friend. Nothing more."

Nothing more. Such damning words. He didn't need to fake sick after you said them; his stomach turned with regret and self pity immediately, and he spent the rest of the night home alone, seemingly molded to the bed. Every day with you has felt like hell since then, a quiet, unseen one of his own creation. Yet, he craved your touch more than ever now. It was driving him insane. It drove him here.

"[Name], please. I'm begging you. Let me drown my sorrows. I don't want to love you any more."

Despite the many other revelations tonight, you still somehow had the capacity to be surprised. He loves you. Barbatos, your sweetest, dearest, bestest friend, loves you.

"Barbatos... I, I don't know what to say."

He sniffs again, and instinctively, you cup his face, wiping his tears and searching for a napkin for his nose. You find one, stained with grease from the pizza box, but intact. He blows his nose as you pet his hair, before tossing it to makeshift trash bag you've set up.

"Every time you describe what you do with randoms, I wish it was me."

"Barbie, why don't you slow down and tell me about this when you're sober? This is a lot to take in–"

"I want to 'take in' you." There it was, that pout again, paired with a sassiness you know well. He looks adorable, his eyes nearly closed under the weight of the lids, his face so flushed that with the green hair, there were a number of fruits you could call him. His eyes were still a bit watery, but he wipes them on his own this time, continuing.

"I wanna feel you bad. I want you on top of me, holding my legs however you wish as you split me in two. I wanna be chest-to-chest, your hands on my hips helping me ride you. I want you on every inch of my skin, in the bed, on the wall in the kitchen on the couch. Just fuck me."

His hands roam his own body, roughly palming his chest until his nipples peak through his shirt, his fingers twisting and pinching the peaks as he cries about his fantasies.

"I touch myself to you every night."

Fuck. What an erotic confession. "I stuff myself full looking for the stretch you'd give me, but it's not enough. It's never enough. I can't cum off it, no matter how hard I try and pretend it's you there, fucking me senseless, whispering lusty nonsense in my ear. I can't even do hook ups, because they'll never be you. All I want is you, even if you'll only have me tonight, even if I'm sloppy and drunk and desperate." His voice is frustrated and breathy, his face contorting as the anger at how badly his body needs you meets the pleasure his own fingers give him.

"It's not the same..." He sighs defeatedly, seemingly referring to his own touch compared to how he imagined yours.

Your breath hasn't come in at a steady pace for a while now. His monologue was a summoned imagery of a long list of filthy acts done with you in mind, the confession of lust like something you'd read about in a book. He was stripping himself, his shirt tossed to the floor, his pants bunched around his thighs as his pussy, covered by only a tuft of green hair, was spread wide by his own fingers. Right where you could see it.

Already he was sopping wet, clear arousal dripping onto the couch as the lewd squish of his fingers entering his hole met your ears. Somehow, he'd gotten even redder, and now the blush had spread down his neck and chest, reaching for his navel.

"[Nameeeee]." He called, nuzzling into your chest.

"Don't you want to feel me too? I promise I feel good. I'll make you feel so good. You'll never need anyone else ever again. I promise. Fuck me, Hon."

The calm, collected, and careful Barbatos was no more. In his place, a desperate slut who needed your cock to save his life. You've never treated him the way you treated others, out of respect for your friendship. You didn't keep him around for sex, or for partying. He was one of the few genuine connections you had, and more than anything, more than you wanted to touch and taste and feel him, you wanted him to be happy.

You thought that you'd been keeping him happy. But if he'd find the most joy in a night with you, no, a life with you, you'd give him all of yours in a heartbeat.

In a flurry of movement, his back hits the couch. His fingers leave his cunt with a wet pop as you make quick work of his bottoms, spreading his legs wide so you can fit yourself between them.

"Really?" His eyes are wide, a wobbly smile growing on his features. "You'll do it? You'll do me?"

Your eyes narrow as you pull him impossibly closer, your clothed boner resting on his bare cunt. "I'll do anything you want to you, Barbatos. Ask, and you shall receive."

Your voice is deep and raunchy, something blatantly primal coming over you. You were the predator, and he was prey, all too eager to jump into your maw, to feel your teeth pierce skin and muscle and bone as you devour him whole.

How didn't you realize it before? You were the predator, but it was he who was starving.

"I want you to cum inside me. I'll take it all, every drop you give me."

You needed no further persuading. Two sets of hands work to relieve you of your clothes, and then, blessedly, you're skin to skin. Barbatos can feel himself overheating, his heartbeat like a drum in his ears. There's no way this was really happening. In a few moments, you'd put it in, and in his excitement he'd wake himself up, only to be covered in his own cum and drenched in sweat.

