#I realised the face anatomy is kind of fucked up and it would take too long to fix

[maukuja]

heat abnormal

first version because the animation looks smoother and I'm proud that it only took me listening to the song 40 times to make this

[shidouryusm]

Soooooo sami 👉👈 since we are both Hawks girlies we are in agreement that he has the most sensitive wings right? The kind that would quiver and tremble when he cums and if you touch them at any point he's just instantly hard... and if you grip them whilst jerking him off his hips will buck off the bed and he whines. Right???? 🫣

im so sorry it took me this long to finish it. i promise i intended to make them fuck but I got carried away into the plot iiufbiufhwjf. but you ask and i serve baby.

Hawks may be the one with wings but it was you who made him fly

Hawks x f!reader

synopsis: keigo arrives from a hellish day at work. as his sweet little girlfriend you find a way to relieve him

minors DNI. 18+ content.

word count: 2.4k (it was supposed to be a drabble...sigh)

content: hero au, established relationship, female anatomy!reader, switch!hawks,a little subby hawks but he switches at the end, handjobs, blowjobs, implied penetrative sex at the end, teasing, a bit of edging, titplay, playing with balls, cumeating, idk lmk what i missed.

a.n- well this was nasty and fun to write. this is my first time writing about him so do let me know how do you like it. not proofread well im v tired its 3 am :((

6:07 pm. The tokyo skyline has painted itself in the inkish blue, the little canvas of twilight already dwindling away while you stand in the middle of the balcony taking it all. you look up into the horizon, eyes hoping to catch a speck of red and yellow to appear that will sweep you out of your waiting game. 

Keigo was supposed to arrive atleast 40 mins prior, considering he gets off of duty today relatively earlier than other days. Promising an evening reserved to enjoy the pacificity of being with you – away from the worldly issues. 

He usually glides through the air, slowly landing on this very balcony, pressing a fleeting kiss on your lips even before his feet touches the ground and stumbles you both inside the house. According to him – it keeps things interesting. whatever he meant. you chuckle lightly thinking about that. 

Your trance of thoughts almost missed out the door knob turning and instead of the grandeur entrance of your boyfriend like some flying peter parker he is, you watch him sluggishly drag his body in. 

“to what do I owe such anticlimatic entrance, darling?”, you ask amusedly, walking inside the house to greet him which soon diffuses as you realise the dark shadows under his eyes and his face worn out by a hundred years. he looks beat up. 

“baby?…”, you voice in worry.

Keigo looks at you, watching him with a hint of concern playing in your eyes. you look so cute like that, he thinks. eyebrows squinted together, head slightly tilted and lips jutted together in confusion on why he’s staring at you like that. your skin looking soft and as tempting to get a feel of, decorated with a purple satin loungewear. 

Keigo takes a step forward, closing the distance. your hands reach his face, stroking from the little stubble in his chin to the swell of his cheek. he melts in your touch, his hands finding your waist and pulling you against his body. Keigo hides his face in your neck, his breath comes out in short huffs, tickling you in the crevice between your shoulder and head. 

“It’s been heck of a day”, he mumbles. pity courses through you when you hear his strained voice. You comb through his slightly unruly locks, scratching the base of his scalp while he holds you flush against his body , letting a hum right against your skin.

“awe..made you work a little too hard, baby?” you coo. One hand still raking through his hair while the other snakes around his waist, going upwards till it brushes against the base of his red, bright feathers.

The feel of your hands against his feathers jolts keigo up, a small grunt leaving his lips, still pressed against your neck. your fingers trail over his back, ghosting over his feathers before you carress them again. 

This time,a small, breathy moan escapes from keigo. his hands on your lower back pulls you in— as if you’re not already just a layer away from being inside his skin. 

You smirk, his reactions turning the cogs in your mind to play with him a bit.

“are you sensitive there, keigo?” you asked amusedly, your finger circling the base, right where his feathers sprout out. his face is hidden against your neck but you could still make out the hint of redness that spreads over the nape. 

Keigo pushes himself against you, the movement causing you to feel his clothed bulge rub against your naked thigh, you let out a soft sigh. you could make out the hardness of his cock even with the clothing.

His dick strains against you and what a good girlfriend like you would do in this situation—of course help him out in his little issue.

You pull him off of you, his eyes are drooping. you press a quick kiss on his lips before looping your arms around his neck. 

You feel his eyes glide downwards, taking in your figure. A flimsy tank top hugs your upper body in the most alluring way possible, your nipples hardened and poking out of the fabric like two peaks, making Keigo’s cock jump in his pants. The matching shorts rides up your thighs, exposing the full expanse of the plush skin under his golden eyes. you look so comfortable…and delectable. 

“should I help you out a little? you look like you could use some” you say, a little giggle passing through your lips. his eyes are still glued on your body and you take this opportunity to slightly tug the base of his feathers, bringing his attention back to you. Keigo hisses at the sensation, his face morphing into a temporary state of pleasure whenever your fingers come in contact with his supple feathers.

“Mhmmmm”, you hear him hum before his lips clash against yours. You stand there, in the middle of your hallway as keigo makes out with you, his lips languidly playing the push or pull with your lips. 

His hand reach down the back of your thigh and he hooks your whole leg around his waist, the position allowing him to rub his cock directly against your core. You moan into the kiss. Wanting more. But most importantly, making him feel wanted even more.

You push him towards the bedroom, both of your linked bodies stumbling under the low lights of the hallway till you reach there.

His body is manhandled onto the mattress, your figure hovering over his, as you keep on planting kisses all over his face, reaching his jaw. your mouth tilts against his while your tongue presses flat on his skin, savouring his taste. Keigo grabs your hips, needing something to ground himself from the sudden dominance you’re showing – not that he’s complaining at all.

“fuck baby…you’re so hot like that”, his voice raspy and laced with yearn. You hum against his jawline, your hands tugging on the tight compression shirt he has, wanting them off his body. 

He obliges. Your eyes drink the way his muscles taut while he pulls the fabric off himself and tosses it somewhere you could care any less about. Your hands lay against his pecks, as your mouth finds his once again. Keigo deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue inside the cavern of your mouth, a dribble of spit escaping from your shared mouth down your chin.

Your hands reaches towards his feathers and your hands softly massages the ends of it, making keigo moan in your mouth. 

“fuck…this will make me-” keigo squirms a little,  his mouth dancing more fiercely with yours. his hands squeezes your ass, making your clothed core grind in circular motions over his crotch, multiplying the sensation by tenfolds in Keigo's and your body.

“Cum? just by playing with your feathers? didn’t know you were that sensitive keigo.” you tug the ruffled plumage and Keigo almost bust a nut. his head falls backwards from the treatment and his hips inadvertently buck against your core. Your pussy lips are planted right over his dick and the way he thrusts himself upwards makes you pulsate. 

You look at him majestically submitting to you, so bare and vulnerable. It stirs a different feeling inside you. 

Top.2 hero for the world yet so weak in the knees for you. Wings so fierce yet so tamed under your touch.

“d-don’t get too ahead, you’ll regret it, darling” you hear keigo warn in between the kisses, his voice still broken and hoarse. 

“oh really? sure.” you use both your hands in work. one tugs the feathers, a little rougher than previous times, while the other hand palms his cock, rubbing the palm of your hand against the head of his cock. Keigo moans unashamedly, having his sensitive feathers played like that.

 “doesn’t look like it though” his little moans vibrates against your skin

That’s what you love about keigo. He may act tough and smug but will not be slightest bit of ashamed to vocalise his feelings during sex. Starting from little grunts to lewd moans – he drawls all of them. The little shake in his voice makes your pussy throb painfully, wanting nothing more than to sink yourself in him and drown yourself in pleasure while holding him tightly within. 

Your hands trail upwards towards the belt of his pants, peeling them out of his skin. His cock is swollen, the veins roped around the shaft popping angrily, hard as it sprung up, slamming against his stomach. The sight already enough for you to gush your arousal on his lap. 

you wrap your hands around his base, feeling his cock twitch upon the feel of your skin. Keigo tenses with the touch, exhaling audible breaths. His hands reach your shoulders, dropping the strap of the thin tank top. 

He could see your tits slightly jiggle from the movements and his mouth wanted nothing more than to wrap itself around your pert buds. 

You move your hands in rhythm – twisting and squeezing your hand in a way that he absolutely loves. A move that always gets him off. Your hands reaches the top of his shaft, his tip is angled beautifully, pre-cum falling of the slit endlessly. You run your thumb against the skin, pressing into the little slit. 

Keigo hisses again, his hands reflexively grabs your hair and tugs it. 

“F-fuck, don’t…”

you smirk at his reaction, smearing the pre-cum around the cockhead, reaching down the frenulum. while your hands work its wonders, his deft ones tugs your tank top down, releasing your tits from the confines. He kneads the soft mounds…pinching and rolling the nipples with his thick fingers.

The whole scene is lewd and pornographic – both of your hands working against each other to pleasure. Yours on his cock, stroking up and down in a steady rythm, occasionally squeezing the tip while his finds your tits to massage and jiggle it under his palm. Straight out of a sex tape.

You fondle his balls. It feels hot and heavy on your hands while you massage them. his muscle tenses, fighting every nerve to not spill his release yet. Stretching the seconds to imprint the feel of your hands. He reaches your shorts, his hands glides under them and reaching your cunt. 

“You’re so wet, baby. Seeing me like this gets you off?” he uses two of his fingers to separate the lips, his middle finger stroking the slit of your pussy all the way to the bundled nerve. he flicks it with one hand, earning a whimper from you. Keigo might get tamed under you momentarily but he still has the power to keep you on your toes as well.

His hands on you feels like heaven but you had a mission to accomplish. You get off his lap, kneeling right in front of him. Resting your hands on his thighs, you sink your mouth in his cock — sending keigo on the brink of orgasm right then and there.

“Oh shit…baby wait…” you move your mouth, your tongue kitten licks the head and moves down. His hands rest on the sides of your head while you bob un and down on his cock. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby. Look at your feathers all ruffled and disheveled. So so pretty.” 

Keigo could feel his heart hammering at your words. He always thought his love for you had reached the threshold way above the earth but you just had to prove it wrong. Looking at you gazing him with the doe eyes, your hands working deft magic to play with him on the edge of release, you were indeed the one with wings. Wings from the above. A descendent of heaven tailored specifically for him. 

“What a perfect little baby I got” he muses. You lay your tongue flat against his shaft, engulfing the whole length in your mouth, the ends of it reaching your throat. Your nose tickling with the untrimmed golden pubic hair decorating his pelvis. You tilt your mouth sideways, sucking more of him while your hands under plays with his balls. They twitch under your hands, begging for the release. You remove your mouth after licking the entirety of his length, his pre-cum smeared sheen on your lips. His wings flap and wraps around you. The sharp ends of the feather trailing the naked body of yours. 

You smirk devilishly before grabbing a handful of his feathers, tugging it from the ends, sending a trail of shock right to his spine which gushed down between his legs. 

Keigo watches you wink at him before licking your bottom lips to get a taste of his pre-cum. The sight breaking the straw that was holding him. With a final twitch, keigo cums. Strings of white rope decorates your palm while you work him through the release, occasionally licking his heavy cum from his opening. 

Keigo feels lightheaded. His body still tingling from the sensation of your hands and mouth. He looks at you giggling, your eyes crinkled with amusement and satisfaction while you lick a handful of his cum off your hand. Fucking hell. 

“do you feel better, babe?” you massage his thighs in hopes of taking care of him. He pulls you back into the bed. A quick kiss pressed against your lips — “well you did take a great care of me, I can’t deny. Certainly the best part about my day” his nose brushed against your cheek and you felt like your heart bloomed a batch of roses, specifically for him. 

“Im glad I could be of help, darling” your hand rakes his hair and you kiss his cheek. You feel his hands wrap around your waist, gilding down to the dips of your hips. 

“thank you so much baby. but…” Keigo turns you around in a split second, grabbing your hips to arch your back. Your ass hiked up in the air for him. His quick fingers tug the elastic of your shorts, peeling it off your skin, displaying your ass in full glory. 

He grabs a handful in his hands, spreading them apart to peek at your pussy lips, slick with your arousal, the gaping hole contracting. waiting for its turn to fucking bust.  

“wouldn’t it be a shame if I didn’t return the favour to you?” Keigo drags his length over the stripe of your pussy. pushing the tip inside slightly, drawing a moan from you.

It’s gonna be a long, fucking night.

a.n.2-> i just saw that he lives in a public security supply room LMAOAOAOAO more reasons for me to put him in a high rise penthouse where he fucks and lives to his heart’s content.

tagging @pastelle-rabbit because i promised her (here you go sweets), @stsgluver (my baby), if you want to be in my taglist hmu!!!

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Okay, first of all, you are amazing bb! Love ya 💟 Second of all, what about that kind of disturbing idea. So we have Aegon! College Au. He falls for a quiet straight A’s girl. His total opposite. Becomes so obsessed and crazy over her that fucks only girls that look like her and jerks off to her innocent eyes. So let’s say one night he sees her at the party all alone. A perfect opportunity to make her drunk and high enough to fuck and tie up to him. So when he discovers her being a virgin he straight away makes her date him and eventually has her to his own! That’s it! Have free will to make this stalker shit-head chubby! With some real good smut 😋

My Dream Girl...

PAIRING: chubby!FratBoy!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Stark!Reader [MODERN College AU]

WORDS: 2,526.

WARNINGS: possessive!Aegon ii, mentions of virginity/losing virginity, female receiving (fingering), mentions of p in v sexual intercourse, innocence kink, praise kink, slight manipulation, boob play, mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption.

A/N - ahhh bestie, apologies for the delay in responding, but this idea had me frothing. I have such a weakness for the good girl x bad boy trope idc!!! thank you for sending this incredible idea in and trusting me to write it... hope I did it justice!

She was a comforting sight... An incomparable beauty who was ignorant to her own potential. His audacious mind often wandered of how weak she would feel beneath this bare touch, how warm her panting breath would feel against his flesh, how divine she would taste...

Y/N Stark was unlike any girl he had ever laid eyes on before: not the typical choice for his quick, promiscuous rendezvous', she was a different breed. She was meticulous and studious, barely ever hearing a peep from her in class, with the exception of being spontaneously called upon to answer a question. She diligently did so, and yet with a softness in her voice, he could barely hear her words. She was bright, top of the class in fact, and yet quite reserved. He never truly saw her speak to others willingly nor did she socialise outside of class, often finding her succumbed to the quiet and stillness of the library, buried in dense texts hidden in some desolate corner. And yet, that made him want her even more, an insatiable desire to take her there and then in that corner, or in class, on her desk, or by her locker... The thoughts frequented his mind more often than usual, and more sinful... Aegon often felt feverish if he allowed his mind to dwell for long.

And as revolting as it would be, he could only truly sate himself with females of a similar resemblance to Y/N. Uncanny at the very least, he would often bed with girls, avoiding to stare directly or for too long, as he feared that his mind would soon decipher the difference, and the reality that it still was not her... He was desperate to deceive himself. He even went so far as to gather photographs of Y/N, whatever he could get his measly, pudgy hands on, envisioning her lustful face, her helpless moans begging for more of his, as he would fervently stroke his own hard cock. Pining for her with each devious paw, breathlessly cursing beneath a whisper at his misfortune.

He knew that luck would run out soon: that some fellow, more deserving of Y/N would whisk her away... And who was to say she was not already taken?

No, no... He consumed: he would pursue her still, possess her and keep her safe from harm's way, from the relentless harm of some infirm boy undeserving of even just a mere ounce of her attention.. Aegon truly deserved her: he had been convinced he would be the only rightful man to spoil her with joy, the only man to please her and sate her every need and desire. Only the best treatment for his special, dream girl, and he was certain to uphold that by any means possible...

"Invite her, Aemond... I know she's your closest rival in Anatomy. Invite her and just make sure she attends the party-" "And what would I get in return, exactly? You do realise she's an utter loner? The odds of her even showing up are slim to-" "You either make sure she does, and I won't have to fucking tell everyone about how you really lost that fucking eye, hmm? You know the sore, pathetic way you lost that eye. Lose all your credit with the ladies, you might just end up the freak of the year."

There she stood, her curves wrapped tightly in a red, velvet fabric, a long-sleeve modest dress. Although her body was frigid, her doe eyes intensely scanning the neon lit, dim room, small hands fidgeting in her lap with not a drink in sight, she was here. Anxious, it made his heart flutter with some warming amusement, a low chuckle escaping him lips, as he skulled a mouthful of the cheap, bitter beer to muffle his spontaneous laugh. Although Lannister had been incessantly yapping away by his, gripping, pulling and leaning towards Aegon's heavier mass, as he defeatedly tried to speak against the overpowering music. Aegon's concentration was fixated elsewhere...

"Excuse me-" Aegon lowly interrupted Jason, before brushing his lanky arm off his broad shoulder: Jason momentarily caught off guard as he witnessed Aegon walking ahead, only spared a few seconds before continuing on his ramble with the group before him.

"That doesn't seem right for a pretty girl to be sitting all alone, by herself at a party-"

His tone deep, yet a chord above a whisper, substantial for you to make sense of his moving mouth. Aegon had never spoken, let alone uttered a word to you before… The sudden change in his behaviour, felt a wave of unease across your body, as your empty stomach churned nauseously. Not that you were the type to catch his eye, nor the type of “partner” he often pursued the needy company of. And yet, here he stood in all his glory before you: his height towered your own menacingly, and his build was much larger, a wider frame than most of the boys across the campus. Mayhaps, he was an ex jock, you couldn’t truly say.

Despite Aegon being widely known around campus, as a vivid party goer, you scarcely knew about him personally, other than whispering, corridor rumours.

You knew more about the ventures and intricate details of his cock, than his interests and hobbies, as most of the female body would often gossip about their run ins with him. Not that you were unimpressed or disgusted… It was all quite, invigorating.

“Earth to Y/N!-” A more grander octave than before, his roar managed to snap you back to reality, drawing your attention solely unto him, as he intently ogled at you, eyeing you from head to toe, with a friendly smile across his face… And yet, the smile made no difference to your unsettled mind.

“You alright? You seem a little… Tense?”

“I-uh- I’m just n-not used to parties, y'know?… A-And I’m certainly not u-used to you s-speaking to me.”

The shy stutter in her voice was enough to make Aegon's heart skip a beat. Adorable, he thought.

"Is that so? Have we really never spoken before?" He lightly chuckled, taking another tasteful swallow of his beverage.

"Not that I can recall... Do you even know my name, Aegon?"

A swirl of his immediate emotions from the pit of his stomach felt conflicting: on one hand it stung that she thought him ignorant and ill-mannered enough to not know her name... And yet, the pleasant sound of his name, uttered from her lips, was plenty to make his cock twitch with sheer excitement.

"Of course I do, Y/N. You don't think I would know the name of the prettiest girl in class?"

The heat of your cheeks was enough for you to know they were reddened by his words. The friendly smile strewed across Aegon's handsome face, stirred about an elating sensation, and yet your self-doubt trampled the feeling.

Was he doing this all as part of some ill-twisted joke? A dare invoked by his fellow frat-boys, in repayment for some meaningless reward? Or was he simply that desperate to get inside your pants, considering he had bedded most of the female body...

"Aegon, stop it. I-I know what you're getting at... Just think outside of yourself, just this once. I'm not up for some stupid game-"

Just as your foot was inclined to take a brave step forward, a large, firm grip around your elbow kept you stationary.

"Hey-Hey, who said this was a game? I-I've been wanting to talk to you for a while now, Y/N... I guess I was just... Afraid."

Your plump mouth fallen agape, as your eyes widened in a titillating disbelief. Instead of taking the step forward, you took one back, taking Aegon's fascinating presence in.

"Y-You're afraid of me? The frat-boy of the campus is afraid of m-me?"

It was amusing on your behalf now: witnessing a grown, monumental figure that Aegon was strolling mindlessly around campus, unable to maintain eye contact as his unmoving gaze now fell to his shuffling feet.

"W-Well I just think you're beautiful, and you're incredibly smart. Definitely, too smart for the likes of me. Just don't think I would ever get a chance with you."

Once again, your meek body felt feverish as you were certain the evidence was plastered across your reddened, grinning face.

"You still think you got a chance, big boy?"

How the night had escalated in what felt like a mere span of an hour, you could not gather with certainty... Your mind clouded in clear judgement, slightly faint and tipsy, the earliest memory you could reminisce was a blend of pure laughter, gentle touching with Aegon, as he continued to pour your drinks.

You found yourself, in the intimate, privacy of his slightly unkempt dorm. He had adamantly kicked the previous couple out, as he reassuringly held your hand in his, leading you to follow his steps. Charmingly, you ended up comfortably sat atop Aegon's thick, sprawled lap.

"Fuck, you're beautiful-"

Aegon's rough hand reached towards your neck, gently stroking aside your loose strands, his handsome face leaning towards you until his plump lips softly fell onto your tender skin.

"Easy, Aeg-"

Immediately, Aegon pulled himself away, meeting your gaze with a furrowed brow.

"What's wrong, Princess?"

"I-I've just had a few to drink, and don't think this is the right thing to be doing... I-I've never really done this before, either," You reluctantly whisper, your fidgeting hands stopped, as Aegon's fingers entwined with yours, caressing your soft skin.

"As in you've never hooked up with anyone?"

"As in I-I'm-ugh-I'm-"

"It's okay, Y/N. Whatever you say, baby, stays with me."

Your busty chest [thanks to the supportive push-up bra], heaved with a final, deep breath, buying the time to build your final push of courage.

"I'm a virgin, Aeg... I-I've never done this before," Shyly you admit, as you place a loose strand behind your ear, still avoiding any ounce of eye contact with Aegon's piercing gaze: his lilac orbs did wonders.

"Y/N, princess... You have no reason to be ashamed, sweetheart. I find that quite attractive actually. I won't push it, if you don't want to, I can wait-"

"R-Really? You wouldn't think of me outdated?"

The handsome grin that made you somewhat uneasy upon your first encounter, now felt comforting. His plump lips that looked desirable, now you could taste against your own, as Aegon found his way, pummelling down against your lip-gloss stained mouth into a passionate kiss.

"How could I ever? You are the most previous thing I've ever held in these arms... How could I rush to perfection?"

In the weeks to progress, you often would pinch yourself, inflicting some pain to make certain this was your reality.

Aegon made every humane effort to ensure you knew how infatuated he was with you, how dear you were to him, and how raw his love was towards you.

He never manipulated nor pressured you into sex: taking it slow and steady, easing you into a few heated make-out sessions, although seizing his lust before things escalated.

He admired just how untainted you were, almost saint-like: adding more remarkable value to your rarity. The idea that he would be responsible for taking your virginity, that he would be the one to pop your sweet, sweet cherry, made the suspense of it all, palpable. He could just inhale the sexual tension oozing from your natural scent.

Much to his anticipation, you were ready.

Aegon patiently eased you in, his grasp and motions tender and light, he was intent on not using his own strength to overpower you so carelessly. His worrisome state had him abruptly and persistently asking if you were okay, before caving into his insatiable lust once more.

It was evident, Aegon knew his way around a woman's body: the effortless sway in how he handled your body, guiding it in certain positions before he found the right one. How his large, pudgy hands found their way kneading and squeezing at your sensitive breasts, earning a helpless moan from your behalf. Even flicking at your bare nipple with his teasing thumb, eliciting sensual whimpers, as you tried desperately to muffle your moans, harshly biting at your lip.

Thoughtless, completely succumbed to Aegon's advances, you felt his thick digits grazing over your slick folds.

"Already so wet, baby? Is my pretty girl ready for me, huh? Are you eager for my cock to sate her needs? Is she ready to be a woman?"

"Mhmm, y-yes, Aeg-"

"No, no, Princess. Now that's not what you call me, hmm."

Incoherent and numb to your own thoughts. You had never felt this oblivious, senseless to your own body, weak at Aegon's mercy.

"B-Big boy, m-my big boy."

The echo of his deep, growling chuckle timely reached your ears, making you eager for more.

"That's my good, good girl. Now show me just how perfect you are."

Where his fingers had once teased at your wet entrance, gently pumping in and out of your tight walls, Aegon's pulsating, reddened tip now grazed in its place instead. For a fleeting instance, you caught a quick glimpse of his cock: its naked sight, although overwhelming, was intriguing. You had seen many in textbooks before, or on porn-sites that you had cheekily ventured to. Yet none looked as grand nor as menacing as Aegon's: a moist, reddened tip, dark veins detailed along his length, you could just sense the throbbing ache of it. The length average, his girth was substantially exceptional: there was no doubt it would hurt, regardless.

The slow, steady ease into your folds, having to add some extra push to his shove, vigorously bucking his wide hips forward: did his cock manage to push through the tense fit.

Painful cries etched from your lips, as your face subtly grimaced in pain, the unfamiliar sensation was both agonising yet exhilarating. The feeling of your tight, velvet folds clenching over Aegon's mass, desperate to bury every inch of him deep inside of you.

"That's it, baby. Y-You're doing such a fucking good job, argh- I can just feel how desperate your pussy is for my cock. Made perfect to fit me."

His deep groans in unison to your breathless moans and pleas of his name, was a symphony to your ears. Sweet, jovial music.

"My perfect princess. H-How did I get so lucky, huh? I don't deserve you and yet, you were made just for me... The girl of my dreams, you are. My dream girl."

The soothing appraisal uttered in between Aegon's moans was beyond satisfying. His rough hands glued to your fleshy ass cheeks covering your surface in its entirety, nudging your sweaty, frail body once more in rhythm to his every harsh thrust: encouraging you to sway backwards and forwards, as his cock stretched you keenly out, swallowing him whole.

"I'm going to take good, real care of my dream girl. My dream girl won't need anyone else, when I'm around, not that anyone else can care for you l-like I can, ugh- That is my promise to you."

general taglist - @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @hightowhxre @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @aegonslawyer

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit @bucknastysbabe @jawline-of-steel

credit for dividers - @/itbmojojoejo

[plasmasimagination]

Hihihi omg I just stumbled upon your blog and you seem sooo so sweet jabsjabsj ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა Nervous to ask but I was wondering if I could by any chance get a Genshin matchup ?? <3 I was going to ask for a Danganronpa matchup as well but I wasn't sure if that was too many or if I should request that in a different ask or something ... ໒꒰ྀི´• ˕ •` ꒱ྀིა

Oki-doki ! My name is Schneider - or Chara !! I don't mind either :3

I am transmasc, I use he/him prns, and I prefer more masc or gn terms ^^ No fem terms please !! I am uncomfy with that ><

I have no preference in terms of gender, I love everyone equally ^_< ★

Please no Zhongli, Ayato, Al Haitham, Haiji, or Toko !! I'm very sorry if this makes things complicated </3

Umm I'm a Scorpio !! I can't add the rest of the signs because I have no idea how to find that information ໒꒰ྀི 𖦹 ˕ × ꒱ྀིა‎ ‎ ‎ so sorry !!

I am an intj I think ^_^

I'm 170 cm // 5'7 !!

I'm a tad fucked up ^^ I have szpd, dpdr, autism, aspd, and I'm hypersexual !! In also anemic :3 I'm the whole package fr !

I'm Russian , Italian , and French :3 most fluent in Russian as I grew up in a primarily Russian speaking household... In Russia, but I'm also fluent in Italian <3 (surprisingly, when speaking irl, I suck at speaking English)

I'm a human icebox , I'm never not cold -_- I'm also never not sleepy!! I'm a very sleepy guy

I LOVE sweet things :333 I dislike sour, bitter, or dry things, and I prefer not to drink or eat anything hot ! It depends on what it is though ^^ (I also love angel food cake!!)

Overbearing fashion enthusiast ^_^ I collect SO many fashion magazines, I made my closet into a storage room for all of them ໒꒰ྀི >ヮ<꒱ྀི১

Personality ; I'm generally a very thoughtful person I think, I always try to take other's into consideration when doing or saying something!! Due to autism, I have a hard time being expressive through facial expressions and tone of voice, so I usually have an either bored or tired look on my face that sometimes scares people off </3 My voice is monotone so it often comes off as me being disinterested or irritated... I'm not !! (Usually) I love helping people and taking care of people !! It makes me feel like I'm actually needed somewhere // by someone :3 Another important thing, I never speak unless spoken to- even to family members and close friends !! So if you don't speak to me first, we'll likely never speak at all ໒꒰ྀི´• ˕ •` ꒱ྀིა

Appearance ; I have dark blue hair with black roots !! It's thick and fluffy near the top, but thins out and curls more near the tips ^^ One side goes right below the shoulder, and the other sits right on the shoulder !! Very uneven, I tried to cut it myself when highly intoxicated and fucked it up </3 I have brown eyes, one is slightly paler than the other because of an eye injury !! I have super bad depth perception because of it, and often end up bumping into things or tripping without realising something was right in front of me -_- I'm almost always wearing my Ushanka when outside because I have a strange emotional attachment to it and get anxious when I don't have it when I go out !

Hobbies ; Writing, making dollhouses, taking care of animals, fashion, flower arranging, collecting animal bones (THAT I FOUND IN THE WILD!! I would never EVER harm an animal :( I just think anatomy is very fascinating!)

According to my friends, I seem very intimidating when you first meet me, but I'm actually very kind once we talk <3 (some of them said my spirit animal is a rat , I'm taking that as a compliment because I think rats are silly ^^)

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I hope this is good !!! I'm so so sorry if I did anything wrong or if I overshared, I have a bad habit of doing that ໒꒰ྀི´• ˕ •` ꒱ྀིა Have an amaaaaaaaaaaaazing day or night :3 Ly <3

AY AY captain sweetheart!! Here comes a fresh request out of the depths of the sea!

A/n - jokes aside I've actually been eyeing this request in my inbox for a while but had to finish some previous ones up and I finally got to do it phewww!! ALSO A MAN IN THE INBOX??? THATS A SECOND GUY I HAD IN HERE!! Men are very rare on my account so I'm super excited to see that my writing reached such a wide audience, love you all girls guys and non binary pals out there MWAAAH ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

(also ofcourse not, you can't overshare on my account (∩˃ω˂∩))

Anyways into your request!

.

.

.

VENTI

This was honestly such a hard decision

I didn't know if I should give you someone to match your vibe, or to go for someone to be opposite

I decided to go with venti since I think you two would be a cute couple

Extrovert loud boyfriend X introverted sweet boyfriend

I like to think that venti, though loud and annoying at times, would be very caring and sweet towards you

And by that I mean that he's very considerate and thoughtful, which he may not seem at first glance

You guys do have similar hobbies, a poet and a writer, isn't that a nice combination?

By that theme, venti would write A LOT poems about you

He finds your personality way too fascinating and charming not to, how could he resist?!

He also enjoys doing anything with you really, he won't miss a single chance to spend time with you, even if you're not even doing anything he'll just simply enjoy your presence in the silence then.

SHUICHI

Different from venti, shuichi is more introverted and quiet

Though it may be a big difference in personality between those two, I still do believe that shuichi is very lovable and loving and a good match to a lot of people

And as for why I picked him for you

Shuichi would somewhat be a nice partner, he's caring and loving after all, and I like to think that a guy like you deserves all the love in the world

And shuichi can provide you with a lot of love, he might not be very physical about his love, but he is verbal, he will tell you from time to time that hes proud of you, that he enjoys your company, that he loves you.

Another of his love languages is acts of service, so do not be surprised if he brings over some sweets to you from time to time

Also I matched you up with him because shuichi is a good listener, and would absolutely adore hearing about your hobbies, and just generally if youre ranting he will gladly listen

A thing he loves about you specifically, is the way you're always thoughtful of others and try to include them, it always brings a smile to his face

Honestly shuichi is just a perfect cutiepie, and I think he would match and compliment your personality very nicely

ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

[izzyspussy]

rewriting this post that was originally some asks, so that it's in order and easier to read!

when richie and eddie buy a house together and then eddie starts fixing up a vintage car in the garage, all the car dudes in the neighborhood flock to him and try to make friends with them. at first he tolerates them out of a sense of manners and not wanting to make the neighbors hate them before richie has a chance to make his own friends, but eventually they grow on him.

he's still standoffish and gruff and it's weird between them because they're all the Typical car dude and eddie's… not. his favorite color is pink and he listens exclusively to 90s girl rock and he's into clean eating etc. but he's the Supreme when it comes to cars, and he's tough and funny and matter of fact, so they all have to admire and like him anyway.

meanwhile, all of their wives are hanging out with richie inside and having similar Gender Clash because they have in common that they do not know or care anything about cars or, like, manual labor of ANY kind. but again they are all Typical suburban wives whereas richie is scruffy and dresses like a dyke and drinks whiskey and makes dick jokes. but he's also sweet and romantic and loves kids and animals (and has very good looking arms), so again they all admire and like him & have this strange genuine friendship.

@thecrimsondandelion said:

okay so sorry i didn’t realise more was coming and i answered the first one!! sorry about that, some of it might be repeated. but yes! i love this like the car dudes would think that Richie is the car fanatic. bc Eddie dresses in higher-end fashion, keeps his nails immaculate, they’ve heard him blast “Because We Want To” by Billie Piper from the garden when he’s going for a swim. they see Eddie during his run and he’s wearing almost too short shorts and a Spice Girls t-shirt and like yeah, the guys come up to Richie at first like “what make is she” again i know nothing about cars and Richie’s like “huh? idk red, old, the roof comes down too which is neato-burrito, but you’ll have to ask my Eddie if you want the details.” Eddie’s extremely guarded, and he actually takes great pleasure when the guys notice the scar on his cheek and look a little shocked by it. and he thinks about saying it was an accident while working on a car, “oh, i was stabbed. but you should see the other guy.” and gives them a sly smile. and they have no idea whether or not to take that seriously, he and Richie seem to have a wacky sense of humour Eddie will hear them driving, and then later on pull them aside and say something sounded off. It’s hard not to be super fucking impressed by him Eddie isn’t mean, he has a wall up, and acts a little more stoic in front of those guys. so it’s surprising to them when Richie comes out and kisses him on his scarred cheek or temple and Eddie lights up, looking all sweet and soft on Richie. the way he grins and spews out a string of insults when Richie slaps his ass, like he’s so incredibly fond. tells his bf so sincerely and fiercely that he loves him they’ll come over at like 2pm drinking beer, and Eddie’s 1. judging them for drinking Bud Light and 2. judging them over his protein shake about drinking at 2pm like, maybe they see Eddie fracture/break his wrist while working on the car, and they’re panicking. but fuck, Eddie’s broken his arm, been stabbed in the face, skewered by an alien claw. this is fucking nothing. The guys are fucking losing it, and Eddie’s sighing, wincing a little, and calming shouting on Richie to drive him to the ER, but at least Richie panics a little they have a newfound respect for him after that ———— the more i think about it the more i love the thought of Richie hanging out with the neighbourhood wives. He’s crude, big, loud. they shouldn’t like him, he’s definitely not what they’re used to in their little circle but Richie gives them celebrity gossip, they watch Greys Anatomy together when the guys are doing Car Shit. He brings back autographs from their kids favourite celebrities if he meets them and omg, when they find out one of his best friends is Thee Beverly Marsh, designer extraordinaire, they lose it (and also wonder why she ever lets Richie walk around looking like a Muppet) they’d honestly not know who to think is more handsome. Eddie has a very lean and built body, he dresses so well, polite and kind to them. but then Richie is big dad bod, huge arms, charming. and they’re both so sweet and loving to each other, even when they bicker they’ll peek into their garden and see the two of them cramped together in a hammock napping, or trying to push the other out. or see Richie come home from a tour with a huge bouquet of flowers, beaming grin plastered on his face like he’s never been happier in his entire life honestly, it’s Richie that the car guys end up not quite getting, they used to get him when he told his Shitty Unoriginal Jokes before his public breakdown/coming out. He’ll rush into the garage and rattle off some impressions, make an incredibly crude dick/sex joke (which they just struggle to get used to) they call Richie ‘a little weird’ and Eddie fucking glares at them, and if looks could kill they’d be done for. Yet Eddie will call Richie a gangly asshole, muppet looking mother fucker (‘oh you best believe i’m a mother fucker, Spaghetti’) but Richie loves making the car dudes feel a little weirded out by him

back to me again:

okay several more headcanons came to me while reading this god bless

1. richie only ever calls eddie “eddie my love” to other people. this started in childhood, with his own parents, because of the song. it’s was genuinely just an in joke with his parents while talking about his friends. and he might have brought the joke into the group too, but before he got around to it he Realized and he would get way too anxious that eddie would Know. he slips up with bill without noticing until later. at the time bill notices and doesn’t Assume Things because he just kind of figures whatever that’s about he probably just doesn’t get it. richie slips up with stan, who knows the song, so that’s fine. ofc later stan notices that richie never says it in front of eddie and realizes that it’s not as much of a joke reference as richie might have them believe. by the time ben and bev and mike come around it’s habit to say eddie my love casually when Eddie’s not around. for the longest time, eddie has no idea that richie calls him that. it’s not a momentous reveal, no confession, and eddie just thinks “that’s so romantic I hate/love it and I want it to stay”. so it’s like this unspoken thing that eddie just kind of has the privilege to know that any time richie has to represent him to someone else he has to include that he’s loved as being as important and as much a part of who he is as his name.

the car dudes and their wives know eddie, through richie, as “eddie my love” because richie casually and naturally refers to him that way so often.