Your pants hit the floor, and finally, his savior was freed. Your cock stood proud, a bead of precum on the tip. It was just like he imagined: heavy, with a thick odor that made his mouth water and prominent veins all along the underside. As he stared at it longer, he blushed. It was the exact color he'd imagined too.

You pressed the tip to his entrance, but he stopped you. "Wait! I, um, can I..."

This sudden bout of bashfulness threw you more off guard than anything else he'd done tonight. He takes a second to build his courage before meeting your gaze. "Can I put it in?"

You would have fucked him long ago if you knew it'd be this hot. The perfect mix of shy and slutty, saying such dirty things while looking at you like that.

You don't even respond, simply allow him to straddle your lap, taking your length in hand pressing it back to his entrance. "May I ask one more thing?"

"Anything in the world, Barbatos."

"Will you kiss me?"

'Of course'

You don't say it, rather, you let your actions speak for you. You take him by the cheek, bringing him in for a kiss as he takes you all in one go, the slap of skin as he sits on your dick making you throb.

Twin moans morph and mix in your mouths, passion making you sloppy as he sets an unforgiving pace for himself. Your hands find his hips, but he doesn't need any help, pure instinct carrying him farther than you could ever go.

"Baby, fuck, slow down!" You choke past your gasps, each slam of his hips stealing your breath away. He's gone in the head, his eyes glazed over as the grip on your shoulders gets tighter and tighter, his blunt nails still managing to stab you as he chases the climax he's been denied for months now.

It starts as drunken nonsense between sharp breaths, but soon, he's chanting your name, spewing your praises like a man spared a pain.

"I feel good, right? Tell me you love me. Tell me you'll stay here and fuck me forever baby." If you didn't know any better, you'd say his pupils were little hearts right now.

"Can you feel how bad I need you? Every second you're not inside me is hell, and every second you are is paradise. My pussy has your name on it, forever, till the end of time. Please, fill it up, mark it as yours. Cum inside me baby."

You obey the wicked temptress that'd taken over your (typically far more docile) bestie's body, capturing his hips at the deepest point, ensuring that he feels you in the farthest parts of him. You cum, your mind going blank as he clenches down, squealing from somewhere far away. The hypnotic pulse of his walls as he cums drags your seed deeper, your dick being hugged so tightly his cunt would surely remember the shape.

You release him, and to your horror, he's up again, slamming his body back down onto your sensitive cock. The sounds you make are raw and filter-less, the sweet pain of overstimulation making you shake. Barbatos is in no better shape; he's too sensitive to maintain the pace he had before, but too greedy to come to a stop. He wants you, more of you, all of you.

Through your daze, you hear him, feel fat tear droplets begin to pepper your abdomen. "No, no, nooo.... Not yet... I'm not ready yet." His sobs are so sweet, so innocent compared to the greedy, leaky cunt the words stemmed from. Even as he cried, he rode you, his pussy bright red from the self-inflicted beating.

Fuck. How the hell did he manage to hide this from you for so long? How the hell did you not notice?!

A bout of Herculean strength switches your positions, his back once again landing on the couch. You don't give him time to breathe, ravaging his remains like the starved man you are. He wanted you to mark him, to make him yours, and you'd do so.

His screams were music to your ears, pleas for mercy and more blending until they were mere babbles. His nails raked down your back, clawed at whatever they could find as his walls spasmed, the stimulation just too much for one man. You cup his neck, pulling him into your lap and capturing him in a kiss as you begin to bounce him, using his body weight against him. Your other hand releases his waist, leaving his two trembling arms to support his wait as you begin another attack on his clit.

As expected, he crumbles. Three quick circles and he's convulsing, his arms failing him as he collapses partially onto the chair arm, partially into your lap. Once again, the pull of his pussy as he cums is too much for you, and you fill him up again, the feeling of your own cum leaking out of him, dripping down your shaft onto the ruined chair below almost enough to entice you into another round.

Poor Barbatos. He's half conscious, babbling thank you's. You rest your head on his shoulder, tuning him out until you had enough strength to pull out.

It took a while, but you did. His walls fluttered awake, clenching weakly as though they truly couldn't bare to see you go. You escape rather reluctantly, and find Barbs dead sleep. You carry him to the bedroom, falling into bed and only stay awake long enough to cover him with blankets

When you awaken, he's covered you too. His face is blushed already, thoughts of last night, the way he acted, and your response having played in his mind for hours before you opened your eyes. Seeing you in bed the next day made it real in a way the dull throb of his pussy couldn't. It really was you.

"I wanted to apologize for-"

"Sheesh, man, can I get a good morning first?"

You pull him into your arms, amused by the stark contrast to the side you saw last night. "We can talk about everything later. Much, much later. Like, tomorrow, later. Until then, just rest. There's no way you're fully recovered already."