2a. the car dudes and the wives both do that gendered-group thing where they complain about the ‘other’ gender, and in this case ofc the spouses. the wives, as can often happen with straight women and gay men, forget that richie is not One Of Them. so they’ll start in on like, smh husbands don’t know how to clean. and they’ll look to richie to be like so true my husband also doesn’t know how to clean. but he has to beak it to them gently that eddie does know how to clean and he doesn’t do any of that. and the wives are like oh my god… richie is a husband…

2b. richie is not always a husband though, sometimes he is a wife. he converses like a wife, when permitted. he has whisky or beer instead of wine, and he manspreads, and swears a little more than these good Christian ladies are used to, but otherwise it’s the same. the quibbling, the tangents, the nonsensical idioms, the folk traditions removed from all context, live laugh love.

there eventually is at least one bisexual car dude and one bisexual wife, who both after a few rounds of “smh husbands/wives [x]” and richie/eddie seemingly not having that problem, say “gosh i wish i could be gay and not have problems”.

and when eddie hears this from bisexual car dude his reaction is basically “lmao you’re stupid and also maybe bisexual. look into it.”

but when richie hears this from bisexual wife he girl friend talks her. “I totally understand, no stacey that does make sense, ofc you’re totally right but You Know Men and their little baby man feelings” etc and is giving her that bullshit dinner-at-olive-garden version of relationship advice along with the other wives.

HOWEVER eddie happens to be inside getting himself another canned strawberry margarita at this moment and HE says “honey no if your husband is making you feel like you need to become a lesbian you tell him. you TELL him that if he doesn’t shape up you’re gonna become a fucking lesbian. which one is he. I’ll tell him myself.”

because Eddie’s gender is in fact not ever husband OR wife. Eddie’s gender is bitch.

3. eddie likes to leverage his Supremacy and lord or over the other car dudes. he has the coolest car, he has the best tools, he has the sharpest skills, he has this dope ass garage, and if you wanna bask in this glory you better kiss my fender baby.

so the car dude with the least amount of situational awareness and/or self preservation instincts says something unflattering about richie. he doesn’t necessarily mean it as an insult per se. it’s like when a person tries to jokingly bust your balls but you don’t actually know them well enough yet, with a side helping of this guy is not planning to ever know richie that well. he just thinks he can do that because eddie does that. but eddie does the banter thing with richie, never behind his back. so honestly it’s like a double miss, because oblivious car dude has overstepped a boundary and attempted to presumptively include eddie in behavior that eddie doesn’t approve of.

so, you know, say it’s something like “wow that guy is pretty weird huh”

and Eddie’s like “your fucking attitude in my fucking garage is pretty weird, jeffrey”

and so jeff (as eddie knows perfectly well he prefers to be called) has to say whatever car dude speak is for “I’m sorry your majesty please don’t banish me”

4. Eddie’s face literally every time richie shows himself in the garage even if it’s just for ten seconds: don’t u wish ur girlfriend was hot like mine

5. richie is very nervous around the car dudes actually, big gay fear, until eddie has wife talk with him about them. “smh tom doesn’t even know how to drive clutch”/“…and then greg told tonya’s mother, he said to her-” etc. at which point they simply become boy wives.

several of the other losers are also nervous about the car dudes, and are a little thrown that richie seems as comfortable with them as with women. they’re like so… the car dudes… and he’s like oh, those are just Eddie’s girl friends :)

6. richie bawls his fucking eyes out at romantic tragedies. one time the wives make the mistake of putting on like titanic or whatever toward the end of the play date. it gets dark before the movie is finished but none of them notice and don’t turn the lights on.

eventually the car dudes are like hmm it’s about dinner time we should go home probably. and they come in to the house only to be caught in the eerie stare of several pillow clutching mascara teared raccoons crying together in the dark.

the two groups stare at each other for a moment and then eddie says “so I was thinking of modding-” and the dudes just turn around and go right back into the garage

(this is one of the only times that eddie feels like A Man, in alignment with how these men in particular are men, because clearly this is some kind of Women’s Ritual that he will never understand)

[onetimetwotimesthreetimess]

single dad alec, dr magnus bane. lil rafe needs stitches 😢

“Daddy, it hurts.” 

Alec’s heart broke at his son’s cries.

He had taken Rafael to the playground, and his son was on the see-saw with another kid. Alec had received a call, and his attention had wavered for all but two seconds, but before he knew it, the other parent had pushed the see-saw down suddenly, throwing Rafael off, who was up in the air on the other side. 

Rafael had fallen down on his right shoulder, and it seemed like he had broken it.

Alec felt so incredibly guilty about his recklessness.

He shifted Rafael in his arms and kissed the top of his head.

“I know, baby. I know. I promise you it will be better in no time. We’re going to see a doctor and they will fix your arm okay?” He said softly.

Rafael hiccuped and nodded against his shoulder. 

“I don’t want stitches.” Rafael sobbed again. 

As young as Rafe was, he wasn’t someone who easily shared his pain with others. He was too much like Alec that way. 

So to see his son cry so easily kind of broke Alec’s heart.

“Ssshhh, Rafe. I promise you it’s going to be okay soon.” He assured his son.

The boy sniffled against his shoulder.

Alec walked towards the reception of the hospital and asked for a doctor.

“Dr. Bane is taking patients right now, I can get you an appointment with him.”

“Sure. Where can I find him?

The nurse pointed to the right corridor.

“Third room from there.” 

Alec was about to leave, but he turned toward the receptionist again. “Is this Dr Bane good with kids? My son is really scared of needles.”

The woman smiled at her. “Dr. Bane is the best pediatrician you can find.” 

Alec didn’t really care about the best.

People who were best at something were not always necessarily nice. 

Best did not equate to kindness. 

“And he’s great with kids. Your son will be in good hands.” She added gently.

Alec nodded and walked in the direction.

He knocked on the door, and a voice from inside asked him to enter the room.

Alec shifted Rafael in his arms slightly and walked in.

While the room had the same pattern as any other doctor’s office, there was a very warm quality to it. 

There was a wall that was covered with more than a few dozen pictures of children with their names and age written. 

There was a man in the picture with all the children, and Alec couldn’t stop staring.

He looked beautiful.

What in the Grey’s Anatomy hell was this? 

“Rafe. Hey buddy. We’re here.” He murmured softly in Rafael’s ears.

The boy clutched tighter onto his shoulders and buried his face in Alec’s neck. 

“Hey, so what do we have here?” The man who was sitting with his back facing the window outside with a file in his hand turned and asked.

As soon as the man turned, Alec stopped breathing. 

Holy fuck.

Dr Bane was a billion times more beautiful in reality.

Grey’s Anatomy could never. 

“Uhh…hi. This is Rafe. My son.” Alec stuttered. “He fell off the see-saw and broke his arm.” 

Magnus’s eyes softened at the boy. “Hi little man, will you turn around for me?”

Rafael tightened his hold around Alec’s neck. “Daddy—no.” 

Alec ran a gentle hand up his back. “Rafe. You gotta let the doctor see your arm.”

His son shook his head against his shoulder and mumbled something.

“You’re a cute one aren’t you?” Magnus said in a sweet voice.

“You’re cuter.” Alec replied, and then his eyes widened in horror when he realised he said it aloud.

Fuck. Oh, fucking hell.

This was why Alec was a single father.

Magnus blushed and let out a chuckle. 

“Oh my god. That was so inappropriate. I’m so so sorry.” Alec said. “Please don’t refuse to see my son just because his dad is an idiot.” 

“Are you always this charming?” Magnus giggled, and why did a grown man giggling made him feel so soft. 

“Well, I’m not always an idiot.” He replied.

Rafael sniffled against his shoulder again, and Alec remembered again why he was here—his son was hurt. 

Magnus’s eyes softened at Rafael. “Rafael. Will you turn around a second for me?”

Alec thought that Rafael would refuse again, but for some reason, the boy nodded. Slowly, Rafael lifted his face from his dad’s neck and turned towards Magnus.  

Magnus’s eyes crinkled at the corner. “Hi.”

“Hi.” 

“How’s your arm, darling?”

Rafael sniffled, but he was peering at Magnus thoughtfully for some reason. “Hurts.”

Magnus nodded. “Can you sit on that bed for me? I’ll need to check your arm. I promise I won't give you any needles.”

Alec shifted Rafe in his arms to take him to the bed, but the body patted his chest lightly, motioning to put him down.

Alec frowned and put Rafael down on the ground, and his son happily walked to the bed and sat there.

He smiled at Magnus.

Weird.

Rafael didn’t listen to anybody but Alec. 

Magnus stepped forward and started checking Rafe’s arm.

“You won’t need an injection for now. I’m going to put on a shoulder bandage so there’s no movement. But otherwise he’s good to go.” Magnus announced.

Alec let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god.” He took Rafael’s hand in his and kissed it softly. “You’re okay buddy. See? No needles.”

He took Rafael in his arms back and thanked Magnus.

Magnus took out a chocolate bar from his drawer and handed it to Rafael.

“Oh, Rafe doesn’t like chocol—” Before Alec could finish Rafael took the chocolate bar from Magnus and started eating it. 

The fuck?

Rafael hated chocolates. Refused to eat it even if his life depended on it. 

“Say thank you to Dr. Bane, Rafe.” 

Rafe waved his small hand and asked Magnus to come closer.

The other man raised an eyebrow but did as he was asked. “Closer.” Rafael repeated. 

Magnus closed the remaining distance between the three of them were barely inches apart.

Alec looked at Magnus’s beautiful face, and for a second, he forgot who he was or where he was. 

Only someone like him would get a crush on his son’s doctor.

“Rafe?”

Rafael leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Magnus’s cheek, and the doctor’s face gleamed in surprise.

“Thank you, Dr. Bane.” Rafael blushed. 

“Can I keep him?” Magnus grinned.

You can keep me.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

The two of them thanked and left.

A few days later, Alec got a call from Rafael’s school that he had fallen off the stairs while running and broken his leg.

Alec had been horrified and immediately cancelled his meeting to take his son to Magnus.

“Rafe, how did you break your leg not a week after breaking your arm?” He asked softly.

Rafael just sniffled against his chest.

“He’s a troublemaker isn’t he?” Magnus asked in surprise as soon as he saw Rafael.

“He usually isn’t. But he’s only 5 so.” He replied, his voice gentle.

Alec hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Magnus all week. 

It had been difficult to do anything else, which was surprising since Alec had never felt anything about anyone. 

And he had met the man once, for crying out loud.

Magnus checked Rafe and the injury seemed very superficial, so he was cleared out easily.

Magnus opened his drawer and took out a chocolate bar and handed it to Rafael, and his son took it—and ate it without complaining.

“You take care of yourself this time, okay? No getting into trouble.” He chuckled.

Rafael did the same thing as last time and kissed Magnus’s cheeks.

Alec would like to trade places with his son.

Three days later, Rafael had really bad stomach aches, and they had to go see Magnus again.

The doctor said that it wasn’t anything serious but Rafael pushed that it hurt really bad so they had ended up exchanging numbers in case of an emergency. 

Alec liked seeing Magnus. But he didn’t like seeing his Rafe in pain. 

Another four days later, Rafael padded into his room and started crying about headaches.

Alec didn’t know what but something was wrong. He knew children get sick and keep on falling everywhere, but this felt like something else.

“Please, Daddy.” Rafael had tears streaming down his face, and he immediately cradled his son against his chest.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, my baby. I’m going to call Magnus okay?”

He called Magnus in the middle of the night and asked if they could visit his place to get Rafael checked. 

“I’m so sorry. I know this was highly inappropriate but Rafael had been crying for hours.” He explained as soon as he entered Magnus’s place.

The man was wearing a peacock-printed silk gown. His face was bare, and his hair was falling on his face. 

Who gave this man the right to be so beautiful?

“It’s alright.” He said and checked Rafael.

Magnus frowned after checking Rafael up and motioned Alec to the other room.

They strolled away from Rafe, who was sleeping in Magnus’s room.

“Alec. Something is wrong with Rafael.”

Alec’s heartbeat quickened at that.

No.

“What? What’s wrong with him? No. No. You can fix it right?” He said urgently. “Magnus, you have to fix whatever it is. Is this why he’s been having all these stomach aches and dizzy spells?”

“Alexander listen—“

Alec took Magnus’s hand in his and clutched it tightly. “Magnus please. Rafael is my heart. I can’t—you need to fix him.”

“Alec shut up.” Magnus said. “Rafael is okay.”

He frowned. “You just said that something is wrong.”

Magnus shook his head. “Yes, something is wrong. But it’s not medical. I don’t know what it is but the headache and the stomach ache, none of that was real. It feels like he is lying.”

“My Rafe doesn’t lie.” Alec said firmly.

Magnus’s eyes softened. “He’s a child, Alec. Something is going on. Talk to him.”

Alec fidgeted for a second and then nodded.

He went to the room Rafael was in. He wasn’t sleeping, only pretending to be asleep. 

Alec smiled and sat next to him.

“Hi.” He whispered softly and carded his fingers through Rafael’s hair.

Rafael shifted and laid his head in Alec’s lap.

“Rafael. What’s going on?”

His son frowned at him.

“I know you didn’t have a headache. Neither did you have a stomach ache. Your leg wasn’t broken last week either.”

His son stayed silent and hid his face against his lap.

“Rafe. Talk to me, please.” He said softly.

Rafael turned, and he had tears streaming gently. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Alec brushed the tears away and kissed his forehead. “Don’t cry. Tell me what’s wrong. Why have you been lying about getting sick? I’m worried, Rafe. Talk to daddy.” 

Rafael mumbled something against his shoulder.

“I can’t hear you.“

Rafael lowered his gaze. “I wanted to see Magnus.” 

“What?”

“I wanted to see Magnus again. And again. So I lied.” Rafael whispered.

What the fuck?

“You did all of this to see, Magnus?”

Rafe nodded.

“Why?”

His son just shrugged. “He’s nice.” 

Alec let out a soft chuckle.

“That’s the weirdest thing you have ever done.” He grinned.

Rafael wrapped his arms around Alec’s neck. 

“You want to hear a secret?”

Rafael raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“I like seeing Magnus again and again too.” 

Rafael beamed at that.

Was Magnus Bane magic or something?

“But I don’t like seeing you get hurt. Or fake hurt.” 

Rafael nodded apologetically. 

Magnus knocked on the door gently, and Alec motioned him to come in.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

Alec picked up Rafael, and they were ready to go back home.

It’s now or never.

If his son can have the balls to plan this whole thing just to see Magnus, Alec can have some courage, too, right? 

“Hey, can I get your number?” Alec asked before leaving.

“You already have my number?” Magnus grinned.

Well fuck.

“That was for Rafe. I need your number for myself now.” He said nervously.

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Do you now?”

Alec just shrugged.

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

“Apparently we needed the help of a five year old and a few fake injuries.” He chuckled.

Magnus raised an eyebrow at that.

“It’s a good story. I’ll explain if you give me your number.”

Magnus rolled his eyes at him fondly and gave him his number.

“Bye.” Magnus waved.

Rafael and Alec both gestured for him to come closer, and Magnus complied easily. 

This time, both of them planted a soft kiss on Magnus’s cheeks and then high-fived each other.

Magnus looked positively surprised by it.

“Get out of my house, you heathens.” He laughed and pushed them out of the door. 