He wasn't. In fact, his head still beat with a hellish hangover, not aided by his own massive mortification. But, he couldn't sleep quite yet.

"[Name], just, let me say this one thing."

You give him your full attention, your eyes locked on his. "I... I meant everything I said last night. I really don't want you to think I just wanted sex, I really do..."

"Love you."

You smile, dragging him into a kiss as bubbles float around your soul. "I never doubted you for a second, Barbie. I love you too."

His joy is palpable, raw and genuine. He kisses you this time, and for the rest of the morning, no one else matters.

-----

Eek! Did you enjoy ? I wanted the story to make more sense, the sex to feel more rewarding. Like yeah in the og he's drunk n horny and that's fun, but like, he's drunk and the love of his life is right next to him without a clue. He'd be horny AND sad, fs. And I feel it's more in character for Barbatos to be a sad drunk. TN is horny and desperate sober

[espikola]

[stuck-in-jelly]

"human hands and arms and hearts are made for carrying."

[demaparbat-hp]

Oh, Lala...

[nubelo]

Sasuke thinks about that kiss every fucking day I just know it.

[finncakes]

I came here to say, if you are there, maybe you can talk to my friend Orym and try to say that we're okay and we're alive and hopefully we'll see you soon.

A Prayer Answered

[raionmimi]

Blizzard can't just say Lifeweaver used to watch Symmetra practice dancing for hours on end without giving them matching skins and synced emotes

Do you think she's taught him the steps to several duets that he'd do on his own anytime he missed her more than anything over the years because it felt like she was still with him

[secriden]

*cracks knuckles* Okay lets talk about the elephant in the room: Style going to the support group for those who've suffered loss and telling what appears to be a fake story about losing his pet dog.

I'm going to point out a few things that I think provide a framework for Style's actions here. Not because I think it excuses what he did, but because I think a nuanced read is what the character deserves.

Point 1: An irresistible opportunity

The subs put the "Support Group for Loss" on the image in the notebook, but I'm not sure there's anything to suggest that Style would've known that was what this image represents until he showed up and saw the sign on top of the door.

In episode 2, Bison says, "He plans everything down from years, months, weeks to days" and then tells Kant:

So Style is literally just going to addresses/locations at given days and times, potentially not knowing what to expect. And as much as Fadel is certainly attending this meeting as a response to having that heartbreaking flashback (😭), this is also something he attends regularly and has planned to attend way in advance. So Style has no reason to think Fadel is attending this meeting because of a recent resurfacing of his pain.

What we, the audience, and what the characters know are very different things.

Now, should Style have turned his cute ass right around once he realised what this meeting was? Of course he should. But that wouldn't have been true to Style's character. We've been told by his best friend that he is "crazy" and been shown repeatedly that he lives right up to that description.

Style is impulsive. He's all base instinct and he acts on his desires without thought or contemplation. And by this point he is desperate for a deeper connection with Fadel. He's fascinated, captivated by the mystery that is Fadel and this is an excellent opportunity to finally see behind the wall Fadel so carefully maintains.

When Style sees the sign above the door, Style looks at the notebook (which, again, shows nothing but people sitting in a circle with the words RISE UP) like he's just realising what it means. He then gets this amused, almost rueful look on his face (like he's thinking "am I really going to do this?") before it shifts to determination and he walks through the door.

(My soul for the ability to once again gif something because FUCK Dunk is doing SO MUCH in this show!!)

To Style, this is just too good of an opportunity to give up.

Because let's be real, Fadel is so clearly lying and hiding something:

Fadel is shady as FUCK. He is simultaneously actually a really good cook (Style finally tries his burger so he knows, now), and also has the skills to work at a strip host club, and also can take on 3 guys in a fight, and also can break a man's arm with his thighs. Can you honestly blame Style for losing his mind just a little bit about wanting to get his hands on something, anything, to figure this man out?

Style is being absolutely consistent in his persistence to understand Fadel. This isn't about the car or about finally 'winning' the fight (thank you @airenyah for giving such a detailed framework to understand what Style's been doing until this point) anymore. This is about Style wanting to know Fadel himself.

Point 2: The potential implications of the setting

Now, what might give us a bit of insight as to why Style is this way? I have a theory (albeit one that could prove to be very wrong, but hear me out). I think this whole entire show is set in what could potentially be quite a small town/suburb.

There's a few things that make this theory plausible:

(1) Fadel and Bison are in hiding after Bison blew their previous cover. They're probably on the run from some section of the authorities and so it makes sense to settle in a quiet/out of the way place.

(2) Style seems to be really familiar with the people in the area. Like he grew up there and its the kind of small town where everyone knows everyone and everyone is in everyone else's business.

(3) Style is clearly the darling of the market aunties and uncles.