[theyarebothgunshot]

I’d be very interested in your thoughts on the JIB8 cockles panel. just a suggestion for your rewatch 👀

i’ve seen the jib8 panel so many times, because it’s honestly one of the wildest things i have ever seen and i just never get tired of it. 

first of all i want to give you my take on the overall vibe, and then second of all i will get into the details and link to certain timestamps in the video. 

disclaimer: i am not gonna be linking to every single thing i talk about, but i will try my best to link to the moments that stand out to me the most. i have read long posts about this panel before, so not everything in this post is gonna be original or said for the first time ever, simply because there is a good chance that information has stuck in my mind and has subconsciously formed my view of this panel. this is also in no way, shape or form gonna be coherent, unfortunately. i’m just gonna hope that the cockles hivemind will be able to make sense of this regardless. love and light. and lastly, this is all in good fun, so don’t come at me if you think this is too out there please and thank you.

fun fact: i was today years old when i found out that the airbnb story took place one day before this panel. what a sexually charged weekend that was for them dude (gn).

the vibe that i get from this panel is that their moods were off before they got on stage, and where misha kind of looks tired and not 100% enthusiastic about things, jensen apparently decided to get drunk and is trying to make it look like he is thriving. yet, a little while into the panel we learn that it has been an emotional rollercoaster of a day for him, which might have something to do with the overall mood. then again, it could be that something else happened in between the autographs and that panel, who is to say?

i have talked about the d/s subtones in their interactions before and this panel makes my radar ping like nobody’s business. if my interpretation of their dynamics is right, then one could assume that jensen was being very bratty on purpose, trying to stir up a reaction in misha, and i think he probably got what he wanted (more or less. maybe he thought misha would find it more amusing than he did, or but honestly, at that point they have already known each other for nearly 10 years so odds are he knew what he was doing and how misha would react to it. it would surprise me greatly if these two didn’t work out their mutual frustrations with the day and each other after this panel ended- in the bedroom.)

i genuinely think i have never seen jensen flirt more openly and aggressively with misha, ever, and i have never seen misha in the state he was in during this panel either: tired, a little annoyed about the fact that jensen was going off the deep end and that he was not able to stop him, to the point where he just gives up and says things like ‘when in rome’ etc. let’s get into it. 

the mood is set from the very first second: misha is kinda subdued, and jensen is being a bit of a clown, coaxing misha to join him in the madness, which he does to a certain extent. 

we are off to a great start with not just one [0m15s], but two [0m20s] moments in which i just know in my bones they wanted to hold hands. how do i know? because i have been there my fucking self. wanting to hold hands with your crush when you are drunk and acting silly is a love language okay.

as soon as they sit down, misha tries to make conversation and jensen just starts pushing him and pushing him, [1m11s] saying ‘shut up’ and ‘yeah it’s really stupid and it embarrasses me’, but misha tries to ignore it at first and just marches on through. which is probably why i never see people talk about that little comment. it embarrasses jensen when misha sits like that? why would he need to feel embarrassed by his friend’s actions? kinda weird tbh, sounds like husband behavior to me. i have a feeling that when misha said ‘by which he means it’s an innie’, jensen REALLY had to bite on his tongue not to go all ‘you weren’t complaining this morning’ or something like that. look at his face bro [1m55s]. 

and then jensen opens up his legs like the little tramp (affectionate) that he is and when misha tries to stop him he just TURNS to misha with said open legs like a mad man and goes ‘here’s the thing. pick a leg.’ [2m05s] LIKE? who DOES THAT? that is insane people behavior!!! admittedly i am a cis woman and i don’t have conversations with male friends about their bodily anatomy all that often, but i legit cannot phatom that this is a normal thing to talk about with your platonic buddy. pick a leg for me to rest my dick on, old buddy old pal. NOBODY DOES THAT. it’s not even something that i would consider flirting because even though i am into men, i would not find that arousing? so it’s either an action to provoke annoyance in misha or it’s something they have discussed before or both. because misha immediately understands what he means, starts shaking his head in frustration, and actually turns to jensen as if to say ‘are you fucking kidding me right now? really? you are really doing this?’ followed by a ‘this is making me feel so uncomfortable’ aka one of the phrases they both like to use even though they never mean it. 

then when jensen actually goes up to do his ridiculous mating dance and sits back down again, he automatically sits down with his body turned towards misha. 

quick side note: if anybody understands what the joke was about when they talked about ‘cas has big dolls’ i would love to hear it, because that has never made any sense to me, but it’s probably a me problem lmao. 

when misha goes ‘could you watch your language please’ i think that’s a sign that he is genuinely getting a bit frustrated [4m53s] with jensen even though he is obviously playing it off as a joke. right after he says that, jensen puts his fingers against his mouth, as if to shut himself up. i know that a lot of people don’t wanna read too much into body language but hey, i am writing an analysis here so work with me for a sec: i think that could be a subconscious decision to listen to what misha is telling him to do, which ties into the d/s dynamics i’ve mentioned earlier. 

i know people always go crazy when misha goes ‘what did i tell him’ [5m19s] and jensen whispers in his ear. i personally think misha probably told him about the fact that they booked kansas the band, but it’s still pretty telling that that is how misha would react to the question if something he told him is public knowledge. evidently that goes to show that there is enough that misha tells jensen that cannot be shared with the public, which i thought is interesting. 

now that i am watching it again, the ‘j*red would have just said it’ comment kind of stumbles around in my brain asking me to dissect it. let’s just say that i wouldn’t be surprised if they were both thinking back on the many, many times that j*red put his foot in his mouth and made a suggestive comment about jensen and misha’s relationship. 

god i just cringed [6m14s] watching jensen interact with that first girl who asked a question and he just goes off on her about how twins are cool and misha is shaking his head lord oh lord and that is the minute daniella decides that hey maybe they need even more alcohol lmfaoooo it’s a lot. poor misha i genuinely feel bad for him.

and then he goes ‘real men have twins’ and looks at misha and misha is still not having it so he goes ‘it’s just a shirt’ like girl (gn) pleASE that’s husband behavior, yet again, why else would he feel the need to clarify it. ‘look babe don’t be mad or jealous i don’t mean anything by it, it’s just a shirt’ i hate him. 

i just know misha would have wanted to take the apple juice away from jensen lmao. 

one of the moments [9m35s] that always stands out to me is when they go ‘that’s why we don’t bring steven’ ‘that’s right, that’s why he’s not allowed’ idk how to explain it but the way that just flows out of them so naturally feels very coupley for some reason.

i think we can all agree that jensen’s reaction [12m22s] to misha’s ‘i always wear orange underwear’ story is completely fake, right? because there is no way he didn’t know that, and his reaction was very exaggerated. plus, the little gesture to make misha show his underwear? bitch, please. whipped. there was also exactly zero reason for him to come that close to misha in order to inspect the color of his underwear.

the one thing that i wonder about, though, is why misha didn’t know jensen was wearing the famous underbear briefs? but as i am writing this i realise that even if they slept in the same hotel room, there are obviously a few different possible reasons why misha didn’t know what underwear jensen was wearing that day: either jensen showered and changed in the bathroom, so by the time he faced misha again he was fully dressed, or misha had to leave their hotel room earlier than jensen, or jensen changed while misha showered, etc etc. 

in any case……. jensen dropping trou in the middle of this fucking panel? absolutely batshit insane, 10/10 thank you for your service nesnej. 

this [13m54s] is where shit really starts to hit the fan. jensen is OUT OF CONTROL. the long stares??? the ‘rawr’s??? ‘you didn’t even get the full picture’??? (sidenote i would love to know what misha whispered to him right after).

OKAY so. when the girl mentions j*red and jensen goes all Knowing What’s Up and says ‘oh he has had a rough time today. misha kept us up way too late last night. *glances at misha* rrrrrrr’ listen. the only reason i am not reading too much into this is because i do not believe they had a threesome with j*red but also the way he said it was very sus and my mind can’t help but wonder if they were disgustingly flirty and way too touchy feely in front of j*red whilst drunk and honestly that’s probably the case.

of course this is followed [15m15s] by the insane man saying ‘by the way they go down to here’??? and the potentially whispered ‘i’ll show you later’?????? sir i have a lot of questions. number one: how dare you? 

bless this next person for this question, because she starts her sentence with: ‘people who have been together for a long time…’ i actually already made a post about this once so i implore you all to read that because i still stand by what i said in there.

it is of course followed by them both not being able to think about ANYTHING appropriate to say to the question if there is anything they only do in front of each other that doesn’t involve pants. and then misha goes ‘why don’t i just share a private moment that we had’ and jensen’s first instinct is to say ‘shit’. i mean. i am merely perceiving. 

this is the moment we realise that it has been quite The Day for them, but especially for jensen, because he has been emotional earlier in the day. which, again, could explain his demeanor during the panel. trying to distract himself. notice that he gets up and shakes his legs again and goes for a drink the second misha starts to tell the story: coping mechanisms aka distraction, just like he did at the start of the panel. 

the moment where he goes ‘it’s hitting me now. shit.’ really solidifies this theory for me, that he has been acting like a goofy drunken guy all panel, in order to drown out the emotions he felt that afternoon, but alas. once he started to talk about it, it still all came back to him. 

i will say this though: it kind of warms my heart that he was so touched by the fact that the fandom spawned something good. makes me feel slightly less dumb for forming parasocial relationships with that man. only slightly, but still. 

misha going ‘god he’s so grouchy’ [25m32s]? say it with me, folks: husband behavior. once again misha tries to talk jensen down and jensen listens (sort of). say it with me, folks: d/s behavior. and RIGHT after that jensen walks towards misha with this intense fucking stare in his eyes that makes me feel like i am intruding, and then after he gets another drink (nesnej, why?) he just. gently massages misha’s neck and shoulder before draping his arm around him? and his hand lingers when he goes to grab the keychain? okay. 

insert the famous ‘when in rome’ debacle lmao misha was so done with jensen by then it’s so hilarious. the funny thing is that misha says ‘what i mean is show each other our underwear, nothing weird. you can’t look at me like that, because of what you did’, while the question was ‘what would dean and cas do in rome’ and not ‘what would jensen and misha do in rome’ but clearly, once again, the actors cannot make a distinction between the two. interesting :) it also wouldn’t surprise me if jensen has told him to tone down the dean/cas answers but now that jensen decided to fully flash him on stage misha is like ‘sorry but i am not playing by your rules after what you did’ lmao. of course, jensen’s reaction is to go back to parting his legs for misha, like he is challenging him. i mean. you can’t make this shit up. 

am i the only one who thinks that jensen might be thinking dirty thoughts when misha repeats ‘what would dean and cas do’ [27m50s]? because like. that’s quite a face he is making.

when he says ‘i don’t know how to answer that’ and misha agrees, idk, for some reason i get the feeling that that’s in the sense of ‘i don’t know how to answer that in a way that won’t get our fans’s hopes up because we know what they would want and we know what we would answer but we can’t go there’. 

i really feel like the final straw for daniella was the way that jensen reacted to that last question like he was gonna have another breakdown lmao and that’s why the rest of the cast and crew were pushed onto the stage prematurely. because when you think about it, it’s a pretty rude thing to do when somebody is still answering a question? but okay. 

listen - the last 6 minutes of this panel are so chaotic sdjfhsjh the only thing i can conclude from it is that jensen is hella drunk but we’ve been knew. his mood changes by the fucking second. i love him and his little dance and how he sits down on the stage. i feel like i might be jensen coded when i am drunk. i too get slutty and unpredictable. 

so anyways long story short: jensen was hella drunk and wanted to provoke misha, it worked, they had hot sweaty sex after this panel, and the fact that jensen got drunk enough to entrust misha with taking care of shit during the panel makes me very emotional for some reason, and i just love them a lot. thank you for coming to my ted talk. 

[mystical-marauder]

Painting stars

Sirius enters an art shop, hoping to finally buy the supplies he'd been saving up for for months, but walking through that door brings him much more than expected

This is my first oneshot and I hope you like it and I'll post more writing like this hopefully and my writing can also be found on ao3 my username is @loveglowslikethemoon hope you enjoy :)

Today had been pretty quiet with only a couple customers and the shop was closing in 10 minutes, I was ready to go home...

Ding!

I look up from my book, ‘What kind of customer turns up this late?’ I think. I look around to the door, standing there is a tall, handsome young man, his grey eyes excitedly glancing over the shop, his black hair tied up into a bun. His fair skin is disrupted only by a small beauty mark, under his eye. The confident smile that suddenly splits his face as he turns to me, brings out two dimples that break his otherwise smooth cheeks.

"Afternoon! I'm looking for art supplies, I mean I am in an art shop" he says, chuckling. "I actually need some advice, you have a very wide selection and I'm not quite sure what to pick." he gestures vaguely at the shelves full of pencils and brushes, paint and charcoal, canvases and sketchbooks... "You see I love painting but I have no idea which brushes to use, it's embarrassing really."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, actually it's quite common, that’s what I’m here for” I reply with a smile “So you said you paint, right? What do you need, brushes, paint, canvases…?”

“I… um… I actually need everything… You see my parents, well, they kicked me out… and I left everything there… but I've finally saved up enough money to buy new supplies so here I am” he explains chuckling nervously. I look around nervously, unsure what to answer to that but I try to remain as steady and professional as possible.

“That's… terrible, I’m so sorry.” I say, smiling nervously, trying to seem comforting.

“It’s alright, it’s a good riddance I guess.” he replies cheerily “so about those supplies, what do you recommend?”

“Follow me, I’ll show you my recommendations. You’ll have to tell me a bit more about your style of painting so I can give you my best advice.” I say, leading him over to the shelves.

I quickly give him an overview of the different supplies before giving him a more detailed review of each product and advice. We slowly go through the shop and I don’t even notice the minutes fly by. As I walk to another shelf, I catch a glimpse of the clock. I should’ve closed the shop half an hour ago but I decide to leave it. I was having fun. What was the harm of staying open a little while longer? As the minutes pass, our chatter becomes less professional and more friendly. We talked and laughed together and soon enough, we’d picked out all his new art supplies.

“Well there’s everything you need!” I say, walking back to the counter. I start counting the price while chatting to him. “That’s £81.99, the easel is on the house for being such an amiable customer. Do come back if you ever need anything else, it was a pleasure to serve you.” I smile sadly, it had been more than a pleasure and I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye now.

“Thank you” he answers, giving me another of his confident smiles “I- I was wondering if umm… this might sound a bit weird but-” his piercing grey eyes quickly shift away, his normally confident appearance fading to show a childlike nervousness. “Before I left home, well, before I was forced out, I was studying anatomy, and well… I think you'd make the perfect model… Would it be alright if I painted you? If you don't mind, of course. Please don't feel forced to accept anything, but I'd love it if you do. And we could get a chance to get to know each other a little better, maybe somewhere where you don't work.” he clears his voice, as though happy to get this over with, and shifts his grey eyes back to me, his confidence returning. A new childish smile splits his face, as though it had never left it.

My eyes widen as I register what he just asked, and I quickly look away, embarrassed. ‘Perfect?’ as the word races through my mind again and again, I feel my face heat a little. Perfect? Me? No one had ever even called me pretty, let alone perfect, but now this man, who looks like a model himself, wants me to model for him and used that word to describe me. I return the smile, although mine is more nervous than childlike. He tilts his head slightly as though reading my emotions but seconds later, he lets out a small laugh which I quickly copy, trying to diffuse the awkwardness that flourished in me throughout this interaction.

“Are you sure you want me? I mean-” I cut off as I watch him nod confidently “alright I'd love to then!” I answer him, flattered, yet I can't stop the slight shake of my hands. What if I mess up? What if he ends up hating me?

“See you then” he says happily, turning away with a wink. I watch him as he walks out, finding myself to be grinning like a child, like him. I only have one thought left, ‘I don't have to say goodbye.’ I stay standing there for a few minutes with this thought before I snap back to reality. My eyes snap to the clock.

“Fuck” I whisper as I work out the time. If my boss finds out I closed the shop two hours late, I'm done for. ‘Oh well, it was worth it’ I think ‘and anyways he might not even find out.’ I start packing my bag when I suddenly realise he didn't give me a name let alone an address, how was I ever going to find him?! My eyes trail back to the door but of course he is long gone by now… I look around, panicked, as though expecting something to magically give me his address and that's when I notice the folded piece of paper on the counter. I slowly open it, my fingers trembling at the thought that it may not be what I think. I flatten out the paper and quickly read the snippet of writing. I smile inwardly, holding the small, unfolded piece of paper, relief slowly flooding through me as I trace the sentence again and again with my eyes, struggling to believe the evening's events.

19:30 tomorrow room 29 Mirror Hotel - Sirius Black

“Sirius Black” I whisper softly, smiling. “It's nice to meet you, Sirius Black”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I try to steady my hand as doubt rises in me again, one thought racing continuously through my mind ‘What if I mess up?’ I reach out and knock on the door hesitantly. I wait for a few seconds, yet it feels like an eternity, before the door is swung open.

“Found my note I see!” he exclaims, standing in the doorway with a huge grin lighting up his face. I smile back, trying to look as confident as he did.

“Here I brought you this” I reply, showing him my bag. I take out a small black book and present it to him, “it’s my favourite book, actually I was reading it when you came into the shop, I thought that maybe...” I trail off, embarrassed. I rub the back of my neck, feeling the warmth radiating from my palm. “I just thought maybe you'd find it interesting, I've read it so many times I practically know it off my heart” I laugh quietly, quickly glancing up at him “sorry I'm rambling”

Sirius looks at me, curiosity in his eyes. A small laugh escapes his lips before he turns to me and takes the book. He flips it, seemingly interested before looking back at me and taking a step back, to free the entrance. “Well why don't you come in?” he asks, before marking a pause, “I'm sorry I don't think I caught your name.”

“I'm Remus.” I respond, looking back up at him.

“Remus, that's a nice name.” he comments, his grin never leaving his face “the book seems interesting! I'll be sure to give it a try” I listen to him talk while I walk into his room, which is surprisingly organised. There isn't much, a table with an old laptop on it, two chairs, a bed, which takes up most of the space, a set of drawers, a small window and, in the corner, the art supplies he'd bought the day before. “You can sit here” he tells me, pushing one of the chairs towards me, I take it and sit down, putting my bag down next to it, unsure what to do next, I watch him walk over to the corner and pick up his art supplies.

“What do I need to do?” I ask, my hands still trembling slightly in my lap.

“Nothing, don't worry” he replies “just sit there and relax, there's nothing to be scared of” he addresses a friendly smile at me, pulling up the other chair to face me and setting up his easel in front of it. He takes out a brush and some paint, mixing them on his palette, and starts moving his hand up and down the canvas in big yet careful gestures. As the minutes pass, I start to feel more relaxed, watching his movements getting smaller and slower. “So, tell me a bit about yourself” he says, his eyes not moving from the canvas.

“Hmm oh well my life isn't very interesting. I grew up here with my parents, they're both gone now. I work in an art shop, as you know, I really like reading and I don't know what else to tell you…” I answer, thinking that my life must be too boring for him.

“That sounds interesting to me, you must know the surroundings pretty well then! Maybe you could show me around a little, I've been here for a few months but I still manage to get lost sometimes.” he tells me, chuckling.

“I'd love to, but only if you show me how to paint” I reply, nodding happily. As the minutes turn into hours and his painting progresses, we keep talking, about everything and nothing. It felt easy to talk to him, no not easy, right. Soon enough, I knew him like he'd been my friend for years. While we talk, his eyes tend to stay on the painting but sometimes they glide over to me, snapping back to the painting seconds later. In what felt like a short period of time, yet was a few hours, the painting was finished.

“Are you ready? If I'm honest, I'm a little nervous but if it's bad, blame it on the fact I couldn't paint for the past few months.” he admitted with a nervous chuckle, grabbing the canvas and hesitantly turning it towards me.

‘wow’

That's it. That's the only thought that went through my head as my eyes met themselves on the canvas. It's so beautiful and…

“Well? What do you think?” he urges nervously. I suddenly notice his hands trembling slightly and his eyes watching me intensely. He always seems so confident, yet I can see the fear in his eyes now.

“It's so… It's stunning… I'm speechless” I reply, looking him in the eyes quickly before turning back to the painting. The painting looked so realistic, my light curly brown hair and pale green eyes standing out against my pale skin, there is only one alteration. Instead of the freckles that normally sprinkle my face, are little stars. They're beautiful, shining like the stars I can now see from the window.

“Your freckles, they're beautiful, they look like the stars in the night sky. I thought I should paint them as such… They're like little beacons of hope and friendship, when I walked into that shop, I never thought I'd make a new friend, and well, thank you for giving me hope.” Sirius looks at me, his eyes sparkling with the same hope he was talking off. As I look at him, straight into his eyes, I feel a smile reach my lips, knowing my eyes have the same sparkle in them. And as our eyes dig deeper into one another, as we share a smile of happiness of who we found, the minutes slow, as though this moment was frozen in time, which I wish could be the case. Suddenly, we both break eye contact, as though embarrassed by the connection we'd both felt in that second. We both look back up to the painting, our eyes meeting again for a second, causing my face to heat a little. I slowly lift myself out of my seat, taking a step towards the painting to get a closer view of the talent etched on the canvas in front of me.

“It's- it's really stunning” I mutter, still speechless, taking yet another step forward. As I slowly edge forward, I notice something, something that had escaped me at first glance, as it usually escapes others' attention. A thin scar, tracing along the bridge of my freckled nose. Freckles which usually hide it, making it hardly noticeable, especially at first glance. A scar that had been given to me when I was only five, by an overexcited grey dog at the park. It's claw had scratched against the skin of my nose, after it had ambushed me. It had left me with a gash, one that never properly healed and could now be observed under the shape of a scar. This scar. The one he had noticed, when no one else had.

“You got my scar” I whisper in amazement. I slowly reach out to touch it, feeling like all that matters now, is this single detail. A small detail yet seeing it there had given me hope. At the last second, I pull my arm back, like an instinct, and, remembering the paint is still wet, I drop my hand to my side.

“Of course I got it, how could I miss it?” as his voice reaches my ears, I glance to my left to find him standing next to me, admiring the same spot as I was. Him. The man who, right now, felt like a dream come true. We both turn to face one another at the same second, almost as though we're in tune with one another. I find myself getting lost in his stormy grey eyes again, knowing that he was looking straight back into my emerald green ones. For a moment, there's no movement, we both stand there in silence, our eyes sparkling at each other, knowing that this is right. A shadow suddenly masks one of his eyes and I understand that a lock of his hair escaped his small bun. I watch it sway slightly before I instinctively take a step forward, closing what little distance is left between us, and reach out. I mark a pause, waiting to see if he'll reject the movement, but nothing happens. Carefully, I grab the small lock of hair and delicately brush it behind his ear.

As I hesitantly move my hand away, Sirius lets out a low throaty laugh, and I suddenly feel compelled to do something I'd never dreamed of. Instead of pulling my hand back, I instinctively slide it down to the back of his neck, cradling it carefully in my hand, and lean forward, closing the distance between us centimetre after centimetre until we collide. It was a short kiss but our movements were coordinated perfectly.

We pull away, almost reluctantly, and I watch his face quickly turn a deep crimson, knowing mine isn’t much better. I watch his eyes, like two storms lost in the middle of all this redness.

“That was… something” my eyes move down, as I utter these two words, as though expecting them to close the distance again. Our faces were still within centimetres of one another, making me struggle not to kiss them again.

“Something utterly spectacular” Sirius laughs breathlessly, intensifying my impulse to lean in again.

The room falls silent again, as I continue to watch the slight quiver on his lips. The only disturbance in the otherwise perfect silence is the sound of light rain splashing against the window and pavement along with our shallow breathing.

For a long while, we stand there, gazing quietly into each other's eyes, not uttering a single word, yet I feel complete, everything I need is right here, in front of me. This man, who has the most luscious hair, elegance and grace radiating from his unpolished appearance, a mischievous yet friendly glint in his eye, who is staring up at me with those mercury eyes.

And in that second, I feel certain that this is where I belong. That being with Sirius is right.

[maddiewritesstucky]

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Stripper Bucky / Architect Steve

Words: 3790

Tags: Sexy shower antics, post-exercise endorphin highs, Steve is a badass for like 10 minutes, Bucky is not a morning person (until he suddenly is), enthusiastic morning sex

A follow-up one-shot to the slow death of Steve Rogers. Many thanks to my radiant cassowary @kalee60​ for giving it your clever eyes. Infinite birdseed for you 😘

(Also on Ao3)

When Bucky wakes up, he is aware of two things, and two things only.

One - it’s way too fucking early for his eyelids to have peeled themselves back the way they have, if the rosy tint of the sky outside is anything to go by, and two - his foot should have connected with some part of Steve’s anatomy by now on it’s customary post-waking stretch across the mattress.

His body is coming online one limb at a time, and he grunts his displeasure into the rumpled sheets; gaze firmly averted from the clock on the bedside table. Putting a number to it will only make him angry, and the stupid beautiful soft dawn light filling the bedroom tells him everything he needs to know anyway. 

Why they had decided to move into Steve’s apartment when Bucky’s actually had things like properly functioning curtains, he has no idea. 

"Steve,”  he groans, voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the injustice of waking before he intended to. 

He kicks his foot out a little further; throws an arm out to join the search party too, but finds Steve’s side of the bed decidedly more vacant than it had been when he fell asleep last night. 

Running, some vaguely helpful part of Bucky’s subconscious supplies, you fell for a man who goes running at bastard o’clock in the morning. 

He flops over onto his back and scrubs his hands up over his face; up through the tangled mess of hair that seems to find new ways of defying its scrunchie-prison every night. His vision sharpens into focus and sticks a moment on the giant canvas print photo of himself and Steve smiling back at him from the far wall; a grinning relic of a Bucky who was not woken before his time.

It still makes his stomach flip a little, that picture - the two of them stuffed into the heavy-knit sweaters Bucky’s ma had made them last Christmas; both in the  throes of losing their shit over the comically absurd miscalculation she’d made on size. Steve’s got tears in his eyes, and Bucky’s aren’t even open, and they’re clinging to each other with that special kind of desperation that intense, prolonged laughter seems to spawn.

It’s everything good about their life together, that photo; the sheer warmth and joy they’ve found in one another over the past year, the sense of  home and family and right. 

It’s even more heartwarming, Bucky finds, when the sun is a reasonable distance above the horizon.

He drags his protesting body out of its sleep-warmed cocoon, his intentions set on the brand new bag of espresso grind that Last-Night Bucky had so wisely left sitting on the kitchen counter. 

He’s going to use Steve’s favorite mug, the one he’d happened across in a yard sale that reads ‘architects do it on drafting tables’  with a lewd stick figure drawing. Partially because it holds the most coffee, and partially because if Steve had remained in bed this morning, with all his familiar warmth and dependable big-spoon behavior, Bucky would have remained blissfully unconscious until his alarm went off. 

...Steve’s not here to actually  see  this particular middle-finger of a gesture, but that’s beside the point. Bucky will  know.

It’s not until he’s shuffling his way down the hall, already two steps past the closed bathroom door, that Bucky registers the faint sounds of water hitting tile, and the sporadic, off-key hum of a post-run Steve. 

His feet halt in their tracks before he’s even made the conscious decision that coffee can wait.

He wants to keep walking, to get his precious cup of bean nectar and crawl back into bed for another hour or three, it’s just...

Post-run Steve is kind of Bucky’s jam. 

He’s sweaty, and loose-limbed, and hopped up on exercise endorphins which, more often than not, make him inexplicably horny and give him the closest approximation of a bad boy complex that someone with Steve’s demeanor could possibly get. 

Post-run Steve is the only good thing about being awake at this god forsaken hour. 

The sunrise, and the stillness, and the smell of fresh dew can get fucked, but Bucky will carpe the hell out of a diem for some Post-run Steve.

He slips quietly into the bathroom, and is immediately grateful for the time he spent descaling the shower door yesterday when he’s met with an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious back. What goddamn right an architect has looking like that, Bucky has no idea, but you wanna talk about some aesthetically pleasing angles?

Steve’s got one hand braced against the wall, head dipped to draw out the line of his back. His skin’s a little flushed; water channeling in fast-flowing rivulets between the soft ridges and swells of his drawn-taut muscles, and he’s breathing those quiet grunts of the recently-exerted. 

He’s a living, breathing thirst-trap, and the knowledge that he’d only blush and change the subject if Bucky told him so just makes it a thousand times better. 

Bucky pushes his soft flannel sleep pants off his hips and lets them fall to the floor, sending up another silent salute to Last-Night Bucky for going commando, and steps forward to pull open the shower door.

...Later on, when Bucky is reflecting on it all, he’ll blame the early hour and his pre-caffeinated state for the fact that he didn’t realise. The soft noises falling from Steve’s lips, the very particular bunch and flex of very particular muscles…

Any other time of day, Bucky would have known straight away. 

Any other time of day, and Bucky wouldn’t have even needed to be in the same room - he could be at the bodega down the street, and his nipples would inexplicably harden at the pluck of Steve’s distant arousal on the cosmic spiderweb. 

But as it happens in the moment, it’s not until Steve’s head is falling back on a low moan that Bucky realizes exactly what it is he’s walked in on. 

“Oh, shit...”

It’s off his tongue before he can reel it back in, and Steve almost jumps out of his skin. 

His head whips around, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, he looks shocked and uncertain and embarrassed as all hell. 

But this right here is no weekday-afternoon Steve. This is not the blushing, bumbling hunk of love meee that occupies the corporeal form of Steve Rogers 95% of the time. 

No, this is Post-run Steve, and it’s all of about two seconds before he’s schooling his features into something more akin to vaguely-smirking indifference; turning until he’s facing Bucky front on, and settling his weight back against the shower wall.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Bucky begins, as close to apologetic as one can really be about seeing their significant other in a compromising yet Very Sexy position. But the words dry up on his lips as Steve lifts a finger to his own in the universal gesture of ‘shush.’   

He watches, rapt, as Steve first reaches over to the tap and shuts off the water, and then takes up the bottle of Bucky’s conditioner, squirting some into his hand before wrapping it back around his cock. 

And then that jacked-up idiot, that neuro-chemical flooded pseudo bad bitch, looks Bucky dead in the eye...and goes right back to jerking off. 

He’s putting on a goddamn show with it too - pulling at his cock, long and slow and tight; dropping his head back against the wall and letting his moans ricochet shamelessly off the tile. The sound of his fist working over his dick is lewd as hell, so much more audible for the fact that there’s no rush of running water to mask it anymore, and Bucky wonders briefly if he ever actually woke up at all, if this isn’t just all a very believable wet dream. 

It certainly contains all the usual elements - intense eye contact; a big fat dick getting rubbed off by a beefy, naked, wet dude (bonus that it’s Bucky’s actual, real-life boyfriend); the kinds of sounds you usually only hear in porn…

For all Bucky knows, he could still be tucked up in bed asleep, and not standing here naked and painfully erect in this steamed up bathroom, watching his boyfriend jack it like he’s starring in some locker-room porno.

“You need somethin’, or you just come in here to watch?” Steve drawls, arching a brow at him, and yeah  - there’s a  lot of things Bucky needs all of a sudden.

He rakes an assessing gaze over Steve’s body, stepping into the shower and pressing his palms to the swell of Steve’s pecs.

“I just wanted to make sure your run went okay,” he shrugs, “no pulled tendons, shin splints...aching muscles…that kinda thing.” 

He squeezes at Steve’s shoulders and his biceps and his tiny waist; threads his hands up through Steve’s hair and slots a thigh between Steve’s to push their hips together. 

Steve’s skin is so warm, and slippery, and he smells like soap, and Bucky starts mentally calculating just how much time they have and how much energy he can feasibly expend before their respective work days start.

He’s not on stage tonight, but he is on shift for his day job at the community center, teaching a preschool ballet class at 10am, and then a seniors ballroom dancing session at midday before his contemporary classes in the afternoon. Steve’s working from home today, so hypothetically it wouldn’t matter if Bucky wore him out a little…

“Buck...” 

“Mm?” 

He rubs his whole self shamelessly against Steve, pressing in so the barbells spiked through his nipples drag across the wet expanse of Steve’s chest. He kisses Steve’s neck and his tits and his mouth, hungry and handsy and a little frantic, and Steve laughs softly against his lips as he turns them to push Bucky up against the slick tile of the shower wall.

“Your concern is deeply moving,” he deadpans, caging Bucky in with hands planted either side of his head, “but I think we need to talk about your bathroom etiquette...didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock?” 

He’s staring Bucky down with eyes lit up something wicked; his body so very nearly touching Bucky’s but not quite, and it hits Bucky all over again that his boyfriend is, physically speaking...really fucking imposing.

It’s easy to forget, when he’s being...well, Steve. Perpetually polite, kind-hearted, goofy...Bucky feels like when he looks at Steve, he sees the softness of his nature, the quiet goodness that radiates out of him. 

He sees the sensible shoes and the khaki pants, the careful artist hands and the way Steve still sometimes carries himself like the much-smaller man he claims to have once been. 

He’s Stevie, and Bucky wouldn’t have him any other way. 

But all of that also happens to be contained within a 6’2”, 200lb frame, and right now...Bucky kind of wants to suffocate under it. 

“I am so sorry, Steven,” he says, though it’s entirely negated by the raging hard on he’s sporting and the giddy, gratuitous manner in which he’s still feeling Steve up. 

He skates his fingertips down the rippled plain of Steve’s stomach, down to the trail of dusky blond hair leading south from his belly button, but Steve catches his hands and pins them up above his head. 

“I’m sure you are,” Steve hums, “but I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here. See, you caught me in a very private moment, one that I was very much enjoying, and now I’m all thrown off. You got me feelin’ shy.” 

...There’s some very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing up against Bucky’s hip right now, but that’s beside the point. Steve’s teeth are scraping a line all the way down Bucky’s neck to nip at the ice fractals tattooed across his shoulder, and Bucky’s more than willing to play along.

“However can I make it up to you?” 

He arches into the press of Steve’s body, the hard line of Steve’s cock nestled into the crease of his hip.

If Steve shifted just slightly, he’d be rubbing up against Bucky’s dick. 

It’s not an accident that Steve isn’t making that shift. 

“You really want to?” Steve kisses the question against his skin, making his way slowly back up to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky nods vehemently.

He’s already wetting his lips in preparation for all the ‘making up’ they’re about to do; signalling his knees to get ready to bend and pulling at Steve’s grip on his wrists, but Steve doesn’t release him.

Instead, he pulls back just far enough to look Bucky square in the eye, and smiles entirely too sweet for the authoritative edge that rumbles into his voice. “Go back to bed, Bucky.” 

Bucky has to blink a few times as the words circulate in his ears. His expression turns from I’m about to get some D!  to  oh god I’m being denied the D in about 0.2 seconds flat.

Bed is very far away from the dick that is currently in need of reparations, he can’t achieve anything from bed.

“But—you said—I was gonna—”

“Go. back. to bed.”  Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s wrists and leans his whole weight against him, right up in his space so his lips catch against Bucky’s as he speaks, “...and wait for me.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

A big, stupid, ‘bout-to-get-railed grin stretches across Bucky’s face. He wriggles free of Steve’s grasp and stumbles out of the shower, stopping himself just shy of a wildly enthusiastic ‘yes sir!’

He thinks he can hear Steve’s laughter as he takes off back down the hall toward the bedroom, but it might just be his own echoing back to him. He throws himself down onto the unmade bed, still warm from when he got up not ten minutes ago, and honestly who needs to sleep in anyway? Sleeping in is for people who don’t have absolute poundcake boyfriends to screw them into the sunrise.

He should have toweled off, he realizes as his damp skin rubs against the bedding, but he cannot be blamed for life choices made before six am, and there are far more important things afoot anyway. 

Things like the sound of the shower turning back on for approximately forty-five seconds, then the muted pass of a towel being scrubbed over hair, and footsteps on the hardwood growing ever closer to the bedroom.

God, this is gonna be a good day. What  a beautiful day to be greeting the dawn, making the most of his youth, seizing everything life throws at him!

He has the good sense to snatch the lube out of the bedside drawer just as Steve walks into the room, eyeing him with amusement and hunger in equal measures. 

“You know what the problem is, with what just happened back there, Buck?” 

Steve saunters toward the bed with all the nonchalance of a man whose work day doesn’t start for another three hours. 

He wraps his sizable hands around Bucky’s ankles and yanks him down the bed a little - for no other purpose than to hear Bucky’s breath hitch at the unnecessary show of strength - and climbs up onto the mattress to straddle Bucky’s shins. 

“The problem is, I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.” He plucks the lube from Bucky’s hand and pours some into his own, spreading it over his cock in lazy pulls. “Being the center of attention, having eyes on me...that’s more your speed.”

“Mhmm, yes, I am an attention whore,” Bucky nods, reaching grabby hands out at Steve who refuses to shift any further up his body, “and you are humble and handsome and have a big dick. Make out with me.” 

Steve tuts and shakes his head, reaching his unoccupied hand to flick at one of Bucky’s nipple piercings. 

“Oh, I don’t think you get to make requests right now. See, the worst part of you throwin’ me off back there? I was so fucking close.  So now what you get to do, James, is flip the fuck over, and let me finish what I started.” 

...Jesus, Bucky loves Post-run Steve.

He’s gonna marry Post-run Steve and have his hopped up little post-run babies, and make sure Steve never misses a single day of early morning exercise so he can bask in the glory of this magnificent bastard every goddamn day of his life.

Bucky flops over onto his front and gets his knees under himself, sticking his ass up in the air with a wiggle that’s probably a lot more comical than it is enticing. But the heat of Steve’s palms hook around the front of his thighs and pull them out from under him, sprawling him flat against the mattress.

There’s a sudden clamping of teeth on his ass cheek and the sharp swat of an open palm, and then Bucky’s being pressed firmly into the sheets by Steve’s weight settling high up on the backs of his thighs. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Steve sighs, planting his hands on the dip in Bucky’s spine, “I’m gonna use your ass to get off, and then I’m going to get back into bed, while you go make us some coffee.”

Bucky nods into the mess of blankets under his cheek, futilely trying to rock his hips up against Steve’s considerable weight. “Yes, agreed, punishment fits the cri-hi wow okay.” 

A wholly undignified sound is wrenched from Bucky’s chest as Steve skips all pretense of tease, and thrusts his slicked up cock into the crease of Bucky’s ass, rubbing off between his cheeks with a very singular purpose. 

Bucky scrabbles to grab hold of his pillow and drags it down, wedging it under his hips with as much success as can be expected when you’re being pinned by a 200lb adrenaline-testosterone cocktail. It’s enough though, to very favorably cushion the rub of his dick, and all things considered…this whole thing is working out pretty well for him.

He’s expending precisely zero effort, but the wet glide of Steve’s cock over his hole and the push of Steve’s hips rubbing him into the pillow is very much Doing It for him, and he lets his body go loose and pliant as Steve does all the work for the both of them.

And Steve is putting in work - rocking Bucky into the mattress with a fervor that knocks the breath out of him and sends the headboard careening rhythmically into the wall. 

“Y’hear that, Buck?” Steve pants, not for a second breaking his frankly devastating pace. “That’s what a fuckin’ knock sounds like.” 

“Oh my god.”   

This is exactly how every single day of Bucky’s life should begin. Naked, giddy, cocks enthusiastically rubbing up against holes, and Steve running his mouth like he won’t be turning ten shades of red about it later. 