Style just lost her a sale and potentially a loyal customer, and she's still rooting for him? In episode 2, when Style asks the uncle to let him borrow his cart, it takes nothing but his word for the uncle to give Style his entire cart of produce for his ridiculous scheme.

Style is so clearly someone they all know well and have great affection for, and a very plausible explanation for this is that they all watched him grow up and the entire market (town/village) is fond of him.

And honestly?? Yeah, we see the way Style is actually quite sweet in that careless, guileless, thoughtless way. He goes the extra mile to fix his mistake with Fadel by replacing his car parts for free in episode 1. He helps out by taking orders in episode 2 without being asked and takes it seriously. In episode 3, he tries to drive more business to Fadel's store (bless him, he so clearly does NOT understand how restaurants work, but he MEANS well!!), and can we all acknowledge that it works?? He understands how to appeal to potential customers in the area because he knows the people there. It's not (entirely) his fault that Fadel wasn't remotely prepared for an actual rush crowd and Bison was off getting kinky with Kant and not doing his (fake) job. He is so clear about not judging Fadel's host job and tries his hardest to help him (to absolutely NO effect, but still) when the 3 guys gang up on Fadel.

Style is so loved and more importantly so very loveable.

Point 3: What this could mean for Style's character

So, potentially, Style is someone who grew up in a small town, who has been well loved, potentially spoiled and coddled, but also very much kept within the confines of the narrow viewpoint that a quiet, country town places on you.

It's in the way his dad scolds him as if he was still a child when he's at least in his mid to late 20s. It's in the way Style was so mad at Fadel for scolding him ("thanks for the lecture, dad"), like that hit a sore point for Style. It's in the way no one in the market takes him seriously; they're fond, but he's still a kid in their eyes. It's in the way he has an abundance of free time like he doesn't REALLY need to work at his dad's shop. It's in the way he sees Fadel beat 3 guys up with ease, starts wondering if Fadel is an assassin or a hitman, and is completely unfazed like he doesn't quite have a handle on reality.

It's in the way his best friend is a man who has no qualms about lying to him and putting his life in danger, and how Style seems to have no other friends or people (aside from his dad) in his life.

@wuxian-vs-wangji made a comment to me about Style being desperate for a meaningful connection, and I think she hit the nail on the head. Because along comes Fadel, a mysterious stranger with a suspiciously versatile set of skills who is also very hot and keeps giving Style these wonderfully complex reactions? Who sometimes wants nothing to do with Style, but at other times seems to be at war within himself about desperately wanting him? Who treats Style with anything but apathy?

This is catnip to Style; he never had any hope of resisting this.

Breaking news: Style is a complex and imperfect character...

Here's the thing, though: he was never going to try. The show has been incredibly upfront about who Style is as a person. Regardless of whether I'm correct about why he is this way (ie. that he is very much the product of the environment that didn't know how to handle a kid with Style's personality), episode 3 shouldn't have surprised anyone about Style. He's been incredibly consistent and true to himself.

He wants Fadel and he's "crazy" enough to go all in, no holds barred about it, and the Support Group was the biggest doorway to finally discovering something REAL about Fadel.

And its not just about sex or to prove his superiority anymore. Because if it was just that, then Style would have reacted very differently to their first time.

In this scene, Style is pleased and evidently enjoying himself, but he isn't exuberant. He isn't overcome with joy. If anything, he was more happy and excited when Fadel let him help out in the diner (I mentioned this in the tags in this post too) than he was when Fadel is literally fucking him. He lets Fadel set the pace; barely moves to touch Fadel except to hold him close. Almost like he doesn't want to accidentally mess this up, like he's worried he'll take too much, so he'll take what Fadel gives him and no more (please appreciate @braceletofteeth's amazing tags on this post). For a character that has been so aggressively on the offensive, this is shocking until you realise that sleeping with Fadel - while it's a step in the right direction - isn't Style's end goal anymore.

And he makes that abundantly clear in this episode:

Does Style even fully realise the weight of this desire? I doubt it. But I do believe that Style is in earnest. He doesn't fully understand his own feelings, but he also doesn't really care to either. All he knows is that he wants Fadel, wants his attention and his passion and his focus and his heart.

...but Style is also kind of, sort of, perfect.

Because he's exactly, precisely, breathtakingly exactly what Fadel needs.

Because Fadel is hurt and broken and bleeding inside. Because Fadel is barely holding it all together for Bison's sake, but has already given up hope for any true happiness for himself. Because Fadel can't trust anyone or anything in his life, when he's been used and used and used by the family who should've loved and cared and protected him.

Because it's going to take nothing short of this kind of unwavering, unshakable, uncomplicated determination to give Fadel even a chance of healing and opening his heart to love again.

[wildstar25]

[ The Kiss ]