If this is the payoff, Bucky will bust in on every single shower Steve has for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” he laughs a little breathlessly into the bedding, biting off a moan at the heat coiling low in his belly. 

It’s entirely sincere, and he says it because he means it...but if he also happens to know by now that those words are a direct hit to Steve’s prostate during sex?

That’s just a happy coincidence.

Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched, his thighs twitching and tensing where they’re clamped around Bucky’s hips. 

His breaths are coming sharp and shallow, his movements taking on a frantic edge that betrays exactly how close he is, and Bucky would ask him to slow down, except he really, really doesn’t want him to. 

“I love you, Stevie,” he says again, letting his own building climax bleed into his voice, “love you so much...come on, baby...” 

“Fuck,  Bucky, I...oh...” 

His weight falls forward over Bucky as he comes, and it’s all the shove Bucky needs to tip over the edge with him. 

He spills all over his pillow, burying a moan into the sheets and huffing under the weight of Steve’s body going lax on top of him.   

“Oh my god, Buck,” Steve groans, vaguely awed like it wasn’t his own efforts that just brought them both to sticky ruin, and Bucky reaches a hand back to swat weakly at him. 

“You said it, pal.” 

Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck, planting breathless kisses against his skin and running his hands over every part of Bucky he can reach. 

It’s so tangible, that shift back to normalcy, back to  Steve.  It always hits Bucky square in the chest, the way he can feel Steve’s edges softening, feel that boisterous energy turn sweet and mellow in the aftermath. 

It’s kind of precious, actually, though Bucky would never phrase it like that to Steve’s face.  

He squirms beneath Steve’s weight, getting himself turned over until he’s on his back beneath him. “Good morning,” he smiles up at Steve softly, running his fingers through the still-damp tufts of his hair. 

Steve sighs happily, letting his eyes drift shut and tilting his head into Bucky’s hand. “Good morning, pervert.” 

“Hey, come on, you know I didn't do that on purpose!  ” Bucky laughs, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him all over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face says Bucky’s doesn’t really have anything to be sorry about. “Guess I can forgive you this one  time.”

“You’re a gracious man.”

Bucky drags him down and kisses him right on his smile, sweet and lazy. When they pull apart, Steve’s got that dopey look on his face like he’s feeling a whole lot of something, and Bucky knows exactly what’s coming before Steve says it.

“Glad you love me, Bucky Barnes.” 

...He knew it was coming, but it still gets him every time. 

“Glad to love you, Steve Rogers.” He feels like he’s glowing a little as he leans up to peck Steve on the tip of his nose. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I owe you a cup of coffee...you’re gonna have to let me up if you want me to follow through on that.” 

“Mm, counter offer - we both go wash off, together, and then I’ll make us breakfast while you handle the coffee?” 

Bucky pretends to consider for a second before he nods, stretching his body out as Steve rolls his weight off him. 

“Agreed.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the door, shooting Steve a wink and a lopsided grin. “Lead the way, pal. I believe you are intimately familiar with where the shower is.”

[thecrimsondandelion]

(2) it's weird between them because they're all the Typical car dude and eddie's... not. his favorite color is pink and he listens exclusively to 90s girl rock and he's into clean eating etc. but he's the Supreme when it comes to cares, and he's tough and funny and matter of fact, so they all have to admire and like him anyway. meanwhile, all of their wives are hanging out with richie inside and having similar Gender Clash...

pt 1.

okay so sorry i didn’t realise more was coming and i answered the first one!! sorry about that, some of it might be repeated. but yes! i love this

like the car dudes would think that Richie is the car fanatic. bc Eddie dresses in higher-end fashion, keeps his nails immaculate, they’ve heard him blast “Because We Want To” by Billie Piper from the garden when he’s going for a swim. they see Eddie during his run and he’s wearing almost too short shorts and a Spice Girls t-shirt

and like yeah, the guys come up to Richie at first like “what make is she” again i know nothing about cars and Richie’s like “huh? idk red, old, the roof comes down too which is neato-burrito, but you’ll have to ask my Eddie if you want the details.”

Eddie’s extremely guarded, and he actually takes great pleasure when the guys notice the scar on his cheek and look a little shocked by it. and he thinks about saying it was an accident while working on a car,

“oh, i was stabbed. but you should see the other guy.” and gives them a sly smile. and they have no idea whether or not to take that seriously, he and Richie seem to have a wacky sense of humour

Eddie will hear them driving, and then later on pull them aside and say something sounded off. It’s hard not to be super fucking impressed by him

Eddie isn’t mean, he has a wall up, and acts a little more stoic in front of those guys. so it’s surprising to them when Richie comes out and kisses him on his scarred cheek or temple and Eddie lights up, looking all sweet and soft on Richie. the way he grins and spews out a string of insults when Richie slaps his ass, like he’s so incredibly fond. tells his bf so sincerely and fiercely that he loves him

they’ll come over at like 2pm drinking beer, and Eddie’s 1. judging them for drinking Bud Light and 2. judging them over his protein shake about drinking at 2pm

like, maybe they see Eddie fracture/break his wrist while working on the car, and they’re panicking. but fuck, Eddie’s broken his arm, been stabbed in the face, skewered by an alien claw. this is fucking nothing. The guys are fucking losing it, and Eddie’s sighing, wincing a little, and calming shouting on Richie to drive him to the ER, but at least Richie panics a little

they have a newfound respect for him after that

————

the more i think about it the more i love the thought of Richie hanging out with the neighbourhood wives. He’s crude, big, loud. they shouldn’t like him, he’s definitely not what they’re used to in their little circle

but Richie gives them celebrity gossip, they watch Greys Anatomy together when the guys are doing Car Shit. He brings back autographs from their kids favourite celebrities if he meets them

and omg, when they find out one of his best friends is Thee Beverly Marsh, designer extraordinaire, they lose it (and also wonder why she ever lets Richie walk around looking like a Muppet)

they’d honestly not know who to think is more handsome. Eddie has a very lean and built body, he dresses so well, polite and kind to them. but then Richie is big dad bod, huge arms, charming. and they’re both so sweet and loving to each other, even when they bicker

they’ll peek into their garden and see the two of them cramped together in a hammock napping, or trying to push the other out. or see Richie come home from a tour with a huge bouquet of flowers, beaming grin plastered on his face like he’s never been happier in his entire life

honestly, it’s Richie that the car guys end up not quite getting, they used to get him when he told his Shitty Unoriginal Jokes before his public breakdown/coming out. He’ll rush into the garage and rattle off some impressions, make an incredibly crude dick/sex joke (which they just struggle to get used to)

they call Richie ‘a little weird’ and Eddie fucking glares at them, and if looks could kill they’d be done for. Yet Eddie will call Richie a gangly asshole, muppet looking mother fucker (‘oh you best believe i’m a mother fucker, Spaghetti’)

but Richie loves making the car dudes feel a little weirded out by him

[desertofsnowflakes]

Incorrect Order Chapter 4 (Nessian AU)

A/N: I know I haven't been able to update as fast as you'd want me to but I'll try to fix that. Your comments and feedbacks are very much appreciated. Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: None really

1652words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

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The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to do something they liked. That was the only way Cassian kept from spiraling. Since sending the woman to her own house, Cassian had more than a few moments when he wanted to repeatedly slam his head against a wall. That’s why he spent most of his time sparring with Azriel. He won’t admit he was simping for that woman in his free time too. Or maybe that was always.

Now, sprawled on a couch in front of the TV, with nothing to do but stare at a blank screen, Cassian led his thoughts to the box he kept all unwanted thoughts locked in. He thought about Tomas, her ex-boyfriend. Funny, he thought. I know her ex's name but not hers.

It took him a little too long the other day to realise they didn't exchange names. Again. He once thought that maybe she was purposely not giving him her name. That maybe, for her, he was just a random stranger who happened to save her life. He snorted. Surely anyone would know the name of the person they saved or was saved by— stranger or not. He supposed he'll have to make do with pronouns for now.

After she left his home, it took every scrap of self-restraint not to beat this Tomas dude to pulp and let him rot in the same alley he had the misfortune of meeting him in. He may or may not have been the cause for some extra injuries. Cassian appreciated the woman’s attempt at mercy. He, however, didn’t trust Tomas at all. He was dubious about just handing him over to the police. Who’s to know he won’t frame him and the woman for absurd things? Anyway, he left a note in Tomas’s house saying something like “Step out of line, lose your favourite part of anatomy. Name it and have it for your meal.” He made sure he printed so that no one would recognise his writing. Yet, all this didn’t calm his nerves one bit. He presumed he’ll have to stay on guard for some time now.

Now, back to the girl. He sighed. He didn’t dare change the sheets in his guest bedroom. He didn’t even let Mor use the room when she came over last weekend— which he could bet created suspicion. No, that room was only open when he craved her scent. He even realised one of his shirts was missing. He shrugged it off thinking he would've left it somewhere and just couldn't find it. Once she came to his house, he was constantly thinking about her. So much that now he started pinching himself often. It was the only way he could stop thinking about her— by creating physical pain.

Cassian glanced at the clock on the wall. 2.30 in the afternoon. He walked to the refrigerator and checked his freezer compartment. Huh. No ice-cream. He sighed, grabbed his jacket and keys and headed to the mall to get an ice-cream with a pout. He’ll have to leave for Rhys and Feyre’s first anniversary only around 5.30 to prepare everything. He has enough time to get an ice-cream and probably hang out for some time. Good enough to stop thinking about her. Or so he thought.

***

Nesta wasn’t sore anymore. Her headache was gone almost a week after the incident. Her nose didn’t hurt anymore. Okay, maybe a little bit. It didn’t hurt unless she bumped her nose against something. Today, her nose was dully throbbing because she hit her nose against a pillow yesterday. A very, very soft pillow and yet it hurt this much.

The man’s first-aid and medicines were really helpful.

It really wasn’t fair that he excelled at basic first aid too. It wasn’t fair that he looked so good. With black tattoos swirling over generously muscled arms and shoulder-length dark hair curling at the edges and gloriously tanned skin and hazel eyes with minute flecks of green and brown when taken a closer look at and dimples and—

A quiet “Who is it?” snapped Nesta out of her moping. She looked up to see Gwyn walking to her.

“Who is what?” she asked, feigning nonchalance. Gwyn's pursed lips and glare conveyed that her act wasn't enough.

“Who are you thinking about?” Gwyn clarified.

“What makes you think I'm thinking about someone?” Nesta retorted.

Gwyn sat on the chair next to her and started assisting with classifying the unceremonious heap of books on the table to be kept back in its correct positions on its own rack.

“Nesta,” Gwyn sighed, “Clotho assigned you this stack almost an hour ago. And you've barely finished a third of the stack. Normally, you'd finish stacks bigger than this in an hour. So there's clearly something.”

“It wasn't anyone,” Nesta mumbled.

As usual, Gwyn saw through her lie. “You were twirling your hair,” she said flatly.

Heat inched up her neck. “I was not!”

Gwyn murmured a “uh-huh” and they lapsed into an easy silence till they were almost over.

Gwyn's eyes lit up as it normally did whenever she got an idea. “Is it him? The guy you came with that day?”

Nesta scowled, “How do you know…” she broke off when she realised which 'that day' Gwyn was talking about. Nesta fought back a blush. “No, no, this isn't about him. We don't know each other. Much. Like, we've seen each other a number of times? That's it. Nothing else.” Cauldron, the first part was a complete lie. But at least the rest are true. Will Gwyn happen to know his name? Maybe I ought to ask her. Or maybe I shouldn't.

She should, she decided. She cleared her throat. “Uh, Gwyn? Do you happen to know his name?”

Gwyn frowned and asked, “He hasn't told you yet?”

Nesta shook her head and answered, “No, we, uh, forgot. I guess. We haven't really exchanged names.”

Gwyn nodded and smiled. “Well, he is—”

“Gwyn!” a voice called. “You can't expect me to come over to you and beg for you to help me. Help me only if you want to or don't work under me.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened. She abruptly stood up and mouthed, “Merrill. I gotta go. I’m so sorry.” She all but ran to Merrill, the very strict librarian Gwyn was working under.

Nesta sighed and continued her work. There wasn’t much left so she was able to finish fast. She picked her things and left the library with a word to Clotho, heading to the mall.

***

The best way to keep whatever problems one has out of their mind was to also eat something they liked. So, ice-cream it was. After having his ice-cream, Cassian was aimlessly walking around the mall. Here, not more than a month ago, he met her for the first time. Almost a month ago. He huffed out a breath. The fact that he was pining for her this long blew his mind off. He—

“This is your fault— not mine. I’m not taking the blame for this,” he told her. They bumped into each other. Again.

Her lips quirked up. “It is kind of my fault. But blame this—,” she poked his chest, “— for making my nose hurt again.”

Just like that, his mood sobered. “How are you?” he asked.

She pointed at the cafe to her left. “Coffee?”

He nodded. Who was he to say no to her?

So they ordered coffee and talked about everything and nothing. He grinned and she laughed. He laughed and she smirked. He wouldn’t say he knew her well but he’d never seen her so carefree. Her laugh was like nectar for a starving man. Her eyes bright and welling up with tears from laughing.

“I don’t think I’ve laughed this much,” she said.

Cassian put a hand on his heart dramatically and said, “I know, I know. I’m very funny.”

Her lips kicked up a notch. She straightened as if she just realised something. He was about to ask when she drawled, “So I just realised that we still haven’t exchanged names.”

Oh. Right. Of course. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Usually, when people meet, they start with introductions but in our case we’ve literally bumped into each other three times and still we don’t know each other.” He shook his head and extended his hand. “Well, hello there. I’m—”

His phone rang in his pocket. Fuck. He was going to kill whoever was calling him now. He was so close to knowing her name. He pulled out his phone to see an incoming call from Azriel. He apologetically looked up at her and said, “I’m sorry. I wish I could choose not to take this call and instead kill this idiot but I can’t. Just give me a moment, okay?”

She nodded and he picked up his call.

“What do you want?” he hissed.

“It’s 5.30 already, you idiot. We’ve got to get the things ready for the party. Mor already went to get the cake and you’re not even at home. Where on all earth and hell are you?” came Az’s faint voice.

“15 minutes only? Mother above, I’m coming.” he said.

Az’s “make it fast” was the last thing he heard before hanging up. “I wish we could stay here and talk forever,” he said to her, “but I have something up in a short while and I totally didn’t realise time was passing this fast. I’m so sorry. It was nice talking to you. Really. And I wish we could meet again. Though without the bumping part.”

He grinned when she smiled and said, “Bye. Have a nice day.”

“You too,” he called back. He didn’t want to think he imagined the subtle look of disappointment on her face because hell, he was a walking epitome of disappointment right now.

taglist:

@shadowsinger07 @im-someone-i-guess @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele @heartless--aromantic @sv0430 @ddsworldofbooks @irenethaleia @sjm-things @dontgetsalmonella

[byorder-fanfic]

Finn’s Lost Loves

Summary: Finn’s lost more than anyone else knew because of the war, and every stupid thing his family have done afterwards to keep themselves in charge.

Word count: 2019

Warnings: Mentions war and blood, talks about eating disorder, self harm and self-esteem, and homophobia (only a little bit, period accurate), a lot of toxic masculinity 

Author’s note: This is a lot of angst with little bits of fluff and a sad ending. Sorry. It’s basically an overview of Finn’s character, backstory and his relationships with the family that we’ve never gotten to see! It’s based off a piece of prose in my drafts, so if you guys like this, I might post that as well. Hope you enjoy, and please comment, I love hearing your opinions and any constructive criticism you might have xx

Finn loved books. Once upon a time, he really did. He loved the way Tommy did the voices, and Arthur made those wild motions with his hands, and John could always make him laugh as he told him about that thing that happened in the pub last week. He loved how Ada and Polly would tuck him up in bed, place a kiss on his temple and read the letters from the boys. Then they came back, and he didn’t need to read letters. Or books. Or anything really. Soon, he didn’t even go to school. He just wanted to be with his brothers. Now they tell him to piss off more than they beg him to stay. Tommy and Polly scold him for not being able to read off the betting boards, and John makes everyone else laugh when he holds a big volume under Finn’s nose, so that everyone knew that Finn was still illiterate. Finn hates books.

Finn loved Church. He didn’t need Polly to drag him by the heels as he sobbed under the Virgin Mary’s stare like his brothers when he hopped, skipped and a jumped all his way down the road. He always sat by Isaiah, the two boys out-screaming each other in the hymns and seeing who Polly would scold first. He wore the crucifix everyday, and treated his rosary with all the sacred carefulness a six year old could manage. He loved the psalms and Jeremiah’s voice ringing through the streets and the way everyone was always together (even Charlie) on Sunday. Then he had to light candles, praying for his brothers’ safety that was only answered with their damnation as they dragged back blood and French mud into Watery Lane. Now he cries through the paper thin pages of a Bible and his only prayers are that the boys never see his tears. What did he have to cry about after all? He was never a soldier, but he should learn to be a man. Finn hates Church.

Finn loved healing. Ada dragged him along to her nursing classes and soon his only reason to come to Church was to learn how to tie bandages and fix up cuts and bruises. No one noticed his long absences- they either assumed he went to school still, or they were far too busy with the race tracks to care for the whereabouts of their youngest brother. But then he'd slipped up, and he'd never seen his brothers laugh so hard when he proudly told Polly he was going to be a nurse one day. Even his aunt and sister, usually the ones on his side, had to purse their lips together as Arthur roared out: "Hear that, Tom? We got ourselves a Nurse Shelby here! Want a dress and hat to go with it?" He told them all to fuck off and stamped out, but he didn't understand what he said that was so funny. When he asked Isaiah, who had just turned fourteen and starting to see Finn less and less, he just said that being a nurse was a woman's job. He didn't like being laughed at for being a girl, but he didn't know why. He still hoarded textbooks about anatomy and the like under his bed, tracing over the detailed pictures with his skeleton finger as he wished. And wished. And wished. And almost prayed that he could read the little ink words. When he found Arthur with another red line on his neck, he offered him some medicine to cure his big brother's blues, thinking just a bit of Tokyo would keep his brother here with him. No one asked why Finn was sad. Oh well, at least he could protect his brothers now. Finn hates healing. Finn loved food. Always the big eater in the Shelby household, he managed to always have a full stomach despite the poverty that reigned. He was a stickler for sweets, though, and as soon as he mastered the art of sneaking rings and wallets from unsuspecting strangers, he soon graduated to thieving lollipops and boiled sweets and even some toffees that he proudly deposited into his aunt's hand with a toothy grin. But the boys would look into his empty plate and his skinny frame and tell him he'd better watch out, soon he might actually have a shape under those bulky clothes. They always laughed, and he felt himself completely embarrassed at the dinner table. He dumped more sugar than milk into his tea and stole chips when they went to the seaside. He'd always offer to share, wanting to provide for them for once, but they'd tell him he was the one who needed it. He sees his ribs and the little vertebrae of his spine and wonders why can't he just be strong like his brothers. Even though he despises it, he picks up boxing to fill out his form. Maybe training with Isaiah was an extra benefit, but the older boy had long since talked to Finn on the regular, and made a point to laugh at him when he fell onto the floor. So, Finn graduated from second helpings of lunch and too-sweet tea to the sour delights of whiskey and cigarettes. Just like his brothers. Finn hates food. Finn loves his family. He loves Polly, the mother he never had, and will never feel like he does enough to repay her for his entire childhood. Then Michael came back, and soon there wasn't any chore lists on the downstairs table for someone to read out for him, or little check ups throughout the day as she makes sure he's okay. That was when he realised exactly why Polly raised him in her empty arms. He loves Arthur: his eldest brother, who used to lift him up on his shoulders and teach him to draw. Finn still has faded old pictures of galloping stallions (signed in block letters: A.W.S) slipped between the filled out pages of the sketchbooks he hides in his wardrobe. Then Arthur came back, with what everyone calls Flanders Blues, but no one explains, and Finn feels like he's losing his brother everyday when he comes back smelling like a brewery with blood on his fists. Finn loves Tommy. A father figure to him, the kind of man he wants to be when he grows up. But then Greta died and Tommy went to war, and the man who took him horse riding every weekend was gone, and this Tommy was colder. Finn loves John as the best friend he's ever had, always laughing together, giving sometimes useful advice and finding days to just spend time with each other. Despite John's bazillion kids, widowerhood, and then his new wife, he's always had time to spare for his little brother. John was the one who told him what bisexual was when he found Finn sobbing in his room, he was the one that took him to the doctor when he passed out from malnutrition, and he's the one that made him swear to never use razor blades on himself again. Finn loves Ada. He sees why Freddie calls her an angel, and used to love it when she pretended to take Finn to the library when in fact they were both slipping away to a Communist meeting, which would usually end up in Ada and Freddie slipping away and leaving Finn in the trusted supervision of leftist radicals that he happily chatted away to. Ada always took care of him, making sure he was never involved in the business (on either side) and telling him that being a soldier is a life sentence, not an honour. He lives because Ada keeps him safe and sane. Then Ada leaves. Finn hates the Shelby name that everyone screams at him like a condemnation, that invites slurs and hatred that only he gets because he doesn't look like a proper Shelby man. Finn hates his family. Finn loved Isaiah. A childhood crush that brought butterflies to his stomach and blushes to his freckled face. He sketched the boy's face so many times, he knew it by memory. They held hands when they were chased down the streets, laughing and sprinting as their spoils stayed securely in their pockets. But Isaiah was older than him. Soon after adolescence hit the Jesus boy and Peaky Blinders offered him a role, without the constant of Church, the two greatest of friends became almost strangers to one another. But Finn still loved him. He never told anyone, of course. He knew he wasn't a real homosexual, because he most certainly did enjoy holding hands and kissing the cheeks of girls his age (poor boy was flustered to ever do more!) but his heart still belonged to the preacher's boy. With more faithful women in the family than ever before, Finn knew he would be crucified if he ever told anyone. John was the only one who knew, and that was based on the fact he paid more attention to his brother than anyone else combined. He said he should just go for it, but Finn knew Isaiah couldn't be like him. And even if Jeremiah was always the kindest man that Finn ever met, he still didn't trust that the cross on his neck wouldn't shame him or laugh at him for the fact he was completely enamoured with his son. Then Finn got drunk, and when he woke up, his entire family knew exactly how he felt and Isaiah wouldn't look at him in the eye. He ran away to the stables, crying on Uncle Charlie's shoulder who told it would be alright. He made sure to keep an eye on Finn ever since, keeping an eye on his wrists and fists. The incident was soon forgot by everyone but him. Finn couldn't find it in him to hate Isaiah, but he knew he didn't love him any more. Finn has never loved Michael. He thought he could, at first, when he saw the tweed suit and a face more innocent than his. But then Tommy promoted him almost on the spot, and Finn had never at once felt so much rage bubble inside him. Everything he has done for his brothers, every passion he sacrificed, every humiliation he shouldered, just so they could see him as an equal. But no, there are only three Shelby brothers as far as anyone else is concerned, and Finn carries on as errand boy. He ignores all Ada's good advice, and swear that he will make his brothers proud of him one day. So, he puts on the thorn crown of a Peaky cap and wears the waistcoat and wool coat of his brother's likeness, and parades about Small Heath like he actually was apart of the makeshift royal family. Then Finn found Michael and Isaiah kissing in the alleyway. Even though Finn had made a point to announce that his brothers had started giving him more work, Isaiah still fucked off to the pub with Michael every night, devoting his time and attention to only him, and Finn couldn't understand why. Now he did. If Finn had been violent like Arthur, he certainly wouldn't have thought twice about taking the cup on his curls and cutting the smirk off of his cousin. He had stolen his brothers' respect, his surrogate mother's attention, his place in the business, the affections of the one boy Finn had ever loved. He had stolen Finn's everything, and Finn hated him. They both froze and stuttered. Excuses about just being friends, just experimenting, but he saw the way they held each others shaking hands just as he and Isaiah used to hold onto each other as they raced through the streets. "I'm glad you're together." He shocked them both with a forced smile. "You both deserve to be happy." The two were kinder to him after that, almost back to the old friendship he had missed, and Finn knew he didn't hate Michael. Or Isaiah. Or any of his family, really. No, Finn hated himself.

[keys-to-the-kinkdom]

Omega Eskel getting stuffed with eggs and dragging himself back to Kaer Morhen for help to get them out, only for Alpha Vesemir to tempt him into bed and relentlessly play at breeding his helpless swollen favorite. Up to you whether Vesemir ever helps him get the eggs out

Ok, so anon, I want you to know that I love this prompt so so much. You’ve also given me a whole lot of thoughts about unconventional ABO anatomy so I hope you enjoy those! It also got a little dark towards the end, so sorry if that’s not what you were going for!

Eskel hadn’t meant to be caught by the Fiend, but that hadn’t really mattered in the end. He winced and clenched down as Scorpion stepped a little too hard on the uneven ground and jolted him in the saddle. One hand held the reins in a white knuckled grip, while the other was pressed to his swollen belly. He could see the towers of home in the distance. He just had to hold on a little longer. Vesemir would know what to do. Vesemir always knew what to do.

Vesemir did indeed know what to do. He spent a few long moments poking and prodding at Eskel’s belly then handed him a potion to drink. 

‘Never thought I’d see the day a Witcher carried a clutch,’ he grumbled, ‘but you insist on being the best at everything, don’t you. First Omega to survive the trials in decades and you don’t even let them sterilise you.’

‘Wait, they caught?’ Eskel yelped, nearly spitting the potion back out. 

‘Oh they caught alright,’ Vesemir confirmed. ‘Potion will help you pass them. None of us need a clutch of tiny Fiends running around the keep. But you’re fertile, pup.’

Eskel’s head spun. One thing he’d been certain of after the trials, was that they’d taken his ability to carry a clutch, same as they’d taken Geralt and Lambert’s ability to fertilise one. 

Vesemir didn’t let him get lost in his own thoughts. He was led upstairs, to Vesemir’s room and helped out of his clothes. He squirmed a little under Vesemir’s gaze. He was a Witcher. He had no reason to be body shy, but there was an odd look in the old wolf’s eye. Eskel didn’t know quite what to make of it. All thoughts were banished from his head as he felt the first contraction hit. 

The eggs took their time coming and then it felt like everything happened at once. Vesemir told him when to push and he did. He felt the smooth weight of the egg stretching his hole from the inside. He was dripping with slick and panting as he knelt on the rug. Vesemir put one hand in the middle of his shoulders to ground him. 

‘Come on, pup, you can do it. Lay your clutch.’

After what felt like an age, the first egg breached him and slid out in one overwhelming rush of slick. He groaned as it slid over his prostate, making his cock twitch. The next one wasn’t far behind. It felt like it went on forever, egg after egg pressing its way out of him, making him whimper and mewl. They were never ending. Through it all, Vesemir was there with soft touches and kind words, gentling him and easing him through it. The last few were further apart and harder to expel. He pushed and panted, cock now hanging rock hard and leaking from the stimulation. 

As soon as the last one fell to the floor, he flopped forward, face burying into the soft fur of the rug. He didn’t even realise that his arse was still in the air until he felt Vesemir’s finger circling his hole. He tried to tense, but his muscles were too exhausted to manage. 

‘Hush. I’m just checking you’re not damaged,’ Vesemir said, thrusting in with two fingers. The sensation was so different from the unyielding shells of the eggs that Eskel whined and whimpered. Vesemir crooked his fingers, he almost lost control and came.

‘Hmm, you’re still all sensitive aren’t you. What a good little fertile Omega,’ Vesemir crooned. 

Eskel groaned when he felt a blunt pressure against his suddenly empty hole. The head of Vesemir’s cock slid in easily. After the eggs, it wasn’t nearly as much of a stretch as it otherwise would have been. 

‘Fuck, you’re still so fucking wet,’ Vesemir hissed, ‘Going to breed you full of little pups. You’re such a good boy, coming home and giving us a way to bring back the Witchers. We’ll breed a whole new class of pups.’

‘Ves, no,’ Eskel whined, ‘What? How?’ He couldn’t pull his thoughts together well enough to form coherency.

‘They only started sterilising Witchers after the first few generations,’ Vesemir told him with a particularly hard thrust that made Eskel wail and spurt precum all over the rug. ‘I’m not a useless Alpha like your brothers. Gonna fill you up nice and full with my eggs, breed you like the fertile little bitch you are.

Eskel could only whimper as Vesemir thrust in one last time and he felt the hard press of an egg against his hole. As it slipped inside, he bent forward and screamed his release. As Vesemir stroked him through it, Eskel sobbed. 

‘Good boy. You’re going to take all my eggs so well. Going to make you fat with my clutch.’

[eryiss]

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Demon in Disguise x Angel Undercover

Summary: Being a demon was boring, particularly in peacetime. For Freed, passing the time consisted of sneaking into nightclubs and forcing men off the moral path. Thankfully, the angel with beautiful wings and almost rigid set of morals was always there to make things interesting.

Notes: This is Day Two of Fraxus Week, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. Be sure to look at their blog, I'm sure there's lot of other great Fraxus content on there for the event already.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

Off The Moral Path

Year: 2025

Location: Paris, France

"Come now, Darling," Freed purred, gently stroking the raven-haired beauty on the cheek. "You know you want to."

To think he'd come to this. Freed Justine – Albion the Slayer, Absolute Shadow, The Nightmares of Angels – resorted to flirting with men in a bar. It was humiliating. He was a soldier, a demonic mage whose power was the stuff of legends, and by rights everyone in the damned club should be bowing for him, on their knees and begging for his mercy. He would have been kind to them, were they giving him the respect he was owed, and perhaps he would have made their night more interesting with a display of his power.

But he couldn't. The war between demons and angels had long since ended, humans had forgotten about the battles and all the people who had been part of it, and as such they didn't know him. To them, Freed was nothing but another human. Better looking of course, but otherwise no different.

Frankly, it was boring.

War between unkillable forces was fun. You didn't have to worry about being hurt, because you couldn't be, and a demon didn't care for guilt. It was simply posturing, and it had allowed Freed to show off the magic that he'd been slowly building from his creation. He was explosively powerful, and he'd sent many of the enemy forces back to heaven time and time again. It was fun seeing them disintegrate as they screamed, but now that was gone.

Technically speaking, he shouldn't have even been in the nightclub at all. Earth was off limits, but he was hardly doing anything too bad. He wasn't poisoning a water system, or luring a man to his death. He was just having a little fun. Nobody could begrudge him a little magically fuelled flirting.

Well, one angel might. But he hadn't arrived yet.

"I dunno," The raven-haired man shrugged, swirling his drink absently.

"I do. You want to do it and you know it," Freed smirked, and his eyes glowed red for a moment. He placed his hand on the mans exposed forearm, and magic flared in his next words. "I'll do it if you will. And you've got nothing to be ashamed of."

A lie, but a fun one.

"You know what," The man said, confidence in his words now. "You're right."

The man was standing up a moment later, walking towards the raised stage with a pole attached to it, removing his shirt. Hm, if the sounds of the cheering at the sight were reflective of the mood, Freed had been right about him having nothing to be ashamed of. It was good guess; Freed really had no idea what a human saw as attractive anymore.

Freed watched from the bar, drinking his wine with a smirk as the man began to gyrate over the pole. Men and women alike cheered, and Freed liked to think that he had done his good deed for the day. Of course, the dancing man might disagree when the spell wore off, but that was hardly a problem.

He'd dispel his magic as the man was dancing. It would be fun to see him crumple.

"The hell are you doing?" A loud rumbling voice came from behind, and Freed smirked.

Right on time.

"What does it look like, my dear," Freed said, not looking towards the angel looming over him. "Exercising my Devil given right to annoy you. Is it working?"

"Take the spell off him," The angel demanded. "Now."

"During his dance. Imagine the embarrassment, it would be debilitatingly humiliating," Freed laughed quietly. "Would he be able to look himself in the mirror? Would he be allowed back out of his home? Would he cry? Rather cruel, aren't you angel?"

"Shut it, devil," The angel growled.

"So rude," Freed tutted while grinning. When a hand planted itself firmly on his shoulder, Freed turned to look to the man. "Good evening, Laxus."

It was always disheartening to see Laxus disguised as a human. He was good looking in their terms, with broad shoulders, a thin waist, handsomely rugged features, and a damn cocky smirk when he used it. But Freed always missed seeing his wings. They were long stretching, tinged and scarred by lightning, with feathers so soft that Freed couldn't decide whether he wanted to stroke them or to pluck them out to see the man scream. He was a magnificent beast of an angel – the counterpart to Freed's demon – and very fun to annoy.

"Hypnosis on humans is fucking illegal," Laxus growled.

"Then it's good that I didn't use it," Freed dismissed, placing the wine on the bartop. "I only lowered his inhibitions. He's lost all doubt and regret, and he's simply doing what he wants to do. Hardly a war crime."

"Tell him that when the police come," Laxus murmured, and Freed laughed. Would the man be arrested before he was naked? Freed hoped not; human anatomy always made him chuckle. "You ain't supposed to be on earth. The hell is wrong with you?"

"You're here," Freed retorted, ignoring the question. "Won't you get in trouble too, angel?"

"I'm only here because I knew you were pulling this shit," Laxus whispered harshly, hand on Freed's shoulder tightening. "And I wanted to get you to cut it the hell out before," he jutted his chin up, "they figure out what you're doing."

"But the danger is half the fun," Freed smirked.

Laxus said nothing else, instead surrounding them both with a wave of angelic magic. As was natural for a demon, the overall holiness of the gesture sent a shooting of pain over Freed, but he grit his teeth and allowed the spell to take effect. A moment later, he was teleported to a blank, bland, nothing room nestled in the middle of limbo.

This was always how his little dance with Laxus went. Freed would sneak down to earth, annoy, and torment a human in a way with very few long-lasting consequences so that he could get a fill of fun, Laxus would somehow be informed of what Freed had done and would stop him before any other heavenly figures realised what he was doing, and he would be teleported away. It had happened hundreds of times, and always ended with Laxus yelling at him for his stupidity but never actually doing anything to stop him.

His face would soon be angry, and his wings would be spasming and flickering. Anger was a good look on the man.

But, truly, this dance was getting boring. They were all-powerful beings, opponents by very nature, who had met in the middle of battel and had underwent fights that would be studied for history in years to come. They shouldn't have gotten stuck in a rut. It was almost insulting.

"Why don't you leave me alone?" Freed asked before Laxus could begin shouting.

"What?" The angel asked, taken unaware.

"Well, I understand that your side likes to preach forgiveness and repentance and so on, so perhaps I can understand you trying to stop me the first ten or so times, but we've been doing this for years now," Freed smirked, leaning forward and leaning against a white table. He looked up at Laxus from under his lashes, flirtatious and smirking. "I'm not changing my ways, and you know it. So why not leave me to get killed by your darling overlords?"

Laxus tensed his jaw, grit his teeth, and let his wings shoot out from his back. What a lovely sight. Freed quickly removed his own human disguise, horns cracking from his skull and eyes turning a red and purple swirl.

"Everyone can improve," Laxus retorted. "I think that, given-"

"I've known you for centuries, Laxus, I know when you're parroting that ridiculous heavenly mantra," Freed cut off the argument before it could be made. "I want to know why you, angel supreme Laxus Dreyar, is being ever so kind to me so often."

He said nothing, and Freed grinned.

"May I offer my thoughts, since you don't seem to want to answer," Freed continued. "I think we're more alike than you think. You and I, you see, we're fighters. You can claim pacifism all you want, but I know you loved every moment of engagement. Showing off your power, proving yourself to be an overwhelming force of nature, it was everything you ever wanted. And then it was taken away from you, and you were at a loss of what you could do. Everything was peaceful and there was nobody to do battle with. Nobody to impress. Nobody but me."

"That ain't what happened," Laxus grunted. He walked towards a door Freed assumed would take him back to heaven, and Freed quickly intercepted.

"It's exactly what happened. I'm your opponent, in this little game we've created for ourselves," Freed smirked, took a single step forward so he was in Laxus' space and yet not quite touching him. "It was fun, as games go, but I think we should move past it. Flip the board and do something a little more," he smirked, and raked his claws over Laxus chest before hissing, "tactile."

Laxus' face held an expression Freed was familiar with. He was on the brink of doing something he wanted to do more than anything, but knew it was wrong. A look that, on humans, brought Freed a giddy thrill.

Seeing it on Laxus was euphoria.

The angel swallowed slightly, looking over Freed's face, his claws, his horns and then back to his face again. His eyes were dilated just a little, body tensing and muscles hardening as if he was trying to steel his resolve. He was so close to breaking, and making both of their lives both more pleasurable and much more interesting. He just needed a nudge. Freed was happy to oblige.

"That was the problem with the war, I feel," He purred, voice like silk and seductive. "Place men of unsurmountable power together and make them fight. It fuels passion. We were purpose built to feel strongly about one another. To obsess over one another. To rely on one another," He raised his hand and dug his claws into Laxus' jaw. "What did they think would happen when we could no longer fight? Falling for each other was inevitable."

"I ain't fallen, not for you," Laxus murmured as he leant close to Freed, tenseness giving way. He was even smiling, ever so slightly, and that was all the encouragement that he needed.

"Aren't you?" Freed grinned, stroking Laxus' cheek and loving the restrained mewling that bubbled in the angel's throat.

"No," Laxus murmured, bringing his lips closer to Freed, and his grin was just as unhindered as Freed's.

"Well," Freed purred, pressing into Laxus' chest. "Put your money where your mouth is then."

He closed the gap between them, and two millenniums of tension exploded to life in a slow, tender kiss. The mixture of magics gave their kiss a burning, fizzing sensation that spurred them both on. The contrast of their bodies stung and felt fantastic, addictively peculiar and driving them to kiss harder.

Laxus' wings outstretched behind him, then wrapped around them both. The comforting feathers tingled at Freed's back, and he leant against the man with a smirk as they pulled apart. Laxus was smiling at him, not a lingering sense of doubt in sight, and Freed grinned.

As fun as it would have been to taint an angel, bring him to his knees and make him turn his back on his culture, Freed had truly believed his words. They were fated to be together; it only made sense. Freed had broken countless rules set after the war, and he should have been struck down by lightning or burned at the stake for his crimes. Even with Laxus looking over him, the powers of fate were more powerful, and breaking of the rules came with immediate punishment. He hadn't been killed, despite his flagrant disregard of the rules. There was a reason for that, and he liked to think he'd been saved for Laxus. The fact Laxus had showed no regret, nor no fear about what he had done, seemed to suggest Laxus agreed with the sentiment.

Now, Freed was in a new game, a much more fun one. A game where it wasn't simply a demon fighting against an angel. No, this game had only one side. A flirtatious demon with an abhorrence for boredom, and his darling, virtuous fallen angel. Who would dare oppose them?

Le Parisien – 02.11.2025

Une Célébrité Populaire Prise Dans Le Scandale De La Nudité En Public.

Hier soir, le chanteur et danseur populaire Grey Fullbuster a été arrêté à Paris. Les rapports ont affirmé que, dans une démonstration de confiance ivre, il est monté au sommet d'une scène dans la discothèque Devil's Door, et a commencé à enlever tous ses vêtements et à danser contre un poteau. Les réactions à la situation vont du dégoût moral au plaisir divertissant. Dans une déclaration faite par le manager du chanteur, Fullbuster a affirmé que "Le diable m'a fait le faire".

[greasygyeom]

gigil | ten

pairing: Ten x Female Reader (Fluff)

words: 1.9k

warnings: might be disgustingly cute idk.

A/N: Gigil is a word used to describe the overwhelming feeling that comes over us when we see something cute.

At 1 am, with bare minimum noises in the background, save for a stray car zooming away in the distance and a blanket of stars overhead, Ten walked back to his apartment; feet dragging on the pavement, as they traced his displeasure along the way. 

For the third night in a row he’d had to stay overtime at office, simply because someone else had been too lazy to finish their portion of work assigned to them.

Had it been any other day, he would have pulled through without feeling this level of annoyance. Any other week, he would not have complained; he liked working alone, when no one was around to disturb him and ask him stupid questions. But the fact that this was happening during the few days your schedule wasn’t as tight knit as usual, was really testing his patience.

He’d thought long and hard on whether he was being too dramatic about it, because it wasn’t like he never got to see you—your off days always had his name written on them—it was just that off-late he’d been wanting to see a lot more of you.

For him, dating you had started as a breezy ‘hmm I’ll see where this takes me, I’m not looking for anything serious’, but had quickly and quite irreversibly morphed into an intense whirlwind of ‘fuck, I might love her’ and at the end of six months it had rendered him dizzy. 

He didn’t know when exactly he’d started to crave more of your attention, but on days it overpowered his entire existence. He wasn't yet used to the out of the blue pangs of wanting to hug you until you fell asleep in his arms, but he loved the warm and fuzzy feeling thoughts like these left him with.

On most days he could prioritise his work over his neediness for you. Today though? Today had been one of those days, where it had served as a roadblock between what he had to do and what he really wanted to do. Instead of being in bed, cuddled with you, watching a cute coming of age movie, he had to stay back and redraw the anatomy for a new character because some of his peers were incompetent. 

Half an hour of brooding and a long silent walk later, he finally reached his building. On his last call you had already been yawning, so he assumed you were fast asleep and entered the apartment as quietly as he possibly could… only to find you lying on the floor.

His heart dropped down to his stomach as the worst, most horrible thoughts of you being injured and unconscious and him being too late in taking you to the hospital clouded his mind.

His panic lasted only about 30 seconds though, until he switched on the lights and it unravelled a completely different story.

You were passed out on the floor alright, but because you’d fallen asleep cuddling with his cat. He didn’t see the cat because your back was facing the entrance. Louis had fit himself comfortably in the crevice of your concave form, lying curled up, snug next to your stomach and was using your arm as a pillow.

Ten’s heartbeat slowed down with the realisation that you were indeed alive and okay and he breathed in a sigh of relief, giggling fondly at the sight of you two sleeping so peacefully; completely unaware of his presence. 

He was kinda jealous of Louis, which was an insane thought, but he wanted in on what looked like a super cozy cuddle session.

Of course, he had to grab his phone and take some pictures first—how could he pass off this opportunity to stock up on some free serotonin. But as soon as he was done taking photos from every angle, he sat on the floor next to you, your back towards him, and rested his chin on your waist. It was a challenge to not kiss the sliver of skin peeking through, from between your shirt and boxers and an even bigger challenge to not wake you up.

He extended an arm to pet Louis, but the cat wasn’t having any of it. 

Within minutes Louis was out of sight and reach and it was just the two of you, on the cold floor. With no cat to disturb, his attention naturally wandered over to you. It was too tempting to not kiss your bare skin. Your hands were tucked under your head, like a makeshift pillow; sooner than later you were bound to get uncomfortable—it only made sense to wake you up. It was definitely not because you looked too cute and he couldn’t stand not being able to squish you. 

“Baby” he whispered softly, “Wake up.” 

You stirred at the sound of his voice, pushing your body towards him, but not really moving.

He had the widest grin plastered on his face, just looking at you. “Let’s go to bed, you’re sleeping on the floor.”

You hummed in response, too lethargic to actually move and also just a scat annoyed.

When he stroked your cheek, you shivered under his touch, goosebumps forming all over your body. His touch was electric. 

Feeling a bit smug about the reaction he just elicited out of you, he pulled your shirt up, just enough to expose your waist, and planted soft kisses alongside your ribs.

You squirmed with every kiss, until you were wide awake and sitting upright, fighting him off.

“Why why why” he giggled, as you pushed him away.

“Why!! Look at the tiiime.” You whined, not letting him have his way for the 800th time.

His face fell, “I know baby, I’m sorry. If it makes you feel better, I was really sulky the whole time I was there and not here.”

“No, that does not make me feel better.” You replied, “I don’t want you to sulk when you’re working.”

“Ayee you can’t have both.” 

“Both what?”

“Be mad at me and not let me be mad at my work.”

“I’m not mad at you.” You pouted, crawling into his lap, “I just really missed you.”

There was something so soothing about your presence, something he couldn’t really explain. He held you tight and buried his head in the crook of your neck, taking in the faint vanilla-esque scent you naturally emanated. 

“I missed you too, baby.”

You ran your fingers through his brownish-blonde hair, your heart skipping beats every time you felt his hot breath on your skin. You weren’t one to feel ticklish easily at all, except for under his touch. It was a phenomenon that perplexed you too. So when he slipped his hand under your shirt, to feel your skin, you shivered again. 

He raised his head and gave you a knowing, smug smile.

God he was so infuriating with how attractive he looked when he smiled like that.

“You’re lucky you’re this cute.”

He grinned even wider. “Oh? What’s that? You think I’m cute?”

“Yeah, I think you’re very cute. What of it?”

The cutest laugh escaped his lips and he cupped your face, “I think you’re cuter, now please kiss me.” 

He puckered his lips and in anticipation, closed his eyes, deliberately acting like a cringey young adult rom-com hero, but two could play that game, right?

You pecked him on his cheek instead. 

His dramatic reaction sent you into a fit of laughter and the whole time you were trying to contain yourself, he was gazing at you as if nothing else existed in his world, with the goofiest, most endearing smile on his face. 

He’d never told you he loved you—even though it’s all he’d thought about the past couple of days—partly because he was scared and partly because he didn’t want to scare you away. 

But the way you made his whole being melt into a mush of happiness, made him not want to hold it in anymore.

“Hey,” he interrupted your hysterics in a serious tone, causing you to stop and look at him. You couldn’t match the intensity in his eyes, but it sparked a wildfire at the pit of your stomach.

“I love you”

Did you hear that right? Did he say he loved you? 

“You what?”

“I love you.” 

You beamed ecstatically. “Good, ‘cuz I love you too.”

“Oh thank god” he exhaled in relief, but before he could finish that sentence you had him caught up in a long, sweet kiss that knocked the wind out of his lungs. 

In the dead of the night, you could only hear his soft moans as you bit and sucked on his lower lip. His hands wandered all over your body, grabbing and teasing you, while you focused on how he tasted like liquor and chocolate, without having any. 

Everything about him was intoxicating. 

“Let’s go in”, he signalled towards his room, when you finally parted away from him.

You looked delectable with your messy hair and slightly swollen lips. Ten wanted to devour you.

“Ohhhhh Mr. Lee why do you want to take me into your bedroom at 2:30 AM.. What are your intentions?” 

“To show you how much I love you.” he seduced, “Will you let me?”

“I’ll let you do whatever you want, baby” you replied, getting up and holding your hand out to help him.

“I wonder what good deeds I did to have found you in my life.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked towards his room. “And I wonder the exact opposite.”

He gasped. “Is that how it is huh? I guess you’ll never find out how much I love you then.”

“Aww.” You chuckled, closing the distance between you, “It’s okay, I can show you right here how much I love you instead?”

“No, I can feel Louis looking at us and I’m not about to traumatise my son. So, I’m gonna give him some treats and be right in.”

“Fifteen minutes or I’m going to sleep.”

“I’ll take five.”

“You and I both know you need at least fifteen minutes with Louis.”

How does this woman know me so well, he thought to himself walking over to where his cat was perched. 

“What do you think, Louis? Did I do the right thing” Ten whispered, nuzzling his nose in the fluffy fur. 

Louis meowed.

“Yeah, I think so too. She’s really great isn’t she.” 

Louis meowed again, making him chuckle.

While pouring some dry food in the bowl for his cat he realised he actually hadn’t eaten anything since afternoon, yet he felt full… full of this happiness and a kind of contentment that he’d never experienced before. He cringed at this disgustingly sappy thought and made his way back to you, into the bedroom. 

You were sprawled on the bed, already asleep, not even having managed to get under the blanket.

“So cute”, he fondly murmured, as he got in bed too and encompassed you completely in a hug—his arms now wrapped around your waist and one leg overlapping both of yours.

You stirred, but he pulled you in closer,

“It’s okay, go back to sleep baby.”

He heard a little affirmative hum and you turned around to face him—eyes half closed—to give him a tiny peck on his lips and then hid your face in his chest. 

You started falling back into your world of dreams and he fell right in with you, following you through a field of daisies, admiring your beauty as the sun glowed on your face; just like he would if you were awake. And tell you a thousand times over how beautiful he thought you were and love you and kiss you until you fell right back into his arms at the end of every night. 

There was something so sweet about that feeling, it made you smile and you thought yeah… it seemed like a good way to spend the rest of your life.

[aflyingcontradiction]

The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 120 - Eye Contact

A cold and well-cleaned room, sterile metal tables that overflow with a gentle trickle of blood. The hearts that beat upon them spasm and spurt without any sort of rhythm, and were they to stand still for but a moment, it might become clear just how wrong they are in their construction. - Statement of Elias Bouchard

So when I first listened to this episode, I didn't realise that the statements referenced here are SPECIFICALLY those and ONLY those that Jon took himself. I also didn't remember what some of the references actually referred to. So I'm probably going to be spending this entire relisten going "Oh, that was THAT statement", starting with this bit, being clearly in reference to "Anatomy Class" (episode 34).

The doctor cannot bring himself to look at the tables, so instead, looks to the Archivist, whose eye watches him, and cannot close.

"Eye" singular sooo ... does dream!Jon appear as a cyclops? But no, I'm imagining him more as a three-eyed being. Two eyes closed in sleep, one Eye eternally open to watch.

Desperate, he tries to throw the apple at his observer, but it is too late. The doctor has forgotten how the elbows work, and wrenches it to the side with a sickening crack. He tries again to scream, but he hasn’t got the throat right, and the wheezing, half-choked gurgle that escapes would stir pity in the Archivist, if he had not heard it so many times before.

It's kind of fascinating to me that the doctor's nightmares focus not so much on the idea of inhuman strangers pretending to be human but on HIMSELF forgetting how to human. To be honest, that IS actually scarier, but not what I expected, exactly, given the origin of his nightmare.

He turns to see the familiar screen, the familiar woman beneath it. She looks up at him with an expression of recognition and weary dread. She types and types and types, her fingers a blur, flying across the keyboard, and yet never fast enough to outrun the relentless words that flow like dark water across the screen that stretches off into the sky.

Episode 65: Binary

He passes those places he can no longer watch – the silent wards of peeling skin, the empty warehouse of thick darkness and frightened children, the rusted train car that smells of eager, infectious hate.

Okay, so this one gave me trouble, so I ended up checking the Wiki to figure it out. The silent wards of peeling skin is Melanie's statement about the hospital. The empty warehouse of thick darkness and frightened children is Basira's statement about Rayner. The rusted train car is, once again, Melanie's statement. Why can he no longer access these? Basira and Melanie are both still alive, after all. Is it because they're being "protected" by their own Entities? But...

The rain is still there, though it is empty. The long and desolate road, slick with the downpour; a police car’s lights flashing over the unmoving van. The doors are open, and the too-familiar statues stand either side of the well-worn wooden box.

Daisy is about as Hunt as Hunt can be and has been for a long time, so why can he get to her nightmare just fine? So I don't get why Melanie's and Basira's nightmares aren't watchable.

Here he sees the train, twisted and pressed in on all sides, nothing but shrieking metal and cracked glass. He climbs inside, and takes his seat, mouth tasting of mud and soil, his eyes moving through the dust and grit unblinking.

Episode 71: Underground

He catches a glimpse of an advert above his seat: “Dig.”

"Dig" wasn't actually a statement taken by Jon, but then this nightmare is of the Buried, so it makes sense for it to be here anyway.

There is a door in front of him. A yellow door. He knows the dream it used to lead to; he knows it well. But that’s not where it leads anymore. He does not know what is behind it anymore, and he is deathly afraid of finding out.

This used to be Helen's nightmare, but of course Helen is now melded into the Distortion so yeah, going through that door would be one MESS of an experience.

The Archivist turns away. Behind him are the ants. They move like a terrible rolling wave along the hard-packed ground, and he can see every twitching antenna, every clenching mandible. Somewhere, underneath that twitching, burrowing mass, is the exterminator.

Episode 55: Pest Control

Before him rises an incinerator door, the glowing light of the flames curling around the cracks. With a wailing shriek, the door opens, and the burning silhouette that stands within is ingrained upon the Archivist’s racing mind. They smoke and sizzle, but still the worms crawl through her charred and pockmarked flesh, her now-singed red dress shifting with the movement beneath it.

Okay, this is interesting 'cause Jon is still in Jordan Kennedy's nightmare, but given how traumatised Jon was by Jane Prentiss, this may as well be his own. And his reaction to it as recounted by Elias actually does make it sound like this is one of the hardest dreams to watch because it hits so close to home.

When faced with her, he even longs for the terrible dream of the melted woman, who would see everything desolated without rhyme or reason. But she was beyond his reach the moment she knew he was there, so the Archivist can only stand and stare, as the hive goes about its infested, long-dead work.

Jude Perry (who somehow fucked off out of Beholding's reach)

The dark building is newer, but he knows it well; knows the two lost souls who creep through it with an alert hunger on their faces. He recognizes that look from the other hunter, whose dreams he has watched for so long. They stalk the darkness itself, and hope to catch and kill it before it can do the same to them. They see him watching, but they cannot catch his scent.

And this one is Julia and Trevor's nightmare.

At last, he is in the moonlit graveyard – the oldest of the dreams. It is peaceful, cool and damp, as the rolling, boggy fields stretch out in all directions. He hears her calling pathetically from the bottom of the graves, but by now he knows there is nothing he can do but stare. She begs to be released, to dream of this place no more, but there is nothing he can do.

And this is Episode 13: Alone.

Another dissection room, another figure standing in its centre – but this one is calm. She simply looks at him sadly, a pity in her face that burns him worse than any flame. More than anything, the Archivist wants to look away, to turn his eye from her gentle sadness, from the disappointment in what she sees in him.

Is this Georgie, then, who is beyond the reach of fear, even when she is still being watched?

Elias: Hello, Inspector. Martin. I’m, uh, sorry to hear about Tim

Until this point I was still hoping that Tim had somehow survived, despite the fact that the narrative was HEAVILY signposting that he wouldn't for multiple episodes.

Martin: You didn’t just see it in me? Elias: Honestly, I didn’t look. For all my power, I will admit I am not immune to making the occasional lazy assumption.

People keep making this mistake with Martin, don't they?

Peter: Oh, and if you want to talk to a counselor, the Institute will of course cover any cost.

Okay, but like, why exactly is the embodiment of isolating-yourself-and-never-talking-to-anyone-about-anything suggesting counselling? Is this something along the lines of ... making sure Martin doesn't actually talk to his friends and colleagues thing? Giving him an impersonal outlet that won't create the same sort of connection?

My impression of this episode

So I spent most of the first listen AND the relisten trying to figure out which reference goes with which statement, but actually, looking past the "spot the reference" game, this episode is very well written and when you let the horror of it sink in, it's really rather - well - horrific: all these people, endlessly relieving their trauma every night, including Jon who's being forced to watch and cannot look away. Where the overall plot is concerned: I did not imagine Martin getting Elias arrested or Peter Lukas becoming the new head of the Institute - at all. It is a pretty lovely set-up for the next season.